Letters from Berlin

It’s spring here now. Everything is green and pink and powerful.
I wake up and I cannot stand the thought of not doing extraordinary things.
I have so much energy but then it fades and pretty soon I find I’ve spent another day
without leaving a mark. I wish someone would ask me to help them with something.
The show is over. The audience gets up to leave their seats.
It’s time to collect their coats and go home now. They turn around.
The show is over. The audience gets up to leave their seats.
It’s time to collect their coats and go home now.
But there are no more coats. No more home.
It’s quite late here but I’m not I’m tired. Maybe I should go to sleep,
brush my teeth and all that but I’m lazy and afraid of feeling lonely in the bathroom.
I wish something really exciting would happen in my life,
something that makes brushing my teeth easier at night.
The show is over. The audience gets up to leave their seats.
It’s time to collect their coats and go home now. They turn around.
The show is over. The audience gets up to leave their seats.
It’s time to collect their coats and go home now.
But there are no more coats. No more home.
After we talked yesterday I got in bed, turned on the TV
and there was Bob Dylan, talking about one of his songs.
He said “I didn’t know whether the song was good or bad, it just felt right.”
It sounded like a message just for you and me, coming through the TV.
The show is over. The audience gets up to leave their seats.
It’s time to collect their coats and go home now. They turn around.
The show is over. The audience gets up to leave their seats.
It’s time to collect their coats and go home now.
But there are no more coats. No more home.

Raw material was contributed by The Masked Correspondent. Chorus is from Greil Marcus, as quoted by situationist Raoul Vaneigem, then used by Christopher Wool in a painting, a poster of which ended up in my correspondent’s apartment in Berlin, and eventually, came to me in the letters.