Thursday, May 24, 2001 to: steven brown re: a rogue’s life
been working like the big dog. they got me singin and dancin and doin all kindsa stuff including playing the git-tar. what a hoot to play that theme from “once upon a time in the west” with a blazing guitar, wearing a cowboy hat.
At this writing I am in a bit of a state. There is this Susi, who is 25 and is sweet, affectionate, sexy, can’t get enough of old guido for some reason. Steffi found out because I told her, unable to lie, or at least 100%.
To tell the truth, though it pains me, I wanted out of this thing with her. She was getting strange, I was getting stranger, there was a lonely and sad element there that began to increase as my time in Italy wore on. In the end, the sex which was a large part of my dickhead reason for getting so involved began to dry up and I began to feel very strange indeed.
The issues this raises are perplexing. Am I getting out because I am a regular dickhead man who loves ’em and leaves ’em, or is it just that not every relationship is the girl of my dreams and there is no reason beneficial to both parties to keep it going?
Big issues raised here, old bean. At the outside, I am learning something about how this “love thang” works. I am also learning that I don’t have the stuff to be a casanova. It is too damn hard to play three woman at the same time unless they are likewise unattached and “carefree”. There is a state of being and/or lifestyle known as “polyamorousness” or something like that. In this fairly sleazy approach, one is ever capable of having several partners, caring for them all, while avoiding the necessary deceptions, heartbreaks, all of that trash contingent upon quasi-monagomous attachments. If in the pursuit of this, I hurt others, I will pay the price. shit.
Confused, but still happy. susi is marvelous. Steffi is hurt. I feel bad, but I must be as true as I can be to myself without becoming an absolute cretin.
Tuxedomoon, no problem. Got lots of new ideas, new gear, performing onstage will be good for my work with youse dudes, no doubt. Have no fear.
now i am in a cafe called “obst and gemuse” fruit and vegetables in the former east now called “mitte” meaning center. this terminal is free free, you just have to wait for people to get finished.
got your mail while riding my bike out on the streets of berlin. this particular woman is away for the weekend, I have a day off…damn. work tomorrow. saw a guy playing sax on the bridge with the sun going down on the spree (local river which used to mark the frontier). he was a jammin with another guy making for some pretty cinematic sunset scenes. not only but also. we got to talkin, guy turned out to be american, blah blah blah, i was in a band called tuxedomoon, ever heard of ’em.
“tuxedomoon!!!!!! wow, just singing no tears yesterday. I was looking for a miracle and here it is!!!”
now back home to take a nap and or sleep. I await further sms messages from susi. she said we (our little fling) remind her of last tango in paris. hmmm…..old geek with dead wife and young geekess. add one pack of butter. lord lord. life do go at de hectic pace.
luc will mos’ likely come for rehearsal, recording, not for gigs. we shall see.
I be ridin a bike around Berlin. This town is beautiful indeed. The eastern part was where all the good old stuff hides out and that is where I currently reside. I took in many sights today, just by accident, museums, old cathedrals, all kinda big ol´german stuff. there is a river here which was not accessible in the days of the wall. it is called the SPREE (pronounced SHPRAY as in “I haff ein new hairshtlye und I must SHPRAY it mit HAIRSHPRAY”) yuk yuk yuk.
gotta run, there is party this afternoon for all us actin types since it is sunday and we have a day off. what better way to hang out than with the people you work with every day and will see constantly for the next 2 months?
Monday May 14, 2001
So now, recent events in my ever-entertaining love life. Only that there are two, count ’em, two womens appearing regularly in my inbox and on the screen of my cell phone. Yes, Athena, mother of my little hellspawn is in regular contact with me again. Stefania calls every day. Local action is scarce and I am getting…….anxious.
Talk me out of even considering hanging with Athena just because it represents some kind of fixed landmark in my nomadic, devil-may-care wrinkled ladykiller existence. All I have to do to take the wind out of my narcissistic sails is remind myself that I have been cultivating this “wears shades all the time even at night” thing to go with my black levi’s and black leather jacket, just because the shades covering an annoying megazit between my eyes which has plagued me periodically these last 30 years. shit.
Well, lech is as lech does. I say now, there are few sights on this poor haggard planet to rival that of a well-formed woman riding a bicycle in a miniskirt. Matters not be she young, old, Italian, German, be they white be they black, be they…..whatever. (this last a quote from woody allen which often entertained me and the jayj.)
Since I am rambling on and I mention JJ, I come to realize that the enormous throbbing cloud of black goo which represented “blaine’s Grief” has abated somewhat. A hell of a lot, in fact. I find myself with this inexplicable will to live. Amazing. I don’t suppose it takes much imagination to realize that not long ago I would readily have joined her in the great beyond, balancing death against continued life in Athens without JJ (or even with) and finding life sadly lacking.
Ah, but I am one lucky stiff, that is true. Look where I am and what I am doing. whee dang.
oh well, you know ol’ guido do go on about heself. forgive me.
Finally here in the big ol´ city of sin. What we have here is some very elegantly decadent people strumming up and down the street, 21st century as they can be, all pierced all over the goddam place, green and fuchsia mohawk with braided gold pigtail, snakeskin jockstrap, gold platform inflatable sandals riding by on a graphite transverse bicycle listening to techno online and that´s only the women.
Where I am staying used to be no man´s land and is now hoppin humpin throbbin with all kinda street cafes jammed with young and old berliners nursing beers or exotic cocktails of herbs and fruit juices or enormo coffees.
I am in the civilized world again.
Looks like Suzanne, my Berliner baby from the tour, won´t work out. such is life. such is rock n´ roll. we´ll always have Berlin. Stefania, whom I care for a great deal waits for me in Italy. Athena is writing me as well. She don´t seem so bad from this distance. We did have some great sex. We do have a son. Things can probably work out somehow. I know this will all catch up with me and there will be a karmic price to pay. Perhaps I have paid it already and things are moving in retrograde inversion. Perhaps I am just a geek who thinks with his willy.
As you may or may not know, I am here to be an actor with a German director of my acquaintance. I play Henry Fonda in a version of “Once Upon a Time in the West”. I wear a cowboy hat. I smoke a cigarillo, I carrys a six shooter. I play the theme song on my new electrical gee-tar. I do the funky chicken with a chorus line of german girls, greek men in drag speaking spanish, my roommate schlepping around on crutches which I kick out from under him.
Today I was called upon to perform at the very limits of my new acting abilities. I had to do a rehearsal for my first “luuuuuuv scene”. I must dry hump a rather pneumatic young blonde german gal, fondle many taboo areas and genrally comport myself like a swine. I was nervous as hell. The main thing on my mind was “LIMP! soft!” Be professional, think wilted cucumber, think molten popsicle, think about the catholic church. Think about Barbara Bush naked. Think about Aunt Bea naked. Thankfully, this actress is a veteran of this sort of thing. She is also spoken for and that´s good. Her boyfriend is a german body builder who could kick my ass in his sleep. Still fun to have to stick my head in a big ol pair of german tits every day. It´s just my job, boss.
Thus, I suppose my life could be worse. I just left italy where I hung around, saw medieval ruins, played music and bought musical instruments with wild and reckless abandon and now I am forced to come to Berlin and fool around onstage for pay. Every fool thing I do is encouraged. This is light years from Agamemnon. Looks like it might just be….dare I say it….FUN? Now I am off into the wild blue.
What, oh what, has old blaine become? Lecherous old git. Ah well, I am still sort of kind of almost quasi young if you catch me on a good day in the right light. Might as well get this out of my system before time, gravity and a chain of cigarettes that would orbit Jupiter comfortably if put end to end do it for me once and for all.
I forward a piece of an email to a friend that qualifies as journal entry type stuff. As to “telling it all” well, my intention in my online journal was to entertain. I have the skeleton of an autobiographical diatribe back in athens that is considerably more personal. If I wrote a book, I would certainly tell all. I am of the romantic school, I woke into artistic consciousness informed by the notion that the detritus of the artists’ inner world was the very stuff and fiber of art. The idea was and is to dig up jewels or less savory objects from deep within and display them for all to see in the hope that all will see something of themselves and will thus be reinforced in the notion of the preciousness of their “individuality” a renaissance or protestant notion that was not really important in the ancient world. There.
“Now I understand why Christopher Isherwood called his Berlin book “I Am a Camera”.
Yesterday I was sitting at a cafe table watching the Berliners promenade by, trying to record everything everything everything. Not poss, unfortunately. I have discovered that I am now an avid, even passionate CYCLIST of all things. (I still smoke like a steel mill, though, even on the bike.) I bought a bicycle in Athens as a means of obtaining some sort of independence in the burb where I was forced to dwell by my unfortunate collision with “my wife” Athena. Carless, drivers’ license-free, a bike was the only viable option. I soon came to love the damn thing. I have been blessed in that everywhere I have landed these days there has been a velocipede available to me. Where once I knew the whereabouts of every pharmacy, liquor store, bar in a given area, I now know where to find all of the bicycle shops. This town is a delight for cyclists. There are hordes of people on bikes, there are covered bicycles for hire called “velotaxis” which pedal tourists around this legendary city as well as a score of transverse bicycles where the pinheads ride reclining.
There are few sights in this life to compare with that of a well-formed woman riding a bike in a mini skirt, let me tell you. A well-formed blonde teutonic goddess, well it takes your breath away. A sunny day beckons. This is rare and wonderful up here in the north country.
Let me tell you, there is some kind of compelling karmic link betwixt old guido and Berlin. Everything feels “right” here. Maybe I have found my city at last. This is like New York except there is a streak of anarchy and a black leather sexual license that seems to be lacking in the large manzana. off we go, enough diet coke fuelled verbiage to put in your pipe and smoke.
love, bratwurst, vast pinwheeling mandalas o’delight shedding sparks in the multiplex universe and other such acidhead nonsense”
How did I come to be acting in Berlin? Well, the story is like this. I was acting in a movie in Athens for a director named Nicholas Triandafyllidis with whom I was working closely at the time. He was a fan of my music and my stage persona and thought I would be good in films. I did about five for him. I met Anna, this young actress on the set, not long after JJ died, maybe too soon, but what the hey? to make a short story long she was working with this director here, Albrecht Hirsch, a German director of some repute in theavant garde scene and I came to know him from hanging around the stage door like the stage door Johnny I was, lusting after the young things in the dressing room, sneaking a peek, hell sticking my head in and taking a good long look.
Later, I started doing the role in Agamemnon, another connection I made through this film director and this German guy saw me doing ag. in Athens, his wife saw me in Zurich and hey presto I was cast as Henry Fonda in this here thing.
This piece is a hoot extraordinaire, I am indulged all over the place, I have largely written my own part, I do all kindsa stuff as I may have said. there are horses, chickens, all kinds of livestock.There is music involved, of course. I play guitar and sing two songs not my own “No Woman No Cry” by Bob Marley which I loathe and “Rovin’ Gambler” by God knows whom as sung by Robert Mitchum and re-arranged by me for Octave-divided guitar and scream.
The soundtrack includes Ennio Morricone (of course) Marilyn Manson singing “Sweet Dreams are Made of This” some German Schlager cowboy song about horses and La Bamba. I love it.
The piece is called “Das Lied vom Tod” from the German name for “Once Upon a Time in the West” or “Cera Una Volta Il West”.
As for keeping limp in my love scene, it’s just work ma’am. There is, however, this polymorphous perversity that sets in after a great deal of overindulgence when the world feels like a vast piece of skin freshly lubed and awaiting the final hump. ahem. In this wise the love scene with her is a sort of continuation of the whole experience here in my dream Berlin. subjective experience is so….subjective. others may view this town as cold and rainy and gritty, I am moving through a well lit Weimar republic dream of sensuous decadent berlin, lolling around in crumbling apartments in east Berlin. watching the morning drool come drooling in with my arm around a woman 22 years younger than old Guido.
he do go on about his own bad self. I must be off into that good day. do try and write me more often, dear.