Pod asked me to make a flyer for the upcoming 14 January event(s) here in Berlin. The flyer needed to be low budget for photocopying but fun and eye-catching. I also didn’t want to spend a lot of time working on this because I have many other things to do and take care of. Wandering around Mitte the other day hunting stencils, I came across Da Da Falafal eatery. What a great name for a food joint! Pod loves this place too so I took on some much needed da da influence (stencils are conntected to da da via Duchamp’s mostache cut out) and had a good time working out this two-sided piece. Some text might change and things might get moved around before we print it, but wanted to share anyay. The stencils are by, Ink (Atlanta, GA), el bocho (here in Berlin), and unknown in Florence, IT. The book cover is by Francisco Garcia with the photo by Francis Mariani (Toronto, CA).
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“That’s a fascist bar,” Herzog replied as we walked past a normal looking Italian eatery while stencil hunting in a chilly Vicenza. Being Sunday, not much was open, but this spot blared dance music and was ready for business. Just a few minutes before he made this comment, Herzog, who’s politics seem to lean towards leftist/radical, showed me the local headquarters for the Lega Nord, a group of Italians who he and his partner Elisa called separatists. The office had posters of a stereotypical Native American Chief on their windows. “You know what this says?” I was asked. Basically, keep letting the immigrants into Italy and the native Italians will end up on reservations!
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I tell this story to keep my mind clear and together. I may be telling it to someone else, or to myself. I must keep perspective so that I can keep reality straight. Things went bad after my mother disappeared. No one knew where she’d gone too and no one had found her missing car either. One day, while walking down a familiar street, many people found their missing relatives in their cars. All together in one parking lot. Mom was there, happy to see me. She told me that she’d met an amazing man and her life had totally changed for the better. “Is his name ___?” I inquired. “No. His name is ___,” she responded. Dubious, I asked Mom another question about pollution. “Plastic is wasteful,” she told me. This was a patent response for a strange cult I new of (maybe have dreamed it before), but the name of the man was different. So I walked into the building with my mom and saw a bearded man sitting with two other people. I spoke with him and felt many other eyes looking at me. I knew that he was a/the leader. I casually left the building, walked out of the parking lot, and began to run down the street. I wanted to escape and keep my freedom. I would never be as easy to convert as my mother was! An older woman with dark short hair came out of the woods on the side of the road and managed to grab my arm. That’s all she did and everything got blurry and went dark. I came to at another point in time, still fighting to keep myself together. My throat was sandpaper dry. I needed water, but a voice in my head reminded me that asking for something or complaining will only lead to more abuse from the people in charge. So I try to swallow what I can. I then flash to another instant in time where I’m walking through a large building and talking to myself in my head. I’m keeping the history straight. I’m trying to remember what my family looks like and that if I can’t have my freedom for myself, then I will gain it for them. I must be known in this building because a woman makes eye contact with me as I walk by. I then exit the building and run out onto a lawn. I jump down an embankment, still talking to myself. Have I been hiding the meds? Use this moment of clarity for as long as you can! I am going to be free. I have tried to be free many times before and this time I will make it. I jump down another natural wall, almost effortlessly. Like a superhuman. This is what I need to get out of here! I’m at the side of a sea or lake and I jump in and instantly begin to swim. I notice that I have fingerless gloves as I try to swim away. There’s a leader in the water already, trying to save another person who had the same idea. The leader lunges for me and I react with survival in mind by dunking them both under water for almost too long. I see one of the heads of security at the water’s edge. He is not happy and is diving in after me. I try to swim away but struggle in the waves. The security leader easily approaches me and I end the dream by telling myself that I got a broken wrist for almost killing the other people. I’m not given pain medicine which is fine. It allows me to stay free in my mind and try to keep reality together for another attempt at leaving this oppressive cult.
At a house party and just smoked from a crazy 3-person pipe with two other people. Julie S. calls a group of people together and eight people cluster up. A great vocal jam starts and the people begin to move around the room. About four leave the group, making one woman lose her temper. She goes over to the shelf where the A/V equipment is and pushes it over. This causes a stack of 12-inch vinyl records to cascade down towards her. She jumps to avoid the falling pile of records and then screams. One sleeved record got stuck under her big toe nail. In obvious pain, she staggers around and then pulls it out.
I. Working on the water, barely making a living. Having to deal with huge, rogue waves. During this dream, three big waves come crashing toward me. The last one wasn’t as bad as the first two. During the first waves, I get the feeling that someone maybe be cheating me at my job. I begin to set up gear when the third huge wave hits. Unlike an earlier wave, which was a wall of dark blue, the final wave comes in unremembered. I’ve dreamed of this spot by the beach where the wave hits some other time. The other workers and I see it coming and climb higher up the structure we’re on. It misses us and, after passing and withdrawing, I slide down the metal poles to meet the others on the ground.
II. A group of artists rehearses an odd number. They’re playing square-shaped objects that have four same-sized bumps on them (like a Lego block). One performer has a large, oval-shaped puppet head over one of the blocks and moves it to open and close the mouth. Maybe it is singing. The sun light shines through the puppet heads, creating some loss of the performer’s hiding. I can’t make out who it is. Practice done, the performers head back to the ambulance that they use for shows. A blonde male has to coax his frustrated lover to unlock the auto. “What are you doing?” she asks. “Saving up money playing with this band so I can be in a real band,” he replies. “What’s a real band?” she then asks. “A group thats in the 1990s or 2000s, unlike this one,” he replies.
all photos by Todd Garland
thanks to Rock Point Books for providing space, laughter, and a pile of books to sale
thanks to Mark Jones for the front page Arts Section spread
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