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Scummy notebook scans; concocted during an alfoil haze in Berlin, July '10. The brief time spent there seems a little fictional in retrospect - an alcoholic pot dealer admonishes for a badly rolled rollie: "Zat is no cigarette for a dark angel to smoke, let me be your hero." Abandoned spy towers where opera singers take advantage of the acoustics in the motherdome. Cycling. Mauerpark and vestiges of the Wall. Outdoor karaoke w thousands of spectators. Massive punk squats. Turkish men sweating in the kitchen, there is a language barrier but mutual hammerish interests. "No dogs no Gods and no Burzum tshirts." Hot chips w mayo. Summer love affair. Goth club. Great friends. Cheap beer. One weekend we jumped a train headed for the Black Forest but overslept and woke up in The Netherlands
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| Kreuzberg Dawn |
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