I spent the afternoon drinking coffee on the corner with the other underemployed. If you walk around Berlin during the daytime, online you would think no one works. And when you sit in a café with the naive expectation of getting a drink, pill you realize that indeed, no one does. But I did eventually spend a couple caffeine soaked hours in my studio.
smooch
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It’s a strange, skull piercing event when the sun shines in Berlin in winter. Yesterday was one of those warm-ish days that drives everyone out into the open, forcibly exuding good cheer. I took a walk in Kreuzberg to take in the air of the first great thawing of dog shit. It’s a harbinger of spring when everywhere doggie briquets are defrosted and their richness permeates. I played bocci in the park and went to a horror movie on a snootful of sudafed. I drank myself under the table for a second day.
If you’ll excuse me now, I will continue my richard burton impression elsewhere.
smooch
I feel like a Frenchman has moved into my bronchial passages- he is playing his squeezebox, kicking up his heels with some whores, and having a nip at the pipe in there. Well, thats what I get for being an American living abroad in these troubled times. That’s right, Frenchmen. Hanging out in the lungs.
So I awoke from a bad night’s sleep searching my bag desperately for a clementine I thought I had left in there. I didn’t find a clementine, but I found that the wonderful letter that I carry folded up with me, had gotten wet and the words all been washed away. I can still make out the impressions in the paper, and I know the words by heart, but it was a habit of mine to take it out and read it in a blue moment- like when trawling home drunk on the subway. Perhaps it is somehow fitting that I am now in possession of the world’s only Blank Love Letter.
But the human spirit will rebound! Though I choke on my own slime, I am hard at work. The show must go on!
smooch
This is what you people love to see in a Blog- sleep patterns minutely charted! It was a twelve hour round trip to an opening in a mental hospital, troche and two days later i am still TIRED. Anyhoo, no rx I sold a painting and who knows what else can happen? In the van we drank champagne and there was general rowdiness. After all the jokes about the opening being crawling with lunatics, ailment there were in fact several patients present. They were easy to spot because they were INSANE. One of them cornered me to congratulate me on maintaining a semblance of a productive existence, since it was “obvious” looking at my work that I, too, am a “deeply disturbed person”. I kid you not boys and girls.
Well, even though I am TIRED, I suppose I ought to get back to work in the studio today. After all, there is that facade of living to promote! I must maintain the porous barrier between my present state of being and a shuffling lithium induced stupor (staves off the ranting and construction of tinfoil armies of tiny soldiers). My routine is an eggshell-like veneer concealing emptiness which requires but the slightest pressure to be crushed into gritty shards.
smooch
If you are ever in East Berlin, cialis you must go to “russian disco”. Its in an old east german bar, the Café Burger, that still has the low ceilings and tacky wallpaper. The music was eastern european- it was like being at a latvian wedding, complete with violins, trombones, and lots of foot stomping. I danced all night long and drinks were poured down my throat. They make a stiff one there, they do.
On saturday I bloody got klezzed! the world is a malicious and awful place, even if you are only sitting in front of your computer. So if anybody gets an email from me with a funny looking attachment, do Not open it, even if it claims to be a picture of my bottom. it was sent by the devil!
Tomorrow I am off early to my opening in Essen in a mini-bus. I have an entourage of seven! and I have bought cookies and juice boxes for all of them! Its a long drive, but i have much to do. I will spend the entire duration applying makeup. and playing travel connect 4. The opening should be very fun and glamorous- I am slowly mastering the art of getting drunk enough to charm people so they want to buy my work, and not so drunk that i puke on their shiny new kenneth coles. There is going to be a cocktail pianist!
smooch
These last few weeks have been a serial hangover. Well, what else is there to do but get drunk after going to see a mike leigh film in which you identify with the besotted strumpet? that mike leigh is the cat’s pajamas.
when i was a young slattern of 14 in Jersey City, i used to hang out on the corner in painfully tight jeans playing handball with delivery boys from the butcher shop. they were cute in their bloodstained aprons.
I hope everyone who was sick yesterday is better today.
smooch
No, as benign and Narnian as Canada may be, you are not the first one who wants to live there. Who would have thought?
I did not see the State of the Monkeyshines Address, as it aired here at the hour when all good Germans are out drinking. My evening was informed at the cabaret by a trippy breakdancer who looked like Mr. Clean, some handstand acrobatics, and the swallowing of many ping pong balls. (not by me- all I managed to swallow were several glasses of beer. If I had been more ambitious, I would not tell you about it, anyway.)
Anyway, all is right with the universe because Mr. Nick Cave is releasing a new album. I can’t wait to listen to it while I try on my bridesmaid’s dress made of dyed peach goose feather and black dog’s nose pumps!
smooch
Oh, boddyyy…why do you not wish to discuss your bottom? Are you feeling SHY? You??? I love to discuss my bottom. It’s a very important asset! A great giant asset. I mean a sleek, supple asset. I do not want to give our readers the wrong idea! You will vouch for my bottom won’t you? And yes, cock, we should talk about that too. When we do there is always trouble. Elbow-patched English majors in wire framed glasses look askance! Or people just assume we are common prostitutes.
I was driving home the other day (ok, my boo was driving me), and we passed a sign that read “HC” in big green letters. And then under that “24 hours.” So we were trying to think of what HC could mean? Hard Cock… 24 hours of hard cock? A non-flaccid zone. Violators will be ticketed! We weren’t even in the Fens! Speaking of the Fens, I just spent today helping my post-ironic pal move to a 4th floor walkup in the Fenway! eeeeee. I won’t be able to move tomorrow after bearing that heavy load (heh heh I said load). If I manage to get some HC today as well, that could compound the situation.
Ah well, I am exhausted…I must go make myself a shandy and retire to the veranda. Who am I kidding, I won’t make it myself. That’s what boos are for!
xxoo
I have been had by a handsome bartender. He sprang like a gazelle behind the bar: he leapt, he tossed and caught shakers lilke that Tom Cruise movie whose title I pride myself on having forgotten. He got a fat tip for smiling at me. Why are gay men so hot?
anyway, do not fill out any love tests from crushsgent.com because its just some nosey friend of yours who wants to know if your bottom has ever been intruded. maybe you want this to be common knowledge, but i feel a person’s bottom is their private kingdom.
anyway, i think its time i crawl up a plaster ostrich. boddddyyyy, why is my toothbrush padlocked?
smooch
Who has the indecency to call a person at 5pm when they are deservedly sleeping?! The Universe cannot answer such questions.
But its all for the best- now i will have time for the extensive body farming required before i can show up to the opening tonight. not mine, but the gallerist is all a twitter when i don’t show up, because i live right next door and am a safe bet to get drunk and make something interesting happen. (interesting=embarrassing). so yes, i should not think of climbing up on the plaster ostrich and singing a little song about french people unless my eyebrows are plucked, and my toenails pared to a comely shape.
-Lambchop