Jul 14, 2009 TW wrote:

Swaggering through a sea of shards, past the massive bunker, past the rising fairgrounds, through the 2000 polizei careening down to the Sternschantze riots to take on 10,000 people -only 80 cops wounded-, following on a week of luxury-car firebombings; explosions vitreous cross my brow.

Demjanjuk ruled fit to stand trial. Street festivals every couple of blocks, Trash-Metal bands whamming, itinerant pretzel ladies with baskets and homburgs, happy hippies, naked ninnies, football hooligans swarming the bars, bikers, bums, greaseballs, skanks; summering Germans running amok.

The lowing of Turkish everywhere. Like Spanish, it is a complaining language, at least to those unconversant. And what’s with those footprints all over the toilet seats, anyway? -Better head down to hang with the Persians, to the faithful cafe where King Kourosh employs his Army of Angels: Sisters Jacka and Nano, pop-mouthed beauties from Gambia; Pauline from France, who speaks Italian with me and swoons over cultural analysis; Wonderful Franzika, a laughing delight with picket-fence teeth; Aune, the Estonian sexbomb; and Nabila, the Afghani kid with the face of a queen -a Cleopatra, a Sheba, a Semiramis dreaming of a real estate career in Miami.

They found poor Rosa’s body, anonymously stacked under the Berlin Medical-Historical museum. She was parched like a mummy and bereft of head, hands and feet, but the testing keeps confirming it’s Luxemburg alright. Very distinctive back/hip structure, beneath the evidence of having been brutalized, shot and dumped in the river. Then, last week, Joschka Fischer, ex-Foreign Minister and Left/Green star, who I always dismissed as an ambitious clown when I knew him in the early 80’s -much to the flock’s annoyance- signed the proverbial “six-figure contract” and is now a lobbyist for the Energy Industry. Specifically the nabucco gas pipeline.

And I am still incessantly hurtling after my crazed lawyer’s spore, from London, to Köln, New York, -fucking Dubai!…frantically trying to fix everything after him. -I swear, it’s like trying to babysit Kim Jong Il.

Alarms, sirens, flashing lights without cease. Smoke and noise and somehow I keep inadvertently wading through ‘actions.’ Rote Flora assembling again before my eyes, cops pulling in and the crowd’s off to string nazi scalps. Beating drums and gypsy bands raising the worst racket they can -all deliberate of course. I escape into the ScheisseEgalBar, the proud old anarchist bar where absolutely everything is supposedly allowed. Mostly meaning surly fakes propping up an anachronism of a toilet and slurping their unemployment beers while snorting coke. I trump the chumps by refusing to pay for my drink, and so off into the night, leaving political bafflement behind. Someone had better discuss this…

Cheers,

from your

Front Line Golem