Its early early early, and my sweet bedroom is almost as blue as this one particular scene from Eyes Wide Shut; a scene that made me realize that such haunting blue air can even exist. I hear a…mourning dove? I should go to bed. But Berlin is a night city, and I take that seriously. The best things happen at night. My owlself comes out here and I can’t help it.
I really love this place. I’m a true city girl, littered parks and peeling stickers and the smell of subway exhaust are familiar to me. I think about this everyday. I’m happy here.
I’ve been thinking a lot about myself, and about how everyone thinks about themselves. My Psychic City project thoughts are funneling into a Psychic Self sort of deal. That segue started off with a joke between my best friend and I; we both grew up and “came of age” in Boston, taking the trains and such, and we swear that we’ve left our marbles on the Red Line or the 136 bus. Anywhere, really. Shiny little balls of some part of some of our selves rolling and rolling, forever rolling, through the trains, falling into peoples’ bags, being transported every which way. I think some of my marbles have landed here.
I wish I could disclose the events of the day here, but I cannot at this time. However, my thoughts around the situation were a comparison between this here Jules, and the self-destructive 17 year old Jules with seaweed green hair and too-torn skirts. I kept thinking, Am I her right now? Is it possible?
Of course it’s not possible. But, as I was sitting on the U1 and thinking about that, I realized that she is still there–though she is an extremely transparent and elusive ghost–and I am merely superimposed over this girl. I didn’t know what to make of that. Furthermore, it occurred to me that current BerlinJules is superimposed over all these other Juleses and Julias and whatnot, but, the true ghost that my threads curl back into is that of my mother, whom I know nothing about. But that’s another post.
This trip, for me, is about memories. A lot of mine are locked up far far away, and something as simple as a crowd of people crossing the street can trigger some image. I think it might be important, this fledgling ability to see. Especially in a strange place. A strange place that could possibly have my marbles.
I’m thinking a lot more about my PsychicCity proj ect, which I will write more about…most likely later today I think. I believe in our first trip meeting, we read a small excerpt of Freud that I think might be relevant, does anyone remember? Dr. Eamon, help me out?

Anyways, the true point of this post was to engage my sweet peers as they roam around Berlin thinking about themselves. I have a list of theoretical questions to ask you all–to ask you all to ask yourself, that is.

Honestly, how are you doing?
Do you hate it here, or do you love it?
Are you homesick?
Are things getting hard?
What is your temporal experience at this point? (For example: I don’t operate on dates or days of the week)
Are you remembering things? Can you access images and feelings and emotions at any point in this city?
Are you unable to?
Are your habits changing?
What is scaring you?
How do you handle being alone?
What could you possibly do in a strange place to truly calm down? (For example: when things get bad, I go into antique shops to assuage my anxiety)
Is class stressful?
What kind of thoughts are you thinking? There’s usually a pattern there.
Do you miss anyone (it’s ok to not)

Think about the marbles. More about the marbles soon. I should sleep now.

from riga to Vilnius. then from vilnius to berlin. the trees are white and skinny. i’m doin okay.

i liked riga. it’s a small city, but not oly small. not even an hour ago, i was at the train station (i should have been at the bus station) looking for help and sure enough, i saw a sweet angelic face, and it smiled at me. i do not remember his name. i only know that i met him at riga’s only gay bar (the golden) and i was being gay with his boyfriend, artur. artur told me sweetface was sad. i hope artur treats him well.
he helped me and probably missed the bus and i gave him a little box of matches from the art nouveau district that ii was unable to send to my bestie because latvian postwomen are odd and stubborn.
i love a sweet boy. i do not love loud british men.

riga is where my blood is from, it felt familiar to me. it was fantastic to be alone. here i was, in a place untainted by memories and feelings, where i could be free. i operated on no time. i haven’t slept in a long time, let me tell you. but now i’m gone and i’ve gathered a few feelings (like eating shit from the cobblestones) and what it was like to go to the depeche mode and request “blasphemous rumors” and sing along to it alone in the back.

but the loose ends, they get me. i’m trying to get my ducks in a row, i hope jasmine will ask the cards for me.

i got a tattoo from vlad, it says “alone” in hangul. 혼자 혼자 혼자 혼자 혼자

i’ve taken on the persona of the “weird american girl”.

if my pops mails me the obsolete droid, i wonder if i can create a new ig account that nobody would know about or follow

new planet? Ψ

Whaddya know? Here I go!

!!!Finally