before i start this post i have to say something terrible: I am at Starbucks. Yeah, because of the internet access. and it s kinda fun to be here after having worked my ass off at the very much the same looking Starbucks coffeeshop in Berlin.
But thats not the most terrible thing to admit right now. My nephew is sitting right next to me, painting me. Now thats lovely in itself, I support artistic development of our kiddos, but guess what he just did: He sat there in the couch, singing happily: "I take you to the coffee shop...."
Yeah, Mr. 50 Cent, you got them all.
And now, fuck off. Please.
I know that I've stated several times that I like that song, because of Mr. God is a DJ. Thats all, it has personal value so to say and I am prejudiced, I don't have a near to objective point of view here....but I DO THINK that this shit is for adults only. I hate the thought of young teenagers thinking they have to lick the lollipop just because it seems to be cool.
Of course, they should do that if they find they like it, but not at the vulnerable age of 12 to 15, if you ask me.
but thats just my humble opinion...anyways.
so now back to my original post:
there is a german proverb that says: to dance on the counter' and it pretty much means literally dancing on the counter, which is of course a sign of a wild party of the sort we like it....it means everybody went sorta nuts and everybody let their inhibitions go and dance wildly and freely, um, yeah, on the counter.(see link)
So, during my last nights in Berlin, my beloved, beloved Berlin, I had to go out with my beloved Mira a last time, as we've spent pretty much the whole last year partying together (it sounds more than it was..I mean, we were hard working students, really, lol, and, um, yes, we didn't go out THAT often....teeheee...)
Now, every single time she and I went out together, something crazy happened.(clap!clap!) My god, actually, when I started blogging I kept thinking 'oh jeeeesus, I have to write this down!' whenever we happened to indulge into Berlin's beautiful, cheap and wild nightlife....
Well, towards the end of our nights in Berlin we, um, for some reason, I swear I NEVER THOUGHT THAT WOULD HAPPEN, but we happened to kiss each other, more than once or twice....sweet sweet kisses, I say, and no regrets... ;-)
So, our last night together in Berlin, she and I pretty tired and freezing (yes, this summer bloody sucked this year in Berlin!) at Bar 25. We felt like, yeah, this is our last night out and we chill like that, thats a betrayal....Sitting in the way too comfortable couches just in front of the Spree (our river), electronic sound surrounded us....I fell asleep. When I woke up again I saw her talking to this guy....Yeah, now THATS my Mira! Always up for a chitchat with some sexy motherfucker!
Tired I join the conversation and within a few moments each of us held a hard drink in the hand and the guy was like "um, do you want to go dancing?"
Mira and I looked at each other and laughed. Yeah, we have to want. We know we don't want, but we know as well we have to want. It s our last night. So we better do!
On our way back in he suddenly stops and goes like:"oh i know a way better place in Kreuzberg. Wanna come? I pay the taxi..."
Mira and I look at each other.
A broad smile appears on her face. Oh you crazy motherfucker! I know you'll say yes!
The taxi stops. We look out and - the bar we stopped in front of is - dark. Nobody there.
The guy, lets call him, um, Arkan, stands already in the door "come on!"
Hesitatingly we look at him.
"it s my bar! come on, it s warm and we can have whatever drinks we like!"
Now, thats cool, and I love that kind of crazy things happening in my life, but I am also not totally naive and stupid. I know that and when I have to be cautious. I know that I can trust my intuition and that I can handle situations of a certain kind, so I whisper into Mira's ear "yeah, lets go!"
A piano.
I start playing. Music fills the air, I regret not having practiced enough but I love it so much.
He mixes some cocktails, the light is smooth like honey and Mira looks just beautiful down there.
I love her like that. It s our time now. Our time....
We sit down, smoke fine cigarettes and drink....suddenly the music switches over to some hot funk. OH MY GOD!
The sound swirls through the air, hits me in the middle of a drag of the cigarette, untightens my reason and baths me in a sudden rush of love to my heart.....haha, reading this ....hahaha. that sounds cheesy. yeah.
*chuckles*
well okay. we dance and dance, I am loose and so is the guy.
One glance in his eyes and I know what he is about to say!
"LETS DANCE ON THE COUNTER"
yeah!
wild joy of love to life fills me....I get on the counter and start dancing like its my last dance....Mira is still hesitating but I know sooner or later she'll join. She drinks life like an old Irish bastard Guiness.
Just the both of us up there. boy, this guy is lucky. As a guy, I would have loved to see that. She is so tender. She is so smooth and her moves just so .... find a word for me, please~!
He opens up a bottle of champaign, and oh my god how freakin cheesy! splashes it all over us. Mira and I giggle, we can't stop. Thats too much.....
Her tongue all over my face....Or is it my tongue on her face? the champaign pearls taste like sparkeling stardust...her tongue is sweet and .... it s a girl's tongue! Her hands are soft and fragile....The moment is full of love....and when he is gone....to use the bathroom or whatever.....we start kissing......kisses like the rising sun, on the counter, dancing on the counter.....once in a lifetime....
and we did it. Gosh, girl, we had our dance on the counter! There is nothing that can take this memory away from us, never!
And I love you for being so crazy and daring and joyfully alive!
That was surely the climax of the evening...the guy later invited three of his friends and that fucked the atmosphere up...they were, as opposed to him, quite obviously horny and just not gentlemen...he was, thats for sure, he was....but a pretending gentlemen but I would be the last to accuse him for wanting to have a threesome joy that night....i mean, thats perfectly allright, as long as you can handle reality!!!
although he polittely asked why one kiss would matter and even tried to kiss me, he couldn't make it and didn't. because, as I said before, I know how to handle this kind of thing. I know when to stop....
In the grocery store across the street I invited Mira for breakfast.
Black coffee and croissants.
We looked at each other....and laughed
The poor guy, she said, giggeling, the poor guy........
Friday, September 30, 2005
Monday, September 26, 2005
raven
when she was 15 she woke up every morning at 4 AM, or whenever the sun rose, to watch birds. she knew every single one in her little village and she often fell asleep under a bush or tree in the morning dew.
it was an intense life back then, it was as fresh as you can imagine and it was as sad as you wouldn't expect.
reading and writing about the way the dove, the stork and the eagle were perceived in different cultures and traditions, which role they played and eventually why was her struggle, she struggled and succeeded.
the mystery of nature is something we are very apt to forget in our cities. when birds sing its just birds. it s not further defined because its not important.
right then, move on, it will become important as soon as the chain is broken and we threatened by sth bigger than ourselves.
ravens were the only thing missing, the missing link. she always kept in her mind that she actually wanted to complete her research with ravens. the dove, the stork, the eagle, - it was the raven missing. the messenger of death, the other world but also wealth, - often associated with witches, highly appreciated by native tribes all over the wolrd.
whenever she saw ravens or related birds she would remember the promise she gave herself, the promise to investigate the mystery of the ravens.
the unsolved problem was wrapped with more unsolved problems. pedro, for example. oh pedro, you make me sigh, make my heart feel as heavy as concrete....drugs, abuse, indifference, loss, journey...
the trip to los angeles was a leap into the unknown, born in a cold grey november london morning in 2004. where does my life take me to? will i ever find steady love? will i be right here?
no matter where you go
there you are
down close to third street promenade she saw a guy driving on an enormously high bike, built out of two bikes. in the tradition of her sister she opened the window: hey sexy babe!
usually thats a drive by comment but unfortunately or should i say, fortunately this guy happened to go to the same shop as they went. they both smiled, being aware of the akward embarrassment of the situation...
can i drive your bike?
when you are back.
when she got out of the shop he let her drive. she was good at it and enjoyed the wind in her hair.
toni toni, look, don t you think thats freaking cool?
crazy girl the guy said. crazy girl.
his name is raven.
i am sure they both felt the connection, the smiles were talking their own language....
he invited her to a party he throws on friday. said he maybe would trade a bike like this for a painting (usually would charge about 200 $)
where are you from
berlin
welcome then in california!
she freaked out in the car.
look look she said. thats what i m talking about. this is how my life works. going with the flow and things happen. he is an artist and no matter what, a great connection.
happy she rolls herself together in the back of the car.
raven is his name
raven
it was an intense life back then, it was as fresh as you can imagine and it was as sad as you wouldn't expect.
reading and writing about the way the dove, the stork and the eagle were perceived in different cultures and traditions, which role they played and eventually why was her struggle, she struggled and succeeded.
the mystery of nature is something we are very apt to forget in our cities. when birds sing its just birds. it s not further defined because its not important.
right then, move on, it will become important as soon as the chain is broken and we threatened by sth bigger than ourselves.
ravens were the only thing missing, the missing link. she always kept in her mind that she actually wanted to complete her research with ravens. the dove, the stork, the eagle, - it was the raven missing. the messenger of death, the other world but also wealth, - often associated with witches, highly appreciated by native tribes all over the wolrd.
whenever she saw ravens or related birds she would remember the promise she gave herself, the promise to investigate the mystery of the ravens.
the unsolved problem was wrapped with more unsolved problems. pedro, for example. oh pedro, you make me sigh, make my heart feel as heavy as concrete....drugs, abuse, indifference, loss, journey...
the trip to los angeles was a leap into the unknown, born in a cold grey november london morning in 2004. where does my life take me to? will i ever find steady love? will i be right here?
no matter where you go
there you are
down close to third street promenade she saw a guy driving on an enormously high bike, built out of two bikes. in the tradition of her sister she opened the window: hey sexy babe!
usually thats a drive by comment but unfortunately or should i say, fortunately this guy happened to go to the same shop as they went. they both smiled, being aware of the akward embarrassment of the situation...
can i drive your bike?
when you are back.
when she got out of the shop he let her drive. she was good at it and enjoyed the wind in her hair.
toni toni, look, don t you think thats freaking cool?
crazy girl the guy said. crazy girl.
his name is raven.
i am sure they both felt the connection, the smiles were talking their own language....
he invited her to a party he throws on friday. said he maybe would trade a bike like this for a painting (usually would charge about 200 $)
where are you from
berlin
welcome then in california!
she freaked out in the car.
look look she said. thats what i m talking about. this is how my life works. going with the flow and things happen. he is an artist and no matter what, a great connection.
happy she rolls herself together in the back of the car.
raven is his name
raven
Saturday, September 24, 2005
amazing grace. lets join the blabbing bubble dubble gubble :)
my brother in law just showed me the 1928 movie he engineered sound for during his producerclasses at MI.
obviously people where tripping when they heard it, as it was his first project and just, oh my god, so fucking amazing!!!!!
the teacher said he should do it as a professional and shit.
ha! I thought it was quite good but it didn't impress me like i don't know what.
and now i understand slowly the hype about my person at my college in berlin. i don't say that in a self conceited way because, honestly, i didn't get it really at all. but slowly i understand that the majority of people have no clue what really is amazing but are quickly impressed by blabbing like from yours truly. for american standards i am very shy and sort of self conscious. but for europe i am probably quite outgoing and yeah, blessed with a healthy self esteem.
in a previous post about how fair destiny is or something like this i talked about how i was the one in my family who didn't have problems at all in school and shit and my sis here apparently told my other sister how strange that seemed to her and stuff. well, when i came here it was ME who was surprised to hear from everybody around me how fucking great they are in what they are doing. whether or not that is true, may not be up to me to judge, but it is a matter of fact that here in los angeles everybody is just freaking amazing in what they are doing,.
now i understand my sister who sort of freaks out with pohtographers who are overpaid just because they photographed famous people and claim to have 15 years of experience. she stil makes better photos and they are more artful then most of teh shit you will find here. and it s not only with photographers it is with the whole film and music industry.
they are introduced to producers and composers who are, oh my god so freakin amazing! and then, honestly speaking, they simply suck. at first my sis would go like to her hubby and ask ' am I an arrogant bitch or whats the matter? or simply stupid?' but he would also think that this is bullshit so they came to the conclusion that there are obviously so many OH MY GOD SOOO AMAZING PEOPLE out there who are just freakin lame. you know what i mean?
i just wonder where that comes from...hollywood greasses its own weels maybe a little too much.....but maybe thats also a common american feature? what about bush and the people who really voted for him? now, THATS AMAZING!
the good things about it is, that i can learn how to promote myself relentlessly and self convinced. thats something i wouldn t learn like that in Europe, thats for sure. I just have to joing the blabbinb bubble dubble gubble and then we will see how gorgeous i am, ahhh, so effing amazing.....hahaha.
obviously people where tripping when they heard it, as it was his first project and just, oh my god, so fucking amazing!!!!!
the teacher said he should do it as a professional and shit.
ha! I thought it was quite good but it didn't impress me like i don't know what.
and now i understand slowly the hype about my person at my college in berlin. i don't say that in a self conceited way because, honestly, i didn't get it really at all. but slowly i understand that the majority of people have no clue what really is amazing but are quickly impressed by blabbing like from yours truly. for american standards i am very shy and sort of self conscious. but for europe i am probably quite outgoing and yeah, blessed with a healthy self esteem.
in a previous post about how fair destiny is or something like this i talked about how i was the one in my family who didn't have problems at all in school and shit and my sis here apparently told my other sister how strange that seemed to her and stuff. well, when i came here it was ME who was surprised to hear from everybody around me how fucking great they are in what they are doing. whether or not that is true, may not be up to me to judge, but it is a matter of fact that here in los angeles everybody is just freaking amazing in what they are doing,.
now i understand my sister who sort of freaks out with pohtographers who are overpaid just because they photographed famous people and claim to have 15 years of experience. she stil makes better photos and they are more artful then most of teh shit you will find here. and it s not only with photographers it is with the whole film and music industry.
they are introduced to producers and composers who are, oh my god so freakin amazing! and then, honestly speaking, they simply suck. at first my sis would go like to her hubby and ask ' am I an arrogant bitch or whats the matter? or simply stupid?' but he would also think that this is bullshit so they came to the conclusion that there are obviously so many OH MY GOD SOOO AMAZING PEOPLE out there who are just freakin lame. you know what i mean?
i just wonder where that comes from...hollywood greasses its own weels maybe a little too much.....but maybe thats also a common american feature? what about bush and the people who really voted for him? now, THATS AMAZING!
the good things about it is, that i can learn how to promote myself relentlessly and self convinced. thats something i wouldn t learn like that in Europe, thats for sure. I just have to joing the blabbinb bubble dubble gubble and then we will see how gorgeous i am, ahhh, so effing amazing.....hahaha.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
roots
just been watching roots....first episode...my suspect nature makes me wonder about the accuracy of the representation of the gambian tribes back in 1750 and how it really was like to be transported as a slave over the atlantic ocean....what happened to excrements? I mean they ate, so they must have had to shit too, right? i assume it was way more horrible.
no matter what, though - this makes me cry. again. it makes me cry to think about the cruelty of the Argentinian Junta to throw sleeping people right into the ocean, from an airplane....uncomfortable citizens, political enemies...
it makes me cry to see native americans all devastated due to alcohol and a crime done to their people which, un-fortuna-tely, has been equaled by many other crimes in this world.
it all brings me back to my initial feelings about America, when I just arrived here...this strange feeling about America's soul which I can't really find. I think it s just a refusal of my side to face and accept that we are now in 2001 and are living our own reality, which, admittedley, is based on two horrible crimes, two horrible acts of raping a people....the entire native american tribes and the people from Africa. Cruely speaking one could say that America's wealth is built on the near extinction of a people and the exploitation of the other.
I cry writing this. I know I can't put it in the right words, but it just simply hurts me so much again, and again, and again. It's not a recent realization of mine. No. I've already spent many many tears because of that. And it's so fucking weird that it seems as if I can't get over it. Sort of. because it is history, because it already happened! Well, maybe its me just having PMS. I don't know. But then again, PMS just brings sensitive issues to the front so its still real.....
I can't accept that human beings do such things. and we still do and it makes me fucking sick. I am spoiled. I am soft. I am not a warrior although I always wanted to be one. We talk so much and I feel like I do too little. But the confusion is so big as where to start. In my daily private life? Projects? Understanding, studying, learning, teaching?
I don't know, really.
How could we do this, really. How could we possibly be doing this...again and again and again...what is that???
no matter what, though - this makes me cry. again. it makes me cry to think about the cruelty of the Argentinian Junta to throw sleeping people right into the ocean, from an airplane....uncomfortable citizens, political enemies...
it makes me cry to see native americans all devastated due to alcohol and a crime done to their people which, un-fortuna-tely, has been equaled by many other crimes in this world.
it all brings me back to my initial feelings about America, when I just arrived here...this strange feeling about America's soul which I can't really find. I think it s just a refusal of my side to face and accept that we are now in 2001 and are living our own reality, which, admittedley, is based on two horrible crimes, two horrible acts of raping a people....the entire native american tribes and the people from Africa. Cruely speaking one could say that America's wealth is built on the near extinction of a people and the exploitation of the other.
I cry writing this. I know I can't put it in the right words, but it just simply hurts me so much again, and again, and again. It's not a recent realization of mine. No. I've already spent many many tears because of that. And it's so fucking weird that it seems as if I can't get over it. Sort of. because it is history, because it already happened! Well, maybe its me just having PMS. I don't know. But then again, PMS just brings sensitive issues to the front so its still real.....
I can't accept that human beings do such things. and we still do and it makes me fucking sick. I am spoiled. I am soft. I am not a warrior although I always wanted to be one. We talk so much and I feel like I do too little. But the confusion is so big as where to start. In my daily private life? Projects? Understanding, studying, learning, teaching?
I don't know, really.
How could we do this, really. How could we possibly be doing this...again and again and again...what is that???
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
flash back
My London Connectin of CouchSurfing gave me this CD. he had been over at my place in Berlin to party just for a weekend...we had a great time...it was that party I went for a 10 km run afterwards without even having slept... I think I wrote somewhere a post on that but right now the linklink is missing here so I can t link that up, sorry.
Anyways - now, in Los Angeles, my music addicted ass didn't get at all the daily portion of music input I am actually used to. It's just so busy here. And the TV annoys the shit out of me. Or so.... And then, at the gym, I finally had the possiblity to listen to this CD.
...
Its house, guys, its straight house and techno. The music I have always claimed to be the only style I don't like.
And yet, it is my Berlingas. It is what kept me driving in Berlin....Oh, I had this huge flash back, this HUGe flash back and almost freaked out. Rocking your body to the rythm of the sound...ahhh.....flashback to Mr. God is a DJ. To MIRA< my love! To Mik....the artist who saved my integrity and independence....all the creepy people who tried to get some ass.....the drugged up people who looked so wacko in the mornings when the party would be at the heights....to Isa, the crazy dancer in the dark......to hourless nights when I danced through, living off my endorphines only.....to T, my little alcsis, with tears in her eyese, breaking up just another time with her boyfriend....to max and his incredible kisses....in deep deep.....bar 25.....panorama bar.....senefelder.....kissing mira....dancing on the counter with mira........chilling on chairs in a cold february morning sun in the middle of the sidewalk with mira.......and the boys...clapclap.......nunu, my cosmasista from far away....sleeping in N2 or subways after a long long party...and i mean, long. ! long is, the next day already......to alex, zoo, kreuzberg, warschauer bruecke.....rosi's,....yaam.....and again. bar 25.....flashback to yeah. Berlin. Crazy light, sound, event artists....underground in the purest fashion I've ever seen.
Funny, how everything that reminds you of your 'home' becomes so dear to your heart when you are somewhere where you feel sort of alienated.....
----------------------------------------
so that one goes out for Mira!
Anyways - now, in Los Angeles, my music addicted ass didn't get at all the daily portion of music input I am actually used to. It's just so busy here. And the TV annoys the shit out of me. Or so.... And then, at the gym, I finally had the possiblity to listen to this CD.
...
Its house, guys, its straight house and techno. The music I have always claimed to be the only style I don't like.
And yet, it is my Berlingas. It is what kept me driving in Berlin....Oh, I had this huge flash back, this HUGe flash back and almost freaked out. Rocking your body to the rythm of the sound...ahhh.....flashback to Mr. God is a DJ. To MIRA< my love! To Mik....the artist who saved my integrity and independence....all the creepy people who tried to get some ass.....the drugged up people who looked so wacko in the mornings when the party would be at the heights....to Isa, the crazy dancer in the dark......to hourless nights when I danced through, living off my endorphines only.....to T, my little alcsis, with tears in her eyese, breaking up just another time with her boyfriend....to max and his incredible kisses....in deep deep.....bar 25.....panorama bar.....senefelder.....kissing mira....dancing on the counter with mira........chilling on chairs in a cold february morning sun in the middle of the sidewalk with mira.......and the boys...clapclap.......nunu, my cosmasista from far away....sleeping in N2 or subways after a long long party...and i mean, long. ! long is, the next day already......to alex, zoo, kreuzberg, warschauer bruecke.....rosi's,....yaam.....and again. bar 25.....flashback to yeah. Berlin. Crazy light, sound, event artists....underground in the purest fashion I've ever seen.
Funny, how everything that reminds you of your 'home' becomes so dear to your heart when you are somewhere where you feel sort of alienated.....
----------------------------------------
so that one goes out for Mira!
Monday, September 19, 2005
black out. America from insideout. The perspective of a stranger
"Honestly, they look down at themselves. You know, I had this girlfriend in Miami...It was incredible. She always had to tell me that she has a college degree, and all the things she achieved and she would always buy me something and do anything to make me feel good. And I mean, gosh, she looked GREAT, she was such a cool and nice lady....But still she seemed to have to do this. I got mad, really....
Ah- You will understand that, when you live here a little longer. When I first came here, I was like, Hey, cool, I wanna get to know Afro Americans, and they all loved me where we lived. We lived in that neighborhood where only blacks would live. They LOVED me. I was the cool European you know, who didn't have any prejudices yet and stuff. But after a while, boy, it s so annoying.... They really look down at themselves and thats why they need such big cars and bling bling and all that stuff....Always acting as if they were big and stuff, but in reality they look down at themselves. You know, in Miami, the BEST looking guys would date the ugliest European white girls you can imagine...they could have had anyone, but they seemed to take an odd pride in dating a white girl or so, I don't know.
Also, when you get mad at someone who is black, he will never take it personal but always blame it on the colour of his skin, on the fact that you are white racist trash. The same with Jews, I am sorry to say that, but experience just showed me that it is like that in most of the cases. You can be best friends with a black person but when it comes down to it and you have a fight they will always accuse you being a racist....or at the restaurant I worked at...nobody wanted to have the tables with only black people....because they would always make trouble and leave the table without paying and stuff, accusing you being a racist and letting them wait longer than the rest and shit....I couldn t believe it, but it was really like that..."
Silently I gaze out into the darkness. In the distance I hear a car driving by, HipHop bounces through the air....
Afro Americans.
Africans.
Europe, Africa, America.
These words hurt, damn. These words hurt big time. When I was at the shore of Manhattan I cried bitter tears because it hurts me to remember what my ancestors did. It hurts me to see what we do now, what we do passively by letting it happen without interfering too much. All of us, no matter which colour your skin has. There are always good and bad people no matter where, I mean, gosh, there must have been people cooperating in Africa to make the slavery possible. And I know there were people. - The holy New York Stock Exchange Temple. It s a temple, damn, it s really the building of a TEM'PLE! I couldn't really believe it.
I slept three nights in Brooklyn, NY. The first night Franchize, a Nigerian Rapper was introduced to me by a Canadian guy whom I had met in the airplane. The next night I sat next to this guy who was having a passionate conversation about Socrates on his phone. As I was studying philosophy the whole last year I was, naturally, amused and alerted. When he hung up the phone I smiled at him and asked him what the matter was with Socrates.... He was waiting for the bus but after one and a half hours of amazing conversation he decided to give me shelter for a night and I could stay at his place for the next two nights. We hung out the whole following day, he showed me around in New York....He was a good guy. He didn't get sexual. He was just showing a great deal of amazing hospitality. I felt so lucky and blessed to be able to experience this. I lost my wallet in New York. Someone found it and gave it to a guy whos number happened to be in there.
The guy I stayed with, let us call him Mike, was Afro American...One of his grandmothers was half native American half Afro American.
I wonder, whether he would call me a racist when having an argument. I don't know, but it makes me all sad.
Even if my brother in law was right with what he was saying I would not just let it be like that. There is a psychological reason behind everything. And a responsibility of all of us to change, face the future and the past in order to go on.
America.
I am surprised that I find it so different from Europe, but it sure is. I miss Berlin a lot, I miss - well, real Cafes, you know, I can't really put a finger on it, but there is a difference... The buildings are different. The people are different. It s almost as if there wasn't only the American Dream breathable in the air but also a whiff of ignorance we use to blame Americans with back in Europe. People are so damn assure of what they are doing sort of. It feels like a huge swimming pool in which the people dwell. I felt as if I have roots over here, when I was in Europe...My mom is Alaskan and there is definetly something belonging to America inside of me, but I have a hard time finding it.
It s so strange because I love the music so much. So much great music, inventions, movies and stuff come from America. Who can blame a people to be patriotic? Germans have too little of that. A broken self-esteem that will need hundres and hundres of years to be recovered. Maybe better not? Hm.
I love the music and yet I can't associate it with the people. I can't find the soul, thats it. My sister would laugh at me reading this, I know, because she uses to say she had an overdose of new age stuff. But honestly, where is the soul? It s seems to be so fucked up, I don't feel like the people have a right living here. But in the same time, who am I? History is history and bad things happen all along and yeah, a people invades another country and conquers that land. its been not the first time to happen.
But still it makes me feel so odd. And then again, when I think of how much I love any kind of music and dance that comes from the 'black diaspora', the whole black atlantic area I start being amazed as to how fertile a originally incredibly unfair and bad action, that is slavery, could produce so beautiful a culture.
Is it, that pain always gives birth to new beautiful life???
please, whoever reads this - please share your thoughts with me. I am truly still at a loss to understand what I am confronted with. Especially what my brother in law said about Afro Americans in the beginning....How do you see all this? Would you agree? Differenciate? Negate????
Ah- You will understand that, when you live here a little longer. When I first came here, I was like, Hey, cool, I wanna get to know Afro Americans, and they all loved me where we lived. We lived in that neighborhood where only blacks would live. They LOVED me. I was the cool European you know, who didn't have any prejudices yet and stuff. But after a while, boy, it s so annoying.... They really look down at themselves and thats why they need such big cars and bling bling and all that stuff....Always acting as if they were big and stuff, but in reality they look down at themselves. You know, in Miami, the BEST looking guys would date the ugliest European white girls you can imagine...they could have had anyone, but they seemed to take an odd pride in dating a white girl or so, I don't know.
Also, when you get mad at someone who is black, he will never take it personal but always blame it on the colour of his skin, on the fact that you are white racist trash. The same with Jews, I am sorry to say that, but experience just showed me that it is like that in most of the cases. You can be best friends with a black person but when it comes down to it and you have a fight they will always accuse you being a racist....or at the restaurant I worked at...nobody wanted to have the tables with only black people....because they would always make trouble and leave the table without paying and stuff, accusing you being a racist and letting them wait longer than the rest and shit....I couldn t believe it, but it was really like that..."
Silently I gaze out into the darkness. In the distance I hear a car driving by, HipHop bounces through the air....
Afro Americans.
Africans.
Europe, Africa, America.
These words hurt, damn. These words hurt big time. When I was at the shore of Manhattan I cried bitter tears because it hurts me to remember what my ancestors did. It hurts me to see what we do now, what we do passively by letting it happen without interfering too much. All of us, no matter which colour your skin has. There are always good and bad people no matter where, I mean, gosh, there must have been people cooperating in Africa to make the slavery possible. And I know there were people. - The holy New York Stock Exchange Temple. It s a temple, damn, it s really the building of a TEM'PLE! I couldn't really believe it.
I slept three nights in Brooklyn, NY. The first night Franchize, a Nigerian Rapper was introduced to me by a Canadian guy whom I had met in the airplane. The next night I sat next to this guy who was having a passionate conversation about Socrates on his phone. As I was studying philosophy the whole last year I was, naturally, amused and alerted. When he hung up the phone I smiled at him and asked him what the matter was with Socrates.... He was waiting for the bus but after one and a half hours of amazing conversation he decided to give me shelter for a night and I could stay at his place for the next two nights. We hung out the whole following day, he showed me around in New York....He was a good guy. He didn't get sexual. He was just showing a great deal of amazing hospitality. I felt so lucky and blessed to be able to experience this. I lost my wallet in New York. Someone found it and gave it to a guy whos number happened to be in there.
The guy I stayed with, let us call him Mike, was Afro American...One of his grandmothers was half native American half Afro American.
I wonder, whether he would call me a racist when having an argument. I don't know, but it makes me all sad.
Even if my brother in law was right with what he was saying I would not just let it be like that. There is a psychological reason behind everything. And a responsibility of all of us to change, face the future and the past in order to go on.
America.
I am surprised that I find it so different from Europe, but it sure is. I miss Berlin a lot, I miss - well, real Cafes, you know, I can't really put a finger on it, but there is a difference... The buildings are different. The people are different. It s almost as if there wasn't only the American Dream breathable in the air but also a whiff of ignorance we use to blame Americans with back in Europe. People are so damn assure of what they are doing sort of. It feels like a huge swimming pool in which the people dwell. I felt as if I have roots over here, when I was in Europe...My mom is Alaskan and there is definetly something belonging to America inside of me, but I have a hard time finding it.
It s so strange because I love the music so much. So much great music, inventions, movies and stuff come from America. Who can blame a people to be patriotic? Germans have too little of that. A broken self-esteem that will need hundres and hundres of years to be recovered. Maybe better not? Hm.
I love the music and yet I can't associate it with the people. I can't find the soul, thats it. My sister would laugh at me reading this, I know, because she uses to say she had an overdose of new age stuff. But honestly, where is the soul? It s seems to be so fucked up, I don't feel like the people have a right living here. But in the same time, who am I? History is history and bad things happen all along and yeah, a people invades another country and conquers that land. its been not the first time to happen.
But still it makes me feel so odd. And then again, when I think of how much I love any kind of music and dance that comes from the 'black diaspora', the whole black atlantic area I start being amazed as to how fertile a originally incredibly unfair and bad action, that is slavery, could produce so beautiful a culture.
Is it, that pain always gives birth to new beautiful life???
please, whoever reads this - please share your thoughts with me. I am truly still at a loss to understand what I am confronted with. Especially what my brother in law said about Afro Americans in the beginning....How do you see all this? Would you agree? Differenciate? Negate????
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
smile
It s crazy how SMOOTH my journey started and still continues.
Starting with Mr. Asshole buying me a flight down from Berlin to Basel (the easiest way with so much luggage), a good riend of mine coming along to London (she, too, helped a lot with luggage), my sister visiting me in London and then finally, finally, me alone on the plane to New York via Reykjavic, Iceland.
It felt GREAT. Oh my god, it s been such a long time since I last flew somewhere FAR away. Matter of fact it s five years back from now, when I flew to RUssia. Big adventure, as well.
Life has funny ways, and just as to make a point about coincidences (or the nonexistence of so called coincidentes) it puts exactly those people next to me in the plane, to whom I had talked when queing or the check in.
I smile.
IN Reykjavic its rainy and boring. I need a shower. Again, while waiting to board I see this guy who responds to my smile. That didn t happen at all in London (in London people look really isolated in the crowd). Now I am curious to find out who will be sitting next to me. Will it be this guy?
He sits behind me. We start talking, he offers me sth to drink in a juice bottle, it turns out to be wine. Good french wine.
Smile.
He is the guy to talk to. He is the one I will converse with during this flight.
The only girl who smiled back at the airport joins our conversation later. He had recognized her as well earlier in the waiting hall. It turns out she has an erotic shop in Iceland.
Smile.
This guy doesn t seem to have normal drinks. Later he offers me sth that looks like orange juice but it is vodka orange.
smile.
I am flying to New York being tipsy. I can t believe it. I shake my head and look down at the ocean. Ice everywhere ice...
The smoothness of my journey climaxes when this guy finds out about me not being sure where to stay at at New York and he makes a quick phonecall - I can stay at his friends house.
A nigerian rapper, 'franchize', who has a really interesting approach to the whole thing, nice concept, nice ideas. He was recently featured in the phat magazine and also in the vibe magazine.
So I spend my first night in New York somewhere in Brooklyn on a roof, with the most gorgeous view ever.
Smile.
We start talking about everything and nothing and finally he asks me which kind of guys I used to date back in Berlin.
What?
Green, blue, black, white. Dammit. But I know where he s getting at.
Smile.
once you go black you never go back, right?
he says that black guys usually don t like those skinny skinny girls. they like woman, you know. real woman
smile.
haha. Oh jesus. Okay. I know what will come next
Yeah, you know, you got anyways more a body that could be a black woman's body.
See, I knew it.
Smile.
Dammit, but my skin is white, i mean, at least i could have black skin then, as well, right?
Oh but it don t matter. Gosh, who cares about colour anyways?
We all do.
Hm
He raps for me on the roof, I feel honoured. The subways is driving right through my head, I feel unsteady. Suddenly I get so tired. I fall asleep on his couch and his offer to sleep on his bed drowns in my dreams, with a smile on my face I drift away. New York black radio is on. I drift away....
thats my big apple tonight
my smile
Starting with Mr. Asshole buying me a flight down from Berlin to Basel (the easiest way with so much luggage), a good riend of mine coming along to London (she, too, helped a lot with luggage), my sister visiting me in London and then finally, finally, me alone on the plane to New York via Reykjavic, Iceland.
It felt GREAT. Oh my god, it s been such a long time since I last flew somewhere FAR away. Matter of fact it s five years back from now, when I flew to RUssia. Big adventure, as well.
Life has funny ways, and just as to make a point about coincidences (or the nonexistence of so called coincidentes) it puts exactly those people next to me in the plane, to whom I had talked when queing or the check in.
I smile.
IN Reykjavic its rainy and boring. I need a shower. Again, while waiting to board I see this guy who responds to my smile. That didn t happen at all in London (in London people look really isolated in the crowd). Now I am curious to find out who will be sitting next to me. Will it be this guy?
He sits behind me. We start talking, he offers me sth to drink in a juice bottle, it turns out to be wine. Good french wine.
Smile.
He is the guy to talk to. He is the one I will converse with during this flight.
The only girl who smiled back at the airport joins our conversation later. He had recognized her as well earlier in the waiting hall. It turns out she has an erotic shop in Iceland.
Smile.
This guy doesn t seem to have normal drinks. Later he offers me sth that looks like orange juice but it is vodka orange.
smile.
I am flying to New York being tipsy. I can t believe it. I shake my head and look down at the ocean. Ice everywhere ice...
The smoothness of my journey climaxes when this guy finds out about me not being sure where to stay at at New York and he makes a quick phonecall - I can stay at his friends house.
A nigerian rapper, 'franchize', who has a really interesting approach to the whole thing, nice concept, nice ideas. He was recently featured in the phat magazine and also in the vibe magazine.
So I spend my first night in New York somewhere in Brooklyn on a roof, with the most gorgeous view ever.
Smile.
We start talking about everything and nothing and finally he asks me which kind of guys I used to date back in Berlin.
What?
Green, blue, black, white. Dammit. But I know where he s getting at.
Smile.
once you go black you never go back, right?
he says that black guys usually don t like those skinny skinny girls. they like woman, you know. real woman
smile.
haha. Oh jesus. Okay. I know what will come next
Yeah, you know, you got anyways more a body that could be a black woman's body.
See, I knew it.
Smile.
Dammit, but my skin is white, i mean, at least i could have black skin then, as well, right?
Oh but it don t matter. Gosh, who cares about colour anyways?
We all do.
Hm
He raps for me on the roof, I feel honoured. The subways is driving right through my head, I feel unsteady. Suddenly I get so tired. I fall asleep on his couch and his offer to sleep on his bed drowns in my dreams, with a smile on my face I drift away. New York black radio is on. I drift away....
thats my big apple tonight
my smile
Monday, September 05, 2005
life's funny ways...# 3
Did I say before how funny I think life has a way of getting around?
Ms. Piranha has a hard time not giving in to the irritatingly hot vibes between her and Mr. Asshole. I KNOW he is an Asshole and I said that many times before. But I think all of you know how fucked up energy is at times. Just happens. Bam. No chance, no questions, its just there and leaves you at a loss as to how to deal with it.
Then there is the big D and Ms. Piranha has an even harder time not to make a complete fool out of herself and start stalking him or something. That would be fucked up, sure.
So going out is a good solution. Get some music in your system and forget about them guys. The time she gets home she almost falls asleep standing, no matter where. Crawls into her bed. Sleeps. When she wakes up there is this message 'u still in town?'
...
blank.
It s HIM. OMG!!!!!
Mr. God is a DJ, who disappeared like back in April or so, writes me a message, JUST IN TIME before I leave and before I, right, make one or two big mistakes.
Now, tell me, isn't it unbelievably funny how life sends Mr. God is a DJ just IN TIME?
That night I painted a picture I ve always thought of painting for him, just as a thank you for what he has showed and offered to me. He opened up a whole new world for me, unlocked a new resort of self confidence, reconciled me with the woman inside of me. So to say :)
The painting was done within 4 hours or so. Everybody in the studio was like : oh what, Ms. P what in the eff did happen to you? I ve painted there now since a week and they saw me progressing in my own slow way, taking my time and taking it for ever to finish a painting. Always unsatisfied and stuff. But this time it was just perfect. It was beautiful and I was damn excited to give it to him.
Needless to say he loved it, he was blown away actually. Stupid me, I even don t have a photo of it and I might just never see him again. Hm. But thats me. I am stupid. Whatever. It will hang in his studio and who knows, maybe some people will ask him who the artist was and I get more work to do :)
But thats beside the point. I am just so amazed. So freakin amazed how life works. It s INCREDIBLE!!!! encroyable....
Ms. Piranha has a hard time not giving in to the irritatingly hot vibes between her and Mr. Asshole. I KNOW he is an Asshole and I said that many times before. But I think all of you know how fucked up energy is at times. Just happens. Bam. No chance, no questions, its just there and leaves you at a loss as to how to deal with it.
Then there is the big D and Ms. Piranha has an even harder time not to make a complete fool out of herself and start stalking him or something. That would be fucked up, sure.
So going out is a good solution. Get some music in your system and forget about them guys. The time she gets home she almost falls asleep standing, no matter where. Crawls into her bed. Sleeps. When she wakes up there is this message 'u still in town?'
...
blank.
It s HIM. OMG!!!!!
Mr. God is a DJ, who disappeared like back in April or so, writes me a message, JUST IN TIME before I leave and before I, right, make one or two big mistakes.
Now, tell me, isn't it unbelievably funny how life sends Mr. God is a DJ just IN TIME?
That night I painted a picture I ve always thought of painting for him, just as a thank you for what he has showed and offered to me. He opened up a whole new world for me, unlocked a new resort of self confidence, reconciled me with the woman inside of me. So to say :)
The painting was done within 4 hours or so. Everybody in the studio was like : oh what, Ms. P what in the eff did happen to you? I ve painted there now since a week and they saw me progressing in my own slow way, taking my time and taking it for ever to finish a painting. Always unsatisfied and stuff. But this time it was just perfect. It was beautiful and I was damn excited to give it to him.
Needless to say he loved it, he was blown away actually. Stupid me, I even don t have a photo of it and I might just never see him again. Hm. But thats me. I am stupid. Whatever. It will hang in his studio and who knows, maybe some people will ask him who the artist was and I get more work to do :)
But thats beside the point. I am just so amazed. So freakin amazed how life works. It s INCREDIBLE!!!! encroyable....
Thursday, September 01, 2005
i know
okay. see, i know you read this.
i know that there are some people who know me personally read this blog occasionally. well, those whom i told about it for some reason know me well enough to distinguish stuff, how it is meant, what is fiction, what is most probably reality and all the works.
well. just recently some approached me because stuff i wrote was whack, mistaken and blah. it s not the first time. i have received mails which were based on stuff i wrote and people drew conclusions by what i wrote.
i just want to clarify here once more what this blog is about: it IS a writing experiment and in the same time a ventile for me to express myself. whatever i write, sure it s not FAKE, as the title already indicates. but not all can be taken literally, not all is meant dead serious, whenever i write about me personally, for example you guys should keep in mind that i am being sarcastic and self ironical most of the time. i have good laughs about myself at times. and at times stuff i write is merely therapeutical. so if i, for example post stuff that people wrote about me in the yearbook and it s all oh so self flattering its therapeutical. this blog is meant to be anonymous in the first place. i don t have to prove anybody whether or not i am loved, cool or stupid and fucked up. you bloggers know that probably because you have your own blogs. if i had a bad day and write something to make me feel better its really for that fucking sake, okay? i have a blog that i write for my friends and family and as a matter of fact it is different from this experiment here.
here it s all a mirror, it s all reflection, all filtered through my perspective, respective mood, music i am listening to when i am writing and stuff that happens around me. it s an expressive experiment so to say.
and now shut the fuck up all of you and enjoy or leave. i don t feel i need to justify myself ever again for making myself vulnerable. i am done with the toughtough nut stuff.
i know that there are some people who know me personally read this blog occasionally. well, those whom i told about it for some reason know me well enough to distinguish stuff, how it is meant, what is fiction, what is most probably reality and all the works.
well. just recently some approached me because stuff i wrote was whack, mistaken and blah. it s not the first time. i have received mails which were based on stuff i wrote and people drew conclusions by what i wrote.
i just want to clarify here once more what this blog is about: it IS a writing experiment and in the same time a ventile for me to express myself. whatever i write, sure it s not FAKE, as the title already indicates. but not all can be taken literally, not all is meant dead serious, whenever i write about me personally, for example you guys should keep in mind that i am being sarcastic and self ironical most of the time. i have good laughs about myself at times. and at times stuff i write is merely therapeutical. so if i, for example post stuff that people wrote about me in the yearbook and it s all oh so self flattering its therapeutical. this blog is meant to be anonymous in the first place. i don t have to prove anybody whether or not i am loved, cool or stupid and fucked up. you bloggers know that probably because you have your own blogs. if i had a bad day and write something to make me feel better its really for that fucking sake, okay? i have a blog that i write for my friends and family and as a matter of fact it is different from this experiment here.
here it s all a mirror, it s all reflection, all filtered through my perspective, respective mood, music i am listening to when i am writing and stuff that happens around me. it s an expressive experiment so to say.
and now shut the fuck up all of you and enjoy or leave. i don t feel i need to justify myself ever again for making myself vulnerable. i am done with the toughtough nut stuff.
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