Hitchin’ back to Berlin hardcore. I am a thirty-year-old man and her
e I am sticking out my thumb in need for a ride back to the city that depressed me so much. I have to get some stuff done, there is a lot of stuff to be done. Preparations. Rearmament. Make sure I’m good to go. Be a faithful jolly Jesus.
“dead is the letter
and the letter brings death
upon those who sold
their souls to the word
alive is the letter
and the letter brings life
upon those who kill and kill again
the soul they inflicted upon the word”
What I’m saying is that when we wake up as beasts every
day, the whole advent of language remains something LIVELY and animates us.
The truck driver is a nice guy I can tell though we can hardly understannd each other. We drive through heavy rain and his windshield wiper breaks. What he does is he pulls over his truck and repairs it with some toothpicks. I offer him a hair band for which he is grateful but it won’t really help. Anyway, I like the improvising and it’s quite interesting that the driver of such a mighty machine doesn’t have a better option than toothpicks when he needs to repair his windshield wipers. The ride by the way, goes through all the Baltic countries, Estonia, Latvia, Lituania, in that order, and I am dropped off at a Polish service station where I lie down on a row of blue chairs.