Life in London @ 45 weeks

I walked home in the snow from the station. Blinking again. Feeling like I can’t speak about what I’ve seen and where I’ve been, because I’ll just be misunderstood. January is a miserable time to come back to London. But darkness is a solace for once.

Before Christmas, and for much of the year I was just in a rush to do everything, to be in the middle everything and to be everything for everyone – it just never stopped and life was a blur. Its fine as long as its all done in a blanket of intoxication and as long as I didn’t wake up. Spending this time away has knocked me to the other side of the spectrum where I just feel completely removed from the everyday world I exist. And even now plunging back into this whirlpool of irrefutable English expediency with an irremovable Taiwanese work ethic I still managed to exist in the little zone of ‘me-and-what?’ introspective investigations. And in my defense its not narcissism because its no where near as passionate or as equally repulsive.

So for this and for other unfathomable reasons, for the first time in a long time I couldn’t help but feel lonely. At times it cuts me hard and at others I find it strangely liberating. And solitude is a strange place – in the hollowness the echoes seem to resonate a more penetrating and fulfilling sound. It is strangely where I grow the most, without the distractions of this busy, restless, relentless metropolis.

So… 2009. Another page, another line. Is any of this actually necessary?

Maybe I should shoot a movie.