Berlińska wiosna


Ostatnio robiąc wiosenne porządki natknąłem się na starą notatkę z Berlina z czasów kiedy brałem udział w New Life Berlin Art Festival, i z którego na własne życzenie się wypisałem. Pomieszkiwałem wtedy u pewnej osoby, która wszędzie chodziła boso, pracowała w Instytucie Snu, tzn. tam spała, i robiła różné, dziwne rzeczy w niezwykłym mieście. Wtedy powstała poniższa notatka.


Do you know any famous artist? I knew one. Actually I only heard the story about one famous artist. The story isn’t anything special too. It used to roam across some forbidden alleys of Berlin so if you were there somewhere at the time you might get the chance to hear it too. So if you are still reading this I presume you were not there at the time and I’m sorry for you to hear the secondhand story.

The famous artist him-​self was standing in the middle the Alley of the Suns and was watching his own reflection in the shop window. The glass was pretty dirty and he barely could see his sparkling vivid eyes. “You’re gorgeous” — he yawned. People passing him were just like extras, heading from nowhere to nowhere, places they only knew. That mind flashed across his mind: “they should know what they are doing”. He took one intense look around him but it was like his eyes were looking for a distant horizon in the back of his head. The famous artist lifted up his leg and took a whizz. Actually, it was in front of the grocery ran by polish-​turkish couple on the Alley of the Suns, who’d met three months ago at the flea market nearby.

“Where is she?” He was standing there like stupid waging his tail nervously and waiting for his Goddess. Her name was Luzie and she was not only his muse. She was the most fascinating universe he ever dropped in in his poor dog’s life. Her blue eyes glaring from behind her carrot-​colored hair, her dirty feet firmly walking on the city streets were in his yearning eyes like walking on water. Suddenly she came out of nowhere. She took him in her arms and put him in the basket attached to handle bars of her bike. The ride through the streets of Berlin began.

He loved biking with her. It was like a magic mixture feeling of being close to her on the move and feeling the wind in hair and ears as fast changing horizon of street life around. Cars, streets, shops, people, faces, argues, grimaces, smiles, glances. It all was passing them like they were on carousel or in a big kaleidoscope changing like matrix with every block, with every turn , with every breath.

Nie chodzi wcale o to, że takim jestem Polakiem, że bliżej mi do Tieregarten niż do Łazienek Królewskich. W istocie równie daleko mam do każdego z tych miejsc, ale wiosna zawsze będzie mi się kojarzyć ze swobodą szwendania się w oparach porannych endorfin po obcych centrach odległych miast.