a quickie—from Berlin | must reads

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a quickie—from Berlin

I remember a few years ago, moving around in Berlin.

I remember the young intellectuals with their well-read minds and fall out fashions. Hopeful multicultural families, often young and new to it all. Ping pong tables where there used to be rubble, wedged between apartment blocks. Anti-capitalist all-night, no memory required weekend parties. Something always ripping. The smells of pot and meat cooking. Open conversation until a need it now energy took over. Dance and party. Music and smoke felt close all summer. A market, kebab and call it with drink.

Berlin is a time rich cash poor but used city, with few social rules. Parks on spring mornings, kids and infants pushed in prams. Dads with bandanas and sandals. Mums too. An earthy spirit and mind. How easily Berliners moved among the young African men—lean and labelled, of Görlitzer Park. Yellow grass. I remember change feeling familiar. Flea markets with piles of books, tables, lightbulbs attached to black wire. A counterculture bookstore in Schoneberg that hosted writers from everywhere.

A west side place not far from where Bowie, Iggy, Cave and others once holed up, living in a place, nearby past. How the owner of the local bookstore was Indian, called Siddhartha. Haupstrasse, before Urbanstrasse, and Kreuzberg. I remember subletter living, memories of new faces and square metres and the different Kiez’s I lived in moving in their own ways, moods.  I remember end of summer Berlin. Beehives between trees at a Kreuzberg flea and food market with good pizza. Beer bottles. I remember thinking, in a year no one here will be the same person. Being bi-sexual discussed in the public spaces of Kreuzberg.

I miss strolling the Landwehr Canal bi-weekly clothes market. Willow trees and eateries where Swans silhouette water in pairs. Every language. Accents, many American ones I never heard before. German people, of course. Looks and smokes and cafés. The got up early and not gone home yet crowds meeting for a good Sunday—eyes ready. Some cared for clothing available to buy, at discount. How easy it was to talk about things, everything from a stoic studier of bees to going for it, high on M in a cubicle with X.

The walls of cities matter. In Berlin, what usually happened pressed or stained walls, graffiti ink sweat. Apartment block courtyards with more bikes chained to rails, and plants and concealed seating. Someone waving from above. Summer dresses and baggy jeans. Really fun bridges to hangout on and get lit with people. Night goodbyes.

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