what does one wear to a funeral party?

i've had all manner of fashion dilemmas in my life, but this one has sort of stumped me. as i write this, my iron four poster bed is thick with layers of:
black dresses, black skirts, black tights.
velvets and spandex and satins all clamouring for attention. and why? well.. tomorrow night is the closing party of the black jim gallery, so named "the funeral" . and i'm as distraught about it closing its doors, as i am to say goodbye to a good friend. because that space in its short lived life was in deed a great friend. a meeting of ideas and minds and creativity, a place anyone could walk into have a coffee and simply take the space in and talk art and make music and wonderwhat is it about this city that draws us in and keeps us here.

a year later from when i first mused about my city schizoprhenia, i'm now at peace with it. one hand in london, one hand in berlin, and a year ahead of leaving both cities behind to tour with a small crew of international poets to see places i've wondered about but never seen, brussels, lisbon, warsaw to name a few.

friday night and i'm in, with no plans to leave (although if i was steppiong out into the cold, i woudl be at bang bang club in the next hours to see waldemar, and then back to kreuzberg as my mate dara launches a new club night practically stumbing distance away ) but no, this infamous party going hedonist as plans for one thing alone this week/end, the closing party tomorrow. which by the way will be my last gig in berlin for months at least. and the line up is not only astonishing but exhausting, things kick off four thirtyish and keep going until ten, with new performers up every twenty minutes, so really you shoudl come down and pay your respects. i'm on at ten past seven, i'll be reading a couple stories, sat down in a chair and everything, and i've written a poem especially to say goodbye, which i'll only post here after the night. and i may even do a little.. singing. it will be far from my regular set. because when a place this special is ending, i've got to pull out all the stops to commemorate it. so my darlings, drag out all that is black, don a veil and such and come down tomorrow night to Waldemarstrasse 21 in the heart of Kreuzberg, Berlin.

xxx miss varjack


p.s. and yes i did mean to tell you some stories of the shoot for the music video for Waldemar's "the bohemian" but perhaps i'll let you more about that next week when the video is up out in the outside world.