The past few days an Eisensteinian montage of bicycle wheels, traffic lights and patio lanterns. Gallery and studio visits have devolved into articulation points, forming shapes that fall like Tetris tiles. I am tired of thinking about what I am looking at. Hence the recent string of poems.

Last night we rode our bikes to the open air Freiluftkino in Kreuzberg to watch David Cronenberg's A Dangerous Method, the story (a story) of Freud and Jung and their personal and intellectual relationship. Normally I like films like these (Cronenberg is a director I have patience for), but the cinema's (raked) seats seem designed for young bums, or at least those who brought their pillows with them.