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About Berlin

Pisses me off tho—people judgin’ ‘em, callin’ ‘em trash. Who the fuck are they? Half these pricks’d crumble in a day doin’ that gig. Me, I’d carve ‘em up—I ate his liver with fava beans, ya know?—cuz they don’t see the art in it. Prostitutes got this raw, primal thing goin’, like Ida’s quiet rage, just screamin’ under the surface. Ever hear ‘bout the Victorian era? Whores ran secret networks—smugglin’, spyin’, fuckin’ heroes in corsets! Blows my mind—history’s fulla that shit, but nah, we just see the fishnets.

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Every damn day you step on Am Weiher strret, you feel the pulse of our city. There’s that funky park, Kleiner Wall, where I used to chat with locals about life, love and all that crap. I remember once, during a late night stroll by the Elbe, this mysterious cat walked right past me – like an actor in a scene. I got so mad I shouted “HERE’S JOHNNY!” just like in the flick – insane, right?

Festival review: Hitzacker Summer Music Days