a fortnight in berlin (readers digest edition)

masturbating in the street, running from cops over rooftops, feet sticking out of dumpsters, sleeping on the U-Bahn punk fortresses and hippie harbours, the punks smashing up the Scottish girls' hotel room on their school trip, ad-hoc alcohol-fuelled public performance, oesophagus suffering from unlabelled chemicals, fighting with the robocops, dub n bass and drumstep, fat nazi's with death warrants, hitching in sportscars or riding black beauty, the amazing pfant subculture, kicking off the moshpit, sewing lessons on the horizon, grinding with the yuppie birds, celebrity status in the busking underground, burning cars and ensuing witch hunts, accordion playing cats, smoking like the industrial revolution, circuit bending workshops, a new song every day, abseiling the facade, regular blackouts, a blur of language ...everyday im hustling

shit out a window

David wakes up and needs to shit real bad. our toilet at samariterstrasse doesnt really work without vomiting its contents onto the floor of the bathroom in the process of flushing, so David says "omg, Kai, what should i do?" and i say, "oh dont worry, just shit in a bag" (i think by my own personal count - due to desperate times - this desperate measure of excretion has been resorted to 5 times in the last 2 months).

so David wades into the "bathroom" and comes out a little later, with a face that suggests his shit tried to speak to him or some such supernatural humour, exclaiming with eye-brow raising glee, "Kai. Kai! it's huge! you have to come and see this!". i follow him to the next room with pitiful enthusiasm.

Upon inspection, it appears that the shit hasn't really made it into the bag, as was my suggestion, but merely onto the bag. David excitedly points out some landmarks, commenting on the strata of the conglomerate turd, clearly a mix of several days worth of awful dieting. "look here! some corn that hasn't digested!"

as i ask what David now plans on doing with this mess (the implication of course being that i hope for a safe disposal), he shrugs meekly, carefully picks up the bag (we both squint and wince) and motions towards the window. i begin to laugh, as the hilarity of the act overcomes any moral objection to covering the street with human shit. besides, is it any worse than the dogs who turn every street corner into far-too-public toilets? anti-gentrification direct-action at its most primitive.

and sure enough, as my hysterics force me to hold the stitch in my side as i struggle to intake air from all the laughing, the bag disappears out the window onto unsuspecting passers by, narrowly missing a direct hit. terrible, maybe, but it fires up irresistible childhood mischief.

i cannot help but think of inaki, whose first act in New York was to climb the first tree he could find, and take a shit from its branches. maximum respect for those who dare to shit from great heights :D