“Everyone” is an artist..”

so i’m waiting in this veal fattening pen or rather cell block A of the crowd that anxiously waits to board the easy jet flight to london. there’s nowhere left to sit and i’ve folded myself origami like into this little corner when i see this woman and immediately get out my pink moleskine notebook to commit her outfit forever to memory

grape coloured hoodie, not fitted, or fitting or even oversized, just kind of wrongly sized. over, a black cordoroy a-line below the knee skirt, over brown fishnets, over paper white legs but then then the coupe de resistance Lime pointy stillettoes,, with buckles for decoration. i’m still gob smacked.

and yes, at this moment i look like i’ve had one hour sleep (i have) and my hair is… an installation. but it kind of works with my unintended rock chic ensemble. only thrown off by my black geek glasses that only a precious few have ever seen. these babies aren’t for fashion, they’re the ones i use on those random moments when i’m not wearing the kontact lensen. i mean i’ve had ongoing affairs wiht people who never found out i  wore glasses. but at 5 am at gate 62 in schoenfeld. i’m not out to impress, pick up, or even care remotely about looking cute

i’m popular in schoenfeld airport. for some reason every time i travel the metal detector zone is staffed exclusively by butch dykes. and they are kind of hot this time. i can only amuse myself at this hour by flirting with them. i’m wearing too many layers. i take off my coat and put it in the tray. then lock eyes with the broad shouldered short haired woman before me and start to unzip my hoodie..

und das auch? i ask coquettishly

she smiles. jah.. und ahh.. she looks down to my waist.. umm?

und das? i point to my cut off jean shorts. have i walked into a porn set unknowingly?

nein, she says. smiles. nods at my waist again. das…

ah.. i lift up my shirt and undo my belt. danke she says bitte i say. i hand her the belt rather than put it in the tray and walk through the detector. it goes off like some kind of oldschool gabba track.

i now have a rendezvous with lesbian number two. she gives me a once over and then tells me to take off my boots. i stand again but she gestures for me to sit down. she lifts up one of my legs and runs the hand held metal detector over it until about mid thigh. i smile at her. the more amused i look the more she focuses. she tells me to give her my other leg. when she finishes i say danke, and then smile at her colleage who clearly finds it amusing also. i put on my boots, and belt, and coat and hoodie and walk off thinking.maybe next time i should wear metal knickers just to see what happens..

on a side note. once on the plane.. hearing the pilot speak on the PA in heavy northern accent english and then flawlessly in german is very strange indeed.

i’ve always been good at travelling, relaxed on arrival at whichever new place, and quicklly adapting to this new world you walk into. i accept the pace, the cultural differences, the different costs of living. the music of a another language, the cafe’s you rush by or spend hours in. but something about this berlin/london transition continues to shake me up. i go one way and then another. its a kind of performance anxiety.

it has nothing to do with my friends and probably little to do with either city. and evrything to do with how i feel different depending on what city i’m in. i’ve always pretended i like change. but the truth is when change enters my life i kick and scream and rage at it. only to finally give in, completely enjoying the journey and then to rage again when the next layer/phase of change enters. isn’t it supposed to get easier when you hit your thirties? aren’t you supposed to be more self aware or something? i don’t know.

but what i do know is i’m more than a little phased by various recent events, and i havn’t packed, or figured out my set, or planned who i will see this week, and then there is the thought of someone that hovers, no matter how much else i *should* be thinking about. and just the thought of being back. back. i’m always back somewhere. just the thought makes me want to crawl under my duvet and hide for a few weeks. i’m too much for myself right now. but then again as i said i’ve always been good at travelling. and i believe in cycles. as much as anxiety hits, i know exactly what will happen. at five am I will board a plane. and as it takes off, for that time i’m up above all those clouds, my head will clear and i’ll understand exactly what this last month has been about, and exactly what the next week will entail. how i feel on the return flight however is a different matter altogether.

right now… i feel a bit like this..

woooooooooahkay. so Paula Varjack made her berlin debut and i have to say it was a success.

but who is this monster/mistress i’ve created?

i won’t lie, i’m equal parts excited and overwhelmed. its strange but wonderful to log into my lastfm account and find the following posted on my wall

Hi mochaChild,
the-wrong-girl has left a shout on your profile page:
http://www.last.fm/user/mochaChild
“hi! do you happen to know paula personally? I’ve just seen her today and think
she did a great show at schokoladen.”

and then there is the fact that i’ve been lucky enough to collaborate with this fantastic producer onyx ashanti, who related to my city confusion so much he mixed a poem for me without having even met me or seeing me perform. (i met him at the gig sunday)

BERLIN: The Sonic Diary of Onyx Ashanti and this is my newest baby. So new, in fact, that there is only one piece in this collection so far. it is my first of, what i hope to be, many pieces and collaborations here in Berlin. I wrote the music around a poem by a local poet who goes by the alias Paula Varjack A friend of mine sent me the link to her blog and i found myself inspired by the various “fish out of water” tales of her experiences living in DC, London and Berlin with a propensity to “kiss and tell”. Inspired so much so that i emailed her about possibly working together, and this was the result.

or the wierdness of the fact that ever since creating this persona, less than two weeks ago, the myspace page i’ve set up mainly just for feedback on the poems, has led to gigs in both berlin and london, has been viewed 600 times, listened to several hundred times and has led to messages from poets, mc’s and producers all keen on what i’m doing and often up for some form of collaboration or booking. there was a promoter who came to the gig on sunday, just to see me. there was another promoter who came who wants to find a way to book me to come to ireland. ireland. how random. i never made it out there when i was in london, why not now that i’ve moved to berlin?

i have three gigs when i’m in london for a week at the end of the month. i could have had another one beginning of november but i’ll be back in berlin. i’m working to secure three gigs in berlin next month. how did this happen? aren’t i supposed to be a filmmaker? and of course the character i’ve created is just a ramped up version of me, but something about those glasses on me in front of an audience lead me to feel like i’m some kind of hipster geek superwoman. you don’t even want to know what happened at the accidental after party after the gig sunday.. or do you? 433356.html

ok so this berlin thing is really starting to make sense again. yeah sure its way colder, and all of my friends seem affected by it, a certain kind of introspection and focus and calm that was inevitable after the endless decadence that was the summer. but even in the summer it started the creative… orgy (no not like that) no this meeting of minds and thoughts and ideas and general support for what everyone else is doing.

yes i’ll come crew for free on your film, or i’ll even be in your film even though i’m not an actress, ok i’ll come see your band play and then fall in love with the drama of the performance so much i won’t be able to say no to being in your music video. yes i fucking love the wardrobe you designed for that short film, so i’ll buy a dress from your independant label and wear it while constantly saying how fantastic it is and how much i love your design, and yes i’ll shoot the behind the scenes for your first fashion show. actually i’d be honoured. yes i can’t wait for your book to be translated and published in english so i can read it, yes i love your poems, maybe mine are getting more lyrical, maybe yours have more rhyme, what you went home and wrote a poem? but you don’t even write poems? ??

yes use my studio to edit while i’m away, yes stay in my flat while i’m away, yes i’ll come see you dj even when i’m totally exhausted because i believe in what you’re doing, yes we’ll dance around the dj box even though its more of a bar thing, yes we’ll create the party around you because you make it that way for us.

by the way

did i tell you i took your poetry book with me and turned a poem into a song? by the way did you know i took the title of your poem and turned it into a song? come and listen to it. lets play. lets sit around in a somewhat pretentious hipster bar we once loved and play cards. well i won’t play, but when our friend passes around his ipod for us to listen one by one to the acappella tracks he recorded, our little crew will be resounding with respect and insist that yes the tracks are brilliant and they need to be out there. what you’re promoting a new night in london but you’ve been reading my poetry blog? are you sure you want to book me when i havn’t done it in so long. yes i’m keeping an eye out back in berlin to return the favour, you have to play here seriously.

what you write, and make music, and paint??? when i google the words *artist flat* or search in wikipedia will i see your studio? no seriously. but really is it ok if i come over and record. yes? we’ll spend two hours even though i though it would take twenty minutes and you’ll then come up with ways to meld it with sound design. what??? you turned down that gig as a booker to concentrate on your turntablism?, are you the last great diva of hiphop? and you still refuse to spin digital, props to you girl. come over to my house, lets get out the projector and watch a woody allen film with a mixed crowd of germans and auslanders and end up in a hyped up debate about the problems of dating. and i”m working on this edit and i’m feeling a little guilty because i didn’t finish editing the video we shot of his street art in action. but he’s busy. i think he forgives me for it. and i’m still playing with this script, because they’re both such great actresses and i want to write something for them. specifically. i want to play. lets play.

and we play alot. but somehow we also work hard. our work comes out of that play. and yes sometimes we stay out all night, and sometimes we play around with substances, but then we come down and sleep and wake up and we write and produce and perform about all this life we’re living. and we influence each other. we read each others blogs and listen to each others tracks, and give feedback on rough edits and talk in cafe’s and bars about all we’ve been getting up to since we last met. and the work is all really very good, so its easy to be supportive.

i have an illustrator friend visiting from new york this week. i can’t wait to show her this city, i can’t wait to show her my friends.

and yes its much colder. but hey, at least the sun is shining…

I know that moment That moment when, Your mouth trembles  with an intake of breath, When my hand lingers  too long on your leg, while I pretend  it was an accident, That I haven’t totally Read you

And I play so naïve, You’re forced to  make it clear, But it won’t come to that Don’t worry my dear its already happened

* Here *

And its not that  I don’t find you stunning, I was certainly stunned, You’re gorgeous darling,, But you see Its been done, From the moment  Your every movement, Made it abundantly clear I’ve already had you

* Here *

I know how the kiss will start, And how we won’t stop, I know exactly At whose flat we’ll end up, The moment we’re so desperate, We have to undress, When you finally give in and completely relax, The sounds you’ll make  When you start to…

So darling There’s no need to start, You’re safe

And… Don’t worry Mr.boyfriend

I won’t even begin Trust me

I’ve seen how it ends…

audio version at www.myspace.com/paulavarjack

gig this sunday in Berlin! london comeback end of october.

ADD PAULA AS YOUR FRIEND….

ALL CHANGE

and I feel…
mixed up
like the change in my wallet
which is the foreign currency?
which is foreign?
which city am I in?
who can I call now?
who costs less to call?
who’s calling?

Oh sorry
the voice mail said
I thought you were still in London

I then read a text asking
if I was back in Berlin

an email asking when I’m back
back
I’m back to back
with two cities

all change
swap keys
swap partners
tick the next box
on your dance card

I was dancing to minimal techno
at a club by Treptow
before I left
three days later
I was dancing in a club in Old street
to minimal techno again
I said goodbye at the end of the night to my dj friend
four days later in Berlin
I said hello to him again

and there’s an ocean
there are borders
there’s a divide
but its laced with connections

I’m in
a german speaking country
but often i forget
because if my german fails
i’m questioned again
in english
but my german
felt trapped under my tounge
when i walked around London

and sometimes it seems like
wherever I am
I’m the other
the outsider
and yes its always been
a little bit that way
but London became home for me
definitively
I’d settled
and when the contract
was drawn up and ready to sign
I
walked away…?

but the thing is
I settle quickly so
months later Berlin was home
and as I set about making it so
explaining to those
I was leaving behind
I returned here and felt
homeless again….
and I couldn’t tell you why but

I feel…. like
I’m on borrowed time
between the between
an oyster card
where my bike key should be
or more like

the mixed up change in my pocket
which is the foreign currency?
which is foreign?
which city am in?
who do I call now?
who costs less to call?
who’s… calling?

www.myspace.com/paulavarjack

(photos by ashley chaloner)