Back to Berlin

Turkey is like a strange fever dream, I know I was there, wasn't I? Travel time suck. But I am back home in Berlin, and OH how it does feel so much like my home. I don't want to leave. I did some celebratory welcome home Kareoke last night and was suprised to find my bathroom graffiti undisturbed by the passage of time and other drunk assholes with a pen. Maybe here they have respect for the bathroom walls as a transmission of artistic ideas, not to be abused. Graffiti does seem to have an elevated position here, not like at home where everything is painted over immediatley and all perpatraitors will be hunted down. I saw one on my walk to the train station that says, "sill not loving the police." Funny. Its very in keeping with the anarchist undercurrent here, that graffiti is a viable means of expressing yourself, your discontent, as a way of reclaiming and repurposing the public space as you see fit. I would like to think thats why I do it, but the truth is if I have a pen I feel a cumpulsion to scribble on shit, to think of all the people my strange little creatures will see. They have an exciting life of their own that is far beyond me, or what I could imagine. Its my small legacy.