Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Berlin Es Stink
I forgot to write about the Tajikistan tea house where I had canadian tea with whisky and maple syrup. It was on the first floor of a palace
I forgot to write about the vagabond german artisans we met who have to live off thier skills for at least 3 years and one day before returning home.
I forgot to write about wandering the streets with a bottle of cheap champange making jokes about raping in alleys.
But I've moved on, maybe
In the train yesterday I thought the sun was melting- dribbling yelow all over the fields. I listened to sufjan and got teary.
[ i fell in love again. all things go. all things go.]
I've been writing down ideas for projects, drinking tequila sunrises, and failing at writing a goddamn word.
Here is the heart of it: all of europe is praying in front of the world cup, while I am throwing hail mary's at the cracked sidewalks searching desperately for conversational salvation.
I leave you with this quote, from the map of prague I have:
"You must not mind that the poet is a drunk, just that every drunk is not a poet."