New Year’s Grief

16 hours in the dark, running a snack stand in a derelict Berlin techno villa. Humanoid fungi tottering to soundwaves. Hit da club, social granite butt. Numbing rumbling in a fetid container. Simulated cattle wagon. Why go? Because someone told you so?

Fascism, totalitarianism, collective sleepwalk, national awakening. Relieved of its sexual intuition, the flock grows restless. Enjoyment equals timid two-stepping among inebriated strangers with murky intentions. Women and men please stand separately. Show your assports at the gate.

High school graduates locked in old factories, bombarded with bass or thrown in a trench, bombarded with shells. Efficient methods for reducing human surplus. All this effort. Sound systems, makeshift edifices, salaried staff. Capital employed to spread anxiety. If love is not the motor, it must be hate, despair.

I pass out on a couch between shifts. Gifts without rectal exams are rare here. She thinks I’m a dehydrated druggie and urges me to drink water. Half-awake, I empty the glass. She was a beautiful girl. Now she’s a woman. I sink back for a while. After rising, I give her two milkshakes. Kindness against the blindness; it opens doors and drops pants.

All we need is someone to check occasionally if we’re still breathing. Most people need no respirator. That’s the difference between concern and control, joy and pleasure addiction.

Joy is like water hitting a surface. You melt. Death must feel this way. Makes you curious. Curiousity breeds courage. I’ve never experienced a situation where the danger outweighed my fear. I’m curious. What happens when your fear is weaker than the danger?

Curiosity or boredom – why does the human herd invade one of the world’s no-longer-deadly cities to emulate the afterlife from Wednesday to Sunday? Why they ain’t wreckin’ shit like kids supposed to?

“Die Revolution ist großartig, alles andere ist Quark!”


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