Berlin, January 12, 1996

I have been looking forward to write again, although my head just wasn't able to produce anything but part of the lecture for the CAA and a couple of notes for Atlanta. I had to first get everything organized, especially my whole room and these suitcases filled with unsorted papers and notes, until I could produce something new. There is still one folder and one shelf that looks suspiciously towards me, as if it wants to ask, when I'd take care of it and if I think I would be ever ready. But there is always a part of yourself that remains disorganized as if it stays with you as a vanitas symbol for the vanishing of every order, as the deeper value of chaotic organization or creative chaos. But I ignore this shelf and start working creatively again. There is a new empty box that should be filled with drawings by February and I feel that it doesn't take long until my hands are getting nervous to gain the moments to take a pen and digest manually what I've been collecting, gathering, catching and thinking as far as thought-flies, pearls, stars, fast-food and crumbs.