Saturday, March 29, 2008

Post Titled: Saturday Morning Nonfiction Meets the American Fuckhead, 9am-Noon.
NOTE this post was riddled with spelling errors earlier, is now a bit better, sorry.

Awoke and recovered from dehydration, did strechtes, got splinters adn found even yet more broken glass on the bedroom floor but was in ok-enough shape just in time to be out the door for a soggy 9am jog through Volkspark Hasenheide. Insert a piece of last week's run: ran into a very noble red squirrel with batman-like ear pointies munching or pouch-packing something, some nut or sprout, I talked near breathlessly out-loud to him/her: "HEy- _Are__n't YOU___ GREAT- _- GREAt Creature! M__MY God_ Wow__Woa. COOL__ HI!" Fast-forward to today, no animals, (err- no noble animals) but in the approximate squirrel meeting spot I was now able to transplant a sapling which was growing in the middle of the brick path. Granted- it isn't an oft-traffic-ed path, but still, it would've had its little stalk-neck broken in a matter of hours or days.
On park People: Same predictable unfriendliness, same Grouchland game. Honestly, of the 30+ people I passed on the paths this morning there was just one guy who (not only) aknowledged my presence (but gave me a huge smile and exaggerated "guten morgen" nod) -and he was probably Ethopian, not not not German. All the Germans I passed (some multiple times) just gave the snarl of non-aknowledgement or the lookglare of "you've got squirrell-poo / babyfood / all over your face, why are you being friendly to me young man-?" the scowling look of ____.
Sweat-y walk back to BÄCK FACTORY (cheap excuse for a bakery which operates like a factory) for brötchen and coffee -(I know it is tasteless and shitty.) Along the way I have a sort of gangster standoff moment with that American §&$%head that I hate. I will just call him the - well, let's just call him Paco. Paco the wannabe homeless rap-artist American §&$%head does this: every day he hangs out in the Kottbusser Tor U-Bahn station drinking, smoking, probably doing drugs and harassing everyone. He is loud with his incessant rap-freestyle-shout-ranting, in obvious arrogant AMerican english with an occasional touch of bad German- insulting passing foot traffic, always. He sports a greasy thick ponytail which always snakes its way out from beneath the back of a sort of gnarly fedora he wears- scraggly facial hair, cheap half-drunk (drank) beer in one hand, rolled cigarette in the other and he just shouts eother nonsense or gangster wannabe bullshit.
A few weeks ago I got on the u-bahn with a bunch of papers from work, proofreading along the eay and the first things I hear is "Hey, Bigfoot" as he breathes beerbreath on me, stumbles by and swaggers on to the other end of the train to knock elbows with some local wannabe hip-hop guys. Before the one-stop ride was over he was hooting and hollering and being the same awful American §&$%head he usualy is IN the station, except now we are all stuck in the train with him, ac captive audience-
ANYHOW, this guy has been at Kotbusser Tor for 3 or 4 months now, and I hate him. So when we passed earlier today on Schönleinstraße it was slow-mo, and I glared, adn he glarted for a goot 25 feet as we passed each other, and he gave me the once up and down. He looks comfortable today wearing some goofy football trainer pants and a Berlin tourust sweater as he struggles to coordinate walking and rolling a cigarette at the same time, he glares at my jogging outfit- Oxford hoodie and brandless sweats. and I just glared, ideally with a look which said "I know you. I know your routine. I do not approve of your existence. You are an embassasment to me as an American overseas and I want to quietly rough you up to let you know this because there is no other way to communicate to your infested rat-brain. So- 'Til next time."
I do, I want to beat him up. Not in fron tof people, just in a dead-end alley if we can find one. Or in the middle of a big empty park-? Does he have a posse? No, he is too obnoxious. Impossible. Anyhow, the point is that -ONCE AGAIN- the US has a crappy enough image abroad a it is without this guy getting trashed and shouting/harassing thousands of Germans and Turks (who are just going about their business) EVERY DAY. How is he even here? I should go try to film or foto this guy in his chosen profession in his chosen environment. I am starting to wonder if he is just a huge asshole or possibly schizophrenic...
SMS bleep-bleep text in phone, ring ring, knock knock, ring ring "hey Ms. Saul, you wanna help me eat these goose eggs?"
Yesterday at work the owner passed out goose eggs to everyone from his family farm. I carfeully packed mine in a small boy using balled up discarded interview notes and drug it along to Linie Eins, the punk (squat?) bar.
I like to tip there more than often/usual because it is supposedly a communist/anarchist/anti-capitalist bar- therefore there is a certain irony in see their ideals melt away with a smile and a "danke" after getting a rare tip.
The box sat on the table for 6 hours, we thought to draw Hitler har and moustache on them and give them back to the owner as a joke/message, but no... the thing is that no one wated to eat these eggs, everyone was afraid, I inherited one from a gurl who shorwd zero interest, I mean- they didn't come from a store, they were from a farm adn their shells were stained a mottled green from goose poop, they were probably deadly. The Wildfang and I had to explain to one of the stoic but respectable guys fro the graphics department about "how birds DO IT." Cloaca, "like frogs" they just rub their butts together. There is an exchange of fluids... like, no penetration. Wierd, totally different." I love the fact that the Wildfang knows stiff like this. She loved the fact that I know about the sex lives of Bobobos. I thought eveyone knew that... maybe not in East Germany they didn't. Wildfang's Death Metal BF shows up, glare glare drink drink, everyone leaves, I leave to bike home- not a far trip at all.

I put the box with the eggs on the spring-loaded clip on the back of my bike. On the ride home it fell off between Hallesches Tor and Prinzenstr. Had to retrieve it from oncoming traffic, but then- next morning it all paid off and Ms. Saul and I had a fried goose-egg and lamb lettuce and homemade vegan bread picnic on her floor.

Oh, crap, so- I might've been getting Talking Heads '77 and More Songs About Buildings and Food mixed up all these years because I burned copies so I wouldn't damage the originals... put two on one CD... hmm.

The Talking Heads This Must be the Place (Naive Melody)

Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb - burn with a weak heart
(So I) guess I must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's ok I know nothing's wrong . . nothing

Hi yo I got plenty of time
Hi yo you got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money
Always for love
Cover up + say goodnight . . . say goodnight

Home - is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there
I come home - -she lifted up her wings
Guess that this must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did I find you, or you find me?
There was a time Before we were born
If someone asks, this where I'll be . . . where I'll be

Hi yo We drift in and out
Hi yo sing into my mouth
Out of all tose kinds of people
You got a face with a view
I'm just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till I'm dead
Eyes that light up, eyes look through you
Cover up the blank spots
Hit me on the head Ah ooh

(cheesy but human)



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