In a little Hungarian cafe I found a tourist map of Budapest. It very much resembles the summertime map of Berlin. All-night “party with a capital P” hotspots, hostels with wifi, a Sunday farmer’s market “to soothe your hangover soul.” When I got home, a trail of smashed-up pieces of coloured foil lay glittering among the autumn leaves through the house door. Revellers have taken over the world.
The back of the fold-up map has a kind of jokey phrase book that made me feel I had never been young. Spelt out in comic-font phonetics are the translations for “Yeah, whateva,” “Good penis,” “Please may I fondle your buttocks” and “Harder, faster, now.” “How much for him/her?” gave me chills. By the end of the page the insouciant mood has soured into something more like desperation:
I’m having a heart attack
Don’t harrass me
I’m thirsty
My bum hurts
I’m drunk
Never again
Help me
Fuck OFF
Don’t stop
Goodbye
Once more
I’m lost
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Berlin 2013. Found among some old stories.
Tag: despair
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revellers have taken over the world
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elephant in the womb
A punker girl crossed the street under the shady trees, shouting at some invisible or internal enemy. She was dressed in black from boot to root, her ears infested with silver and bone. Parts of her bristled and other parts erupted with pus. She scraped a chair out at the cafe where we were reading the paper. I can read German upside-down, almighty me. A little girl of eleven who escaped an arranged marriage showed her luscious unformed face and said, if you make me marry “ich werde mich umbringen.” Meantime the blackclad punk had sunk into some suicidal nirvana of her own. Maybe she was married too young, against her will. Heroin came and took her in his boat, she paid the ferryman, they rattled off knocking and whining on the water. Twenty minutes later two police officers appeared, wearing plastic gloves, and stood over her til she roused enough to stagger to her feet and fall to the ground. We felt sad in the belly and my companion pulled me away. Death in public, and the underworld that clings to the surface. Drugs and their many-splintered joys. Just say nowt.
