New York

Arrived in New York. No hassle at customs (apart from being fingerprinted, of course). I'm still pretty phased to be here, to be so far from the lands I've so far visited (i.e. Europe), to be somewhere so curiously familiar and alien. Have to say I'm loving it so far.

Firstly, although I've not found time to fully write up my thoughts and feelings about the Framemakers Symposium that I recently attended in Limerick, Ireland, I want to let it be known that there was a fine bunch of inspirational people over there, and I hope some of those connective sparks that flew start fires that'll burn for a good while yet. Thanks to Michael Klien, Steve Valk, and especially Jeffrey Gormly, for organising the event, and so generously inviting me despite my reticence about engaging in public debate and discussion. Their genuine appreciation of my rather meagre, informal contributions to the event was heart-warming. Thanks too, of course, to Laura, Róisín, Gabby, Ella, and everyone else working to keep it all running smoothly. And thanks to the participants I met, who gave so much: Daneil Vais, Joel Cahen, Nicole Peisl, Alan Shapiro, Stefan Hau, Gustine, Itsy, Ralf, Sabine Maier, the La Basta! youth collective from Dublin, and everyone else involved.

So I'm here in New York, and it's hot. Hot, sticky and muggy. London's got nothing on the summer stickiness here! The sporadic thunderstorms barely clear the air.

I headed straight for 14th St. Union Square on arrival. I resisted soundtracking my first impressions with headphones when I got on the subway, as I wanted to absorb the rich mix of languages and accents around me - and soon I realised playing music wasn't necessary. As Euclid Avenue flashed by, Tom Waits was already singing in my head, the first of a long train of lyrical associations that spin off the placenames here.

The cliche is kind of true; it is like the movies. Only, the actual experience made me sharply realise how much films lack smell. And this isn't a Hicksian dig at urine odours. New York has such a unique medley of aromas, some good, some not so good, all rich and pungent and amazingly different from London.

At Union Square I collapsed, hot and tired, onto a bench, and just sat there soaking in the heady stew of humidity, noise, people and iconic images (like yellow cabs) made flesh. The steps and small green space there are like a crash course in the anthropology of contemporary American youth. Goths, skaters, punks, breakdancers, queers, hippies, all idling and cavorting, mixing with the ever-changing flow of tourists, office workers and teen girl gangs.

A small woman, who looked to be of Central American origins, sat next to me on the bench. Her book on learning English was open at a page showing a shop scenario for learning vital vocabulary: "I'd like to buy a Sony colour TV".

Having a ball at the moment chatting almost constantly with Jason Louv, who's literally putting the finishing touches to his imminent collection of essays on contemporary occultism, Generation Hex. Connections, connections, connections...