Up at 6:45, train at 7:30, I arrived at the station at 7:28, after eating all the leafs (don’t want leafs going bad while I’m gone.)

I started a grant application on the train. For some reason I find train rides the perfect time to focus on this type of thing. Monica and I met about shipping Petrichor to Athens Digital Art Festival. There was assigned seating and Jonas messaged me pictures from 1st class.

Upon arrival I had an emergency meeting with Angelo and Monica about fabricating the vapor screen I’ve been designing. We finished, had a Thai lunch, and go to Duomo for my Designer Box shift. “Wow!” I felt, and said, when I saw the cathedral itself, and the lil gold mama up top. Madonna.


It was cool to see my Designer Box piece IRL, and in a window, and I felt I didn’t even do much work – I just made jokes about boxes.


Here’s what I ended up saying:

Squared is the deconstruction of a box in a box. It reconstructs into modular shelving, with clips to further divide the negative space… Exponential!

The boxes arrive nested in golden ratio, with matching golden clips. Box X Box. Boxboxboxboxbox. 

The kindest comment in the online voting said: “optimiser l’utilisation de nos si belles boîtes!!! Projet complètement dans l’esprit du design utilitaire et responsable !”

It made me think I should have just designed the clips and then people who subscribed to Designer Box could use them with past-packaging.

Silvia and I danced to the shopping hits that bounced off the concrete, explained the pieces. I messaged with jonas.

Silvia and I walked to the Adidas party. I messaged Xtian: “Greetings from Adidas party. I think Nike and Adidas should do a collab… on empty dance floors. Burn!” Ainhoa and I started the party on both dance floors, then left.

Everyone did a standaround, talking about taxis. I Looked up public transit directions and eventually all the other ducks followed me.

No one could get into the Cos party at first. I took another bus to a venue by the airport. Googs had me walking down a highway, as it often does. Now I was the one getting a taxi. At the Cold Cave/Drab Majesty concert they just asked for my Aarci card and let me in for free.

I hung out with Deb afterward, who told me I could have any of the merch I wanted but that felt awkward so I just hung around until they were done taking photos with fans and made friends with a dynamic Swiss DJ (who’s dating Deb). Together we drank from the half-empty drinks that were around. I told the lead singer of Cold Cave his layering was nice, that his set was “okay,” chatted with Deb about the magic of Venice, helped everyone pack up and then went on tour with them. Well they invited me, but I just used them for a ride home ;)


Embodiment of glamour.


The gig at Django had the exact amount of hyper-energetic fun that I crave to express whenever possible. I’m glad there is a cross-cultural language for the intensity I hold in both my body and music curation ;) ;) ;) Also it was on April Fool’s so my set reflected this, not that it wouldn’t have otherwise. EVERY DAY IS FOR FOOLS!

All the DJs played pretty smart and noisy. I would have danced way more but had to endure many free drinks and kind words.

Like for instance Gabi brought me a beer as we all talked around a table. She went back inside for moment and Cecilia wondered out loud if she might be interested in  me. I got excited about it. Then Gabi and Fillip left and everyone else talked about crushes and stuff.

I was locking up The Sabatager (who broke again on the ride over) when a blue-eyed black-haired boy came up to me complimented my set and gave his condolences about my bike. He was offering me help and I was saying I didn’t need it but then I realized what he was doing was flirting. I was getting his contact when we were interrupted by going to a party in the middle of the city, in a loft apartment with marble floors, a beautiful, minimal record player, and a hammock. Also some cats were around. I later heard it was Luciano Benetton’s grandson’s flat? Don’t know which one he was though.

Everyone was languorous and weed-infused, I was talking with a pretty girl. When she left I lay in the hammock with Cecilia. When we left the blue-eyed boy left with us. Then we had a threesome. Ha ha, just kidding.


Nothing like going to bed early on a Friday and then having a whole Saturday!Met C at the station, who was wearing an oversized-coat that draped nicely,  and red jeggings (I found out later). We went to Karim’s surprise going away party on the rooftop. When everyone got kicked off the “terrace” we went inside. Before making our exit C got innovative with green mint vodka (that had been lingering, party after party) and an empty coke can. We drank it on the train, found another empty coke can by the bus stop and put it “next to its friend.”

There was no place to buy tickets. There was no bus stop where we were supposed to get off. We climbed over the highway barrier with some Germans because Googs also led them astray. The bouncer checked my backpack, told me to leave the cheap beers I had forgotten in there outside, found a bottle of B12 that could have easily been ecstasy, after eyeing it suspiciously he let me keep it. I thought “I should sell these pills for €20 each now.” The vjing was Terrible, the music (Analogue Cops) was pretty good.

We intermittently danced and slurped tequila-soda, Left at 3, missed the bus, then walked back to pick up the cheap beers I had forgotten outside.
It was misty.

All buses are free because there is no place to pay. We stumbled back through Venice. I stole a kiss on a bridge at sunrise (“I think this is the bridge where we have to make out.” C looked at me dubiously.)

We walked through daybreak-Venice as people in bright orange uniforms swept the street with straw brooms.We fell asleep in a sunlit room, in an area where laundry was hanging, where everything was rendered in pastel hues, it was silent.

Waking up heroically hungover, we went grocery shopping, made a feast, and wiggled to Shakira in a small kitchen.


Everyone’s good mood is echoing. This morning Nicolas announced “SUMMER BITCHES!” in the agora. It feels like the first real day of spring. “I keep getting bursts of intense happiness” said Lorena. We biked to mensa together. Marco, Gianni, Alexis, Lorena and I chatted about school sports and pop idols. I walked away singing “Crush on You” (because Lorena kept Aaron Carter in her locker). Ha ha ha, the literal Aaron Carter – yes he was big, but small enough to fit in her locker.

Whistling “Crush on You” startled Maurizio, who was walking through the window nearby.  (Can every groundskeeper do this, or only Maurizio?) I smiled at him, he looked perplexed and continued walking.

In the design studio I found out that everyone had been whispering about my shoes all day. A meeting was postponed. Jonas hovered around, then left.

I heard Alexis squeaking up the stairs and knew it meant Designer Box. Daniel and I sketched together. I brought an adjustable clamp over to mimic its function and forgot it on Angelo’s desk. Later I stood in the agora laughing.

What if I just started bringing random objects to leave on Angelo’s desk? And he would be like “why is this here, where did this come from?” I would stand in the corner, tongue hanging out, wagging my tail.

Drew came up to me and asked why I was laughing. He said I should start stealing other people’s stuff and leaving it on Angelo’s desk.

Later, at the March-birthday-people party, I was standing in the kitchen, laughing about this again. And here I am weeks later, writing about it and holding back giggles as Alexis eyes me suspiciously.

Before, Jonas messaged me and asked if I was going to the “senior party” I said that being a senior myself I wasn’t planning to stay late… the crossword puzzle wasn’t going to do itself. 

Angeles said “It has been a hard week, tonight we drink.” “Celebrate hardship by poisoning yourself” I replied, and instead of going home right then like I had been thinking of doing, I drank, DJed, and led an impromptu dance class.

As we all left the others got into a taxi “what?” I asked. They were going to another party. “No way!” I went home for an early morning tofu bhan mi.


How did we even get to Django? There was some local Italian hip hop in the main zone. Akanksha got me in and Jonas bought me a beer because I didn’t have any money. Observing that the music was cringeworthy I left to hang out with Leo and Carlo in the bookstore area. The others joined us outside at a picnic table in between sets. I asked about where to throw my birthday dance party. Jonas sat down next to me, we talked about how we were tired. “We could just leave” I said, and we did.

I walked Jonas home, he offered me a beer. We sat across the table from one another and talked for an hour or so. He walked me home. 

The next day Alexis, Nicolas and I went for our traditional hungover-flatmate pizza, french fries and gelato. Alexis posted a photo of Nicolas with matching bun and ice cream.


Finished two weeks of sobriety with drinks post-Bertjan-Pot workshop + lecture.

I Complimented Bertjan on an excellent lecture behind his back. Kenzi and I stayed as everyone else went out for pizza.

Talked about the trial, critiqued the workshop. We both felt interrupted by constant feedback. Like “let me show you how to discover the meaning of the workshop.”  I might have discovered the meaning of the workshop if I was given more space.

We went to Dump, laughed with some women who work at Benetton. Kenzi snuck off at some point. I left with Akanksha and crew.


The main processing of the Jitter/Javascript workshop took place while asleep – I would be coding in dreams every morning for weeks.  I got drinks with a varied group of interesting nerds after the workshop. I had been chatting with a new father/professor and a kid who had his own music visualization company for the past several days, and sitting next to an Italian girl with both great questions and great hair. Probably the most advanced of the group was this German woman who, I learned, programs self driving cars for a living.

Isaac and Luna met me at Sameheads, which was a different bar from when I was on mushrooms. We chattered away like North Americans who are friends, and had a walk-and-drink to luna’s lovely apartment. We danced around her big room of windows and plants with one of those rotating-multi-color-light toys.

Sweatiest Basement, Pointiest Wind

Like myself, I wasn’t worried when we were running late for the bus, or when the Tabacci wouldn’t sell us bus tickets, or when the bus didn’t show up, or when the next bus was 18 minutes late.  Kamille was not amused.

I stood calmly in the non-EU line, told Kamille to go ahead, if I missed this flight I’d see her tomorrow. The visa check woman told me to rush, which made me uncomfortable, Kamille helped me take cuts in line, which made me uncomfortable. We ran to the gate, only to wait in another line for half an hour.

Always trust your gut, I guess, and mine says: “don’t feel rushed or be rude under any circumstances.”

“I am the idiot of this plane!” I announced, having sat in the wrong seat, then heaved my 20kg bag through the air like “check out my new dance move.” “You are not an idiot” said the person beside me. “I know” I said  “I’m actually the genius of this plane, did you see my new dance move?”

I had developed a cough over several days of disturbed REM cycles and coat-lack. I got some cough syrup right outside the stop for our next transfer and a beer at the späti next door. Kamille said “grazie” as the door swung behind us, then laughed.

Lying on Kamille’s bed, snuggling and naps intercepted with thoughts of the night’s plans, she offered me a piece of chocolate. I don’t know German ingredient words, but wondered if there were traces of animal products. “Oh well, you can’t assume all freegan chocolate will lack milk derivatives.” I thought. Oh, also, the chocolate was packed with psilocybin.

As we set out, I felt this clear transparent field over everything. I was a new lucid-me, peeking my head out over the atmosphere: “New drug, new feeling” I said, or something along those lines. And it was true.

The patterns of infrastructure, specifically within the framework of U-Bhan, were a reminder of how the built environment is our collective mind, all of us existing as one within it, and as it.

I sat in the crosshatch of yellow and blue, within clunky, serpentine train-movement, cracking open from some point in my sternum, becoming so spacious that there was no me to be anyway.

Hoku always said I should take mushrooms and I always said “no.” I wanted to write him a letter – let him know I had casually joined into a part of him that could never be accessed fully.

“The only part of Hoku that exists is me remembering him.
So I am Hoku right now.

Thanks Hoku.
I love you.”

Tears were streaming down my face. 

“We are just water with feelings” said Kamille. My trips in Berlin have been defined by the deconstruction of daily reality, and emotional transformations – particularly surrounding the death of loved ones. It was all matter of fact. I was my normal open self, but more so.

“It feels good to be here, inside the cold
It is a fun and “cool” experience…”

I laughed at my own joke, in the maze of construction, in the un-built cold, a cold that had nothing to do with our intentions, but which existed as something more real than our ideals.

From the pointiest wind to the sweatiest basement. Laughing in the line for the bathroom while not being in the line for the bathroom, talking with the fashion boys in the line for the bathroom: “Is that Prada, or Nada, and which one is more authentic?” 

Fonzi was with his two hot friends, in a literal underground. One of them like: “Berlin is sexy… but cool.” I gathered his tobacco, rolling it into three instances of forgotten cigarettes and a kiss on both cheeks. We separated out the sounds with our musculature, describing with our bodies some ways that its sculpture could work.

“Opposite rain room.”
“Undoing time in a scroll.”
“Reverse waterfall.”

(Fonzi and I talked about time and digital media).


In the morning Kamille and I stayed naked under diffused orange light. When we got up we went to a street market, walked through mud, muddled through mulled wine, ate falafel.

A man on the street asked to take our picture. For his fashion blog? JK, if this dude had a fashion blog I would be 2 very’s worth of surprised. Who knows why he wanted our images – to show to strangers on the metro? To curse us? That seems more likely.

We didn’t take a small shelf from the street. We went out for pho at the vegan Vietnamese place, with Fonzi. Walking back in the cold wind I sold the idea of continuing to do so, rather than wait for the metro.


Kamille blasted Polish rap from her tiny bluetooth speaker as our group walked to Akanksha’s birthday party.

When the cops were called the two of us (Kamille and I) hid under the kitchen table and kissed.

Mattia talked to them (the cops). The music was turned down. Akanksha didn’t know this cop-calling neighbor.

Tina, photographer on trial, talked with a group of us in the kitchen. Jenny covered everyone who entered with glitter. It’s a miracle I got away. Jonas’ hair was sparkly in the weeks that followed.

The second time the cops came I was gone but Akanksha’s newfound evil neighbor called Fabrica and threatened to sue, landing her in a meeting with Monica Faggin for more than just a slap on the wrist (threatening to kick her out, talking on the phone saying “what do you expect, she’s Indian.”) Youch.

I heard all this on a late rainy bus ride with Akanksha. Thank dog these will become our fond remembrances and not our unraveling. Party girls and troublemakers are the secret backbone of Fabrica.


It got dark
We got drunk

I was going to walk to Modular space, had the map loaded, pockets loaded, was loaded. Got a message from Ainhoa, went to Kenzi and Quentin’s (Kentin’s). They were drinking coca-cola-wine. They insisted I come with, to Django, my sore butt posted on the back of their bikes. (My bike, the Sabatager, was broken, as always)

A hug or two or three from every friend. The people at the door remembered me. There was bad Italian metal, we all danced. I got Kenzi on my team. We ordered a taxi to go to Modular Space, it never came. Kentin left. Leo found the dream Italian boy and went back inside for to pursue. (Turns out it was Carlo who I had chatted with before, he’s an organizer at Django who works with refugees by day). Ainhoa also went back inside. Jenny and I followed. I tried to lure them with me, then walked away.

Gotalittlelost. Phone out of batt. Found a fluffy thing on the sidewalk. Later saw one in a luxury store window, on a belt.

Got my backpack from Kentin’s. Plugged my phone into the mobile battery pack and sat on the stairs. After 20 minutes or something phone still didn’t turn on. It was 4am. It was cold. I ran home and dove into my two beds.