on the bending of a belllows

the womxn is sitting @ die Bushaltestelle waiting for #53. the office is on the football now & sie decided to play 10 euros in the pool. odds were good, why not. sie hasn't won anything before.

sie is learning Italian. ihre Freund*in is from South Tyrol & wants to plan a trip over new year's. sie holds up the phrase book & mouths the words "Non parlo Italiano".

sie is wondering after the poster placed zu links & sie sees it is an advertisement for a jelly sie personally buys & is pleased & hungry & makes a mental note to stock up because sie has it every morning for breakfast as sie reads over Zeit & gawps & tells ihre Freund*in "there are many things to hope for".

& sie is looking @ this poster & daydreaming & feeling the soft first mists of a pattering rain against a lip & the undone button beneath the bow tie when zu rechts it hits. it isn't obvious @ first, the viscous membrane slick against a cheek. magazines sie has read continue to say so. "it comes from nowhere", they say. "it is saddening & against humanity to think such wretched things", they say of humans. but the rain knows. it can see how obvious as it collects & dodges the jelly.    

sie is learning the difference btwn rain & spit.


26 November, 2017


i walked too long in the cold because i thought i could buy food for the day, but the catholic tendrils spoil it. grocers all shut. nothing wrong, of course, w/ a tidy lie-in of a sunday. shit, before the walk i was pantsless & scrolling my phone, mouth agape like a lobotomy victim. so foibles etc. & some politeness turned me away from the sushi bar. the door was jambed open by bodies, all of a mind. which is correct & fine & nothing about it should disturb. not even the cold fact that there is singularly the worst sushi i've had of 3 continents. not even the colder fact that should, by not unlikely happenstance, the deep fryer then frying the far-too-sweet pancake batter which they use to wrap the spring rolls (!) overheat & set the 100 m/sq bar alight, there is a compelling statistical likelihood that 2 persons & a dog would be the only survivors. ... so i suppose i mean 'politeness' euphemistically ... 

cold in bavaria is not like cold i've experienced elsewhere. the gusts on table mountain could throw a stone & you sitting on it, sure, but the cold there was tempered by dense humidity & rain. a winter of upward rivers. jersey shore was low, humid, not buffeted by any mountains. straightforward winters, alternating white or muck. 

bavarian cold cuts because it contains nothing but. 

& the sullen grey of bavarian people reiterates. the average age here in toytown is older than need be mentioned. it's a big village flanked by festivals & markets. they stare @ outsiders. & stare & stare & gawk & stare. i've seen hobbling geriatrics in matching handwoven olive green hats & gloves stop in the bike lane, their necks tracking curiosities until they can't turn anymore lest they risk snapping their jaws against their own spinal columns. this gesture & snap back are what i can only assume is their version of nonchalance. they don't stare so much @ other bavarians. it's that sort of place. 

& they seem not to like my banana skin coloured coat, if i'm honest.

so i went down the Nymphenburgstraße thinking i might find something open until there were nothing but residences, crossed, & doubled back. somewhere in that time, through my gloves & jacket pockets, i lost feeling in my fingers. 

plus i was still fucking starving.

i remembered the cafe just down the road by the canal, roughly 2,5 kms from Standort A. the canal is the main viewing alley of the Schloss Nymphenburg, roughly 3 kms from end to castle, paralleled on either bank by first walkways then streets then elegant 19th C. homes. the water is mid-calf depth & @ night the streetlamps shimmer on its black like something mystical that isn't. it's a big poncy lie, the whole bit. ducks & grim swans paddling their little toes basically against the rock bottom. bare trees jagged & crisp lining the walkway, strategically spaced--an illusory 'garden' to highlight in natura the far-off wobbly white-gold rococo. everything here is human, down to the ducks. europe is mid-calf like a jackboot.  

btwn the 1st bridge & the cafe i began to feel my face freeze & my eyes unable to focus. 

the people passing me, of course, stared. i'm used to this, if self-conscious. my hair esp. gives me grief. it's been a point of dysphoria for years & now i'm starting to grow it out. but estrogen seems to be giving me some foremother's curls. my nana has hair like this, i think. it's unruly, & however it dries is basically how it stays. superior judgement would dry it before disembarkation. the ice @ my ears reminds me that i left immediately after showering. my phone was dead & in what little light there was i took a peek in the black screen & Herr Einstein peeked back. i laughed a bit & shivered & said 'fuck' aloud & die Paar zu rechts furrowed & huffed by. 

i hurried as fast as my twiggy legs would carry & entered the cafe & there was nothing but cakes to eat so i went w/out. there was coffee, though i had to wait by the heater for a time before i could even open my mouth. ...  


27 November, 2017


there's a condemned building on this street i'd like to take a photo of--windows w/ rocks through & graffiti, that sort of thing.

the graffiti says 'jew'. 


"The AfD, anti-immigrant Eurosceptics analogous to Britain's Ukip, narrowly failed to clear the 5% hurdle for parliamentary representation last time. This time they were the third biggest party, with support strongest in the east and south."

-The Guardian, 25 September 2017


...do you see the set curling over each other to whisper their pretty thoughts slit-mouthed & gesturing, a laugh here or there like curls & kinks in a carpet? do you see the christmas baubles glinting over the Kaffee sign & the bald man beneath who keeps leaning on his glasses to make a note & pushing his ragged caterpillars closer & closer? or the waitron struggling w/ her tray over-stuffed w/ exactly the same drink ordered from all 4 tables? or the child who jumps into its father's neck & he moves not @ all & continues running the flat end of his thumb over the late bend of his cheek? do you see clearly as your eyes thaw that his are brown? hold your gaze there huddled in the warming, a single barb in a thorn bush. shade into this paying corner--held from the cold like a coast...