Treptower Park

“Berlin is a city condemned always to become, never to be.” ~ Karl Scheffler

And I think Mark Twain had something similar in mind when he said:

“Berlin is the newest city I have come across. Even Chicago would appear old and gray in comparison.”

The city has reborn itself and/or changed personalities about 25 times since I’ve been here. That’s an average of about once every 2 weeks. There is always some new gem here to discover, and rediscover. Lately the gems have come in the way of parks, lakes and rivers. Wannsee. The Großer Müggelsee. Today I had what was probably the most enchanting bike ride of my life. I went through Treptower Park & the biergartens, along the River Spree and through the forestry.

I have a feeling I’m gonna be going back several times this summer.

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Thursday

it began with ping-pong,
& somewhere
wedged in there,
there was a bald israeli named nimrod passing through,
shots of jagermeister & mexikaner
a girl on the floor of a punkrock bar
(fallen)
& a guy
giggling maniacally about the fact that he’s willing to blow
every last cent
in his wallet in order to get everyone at your table as drunk as is humanly possible.

“entschuldingung,
another bottle of champagne,
bitte…”

(sunrise in berlin)

pealing
self
out of bed
the next afternoon
wasn’t the easiest of tasks,
needless
to say.

The Hoarding Horde

i never feel like more of an alien than i do when i’m walking through a flea market. i look at all the people crowding the tables, sifting through picture frames, lamps, binoculars, old clocks, toy trucks, picking up dishes, pulling out chairs and giving them a test-ride, so forth, poring over china, crappy paintings, etc.
i do not get it.
when i moved to germany, i came here with nothing
but whatever i could stuff in a backpack.
since then, i have attained a few books, a couple more pieces of clothing, and a printer. everything else just seems like clutter to me. i don’t wanna think about picture frames, i don’t wanna have to contemplate binoculars, toy trucks or old clocks.
but sometimes i look at people contemplating these things and i think,
“wait, maybe they’re right.
maybe desiring after little semi-useless possessions
is healthy
and sane. maybe there is some charm to it,
some magic in the items themselves.”
then i remember socrates.
there’s a story about how he was barefoot and walking
through the athenian marketplace. he stopped
suddenly, shook his head as if in disbelief.
“what is it, socrates?”
asked the guy that was with him. “i just can’t believe,” said socrates,
“how many things
there are in the world that i just don’t want.”

i concur.

(fuck things. fuck the need for them)…

Some Random Thoughts…

*People are much more interested in the artist than the art itself.
Hence the need for persona-cultivation
& the reason why people like Hunter S. Thompson crop up…
He never had much in the way of the word, but he was willing to play the monkey for the crowd.
Then,
of course, he forgot who he was and turned
into one.

*Art should lead a person up into the light, not drive his face down into a dungpile and keep it there.

*Praise and admiration
are like tanning lamps.
The light is false and will burn you eventually.

*Happiest is he who needs the least.

*The most fascinating nightmare
on the face
of the earth is the human face.

*You’ll never placate Time.

*The waking world is primarily a lie.

*Crazy people see everything. Even what’s not there.

*Not much scarier than a Christian with ammo.

*I didn’t choose to be a writer; being a writer chose me.
I didn’t choose to move to Germany; moving to Germany chose me, etc., ad infinitum, and on and on…

versus

i’ve been noticing two types of german women recently.
the first is in her early to mid-twenties, has silky hair and
babysmooth skin, elegant features & dresses
as though she just strode out of the pages of cosmo

life hasn’t bumped or scraped or even touched her yet
but her expression seems always touched with
snobbery & scorn. the second type
is somewhere between 33 and 54, stands about five-foot-null
face like sammy the bull gravano
bumprercrop of dyed mauvecolored hair
tits out to here
she could tear
the skin off a deer
with her bare
hands plant spectacular gardenias dance the drunken
trepek with one foot
tied behind her neck & the other pushing a bouncing
babybuggy
down a defunct shopping mall
escalator

this is the kind of woman
i wanna know
the kind
that’s actually developed
a soul

Görlitz, Germany

It’s my last morning in the beautiful town of Görlitz. I love this place. Nothing got ruined in WW2. Many of the churches and buildings are 500-700 years old. Jakob Boehme, the philosopher/mystic, is interred here. I think I could stay here forever. Get a little plot of land up in the mountains somewhere. Dry my clothes on a clothesline. Hang Easter eggs in the trees. Tend a garden. Grow roses & plant things like white asparagus, jalapenos, green peppers, tomatoes, onions, and so on.
And live out my days
until someone plants me.

But in the meantime, I’ve got places to go…

“You are crazy my child. You must go to Berlin, where the lunatics are.” ~ famous 19th century song

And people to see…

“People are like dirt. They can either nourish you and help you grow as a person or they can stunt your growth and make you wilt and die.” ~ Plato

And I already know I’m not gonna die.
Not in this lifetime anyway.

(Nosirree)…

There’s a train in the rain waiting for me…
and a book waiting
to write me.

Viva Berlin!

(&longlive
enriquepalazzo,theramblingsofmysticseverywhere…)