Some older photos from Berlin and Cologne about two weeks ago. The boys getting ready for their gig:
(I have no clue who took this photo of me and I look well scared. The girl in the picture above is Josie who I met for some nice Berlin breakfast, picture below is The Cinematics in Cologne.)
I turned 20 yesterday. Fucking twenty and it was less depressing than I thought. At midnight the gay American waiter served me a chocolate cake with a candle on it, I blew it out and almost forgot to make a wish. Getting old is no fun, it’s just something that happens to you and you have to deal with it. And that’s what I do. I’m not so much into birthdays these days, I mean you basically celebrate the fact that you were born which is more an irreversible truth than some obscure miracle. But we’re all materialistic cunts who love being the centre of attention and that’s why we love birthdays. Fair enough.
Got my photos from Paris developed. I accidentally switched my camera to panorama mode at some point but they still turned out quite nice.
(This is Zazou, my friend’s brother. He’s only 9 but he’s already a ladykiller and he will have the world at his feet one day. Above you also see some shots from our pool party, the amazing Galeries Lafayette at night and the big wheel in the city centre.)
In Paris the sky is never black. It’s sometimes grey, sometimes purple or blue-ish but in the city of light it’s always bright and you can barely see the stars at night. I went to Paris this weekend to celebrate a friend’s birthday. We stayed in a huge loft flat in a house that used to be a factory, it’s so beautiful and unique that it’s sometimes used as a set for films. The photo studio that was located downstairs had a big pool where we had a pool party with delicious food and Pina Coladas, we all jumped in the pool shortly before midnight and sang French birthday songs.
Paris is an utterly beautiful city, we spent hours just walking through the city, seeing big touristy places, small alleys with tiny shops, homeless people in their tents, cafés, the Seine and huge buildings. I’d love to come back soon, see some more, get an idea of the night life, maybe improve my French as well. I don’t speak any French, all I can do is introduce myself which isn’t that helpful if you are trying to order food, ask for the way or have a proper conversation with your friend’s friends who don’t speak English. But it all worked out somehow, people get very creative when it comes to communication. We use our hands, our whole bodies, all existing languages that we know, because, quite frankly, all we want is to be understood.
We went home tonight and I’m back in my flat - back to normal, but inspired and pretty tired.
Lots of things have changed. The magic is gone, the naive faith in love and music has vanished, all the long nights and the songs and dreaming big. The cities and the snow, the waiting, tingling with excitement, the disappointments, the gin in teacups, the gin from bottles, the raki in glasses, hours and hours of music, floral dresses and shaking hands. The jokes and obsessions, daisy chains & schoolyard games, early mornings, the worries, the cigarettes, the good old days. I sometimes miss it, a lot. There are no good old days, these are the good old days.
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I’m going to see Peter Doherty again tomorrow night, solo and acoustic and pretty big. It’s gonna be a weird gig. The venue is sold out, there will be good music I hope, maybe a bit of magic and people just waiting for something scandalous to happen. Beer from plastic cups, noise and memories. It’s kinda surreal, but I think I’m looking forward to it. A lot.
Last weekend Sina and me went to Berlin. She had the vacation planned for quite a while, asked me to come along and I said yes. I mean, why not, it’s not really that I’ve got anything better to do and Berlin is often a highlight. When I’m over I usually stay with friends but this time we booked a nice hostel, the most amazing hostel there is in Berlin. It’s cheap, modern, comfy and open all night - what more can you ask for?
I’ve never really stayed in a hostel before (if you don’t count that one drunken time when we crashed that room in Munich with 6 beds for 8 people) but I loved it and it again made me realise that - if I ever want to live together with people, which I do - need to quit some of my habits, like talking in my sleep or walking around the house half-naked.
The first night we went out and saw The Paddingtons *, kinda nostalgic for me considering I’ve seen them on pretty much every gig of their tour when I was about 16. They’re not a particularly good band and their music is not exactly brilliant, it’s more something to bawl along when you’re wasted.
The next day we went second hand shopping and spent the day in town. Lots of plans were made for the night but we eventually ended up at the BEAT!BEAT!BEAT! gig and then all took taxis to Bang Bang where the guys from The Cinematics were DJing downstairs. It was nice to see everyone again and we drowned all occuring drama in cider.
Now I’m back home, back to work, back to uni and I wonder what’s next. Amsterdam maybe. And I got invited to a birthday party in Paris next week (fucking Parissssss! I’ve never been there and I don’t speak a single word of French, but it’s gonna be fun!).
* They were supported by Johann van der Smut by the way, you should really check these guys out and buy their EP.
Fifth roll of film. Cologne Deutz funfair, The Horrors, The Heavy and other fun things. Will be in Berlin this weekend & I can’t wait.
(Some things that came to my mind during my time offline. Still have no proper internet at home and the wireless connection I nicked from the neighbourhood got switched off. But I will be back online in a couple of days or so, thanks to O2.)
Sometimes I just want to quit. We are addicted to communication. We read blogs, numerous amounts of ramblings on Twitter, we’re always up-to-date what our friends are doing, we know what everyone else is up to, shallow as it may be, and we feel like we’re part of something. In fact we barely talk to anyone. But we’re never alone. We call it communication, we talk, post, like, share, we collect photos, pictures, snippets and quotes, we want to be better than everyone else, we want to be popular. Irrelevant numbers and feedback from irrelevant people make our self-confidence burst, we are someone. We read so much, scan the pages, we don’t have time. We feel good, though, because there’s always someone who listens to us.
Sometimes I just want to quit. I want to delete all my profiles, delete my Twitter account, clean out my feedreader, delete all those useless bookmarks and shut down my websites. Sometimes I feel like nothing of this truly matters, it’s all coming to a dead end somewhere and somehow and giving it up seems the only way to emerge from this self-inflicted isolation. We’re all isolated - only that we’re isolated together. We try to make the best of it, and let’s face it, it’s a fucking lot of fun.
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