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On the 18th floor of a hotel in another city and there is a huge window looking out. It is like ‘Lost in Translation’, that wonderful film with Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson, where as two people adrift, they spend a strange interlude in Japan, with much time spent looking out over the lights of the city from the hotel.

This hotel has peaceful zen-like music playing on the television when you arrive. The desk here is well-positioned so you can write and look out. It’s all beech and linen and grey and light timber tones with a large brown vase illuminated here above me. ‘Lost in Translation’ is a perfect metaphor for this state.

How I need silence, absence, space and a place to breathe and write. If ‘lost in translation’ is about being a little stuck in a world you can’t quite be fluent in, then that captures it.

Or am I lost in transition? There is another language I wish to write in, another world I wish to capture. It is about this space, these colours, this window, and speaks of more through some deep breathing in of silence and space. Oxygen, stars, dark night, and a stream of steady cars that line a highway heading east.

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