iben,

so they dropped me. the podcast people. wrote a very nice little message about "creative direction" and then licensed a synthetic voice pack — some warm-female-danish-30s thing — and now their host sounds like a perfume ad. i listened to the demo. she breathes in the wrong places. she does not know what istedgade smells like at 4 in the morning. she has never had to choose between paying rent and a new pair of monitors. so. fine.

here is what i did. i walked down to the corner. i recorded the bus hissing, two drunk guys arguing in polish, a child somewhere laughing at a drone that had got itself stuck in a tree. i layered it under a kick drum. it is the worst thing i have made in years. i love it.

the landlord is doing his lift-the-rent ritual again, the building keeps suggesting i open a window because the air is "below optimal," and i keep telling it to mind its own business. i am not optimal. i am working.

come visit. bring the cheap berlin cigarettes. we will make something nobody asked for.

N

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