Emilie's chronicles

(Trying to) Put an end to the Schreibblockade

I have not written anything in two weeks. And no, it’s not because things were not interesting, far from it. The last days at the Praxis, the crazy parties all around, Die Lore at MajMusicalMonday, Christmas, and Imagine Peace, the glorious Rote Sonne evening with LeRoy+Band and Pollyester, yesterday.

The problem is that somewhere, in the last month, I grew too close to the action. I can write about Munich Nights when I am an observer, a far away gaze that absorbs details and find stories to tell about them.

So how to find the good balance between getting involved (…logistically and emotionally) and remain detached enough that the words can still flow? Is balance even possible? When you debrief on the spot, with the people involved, after an extraordinary night, is there anything left to write about?

After not even 3 full days in Munich, back at the beginning of November, I wrote : “Why do I write when I am able to say?” Maybe that’s the thing with the Underground – in the end, why it stays underground : there is such a strong pull into intimacy, into the comfort of how these moments are now yours and yours only, your extraordinary ordinary that is too unbelievable to share.

Because such strong love should not exist maybe. Because you should not look at the sun for too long. Because it’s not politically correct to write about how good you find that drug that you are addicted to.

I am way past half-trip now, and the only way I can find to put an end to the Writer’s Block is talking about “it”.

I cannot find the words to describe the jitters I had yesterday, all day, before heading out to the Rote Sonne. The way watching people dance to that new LeRoy track that has my voice in it made me feel weirdly out of my body. The way Mycrotom and LeRoy’s chemistry on stage is palpable. How jubilant I was to be able to dance my legs off to a whole Pollyester set and the sheer brilliance of that performance that I received from so, so, so close.

I cannot find the words to describe the hate I have for Märchenbazar and how it clashed with the epic krautnoise impro session that had the “alternative” crowd of the Bazar go stand outside until the show ended, last Tuesday. Or words to tell how long the Die Lore infectious riffs stayed in my head, how much I laughed, and was thrown aback by the crazy beatboxing, how much Dizzy Errol is such a precious artist to me.

I cannot yet find the words to immortalize how important the Praxis adventure was to me and to this subculture that I love. How much beauty these wooden shelves and records witnessed. How much fun it was to put records and sing along without any inhibition, like I do at home, because that shop became a second home in the last weeks.

Maybe I will find the words for all of this. Maybe I’ll even write proper posts about it. But maybe I won’t be able to. At least, now, some small glimpses are out there, specks of light shining through the Writer’s Block…