She types some profanity in my direction then asks if I’m still alive. I haven’t emailed, called or smoke signaled her in weeks. As far as she knows I fell into a hitchhiking vortex (called “death” usually) somewhere between here and New Mexico. But I’m glad that my Wife in Another Life has emailed. The email is a paroxysm of playful barbs and surrealist spelling-errors. She asks me if I’ve received her “package.” I think, “Yeah I’ve received it. I received it six weeks ago in New Mexico whilst covered in whores and cocaine.” I squint my eyes to help jog my memory, “It was filled with Amaranth, naughty pictures, and a little man,” I say to myself. I decidedly have no phucking clue what she is talking about. But I like it…and I like her.
The next day John der Postmann surrenders the package to my crappy Ace Hardware mailbox. My Wifey in Another Lifey has indeed sent me something. By the time I receive it, it is already open. For this I blame John der Postmann, my own crappy mailbox, and those damn skate-boarding gangsters from around the corner—never mind that it has traveled thousands of miles.
As the contents of the package are not valuable in the money-talks-god-bless-capitalism sorta way I know nothing has been stolen.
She sends some zines published by SuKuLTur—they are a mimicry of those cheap n’ nifty Reclam Publications.
Weise Nacht by David Wagner contains several short vignettes that take place in various Berlin pop-kult spots, such as Berlin’s “White Trash.”
Russisches E-mail by Alex Popov contains two shorts, one by the same name and “Die Dienstleistung.”
Ein paar Bars by Stan Lafleur is another collection of shorts: “Fish Dream Bar, etwas außerhalb von Scarborough,” “Thanhs Bie Hoi, Nha Trang,” “A38, Budapest,” “Stumbling Old Horse, Graig na Manach,” “Merli-Schänke, Köln,” and “Tres Coronas, Santa Cruz de la Palma.”
My Wifey knows me by now. She knows what sort of perversion goes on in my mind, she knows my dark sense of humor, and she knows my day will be enlightened when I receive Fantastic Nobodies.
And then of course there is the token Jutebeutel.
And a boxes of matches from Morena Bar.
The salty whore is in Berlin.
Berlin is one of my favorite cities. It’s quite cheap, it’s multi-kulti, and it’s alive and ever changing and expanding (but not in the Irvine Company or Renaissance Plan way). It’s an incredibly organic city that has rapidly mutated since 1989.
I shoot her a heartfelt email: let’s talk, there is much to say, I miss you.