Alaskan Heatwave

Out on the periphery, past the unreconstructed to the re-invented, a city in slow motion. Up off the leather, beyond the newspaper walls, up the stairs, across the landing and into the room. Beneath the blacked-out windows the chords are heavy and the screen is bright. Shades, hats and hair. Dishevelled, beleaguered but on the make: I think I know him… Reminds me of… Stop. Here she comes now. Out on the street now, beyond the curtain, beyond the brickwork baking in this sudden shock of summer, walking towards us as we step in and out of time, between Berlin, New York and Salford, between the darkness of the room and the black and white footage projected behind the drummer, playing out on an endless loop through the decades before and after this moment, walking forever towards us, until Caroline is here and the crowd part for her. Caroline is here between the analogue, the digital and the desperately real. Caroline lives and dies and lives again, the shards of glass removed from her fist, walking towards us on an endless loop. In Salford, in New York, in Berlin, Caroline lives and dies and lives again. An endless loop. She is the shards of glass removed from her fist. Here with us all between the analogue, the digital and the desperately real.

Berlin, The EPI

King’s Arms, Salford

3rd July 2015

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