Filed under: alltag, art, made in berlin, streetart | Tags: friedrichshain, home, ubiquitous streetart
THIS confronted me while I was meandering down Gärtnerstraße the other day.
For once I have little to say. Except that it somehow seems to just about sum it up, in terms of characterizing Friedrichshain.
Anyway anyway ladies and gentlemen stay tuned, I got up to all kinds of nonsense on Friday, meaning lots of food for my hungry blog. This handful of colorful and tasty treats coming at y’all is to include: a night of bouncing to way rad beats, a weird and wonderful dining experience, and (because I’m all about keepin’ it real in Fhain just now) an exclusive interview(ish) with the owner of one very special brand new store on Simon-Dach Straße. Tomorrow I will share it all with you. I tell you, this shit will be tight. Don’t be late, hear?
Dearest Dee*
Have been ruminating on your message for 2 months.
the time has come
What wilds are you in that you’re gallivanting with grizzlies? boats and fish and firepits. i see you wearing a vest, ideally with little bright feathery flies fluttering from the pockets.
My bare feet are cold in the kitchen, and suddenly it smells like autumn in the courtyard outside, the metallic tickle of unfiltered cold in the nostrils and dark tendrils of loamy burning woodsmoke that branch off into little twining fingers to untie strings and open little boxes in my brain marked “do NOT OPEN until xmas” but whoa that was quick theyve unleashed the kind of memories that start with a twist in the belly and nudge up through the gullet and twinkle out as little wet gems in the corners of the eyes.
I have so much to say but the thoughts are shy and wont be coaxed. I think i miss you very deeply, especially now, as i may have mentioned something to do with crunching leaves and the incredible precision of late summer sunlight.
Is it fitting or ironic that i think of you when the seasons change, arid emigré, desert deserter?
Drank far too much wine with some austr(al)ians at a party on thursday and have been a few days holed up in recovery, it’s making me feel vulnerable and wide-eyed, observing my life from some strange side-angle that feels uncharted and precarious.
Now, if i may, that is, how are things, Re that particular lady, saltysweet in your description? Still working on breaking the cycle of commitment anxiety and bad decisions, myself. American fiction and electronic music, Tom Waits and Saturday forays into Berlin’s shimmering darkness fill the void. Some exhilarating emotional kickpunch, of nostalgic wallowings superimposed on hungry searchings after newness.
Which reminds me that i hope to be home for christmas, that is if work allows. what are your holiday plans? Snowshoeing towards a distant curlicue of chimneysmoke where we’ll play midnight jenga until the spiked cocoa runs out. i hope?
Just one story to tide me over till our next adventure together? Oh please?
Sort of ridiculous quantities of love, silly but sharp and real like accidentally laughing too loud,
unwaveringly,
Elle*
*names of people, places altered beyond all hope of recognition to protect the identities of the innocent, unwitting, otherwise incognito
i wonder if it has meaning that, on a day when i’m on the cusp of making big changes and embarking on scary/thrilling new challenges, what should come wafting in my open window (besides the ubiquitous bus exhaust and döner fumes) but a beautiful dark butterfly.
he flittered and flattered about, allowed himself to drift back toward urban street freedom, thought better of it and landed on my favorite black pants. good taste, too.
his choice of sleek blackonblack, combined with ADDstyle lightspeed changes of heart, posed problems to my amateur photography skills and poor little canon powershot, with the result that i’ve unintentionally created a hidden objects puzzle.
satisfied with his portrait or at least having finally sat long enough, he lifted off toward whence he came.
closing the window behind him, i noticed a ladybug on the bedspread, whom i rescued, quietly hoping for karmic retribution.
Earlier I guess I promised a post about martinis but now that the time has come I suddenly feel there’s not much to say.
Use Tanqueray and not much vermouth.
Use olives and make it freezer frosty ice crystal cold.
Probably shouldn’t have more than 2.
I want to write about Berlin now so I will.
I’m moving there next Tuesday, this is very exciting.
Berlin is a spot unlike any other, it’s the implosion of everything; like the brushed aluminum surface of shiny dark Germany got hit by a neon meteor and nobody bothered to clean up, just let little space lichens take root in the crevasses and grow into a chittering surrealistic moonscape. Tidepool of esoteric cool.
