So, having fled a place of constant building and worker noise, endured for three months, interrupting training online and of course prohibitive of creating recordings, for a 30 day program I had hoped to soon publish, to a small historic town for peace and quiet, after three days a truck arrives in the back yard, laden with bricks. Having endured the trauma of a robbery at knife point at the previous house, losing all equipment and therefore ability to work, we took refuge in a small house with kind and concerned people, who offered good vegan food and shelter, until we could restore and find our feet. How is it, that today a truck arrives threatening more building noise? Unloading of brick by brick begins. Twin Peaks. Burlesque, and surrealism intertwine and grin, I feel as if on trial looking up at the looming Kafkaesque black robed judge above me, as I shrug and say: What the F—?
For the image and to read a post see On Trial with Kafka and K