Berlin

Berlin
It’s a great word, visually. It feels composed.
With a proud B followed by a subtle curve, formed by the peak of the l,sloping into in.
Austere and romantic, assertive and seductive – Berlin.


Berlin is great art.

It’s not effusive like Paris or rarefied like Vienna, but elegant and tragic; its absurdist logic imbues the steely exterior with an intoxicating poignancy. It’s turgid with potential energy – the echoes of horror; restrained tears; austere concrete veined with graffiti arabesques (matte neon, dulled vibrancy); serious fun.


Muffled kick drums, silver noise, beautiful bludgeon, concrete flowers, murdered gypsies in as-far-as-the-eye-can-see park, white sun, a flash of gold at the edges.

The tears are brought on by beauty, by spectacle, by death, by love, by endless possibility.
Hedonism is no vacuous escape here – it’s meaningful immersion.


That sunset orange stays long.

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