if the spot
began to itch
we ran
for whiskey
for winstons
for weed
it usually didn't
and sometimes always did
we never knew
those days
yet after
we couldn't imagine
having lived
never wanting
such things
always
the feeling
in our knees
that it must
have been
worth it
6.08.2011
giving/taking
I sit
on the edge
of a river
watching
the current
move
away
I think
I might let
the river
take me
gently
there
a bridge
in the distance
and me
at the wall
scraping moss
beneath
my fingernails
6.07.2011
6.06.2011
deutschland
En route to the Berlin Zoo (clearly top priority) my first bright 78 degree morning there, I fondle my still half asleep brain for some answers from my friend and translator for the trip, Thomas. "Germany's leading export has got to be beer, right?" I entertain these questions in each respective city I visit. It makes me feel better for not having brushed up on my history and/or daily news before arriving. The lack of global information must have left me slightly narrow minded. "Um, look around.." he says, like I must be the most obnoxiously stupid person on the face of the earth. Oh right. I totally forgot about all the BMWs, Porsches, and Audis lining the clean wide street. "Never mind", I said. "Beer's still gotta be up there, somewhere..."
At the Berlin Zoo, which has the greatest diversity of species in the world, I was for the first time in my life introduced to the heavenly effects of spring in a city that is more nature than city. Pollen. Huge chunks of it. Like snow didn't get the memo winter was over. Like snow that falls but doesn't melt. Like snow you can pick up and blow away without making it disappear. Total fucking ruins for people with allergies, but a walk in a fairytale for me. And despite the pungent smell of animals and the excrement that comes with their cuteness, one still gets a nice wiff of lavender, always present in the thin German air.
But on to more riveting details.
Grungy in a clean way, naturally bad-ass, spaciously green yet crowded with psuedo-hipsters who would probably give you a nice black eye if they knew you were calling them that, and oh i dont know, just about any word that means the same thing as cool.
Cool. Berlin is really fucking cool. Without making any speedy comparisons, it kind of has that New York vibe of "this is how it is, take it or leave it." On the wet evening that I arrived, the city felt welcoming without trying to be welcoming at all. Although my cab driver from the airport to the hotel spoke no English, she could read the address to the Best Western just fine, despite that she couldn't tell me how long it would take to get there. Berlin shows it's character at night, given it is a rumble of vivacious life when most cities go to die for a few hours. New York is a city that undoubtedly never sleeps. But Berlin is a city that makes sure not to sleep at night.
Me and a couple of friends, our itineraries set on making it past the exclusively nausea inducing knees-buckling bouncer at the world famous Berghain, decide to start the night early. It goes to say that there is no true start to any night because we'd already been drinking beer since noon. Pretty darn good beer. We walk with large Berliners in hand, we take the Uban/metro with half consumed large Berliners in hand, we exit the metro with now empty large Berliners in hand and lo and behold, are we at a club already? The metro is nothing short of a party worth paying for except its free and totally unprecedented - loud music pumping from a boombox (people still own those?), 30+ people noodling to the beats, and great profit for the grocery man whose luck has it on his location this night - you can find mini groceries in all Berlin metro stations, and they all sell beer obviously, Germany's leading export. Okay, that was a joke. After much excited stalling and non-stop mentioning of how fucking cool this city is that it can just have a party wherever and whenever the hell it wants, we proceed to a place that is just about ready to knock all the shock value I have left in me, out.
[Note: This is not Berghain.]
Berghain. The mecca for house lovers that has a camera check at the door. Not fair. But it adds to the certain discretion the place carries with its name. Entering Berghain is not only entering an enormous abandoned power plant, but more like sending yourself into space. Better defined as a playground for adults where anything goes, the possibilities of finding things to do inside are endless, and the limits nonexistent. Besides the multiple bars and dance floors decked with 14 foot high speakers that send the hairs on your body for an invigorating ride, one can also find creepy, dark private rooms designed for the most perverted/impatient of tastes, quiet spots for giving those dancing fevers a break, a cafe serving muffins, sandwiches, coffee, and delicious ice cream too rich in flavor to even finish, a smoker's box (even though you can smoke anywhere you wish) which hangs off the top of the building like a calculated architectural mistake composed entirely of one-way glass, and my personal favorite - giant swings. Yes, on top of all the booze, stimulants, and sweets one can desire, there is a place for you swing on while enjoying all three. Party-goers are usually in for the entire weekend, considering when my friends left time-warp at 3pm the next day, the line to get inside was well around the block. The greatest extravagance behind a nightclub of this epic nature is that it is designed with the clientele's best interest in mind. It might be hard to spend more than 6 hours inside without dappling in some illegal temptation but it can be done, and if your party mojo has not completely deteriorated like mine, you will find there is no reason for leaving Berghain until the doors are closed shut for the week. The lack of mirrors in the bathrooms is also a great little touch for never really knowing, or caring, when you look like you need to go home. It goes without saying, but I'm going to say it anyway, that if you know anything about partying hard, this is a stop not to be missed.
While most of my memory of Berlin remains in dingy corners of swept up cigarette butts, smudged on graffiti stained walls, swimming in nearly empty beer bottles left for recycling (Germans are very strict on this), or somewhere in between my first drink and my last, I could not, even if I wanted to, forget the rich badass-ness of this city.
// Update: Because of the recent vegetable E-coli scare surfacing from Germany, I have for the past 2 hours read more articles than need-be in hopes of finding out everything there is to know about this unsightly epidemic. As I am forced to recall everything I have eaten during my stay in Berlin, which has proven impossible because I eat too much (have a Doner if ever there) , I understand how truly grave our measly human lives are. Dying a veggie death is by no means a very honorable one, and the thought of that possibility left me wondering why on earth a week ago I decided to give up all real food for a vegetable only diet. This is some sort of sign, right? Either that or I've set myself up for the most cowardly death of the year award. So because I have been munching solely on tomatoes, cucumbers, and lettuce and the weird strain of dire consequence E-coli has been found in tomatoes, cucumbers, and lettuce... fuck, perhaps I should be writing a sentimental farewell letter to my family instead.
Anyway, despite what your mother may preach, DO NOT EAT YOUR VEGGIES!
At least for now. Hypochondria is not fun.
And go to Berlin when all this agricultural shit clears.
At the Berlin Zoo, which has the greatest diversity of species in the world, I was for the first time in my life introduced to the heavenly effects of spring in a city that is more nature than city. Pollen. Huge chunks of it. Like snow didn't get the memo winter was over. Like snow that falls but doesn't melt. Like snow you can pick up and blow away without making it disappear. Total fucking ruins for people with allergies, but a walk in a fairytale for me. And despite the pungent smell of animals and the excrement that comes with their cuteness, one still gets a nice wiff of lavender, always present in the thin German air.
But on to more riveting details.
Grungy in a clean way, naturally bad-ass, spaciously green yet crowded with psuedo-hipsters who would probably give you a nice black eye if they knew you were calling them that, and oh i dont know, just about any word that means the same thing as cool.
Cool. Berlin is really fucking cool. Without making any speedy comparisons, it kind of has that New York vibe of "this is how it is, take it or leave it." On the wet evening that I arrived, the city felt welcoming without trying to be welcoming at all. Although my cab driver from the airport to the hotel spoke no English, she could read the address to the Best Western just fine, despite that she couldn't tell me how long it would take to get there. Berlin shows it's character at night, given it is a rumble of vivacious life when most cities go to die for a few hours. New York is a city that undoubtedly never sleeps. But Berlin is a city that makes sure not to sleep at night.
Me and a couple of friends, our itineraries set on making it past the exclusively nausea inducing knees-buckling bouncer at the world famous Berghain, decide to start the night early. It goes to say that there is no true start to any night because we'd already been drinking beer since noon. Pretty darn good beer. We walk with large Berliners in hand, we take the Uban/metro with half consumed large Berliners in hand, we exit the metro with now empty large Berliners in hand and lo and behold, are we at a club already? The metro is nothing short of a party worth paying for except its free and totally unprecedented - loud music pumping from a boombox (people still own those?), 30+ people noodling to the beats, and great profit for the grocery man whose luck has it on his location this night - you can find mini groceries in all Berlin metro stations, and they all sell beer obviously, Germany's leading export. Okay, that was a joke. After much excited stalling and non-stop mentioning of how fucking cool this city is that it can just have a party wherever and whenever the hell it wants, we proceed to a place that is just about ready to knock all the shock value I have left in me, out.
Berghain. The mecca for house lovers that has a camera check at the door. Not fair. But it adds to the certain discretion the place carries with its name. Entering Berghain is not only entering an enormous abandoned power plant, but more like sending yourself into space. Better defined as a playground for adults where anything goes, the possibilities of finding things to do inside are endless, and the limits nonexistent. Besides the multiple bars and dance floors decked with 14 foot high speakers that send the hairs on your body for an invigorating ride, one can also find creepy, dark private rooms designed for the most perverted/impatient of tastes, quiet spots for giving those dancing fevers a break, a cafe serving muffins, sandwiches, coffee, and delicious ice cream too rich in flavor to even finish, a smoker's box (even though you can smoke anywhere you wish) which hangs off the top of the building like a calculated architectural mistake composed entirely of one-way glass, and my personal favorite - giant swings. Yes, on top of all the booze, stimulants, and sweets one can desire, there is a place for you swing on while enjoying all three. Party-goers are usually in for the entire weekend, considering when my friends left time-warp at 3pm the next day, the line to get inside was well around the block. The greatest extravagance behind a nightclub of this epic nature is that it is designed with the clientele's best interest in mind. It might be hard to spend more than 6 hours inside without dappling in some illegal temptation but it can be done, and if your party mojo has not completely deteriorated like mine, you will find there is no reason for leaving Berghain until the doors are closed shut for the week. The lack of mirrors in the bathrooms is also a great little touch for never really knowing, or caring, when you look like you need to go home. It goes without saying, but I'm going to say it anyway, that if you know anything about partying hard, this is a stop not to be missed.
While most of my memory of Berlin remains in dingy corners of swept up cigarette butts, smudged on graffiti stained walls, swimming in nearly empty beer bottles left for recycling (Germans are very strict on this), or somewhere in between my first drink and my last, I could not, even if I wanted to, forget the rich badass-ness of this city.
// Update: Because of the recent vegetable E-coli scare surfacing from Germany, I have for the past 2 hours read more articles than need-be in hopes of finding out everything there is to know about this unsightly epidemic. As I am forced to recall everything I have eaten during my stay in Berlin, which has proven impossible because I eat too much (have a Doner if ever there) , I understand how truly grave our measly human lives are. Dying a veggie death is by no means a very honorable one, and the thought of that possibility left me wondering why on earth a week ago I decided to give up all real food for a vegetable only diet. This is some sort of sign, right? Either that or I've set myself up for the most cowardly death of the year award. So because I have been munching solely on tomatoes, cucumbers, and lettuce and the weird strain of dire consequence E-coli has been found in tomatoes, cucumbers, and lettuce... fuck, perhaps I should be writing a sentimental farewell letter to my family instead.
Anyway, despite what your mother may preach, DO NOT EAT YOUR VEGGIES!
At least for now. Hypochondria is not fun.
And go to Berlin when all this agricultural shit clears.
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