Sweatiest Basement, Pointiest Wind

Like myself, I wasn’t worried when we were running late for the bus, or when the Tabacci wouldn’t sell us bus tickets, or when the bus didn’t show up, or when the next bus was 18 minutes late.  Kamille was not amused.

I stood calmly in the non-EU line, told Kamille to go ahead, if I missed this flight I’d see her tomorrow. The visa check woman told me to rush, which made me uncomfortable, Kamille helped me take cuts in line, which made me uncomfortable. We ran to the gate, only to wait in another line for half an hour.

Always trust your gut, I guess, and mine says: “don’t feel rushed or be rude under any circumstances.”

“I am the idiot of this plane!” I announced, having sat in the wrong seat, then heaved my 20kg bag through the air like “check out my new dance move.” “You are not an idiot” said the person beside me. “I know” I said  “I’m actually the genius of this plane, did you see my new dance move?”

I had developed a cough over several days of disturbed REM cycles and coat-lack. I got some cough syrup right outside the stop for our next transfer and a beer at the späti next door. Kamille said “grazie” as the door swung behind us, then laughed.

Lying on Kamille’s bed, snuggling and naps intercepted with thoughts of the night’s plans, she offered me a piece of chocolate. I don’t know German ingredient words, but wondered if there were traces of animal products. “Oh well, you can’t assume all freegan chocolate will lack milk derivatives.” I thought. Oh, also, the chocolate was packed with psilocybin.

As we set out, I felt this clear transparent field over everything. I was a new lucid-me, peeking my head out over the atmosphere: “New drug, new feeling” I said, or something along those lines. And it was true.

The patterns of infrastructure, specifically within the framework of U-Bhan, were a reminder of how the built environment is our collective mind, all of us existing as one within it, and as it.

I sat in the crosshatch of yellow and blue, within clunky, serpentine train-movement, cracking open from some point in my sternum, becoming so spacious that there was no me to be anyway.

Hoku always said I should take mushrooms and I always said “no.” I wanted to write him a letter – let him know I had casually joined into a part of him that could never be accessed fully.

“The only part of Hoku that exists is me remembering him.
So I am Hoku right now.

Thanks Hoku.
I love you.”

Tears were streaming down my face. 

“We are just water with feelings” said Kamille. My trips in Berlin have been defined by the deconstruction of daily reality, and emotional transformations – particularly surrounding the death of loved ones. It was all matter of fact. I was my normal open self, but more so.

“It feels good to be here, inside the cold
It is a fun and “cool” experience…”

I laughed at my own joke, in the maze of construction, in the un-built cold, a cold that had nothing to do with our intentions, but which existed as something more real than our ideals.

From the pointiest wind to the sweatiest basement. Laughing in the line for the bathroom while not being in the line for the bathroom, talking with the fashion boys in the line for the bathroom: “Is that Prada, or Nada, and which one is more authentic?” 

Fonzi was with his two hot friends, in a literal underground. One of them like: “Berlin is sexy… but cool.” I gathered his tobacco, rolling it into three instances of forgotten cigarettes and a kiss on both cheeks. We separated out the sounds with our musculature, describing with our bodies some ways that its sculpture could work.

“Opposite rain room.”
“Undoing time in a scroll.”
“Reverse waterfall.”

(Fonzi and I talked about time and digital media).

 

In the morning Kamille and I stayed naked under diffused orange light. When we got up we went to a street market, walked through mud, muddled through mulled wine, ate falafel.

A man on the street asked to take our picture. For his fashion blog? JK, if this dude had a fashion blog I would be 2 very’s worth of surprised. Who knows why he wanted our images – to show to strangers on the metro? To curse us? That seems more likely.

We didn’t take a small shelf from the street. We went out for pho at the vegan Vietnamese place, with Fonzi. Walking back in the cold wind I sold the idea of continuing to do so, rather than wait for the metro.

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