Last Saturday I woke up at 4.30am, took a shower and packed a bag, and at 8am I left London on the Eurostar.Continue reading
Previous: Drink, Play, Loathe: Day 9, Riga
I woke up late, hungover, boiling hot, again. I spent a short morning scribbling on maps on my bed but didnâ€™t hang around too long because my dorm was full of old men and the air was thick with the musk of leathery bodies slumbering and overheating and snoring and farting. Continue reading
Previously:Â Drink, Play, Loathe: Day 1, Paris
Well, I woke up this morning ugly and dishevelled and so hot I actually panicked and thought something had gone gravely wrong internally. Ran into the bathroom for an emergency guzzle of tap water and dry heavedÂ at the sight of my wild haired, eye bagged, bloodshot reflection. Iâ€™ve got to learn to take better care of my body. Christ. Continue reading
Some more nefarious deeds have been done down in the gloomy frozen backalleys of Berlin, and Iâ€™m going to let you in on them. Walk with me a while, letâ€™s talk. But, just like last time around, my cast of characters are real people with real lives who donâ€™t necessarily want me to bounce their stories around the stratosphere. So weâ€™re going to need disguises. We all know who they are really, but letâ€™s play make believe for a few minutes. So, meet Jack and Sal. This time I think the narrator will be, oh I donâ€™t know, Levi. Yeah, Levi is good.
So, as a warning to the reader, I would like to paraphrase and bastardise the title of the Oscar winning Daniel Day Lewis film: There Will Be Drugs.
Further to this, I would like to evoke a young Eazy E: Donâ€™t quote me boy, cause I ainâ€™t said shit. Continue reading
Thereâ€™s always something going on here. Every day, itâ€™s a simple matter of having a quick peek on Facebook or wherever, and lo, hundreds of events. Gigs, poetry slams, open mic nights, comedy, raves, free parties, art exhibits, light shows, performance art, you name it. Never a dull moment.
On Saturday, an old friend from Come Backpackers messaged me. It was Dave, the long haired English guy who is furious about Brexit. The guy I kind of accidentally smoked hash with in a park on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. Dave sent me a link to an event happening that evening. I looked on the website and found that it was an eye contact experiment â€“ one of the worldâ€™s largest, or something. I watched a video of one previous exhibition. Strangers in the street simply sat opposite one another and stared unspeaking into each otherâ€™s eyes. Seemed suitably weird for my eveningâ€™s entertainment. I went along. Continue reading
I know right? Hell of a title, that. Doesnâ€™t it just make you want to dive right into the article and find out what the fuck Iâ€™ve been up to? Donâ€™t worry, Iâ€™ll let you in on the goss. Continue reading
I am ill. The whole hostel is ill. Berlin is ill. Iâ€™ve never lived in a city this big before, and if youâ€™ve not experienced it let me tell you: if one person is sick, everyone is. Every Berliner has a cold, from seemingly nowhere. Maybe I was patient zero. Maybe this is the start of the zombie apocalypse. Exciting! Continue reading
While at work today, I stumbled across an article by the Telegraph on creativity, which you can click here to read. Listening to the featured podcast, I was amazed to learn of an art project which took place in 2014 Liverpool; more specifically, in the poorest neighbourhood in the country, Toxteth. In the immediate area, only 1 in 10 houses are inhabited.
One night in the summer, on a quiet street in this deprived area, the shutters on a derelict shop began to mechanically wind up, for the first time in years. As the shutter rose, blue light spilled out from the shop, bathing the street. The shutter finished its ascent and clicked into place, and silence reclaimed the streets, illuminated in the shimmering blue light emanating from within the abandoned shop. Continue reading