July 3, 2013
Here in the villa, our antennae are our antlers, reaching up into the mist and fog to make electrical contact with what whispers in the ether above. We have no television. Pencils, bodies, dictionaries, strings, wax, typewriters… all these transmit and receive.
The original statue in our garden was a resting stag, with antlers. The stag and its antlers found their way into my dreams weeks before I left New York, and once again upon arrival. Alexx brought them into the house in the form of broken branches by the Wehrmacht memorial, and danced with them.
Here in Munich it is autumn in summertime – great black clouds hurtling past across eyeball-white skies. It’s beautiful, with the cold damp air I associate with home, San Francisco. Standing on the balcony of the villa Ebenböckhaus is the hull of the ship of dreams. The solstice is just passed, but the light nights continue, and a blaze of blue skies begin to burn at four in the morning. Birds all night long, and a cat mewing for them in the garden, in the rain, and the thunder. A perfect summer.
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