Born to Die in Berlin

An essay about the Berlin’s hipsters, aging squatters, refugees, and ducks in Mask Magazine‘s Crossing Paths issue, which can be read behind a very inexpensive paywall.

Why had I put my life on hold to experiment with burning out? My low budget was supplemented by returning red bulls cans and picking through free-boxes. During the day I read  crumbling English-language pulp in parks. At night there was always a selection of film screenings, community dinners, solipartys, and punk shows. A month into the stint I made some friends, or more accurately, attached myself to a few other expat circles that I could individually visit once a week to avoid the despair of having no social life. The other half of the time I was content to continue my daytime activity of sitting on the curb of Oranienstrasse and watching the beautiful people dance and the businessmen hustle from place to place. Breathing in the solipsistic atmosphere, breathing out miserable leftist metaphysics, I easily dissolved into this cosmopolitan New World Order.

Read the rest here

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