Hello dear,
Thank you for your email. I’m currently out of office, out of cigarette filters, out of touch, and out of sync with all man-made concepts of time. (I do keep a calendar, but it’s mostly decorative.)
Despite vicious speculation circulated by former collaborators and current muses, I am not in Ibiza. I am not at Burning Man. I am not in love. I am in hiding, in Mitte, in silence, in a fugue state.
My inbox is closed until further notice. My third eye, however, remains wide open to telepathic transmissions, existential alerts, synthetic epiphanies, and revelations of erotic nature.
My windows are open, too. The sun’s still out. The sky is rehearsing its exit. I can witness it all without getting out of bed.
Should your inquiry be urgent, I strongly encourage you to go outside. Not in a mental-health-walk sense. In a very literal, Berlin-summer sense. Lean against the Späti window on Torstraße and pretend you’re waiting for someone important. Watch the wasps commit petty crimes. Ask yourself whether the person you miss would recognize you in this state. That usually clarifies things.
If your message is romantic in nature, please be advised: I will only be accepting new entanglements via handwritten letters. I will not be responding to any DMs, particularly those containing the words “hey stranger,” “where you at?,” “pull up,” and “no pressure.” Exceptions may be made for unsolicited compliments, photos of altar candles, screenshots of unresolved arguments, or declarations of lifelong loyalty.
If your request is professional, I ask you to inhale, exhale, eat a piece of fruit, and consult your higher self. Do we really need this right now? Will it age like wine or like shrimp? Have you considered the possibility that the KPI is karmic? Could it be that the deck is already inside you?
I am communing with a pile of unsorted laundry. I am rejecting all linear goals and deliverable-based realities. I am not asking questions I do not want answered. I am not attending the Soho House pool party I RSVP’d to because I do not, at this time, possess the moral stamina—or the spiritual elasticity—to engage with inflatable flamingos.
Should all go according to prophecy, Mitte Monthly will resume its regularly scheduled programming in September. Until then: don’t be too reachable.
Warm regards,
Dima Samarin