as the desert runs into the sea

When you’re left dehydrated for four days in a desert, you begin to lose sense of direction, walk in circles and eventually starve yourself to your inevitable end. US border officials know this too well and are often left collecting corpses beyond recognition of those who desperately try to make it across the ruthless Sonoran Desert. That, or they encounter them during their journeys and take them away, but not all those journey-makers prefer this latter outcome. Exploited by traffickers on the Mexican side of the border, if they can manage to complete their perilous walks, they hope to find a safe haven, and sometimes find themselves knocking on strangers’ doors, only to hope that they’d extend a helping hand rather than turning them to the authorities.

As fatal as they are, deserts can be incredibly inviting geographies; with no end in sight, an infinite depth of field and an offer of wilderness that us humans have long let go of our lives, which immediately draws one’s gaze. Borders on the other hand, especially those with walls, fences or any other invisible apparatus of control are usually repulsive. In the case of Joshua Bonnetta and J.P. Sniadecki’s “El Mar La Mar”, these attributes are reversed; or rather merged: the Mexican-US border at once draws the pair in to tread a careful and sensitive excursion around it. They were taken by both the landscape and the hard border on a trip from New Orleans to San Francisco and started to storyline what is truly an intense documentary of survival and expulsion.

Shot on a Super 16, the film is a visual feast of landscape imagery, combined with some incredible and innovative sound design. As the southern Arizonian images of nature, wildlife and cowboys blend into whitened- and blackened-out images, uninterrupted testimonial interviews with border officials and journey-makers alike are mixed with field recordings, sometimes in their raw format but most times manipulated with additions of reverb or stretching out of frequencies. Hardly any of this comes as misplaced as they create an environment that is both very impressionistic but also abstracted to such extent that Mexicans' heart-wrenching stories create the incredible tension that the film rests on.

The film is split into three sections titled: “Rio”, “Costas” and “Tormenta”. I had my own interpretations but also went to ask the directors why they did not translate those titles, to which they replied they wanted the audience to keep engaging with the film by researching them if necessary and that they had only finished editing 5 days prior to the screening! But as a contextual point, the film's opening title "Rio" begins with a flickery image recorded from a moving vehicle, which, as the camera zooms out, slowly morphs into a recognisable image of a metal fence. It is one of the most dynamic scenes of the entire film, as the rest is very much made of a static (and stunning) visual language. But, despite that slow pace, the film is anything but stasis. The directors did an incredible job of marrying their audio-visual interpretations with people's testimonials and allowed for these to speak for themselves, and safely stayed away from taking a stance.

The shortest description I could make for the film would be “excruciatingly beautiful”. As I arrived in Berlin on Sunday late afternoon, I was still filled with certain inspirations I had acquired over the weekend. Ending up at strangers’ house late on Friday night, finding myself playing percussion in an impromptu house jam session, and meeting the same incredible people who had put out an exhibition at St Pancras Parish Church’s Crypt Gallery the next evening had already filled me with much anticipation, as if the prospects of going to Berlin, one of the most special places in my life, was not enough.

Titled “CAPUT”, that exhibition that displayed works from artists from France, Greece, Italy, Senegal, Turkey, the UK and the US not only responded to its own setting so intelligently, but also portrayed the interplay between life and death, the dynamic and the static. Everything I saw at El Mar La Mar seemed to have this incredible point of reference to works I saw and experienced at the exhibition. Can’s video installation complimented by sound recordings from the materials he used was as genuine as Bonnetta and Sniadecki’s mix of the harsh audio-landscapes, metallic surfaces and the soft human touch of border-gazers. Beyza’s poetry and grainy video footage were almost a response to the filmmakers’ own use of artistic language, through blur and abstraction. Having experienced a monochromatic part of her video, I could not help myself but remember how El Mar La Mar’s brutal black or white backdropped scenes of testimonials merged into the landscape photography. And Merve’s three paintings, with a varying tones of red, green and beige from vivid to pastel had defined my interpretation of the exhibition: although she refers to themes of harvest and blossom, their spatial features and subtle lines gave me an immediate feeling of rugged but tested landscapes and borders. Her painterly abstraction did not give me a feeling of exclusion; on the contrary a sense of invitation and intrigue.

So, it was almost hardly a coincidence when the Berlinale presenter on stage addressed her first question to the filmmakers about the painful beauty of the film and how its poetry-like structure almost made Sonoran Desert an appealing place. My second question was about the two men who walked for 8 days and ended up at knocking at the ranch the filmmakers were staying at. They connected them with humanitarian focussed organisations, while receiving their testimony of the journey. The men were very tired, sleep and water deprived over the final few days of their walk and had almost acquired a totally indifferent feeling to the emotions they were suffering from, except, when they talked about a fellow female traveler who died as they had to leave her behind, one of them started sobbing. I wanted to know how the directors approached these men about a story so traumatic and had just taken place: apparently, the men wanted to put their story out and the filmmakers were, by this point, experienced enough to create the optimal distance that allowed them to investigate deeply with true interest but remain emotionally stable as not to take a subjective stance. That's why this film was so powerful. So human, despite very few humans seen in footage.

Writing this text took me longer than I anticipated. In between the 11 films I saw, friends I met, very different environments I have been in (both physically and spiritually), my initial feelings towards El Mar La Mar stayed the same. If anything, they have been supplemented by various inspirations through the week, culminating with an unexpected approach on the dancefloor at the end of a long clubbing night (and morning) with the statement “can I dance next to you; you look so happy and make others happy” — something you don’t expect to hear much in Berlin, the ultimate individualist capital of hedonism.

But, that was also reminder of how much we seem to strive for these interactions and the need to really understand and communicate what we individually and collectively go through, whether this be with complete strangers or our neighbours. In fact, often is the case that the more we connect, the less rigid those definitional boundaries become. Like the first scene in El Mar La Mar where the fluid image turns into a hard fence, or the weekend in London that prepared me for my journey to Berlin… with gratitude to everyone who keeps inspiring, old and new alike.

Temple of Hope

Tempelhofer Feld was operating as an airfield as early as in 1909, however, its designation as Berlin’s main airport and its expansion began in the 1920s, which took on a whole new meaning following the establishment of the Third Reich, as Nazis decided to turn it into a ‘large airport’, dovetailing their ‘great’ idea of Germania. Situated in the south of central Berlin, in the district (Bezirk) of Tempelhof-Schöneberg, it was famously used by the Allied Powers for an airlift in 1948-1949 to come to the aid of residents of West Berlin whose access to crucial supplies were blocked by the East German authorities. Through those 11 months, the residents of West Berlin’s only hope of survival was goods received from the air, and Tempelhof provided the necessary base.

Long gone are the days of divided Berlin and the site, referred to in official Berlin maps as the ‘ehemalige Flughafen Tempelhof (the former Tempelhof Airport) was turned into a massive public space, a green refuge in a city that does not otherwise lack green space all that much anyway. It has remained popular with locals who use the site for various activities ranging from barbecuing, flying kites, or playing mini golf. It was my local running spot when I lived in Neukölln in the Spring of 2013. 

The ‘Tempelhof Question’, the challenge to come to a collective decision on what to do with a site of such significance in scale in a very central location in Berlin, a city whose 1990s oversupply of housing in the hopes of making the capital great once more, is acutely falling short of providing shelter for its diverse and ever growing population has caused much controversy in the recent past. The Tempelhofer Feld visitors enjoy 386-hectare of open space (1.5 times the size of Monaco) and the park is home to urban gardening beds, sitting adjacent to a major mosque and public pool. A public referendum in May 2014 turned in favour of those trying to protect the site from any future development by putting in restrictions for planning consent but the discussions were already at their peak shortly before I ended my 3-month long Berlin stint at the end of May 2013. Berliners decided to rid the city officials and their business developers of a very profitable deal.

And as soon as I moved back to London, the protests in Gezi Park erupted in Istanbul and I found myself reflecting on this very recent Tempelhof experience. Gezi protests had come at the tail-end of a streak of incidents where spaces frequented by the public with embedded memories were being streamlined to redevelopment programmes, stripping them of their former qualities: in most cases limiting public access and as in the case of Gezi Park, completely transforming the former functions of what is one of a handful of parks in central Istanbul. I was able to observe the developments around Gezi Park just as closely, in flesh and in spiritual solidarity, as I was for Tempelhof.

Today, a discussion barely registered in the public domain in 2013 is surrounding Tempelhofer Feld. The hangars of the former airport are now homes to around a 1,000 refugees who have fled from conflict zones, primarily from Syria. Last night, I attended an evening of performances by three teenagers who live in the makeshift, temporary housing allocated for the refugees. Titled ‘1.2 Square Meters’, the performances, theatrical insofar they were on a stage and the audience faced them, and otherwise very real, were a combination of spoken word, some singing and dancing, and a recitation of a scripted text reimagining the ages old pan-Arab dream in the embodiment of the Palestinian Uday, ultimately rejected by Abdulrahman and Moamen, the Syrian kids whose survival reflected a simple hope of survival in a foreign country.

The evening was organised by Alexander Schröder, an actor, director and a drama teacher at the Universitaet der Künste, Berlin, who revealed he sneaked into the refugee encampment to ‘seek out his neighbours with the honest and a great feeling of curiosity’ adding that it is this ‘curiosity that would help people integrate with one another’ as against a top-down dicta of what integration means and how it should be achieved.

For the past two months, I have been volunteering as a performer to the ‘immersive theatre’ experience called You Me Bum Bum Train, a show in which I took part as audience in 2011. An audience member goes through ‘scenes’ that reflect real-life situations and put the audience member on the spot, to react to the environment surrounding them — one of the scenes mimcking the the painful and often disastrous journey many migrants resort to between Calais and Dover, in the hopes of a better life.

The testimonials from audience members who go through the experience all reflect one thing: they could not have imagined being put through such stress in real life. They immediately sympathise with the plight of people who seek refuge in a foreign and largely a hostile environment. I was proud to take part in a minute role in this mega-production, whose producers are now dismantling the set and the props and will donate tonnes of spare materials to people across campsites in Calais.

After the end of the 1.2 M2 performance, we took a quick break and re-emerged at the performance room of the DTK Wasserturm. A 130-year old building that served as a source of life for Berliners in this part of Kreuzberg nowadays houses a youth and culture centre and were generous enough to allocate the Theatergruppe Tempelhof space to practice and perform. We heard Alexander’s introductory speech and had a chance to ask questions to the kids. The excitement with which they put their performance together and the childish mockery they make of each other and the world was clearly observed. They were enjoying themselves and said they all wanted to ‘continue doing more theatre’. The challenges are profound: they are struggling to be ‘formalised’ through paperwork which is causing them all sorts of logistical problems. They are being shuffled across different areas of the camp with each attempt to best manage the limited shelter resources; some of the kids now have access to schooling (though they, like all kids, do like to skip classes), and there are curfews in place to make sure they get back to their shelters before too late. While intra-community issues seem to be at minimum from what we’ve heard, separation of boys’ and girls’ lives also mean they cannot often come together to play, and train. 

While the audience, probably all very curious about the journeys these kids have had to go through, tried to keep the focus of the questions on the performances, one audience member couldn’t help but ask what the kids ‘felt towards the people who smuggled them on boats from Turkey to Greece’, which, by that point, as we learned, was the way most of them made their way here. The interpreter who has a shared destiny with the boys mainly shrugged her shoulders but the kids were not shy about revealing the hard truth that is clear to all of us: they were harassed, exploited and exhausted. They all shared one sentiment, too: they missed their mothers. They were sent by their families, probably in order to resist being taken up by Daesh or suffer from conflict, but also to seek hope for the rest of their lives, just about starting in earnest.

It was a humbling evening to finish off a week-long trip to Berlin that started with a stag weekend and included frequent visits to meet old friends, make some new, and places that bring back tremendous shared and personal memories in a city that I have always had very special connections to. At the nearby ‘Kneipe’ we deliberated questions raised by the audience and tried to understand a little more about these kids’ worlds, helped by Malte who has been working with them for the past three months. Exposing kids to such traumas and confronting them with questions might have come across more disturbing to us than it was for the kids actually. Their focus seemed to be getting on with the rest of their lives — however, as they had claimed in some of their spoken words, they have so far not found the ‘heavenly spoils’ they were expecting from Germany. But then as Aisha put it bluntly, they haven’t really seen much of the world except for Tempelhof, though Alexander is now trying to take them on tours across the city. With open eyes and minds, they’ll hopefully be cherishing each and every moment.

Tempelhof, a temple of hope, is also deliberating its own future, once again. Only three years after securing public backing in restricting development on the parkland, a new question looms large: should the restriction be lifted so that permanent structures can be built to accommodate the ever increasing number of incoming migrants? Or would this open the floodgates to nullify a legacy of collective decision-making and legal ownership of public commons, i.e. a new era of laissez-faire for future developments across Berlin’s held dear public land and properties? Opinions are divided and politicians use them to their will: ‘hippies who want to protect Tempelhof won’t help migrants’ is a potentially cynical incursion, and a tough one to stand up to. Perhaps, the new neighbours will start weighing in on the issue — after all this area has borne hopes of survival for many, across generations, and it will continue to do so.

Berliner Mauer geek's early moring cycling

On early May Bank Holiday in the UK, I took the opportunity on the back of an unexpected early wake-up, to trace parts of the Berlin Wall along the Mitte-Kreuzberg border. As I randomly happened to be cycling from the Charite, southwards on Wilhelmstrasse, I realised I would cycle through Zimmerstrasse where the wall once stood.

Utilising my Berlin Wall App, I decided to check out some of the landmarks in the area, starting with this observation tower on Erna-Berger-Strasse, to the right of the picture. To the left of the picture, on the background, you can see the building of the Federal Ministry of the Environment - where a part of the wall has been preserved and integrated into the building. So, actually, on the ground floor, when you look through the front window, you see pieces of the wall, next to which the canteen workers were heaving their breakfast before the morning shift. 

 

I only recalled visiting the Topografie des Terrors (TdT) on one of my earlier visits to Berlin (during 2005-2008 period) after I came across again, this morning, on Zimmerstrasse. The building to the right is the current Federal Ministry of Finance - at the centre, you can see a stretch of the wall, with the exhibition (TdT: http://www.topographie.de/en/) to the left of it.

The Ministry of Finance building also happens to be the House of Ministries during the DDR period - somewhat the epicentre of DDR government politics.In 1965, a man named Heinz Hozapfel made a spectacular escape, with his family, from the top of the building: He hid in the toilet for the evening, and after the nightfall utilised a rope (with help by others) as a cableway to launch the family and glide them to freedom over the Wall.
 

Here is a Spiegel article from the time: http://www.spiegel.de/spiegel/print/d-46273676.html
...and here is a Die Welt article from 2000: http://www.welt.de/print-welt/article536957/Mit-der-Seilbahn-ueber-die-Mauer.html

 

Not far from the Ministry of Finance (to its west), and a stone's throw away from Checkpoint Charlie (to its east) is a permanent exhibition of some of he curiosities about the ways of how STASI (the DDR State Security) worked. It was too early in the morning for me to visit (the exhibition opens daily from 10 AM), but I need to come back as many would know my curiosity into the subject: http://ocavusoglu.blogspot.de/2007/03/elveda-stasi.html

Here is a juxtaposition with the building to the right, a wasteland (part of former 'death strip) to the left and a hot-air balloon, sponsored by Die Welt to the right.

Speaking of Die Welt, it is well worth mentioning the standpoint of Axel-Springer Publishing Company, that publishes Die Welt, among a number of other daily newspapers and magazines in Germany.

Axel Springer was an idealist who built his empire right at the border between the Federal Germany and the DDR (more on the building here: http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Axel-Springer-Hochhaus
His ideology was simple: "believing in German unity", though a conservative one at that.
It is rather less well-known that Die Welt, somewhat similar to the Daily Mail in the UK, ran a hate campaign against the leftists in the era of 1960s, and the infamous RAF. Rudi Dutschke was one leftist, shot in the street by a young boy, as he was being targeted by Die Welt, in 1968. 

While Axel-Springer Strasse (where I took this picture) is an amalgamation of out-of-place contemporary architecture, reminiscent of Potsdamer Platz, as it happens to be one of many former "death strip" areas, the irony lies in its neighbouring Rudi-Dutschke Strasse (formerly Kochstrasse), renamed in the honour of Rudi Dutschke after the leftist newspaper Tageszeitung (taz)'s persistent campaign. 

Even less-known is the work of the artist Peter Lenk "Peace Be With You" on the side of the wall of taz building that directly faces the Axel-Springer Hochhaus. The work clearly mocks the many penis-based cheap news that the likes of Die Welt and many other Axel-Springer publications spam the German society with: http://open.salon.com/blog/lost_in_berlin/2009/12/04/berlin_newspaper_erects_provocative_artwork

Tracing the Wall has been made easy by numerous attempts of the city authorities. Other than this useful app that I have been using (http://www.berlin.de/mauer/wo-war-die-mauer/app.en.html), the city has marked areas where the Wall once ran and demarcated streets with "Mauerweg" signs to keep Wall commuters along the path of where it used to stand.

 

As described earlier, there is still a plethora of 'waste land' in inner Berlin. The most famous regeneration attempts of these areas, made derelict as they used to form 'death strips' (the areas between the Wall and the frontier barrier where the Allied soldiers guarded), of course, include Potsdamer Platz. However, as Berlin was admittedly overbuilt in the 1990s with the hopes of relocation of mass populations across from Germany, there was less need to keep building for periods of time (and there may be other reasons, too).  

 

Today, you still come across areas in these wastelands that now make ways for new office blocks and luxury apartments, 24 years after the Wall has come down. 

 

...and little did I know that my daily cycling commute, through Heinrich-Heine-Strasse towards Moritzplatz went through a border crossing, here, demarcated by one of many information boards around the city.

Many people allegedly attempted to cross the border here in vehicles, speeding through border police and the physical barriers - while, unfortunately, many of these attempts ended in misery. Today, Moritzplatz, at the heart of Kreuzberg, is relevant in two interesting ways (if not more):
It is an area where land prices skyrocketed more than anywhere else and it houses a refugee/asylum camp of Nigerians (and other Africans) on the park at the square where some of Germany's Occupy movement resided a few years ago.

Tough Bond

On 15 Februrary 2013, I had one of the most fulfilling documentary experiences in my life. Having gotten out of the bed with ample time on my clock, I somehow managed to leave the small room I was renting in Berlin-Mitte late enough, so that I had to make a 3-minute run to Nordbahnhof, and fly through the "shiny surfaces and special effects, laced with nostalgia and product placement" of Potsdamer Platz to make it on time to the 11:30 screening of Tough Bond at the CinemaxX. My second film, so far, of this year's Berlinale edition, I was optimistic, having picked 5 great films out of the 6 I saw previous year. My expectations were far more than fulfilled.

Tough Bond was featured as part of the Generation 14plus section of the festival, a section that is aimed to "integrate children and youth into the festival’s film-aesthetic discourse". The documentary follows a number of kids in different towns in Kenya to merge the audience into the environment in which these kids live. Their lives, to a great extent, speak of otherwise invisible characters who struggle to become survivors (or "servivors" as one wall graffito read). All of the kids hail from an area surrounding Lake Turkana, the world's largest desert lake, whose life and provision of livelihood to its environment has come under threat with the construction of a major dam on the Omo river in the northerly-neighbouring country of Ethiopia. With very little to live on, indigenous peoples of the area have migrated to towns across Kenya. There is one common character that bonds these kids together, a tough one that is, that they all sniff glue on regular bases.

Our first encounter is Sinbad, a generally upbeat kid in Isiolo, Kenya. Sinbad is depicted as one of the stronger kids in the town, collecting plastics and metal from the streets, and the garbage and sell/return to metal scrap dealers for money, with which he either buys medicine for his ill grandmother, or more glue for himself. It is Sinbad's grandmother who has raised him, and to whom Sinbad looks upon as his true mother. And it is for whom Sinbad returns to his shack home every now and then, to take care of her, though he prefers to sleep rough on the streets, with the full confidence that his mates will protect him. Quite predictably, the mother figure is an underlying symbol throughout the film. The documentary starts with the filming of a very difficult labour process, and subtle references to the motherhood of nature, manipulated by mankind's political desires float throughout the film.

If Sinbad is an abandoned child of the nature, Akai, a young girl in the second village we travel to, Meru, a base for travellers to the Meru National Park, is the abandoned child of the society at large. She is the classical example of an exploited young girl who finds a way to get away from her abusive "husband", only to return to him a year later, and now infected with HIV that he contracted from others. As Akai introduces us to the medical care system in this impoverished town, our directos take us to Nairobi to reveal where the name of the film comes from: Tough Bond is a chemical product that is used to bond parts and accessories to metals, commonly used in minibuses and other vehicles to strengthen the seats. While the Kenyan Government is alleged to ask the producers of the glue company to combat the issue, the business-owner claims that 15% of the produce go to children for sniffing. As we follow the intricate route of the glue from the factory to the hands of the furniture manufacturers, and the elderly of the towns and villages who dilute them and sell them to children, we get a sense of how the supply chain works on this most precious goods on the street market.

As kids entertain themselves in the two small towns, watching trashy east-Asian marshal arts films on small television sets, a group of young and tough kinds in the Kiamaiko Slum in Nairobi call themselves the legion, the brotherhood. Complaining about being stigmatised by the city-dwellers, they claim to stand out for one another in a hostile environment. After all, these are places where individuals are not allowed to exist -- if you are outcast from the legion, you are in trouble; or, as the community worker lady in Isiolo had said "when a child is born, he/she belongs to the community; if the child splits from the community, the child cannot exist". Introduced, once again, at the very end of the film, she bluntly points her finger to the overall discourse that has come to plague the society:

"... these people, we, ... are not accustomed to urban living. We have to wake up... and we have to work very hard".

As I prepared to gather my thoughts on what the conditions of a rapidly urbanising world meant to otherwise invisible people to us, the directors of the film came up onto the stage for a Q&A. While I mention this, I have to add that I am always pleasantly surprised at the ratio of unannounced Q&As at the end of films at Berlinale (over the last two years, about two thirds of all films I have seen had them).

When the first-time documentary feature directors came up on stage, the Berlinale producer asked them the same question that came to everyone's mind: "two white Americans, shooting a documentary in sub-Saharan Africa -- why is this any different?"

The directors then went on to explain their motif: the idea of giving the people to voice their own narrative.
The means were simple: none of the documentary was scripted. The directors lived with the communities in the shacks and on the streets for over a year, and traveled back again after another year. They had an early interview with the Vice President in Nairobi, who claims in the film "that street children in Nairobi is no longer", and they used a picture they took with him to gain access where necessary in the villages across the country.
They had a code: no footprint -- meaning no unjustifiable help to the children (in terms of food). Though they sometimes broke the code, they had also initially agreed to put Sinbad into a boarding school, and Akai into a skills programme. They have recently found out that both children had been taken back by their families or communities.

And this is the soft underbelly of any such production, many examples of which we have come across over the years. It is inevitable to have left a footprint, to have had impact on the lives of the communities, and offer very little after leaving. Yet, the directors wanted to leave a legacy behind.

The production company, Village Beat, has set up a radio that serves to "1: Immediate information during crisis. 2: An equal access platform for peaceful & substantial issue discussion. 3: A means to celebrate and protect culture through music and storytelling." Crowdsourcing, entertainment, and an internal communications device, all at once. The idea is, possibly naive, but appreciable: "to see if it will help people to try and stop the children in their communities from using glue".

Majority of that responsibility lies with the authorities who can provide the mental, social, and physical infrastructure to communities in need. The resources may be scarce but they are disproportionately distributed. That said, external factors loom large. What this film was about though, as the directors claim:

"an answer to what happens when the delicate balance between humans and nature is disturbed". I learned from it, and I was inspired to see a full-house in a chilly, beautiful Berlin morning, and three rows of school children who participated in the Q&A of a documentary selected for a section of a festival dedicated to them.

sunrise behind the wall

It was around the time when the sun finally decided to come out, following days of windy harbour walks and wet swing performances; on the day where our German colleagues got us anticipating Germany's victory over Italy later in the evening, that we paid a visit to an inspiring community-run programme (Familiengarten/Aile Bahçesi) on Oranienstrasse 34-35. Next to what had already become a new habitat for some of us (SO36), in the heart of Kreuzberg was what was once merely a shelter and now turned into an institution that did not only provide space for the members of the Kreuzberg community and their children but also ran, through its foundation, teaching courses, legal consultancy, workshops, and providing space for people to meet one another, especially in an area of the city that is primarily populated by immigrants or immigrant-descent families. Ms. Neriman Kurt had given us a warm welcome, supplemented by the usual Turkish tea, brewed in an authentic semaver, and accompanied by cookies; and a long, and well-informed presentation about the foundations of their work, the wider environment and history of Kreuzberg, the initial support they had received from the authorities which waned after mid-1990’s and how they made it until today; still helping the resistance against the ongoing gentrification processes in the area, that we have accustomed to over the last years [it was interesting in that sense that, BMW Guggenheim Lab, that was forced out of Kreuzberg a few months ago due to major protests, had just opened in Prenzlauerberg, another area whose fate Kreuzberg may eventually follow, just before we had arrived in Berlin]. Without trying to read too much romanticism between the lines, I felt that Neriman Kurt’s eyes unveiled the layers of struggles she has gone through, probably personally, as well as institutionally as she shared it, while she had occasionally swapped her serious tone to a happier one that many people are accustomed to see Turkish people in. 

As she walked us through the playgrounds where she said Turkish kids, as well as German kids and kids from other nations and all communities would, from time to time, play together; also benefiting from the dense, urban environment within which the building was located, allowing for children’s loud noises [and Turkish kids can be loud!] to be overheard by others who would be tempted to join them, I started thinking about how much longer this place could resist the real-estate pressure that was inevitably going to keep increasing. I had missed the part, if there was one, about whether they owned the building in which they were located, which would not come as a surprise given the relative low-value of real-estate of the area before the Wall came down, but regardless I would have liked to hear about whether the respective municipalities/authorities had affordable housing provisions, rent controls, compulsory purchase or any other regulations that would be the counterpart what we have here in the UK, that could have effect on the future of the premises. At this moment, I found myself gazing back at the building which was once used as a textile manufacturing house (correct me if I am wrong), with some of its original features remain tact on the garden. The skies had almost totally cleared by now and it was turning out to be a beautiful afternoon.

The second of our community-run project visits was in Gesundbrunnen, near Wedding, Mitte. More specifically located in the Ackerstraße area, and therefore relatively better off than the more deprived neighbouring area of Brunnenstrasse, this project was run by a number of ladies led by Selda Karaçay who founded the “Brunnenkiezmütter” Project under the umbrella organization called Pfferwerk Stadtkultur as a centre for consultancy for mothers who live in the area on issues ranging from the development of their children, and of their education to learning their mother tongue and German, and to discipline without violence and other domestic affairs. Somewhat similar to Neriman Kurt, Ms. Selda Karaçay also obtained a somewhat reserved manner throughout her presentation that rarely but very sincerely broke into a laidback attitude, especially when she was trying to motivate the other ladies around her to present their experiences. 

The area in which the organization was located suffers from high unemployment rates (up to 20%), especially more severe for youth with immigrant backgrounds, and despite being well-linked through transport networks due to its locality, owing to its situation right near where the border once existed and the transformation of the urban grain, with high concentration of social housing buildings, the area has admittedly been isolated. Education seems to have been a major issue of concern where some school and day-care centres are predominantly minority-populated, and as we have learned from the project’s brochure, the local population contains a mix of people who speak diverse languages including Chechen, Arabic or Russian. Many of the local projects seem to have been geared towards provision of care for the young and assistant to their parents, including this particular one. When asked what some of the volunteer workers for the project felt as the most proud moments of their time spent here, a few of them, almost unanimously claim that the fact that they can help out people so that they do not suffer from the same kind of struggles that they went through when they first moved here a couple of decades ago is amongst the most rewarding feelings. Having grown up in a culture where the cliché phrase of “education first!” has almost lost its original meaning and at a time when Turkey’s primary education system is going through a complete overhaul, a subject we actually wanted to discuss with our German counterparts, especially since the new system is touted as having taken the German one as a benchmark, a project like Brunnenkiezmütter reminds us of how much successful integration and peaceful and progressive co-existence rely upon the successful and complete upbringing of the younger generations who feel included and contributing to the societies in which they live. 

I decide not to take the taxi back to the Academy with the others, and follow my instincts to find an alternative way back home, especially since the weather has now provided us with the greatest amount of sunshine and warmth and also because I would always prefer to take a walk if I can get to my final destination on time and I feel like I may be up to something unexpected. So, after a detour via Voltastraße because I initially wanted to get the S-Bahn from Gesundbrunnen, I decide to hit Brunnenstraße and keep going south until I hit the next round of S-Bahn. It is then I realise I am near the famous Bernauer Straße, where I somehow never made it to in any of my previous visits to Berlin. I walk down Mauerweg and pay tribute to those who brought down one of the most significant physical barriers that existed in the western world until very recently. Unfortunately, one wall comes up as another one goes down, somewhere in the world, as Eyal Weizman had also once noted, and there are only so many that we can work towards bringing down whilst humbly trying not to contribute to construction of new ones. It is in that regard, that while I was taking pictures around the monumental park, I felt like the sun was slowly rising, at times, behind other walls that the likes of Neriman Kurt or Selda Karaçay were trying to demolish without resorting to any form of violence.

aimee und jaguar

A few days ago, I was cycling back home from work, at a rather unusually slow pace and in a much missed feeling of appreciating my surrounding. It was a warm summer evening. I cycled through small streets and alleyways opening up to main roads passing by families and strollers looking at them from a slightly elevated view. It was then I realised I missed traveling across the city on an overground train observing the life on the streets from the perspectives of buildings.

Then I missed taking the S-bahn in Hamburg between Sternschanze and Altona or in Berlin cutting all the way from the east all the way to the west. Observing the people in the train, reading their newspaper, talking to their friends, thinking about getting back to their homes. At the same time, I could see people walking when we approached stations, taking a left turn into the small street with that man, or taking my child into my lap like that woman. Contrary to what many people think, I never lived in Germany, maybe for that reason, I always attached myself into those stories that I could so easily observe or create. I have rarely taken an overground train in London, especially in the evening. Only when I lived for a few months in Streatham Hill, last winter, I would take a train from Farringdon, swim through the endless estates of South London, gaze upon the misty Brockwell park through a winter evening's fog. A few days ago, I felt I missed cruising over the city, watching my fellow citizens...

...

On another evening, I came upon a film called Aimee and Jaguar at the Prince Charles Cinema, a central-London favourite. I went home and downloaded it, to go back to it this morning. It is years 1943-1944, Berlin. Aimee married a Wehrmacht soldier at the age of 20, and has 4 kids from him. Her husband is away at the Eastern front, trying to keep hold of Berlin against the Soviets. Aimee seeks re-vitalisation in her life and enjoys small gifts from a flirt with another army general.

Jaguar is a Jew and she is working under disguise at a Nazi sympathetic newspaper assistant editorial. She is in love with words and poetry, and an adventurous, almost a carefree lady who is bitterly sarcastic at the unfairness of life, yet tries to secure an escape for herself and her close friends from Germany at the height of the Jew hunt by the Gestapo and the SS.

Ilse is Jaguar's girlfriend and she provides shelter for Jaguar until one evening when Ilse's communist father decides he will not be able to help a Jew hide in his house when he realises that Jaguar is a lesbian and that his daughter Ilse is in love with her.

Jaguar seduces Aimee, who is at first skeptic but is in search for a 'new feeling' after having been deprived of love that was never there through her marriage with Günther. Aimee seeks new friendships with Jaguar and her company, Ilse is more and more frustrated at losing Jaguar to Aimee and is worried that Jaguar will throw away her chance to escape Berlin, incapable of leaving Aimee behind.

The love between the two women grow when Jaguar finally reveals to Aimee that she is a Jew, and Aimee, in whom a deep insecurity has been embedded, draws closer to Jaguar, possibly succumbing under the responsibility of being the wife of a Nazist soldier, added to her tender emotions to Jaguar and the emerging chance of 'taking care of someone' she loves.

...

Berlin, 1943-1944, the city is rapidly being destroyed. Once the dreamland of Germania, the city is under constant mist, smoke, smell of burned flesh, blood, mortar and explosives. Everyone is dressed in brown, even the most exclusive hotel gatherings have a darker shade of grey overcasting the golden glamour. The city looks fatally beautiful even in its destruction. A beauty under depression, or the beauty of the depression. Ones who created the metropolis are now causing its total destruction. None stranger than Deutsche Bank (the funders of the research project I am working for) have sold the golds of the Jews to traders to 'neutral' countries, none stranger than my home country, Turkey, to provide more funding to the fascist regime and its army, the Wehrmacht. Those, who made, destroyed and re-made Germany.

A romantic ideology, suppressed by contemporary Germans for decades, one that created the 'fatherland's soul, its philosophy and its rich cultural heritage; that has recently been borough back to drama by films such as Aimee und Jaguar and many others. Aimee und Jaguar is an impressive, touching film about a real story that took place during one of the most cruelsome events of the recent past, is being told by a cast and crew that is dominating the contemporary German cinema industry with its familiar directors, producers and actors. Juliane Kohler (Aimee) was Eva Braun in der Untergang, in which also Ulrich Mattes was cast in a much more significant role as Goebbels (the SS who arrested Jaguar in Aimee und Jaguar, a 1999 production). Johanne Wokalek (Ilse) is Gudrun Elssin in the recent der Baader Meinhof Komplex, in which Martina Gedeck (Ulrike Meinhof) made worthy of her performance previously in das Leben der Anderen

Familiar faces, and familiar feelings. A warm Sunday morning brought back memories that I had just recently been missing of places that I associated with. Stories that once were, long forgotten, now re-lived. Traumas re-visited, coldness re-shivered for. I felt like I did the anticipated city-gazing over the rail tracks, following Aimme and Jaguar's love that was a fable, glimpse of a possibility in the impossible.

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24-31 August 2009, London.

Besiktas - Berlin

Cok hizli ve uzun bir hafta oldu.

3 Subat Sali aksami F. ile kisaca gorustukten sonra, Sabiha Gokcen Havalimani’nin yolunu tuttum. Yolda durup, Kurtkoy civarinda bir pideciden pideyi kapip, otoban ruzgarinda soguttugum pideyi yerken onumdeki uzun (9 gunluk) bir haftanin programi sekillenmisti.

Sali gecesi Londra’ya vardigimda, sehir 2 gunluk kar firtinasindan (1 Subat - 2 Subat) yeni yeni uyaniyordu. Rotarli, bol aktarmali yolculugum, Istanbul’daki evimden, Londra’da D.’nin evine kadar toplam 10 saatlik bir maceraya donustu.



Carsamba sabahi 6 saatlik bir uykuyla solugu Londra Alman Elciligi’nde aldim, Schengen Basvurusu icin. Henuz 6 haftalik bir Ingiltere Vizesi macerasini yeni noktalamistim ama Almanlarin 6 aylik bir turist vizesi icin cok sorun cikartmayacagini biliyordum.

Ertesi sabah Persembe saat 10’da tekrar Elcilik’e gittigimde, Schengen vizesi hazir, LSE’de Urban Age Ofisi’nde beni beklemeye devam eden isler de aynen duruyordu. Carsamba gecesi Turk yemegi gecesi yapmis, bol bol raki ve uzerine mangolu Malibu ictikten sonra, soguk Londra havasi Persembe sabahi zihnimi tekrar acmisti. Persembe tum gunu ve Cuma gununun onemli bir kismini yogun bir calisma temposu altinda Urban Age ofisinde gecirdim.




Cuma gunu ogleden sonra saat 4 civarlarinda Liverpool Street Station’da, Stansted Havalimani’na gidecek treni beklerken, ‘kotu hava kosullari’ndan oturu binmeyi planladigim trenlerden birinin iptal oldugunu gordum. Neyse ki, ucusta bir aksama olmadi ve 6 Subat Cuma gecesi saat 11 civarlarinda Salzburg’daki hostele sag salim vardik.

2 saatlik bir yuruyus; birkac ilginc shot (aralarinda muz likoru, Kahlua ve Vodka karisimi “Monkey Fucker” da bulunan) ve peynirli bir sosisli sandvic (Käse Kreiner) ile Salzburg’u hemence gezip gece biraz uyku icin hostele dondum. 5-6 saatlik bir uykunun ardindan Cumartesi erkenden kalkip Zell am See’nin yolunu tuttuk.



2.5 gunluk bu kayak tatili, taa Aralik ayinda planlanmis, ucak biletleri ona gore alinmisti. Aralik-Ocak aylarindaki Ingiltere Vizesi sikintisi hesaba katilmamisti. Dolayisiyla yeniden planlama cok pahali olacagi icin solugu Londra’da alir almaz Schengen vizesine basvurmus, boyle sikisik bir programin ortasinda kendimi Zell am See’de bulmustum.


Zell am See, Avusturya’nin batisinda, Salzburg’a yaklasik 1.5 saat mesafede, genis bir vadiye yayilmis, buzlarla kapli bir golun etrafindaki daglara konuslanmis bir kayak merkezi. Hava guzel oldugunda pistlerden Zeller See golunu izleyerek kayabiliyorsunuz. Cumartesi oglene dogru hostele vardiktan sonra, snowboard kiralama, skipass alma teferruatlarini atlatip saat 1 gibi pistlerdeydik. Havanin cok guzel olmasi cok buyuk bir sansti.

Uzun haftanin ilk yarisi sona ererken vucudum artik iflas etmek uzereydi. Cumartesi aksamustu saat 9’da uyuyup, ertesi sabah 8’de uyanarak 11 saatlik bir uyku festivali yasadim. Aralarda 6-7 kere uyanmama regmenm vucudum yataktan disari adim atacak mecali hic bulamadi. Sabah 8’de yataktan kalktiimda susuzluk ve asiri uykunun verdigi yorgunlukla kendimi hemen kahvalti salonuna attim.




Pazar hava cok kotuydu, ama Zell am See kayak merkezinin yamaclarindan biri, tepedeki ruzgarlara gore korunakli ve daha az kullanan kirmizi pistlere ev sahipligi yaptigi icin, Pazar gununu burada kayarak gecirdik. Pazar aksami klasik Avusturya yemekleri ve kesinlkle ugruna siirler yazilacak guzellikte irkci bir isme sahip Moor im Hemd ile tatli sonlandi.

Pazartesi Zell am See’nin hemen yanindaki, Kaprun isimli, genis buzul vadisi ile biraz daha soguk ama kayak icin de daha fazla alternatif sunan merkeze hareket ettik. Merkezin ortasindaki tamami kar ve buzdan yapilmis Ice Bar kompleksinin icinde birkac fotograf cekip, bir seyler yiyip ictikten sonra, ogleden sonra saat 3 gibi boardlari teslim etmek, esyalari almak, ve Zell am See’den ayrilmak uzere tekrar asagi dogru yollandik.


Schengen vizemi bu kadar acele icinde cikartmamin bir iyi yani daha olmustu. Pazartesi aksami D. ile yollarimiz Salzburg Tren Istasyonu’nda ayrildi. Saat 19:30 treni ile Viyana’nin yolunu tuttum. Avusturya’nin sagladigi yuksek hayat standardlarindan birini de, bos trende tamamen kendime ayirdigim 6 kisilik bir kompartmanda dinlenerek, uyuyarak ve film seyrederek yasadim. Saat 22:24 civarinda F. beni Viyana Westbahnhof’da karsiladiginda, bu guzel sehre kisa bir sureliginde olsa tekrar donus yaptigim icin mutludum.

Viyana’da topu topu gecirecegim 7 saatim vardi. Plan belliydi. Esyalari F.’nin evine birakip, O. ve E. ile bulusup sabahin erken saatlerine kadar muhabbet edip, esyalari tekrar aldiktan sonra Viyana Sudbahnhof’un yolunu tutmak... Gece yarisini biraz gece basladigimiz muhabbet sabahin erken saatlerine dogru bira bardaklarini devirmece, mekanin ortaklarindan Avusturyali Turk gocmeni genc Yusuf (sanirim) ile tanismaca, onun yardimlari ile neredeyse O. ve E.’yi spontan bir sekilde yolculugun devamia katilmaya ikna etmece ile evrildi. “Spontan” benim pek asina oldugum bir kavram olmakla birlikte, gecenin onemli masa muhabbetlerinden de biri oldu.


Saat 04:30’a dogru evlere hareket edilirken, icimden bir ses, esyalarini toparlamaya giden O. ve E.’nin her an yan cizebilecegini soyluyordu. Nitekim saat 05:00 civarlarinda O.’nun klasik bezginligi agir basti, ve 05:56’da Sudbahnhof’dan hareket eden trende yerlerini almadilar.

10 saatlik bir yolculukta karli manzaralar komur siyahindan beton beyazina, endustriyel mimari kir evlerine yerini birakirken, Cek Cumhuriyeti’ni boydan boya katedip saat 16:00 civarlarinda Berlin Hauptbahnhof’a yanasti tren. Uzun haftanin son duragi, artik okuyanlarin ve duyanlarin sikildigini tahmin ettigim betimlememle ‘en sevdigim sehir’ Berlin’di.


Uykusuz Viyana cikartmasina ve ceyrek uykulu Berlin tren macerasina eslik eden onemli telefon ve Internet haberlesmeleri olmustu. 10 Subat Sali gunu saat 17:00 civarinda Potsdamer Platz’da Berlinale merkezinde emaillerimi kontrol ederken, Urban Age’den Philipp Rode bir yandan telefonla taciz ediyor, ben de o sirada Pazartesi ve Sali biriken, ‘is hayatimin’ en yogun trafigine neden olan 35-40 emaili teker teker anlamaya calisiyordum.

Hic beklemedigim bir sekilde 1.5 gunluk Berlin gezisi bir anda en az 9-10 saat calismam gereken bir “is kampi”na donusmustu. Buna mukabil kafami toparlayabilmek ve rahat calisabilmek adina daha once sozlestigim Y. ve G.’yi aramayarak, 5. Berlin gezimde ilk defa olmak uzere parali bir konaklama opsiyonu ugruna Rosa-Luxemburg Platz dolaylarindaki hostellere yollandik.

Berlinale’de film gorme planlarim tamamen yalan olmak uzereydi ve 10 Subat Sali aksaminin onemli bir kismini hostelde laptopumla calisarak gecirmistim ki, saat gece 11:30’a dogru daha fazla kendimi sikmamaya karar vererek, Tacheles’in yolunu tutup F., S. (Dn.), Y. ve A. ile bulustum. Gece gene saat 04:30a dogru sonlanirken ertesi sabah 07:30 da kalkip hostelin barina kahvalti esliginde mail-telefon trafigine baslayacagim fikri hic hosuma gitmiyordu.



11 Subat Carsamba gunu hafif bir kirilganlik ile uyandim. 2.5 saatlik var ile yok arasi bir uykuyu 3 bardak portakal suyu ve 2 kahve ile bertaraf etmeye calisip sabah seansi calismami yaptiktan sonra, Berlinale kapsaminda Talent Campus programinda soylesiye katilan Reha Erdem ve Yesim Ustaoglu’nu dinlemek uzere HAU 1’in yolunu tuttum.

Urban Age’deki isim uzerinden, tesadufen daha 1 hafta once Londra’da (5 Ocak Persembe gunu) bir email trafigi ile tanistigim D.2 bu etkinlik icin davetiye hazirlamisti. Zira bu soylesi ayni zamanda Urban Age’in de finansoru olan Deutsche Bank’in Alfred Herrhausen Society’si tarafindan organize ediliyordu. Bu sayede soylesiyi biraz dinledikten sonra HAU 1’in fuayesinde Londra’dan gelecek is telefonunu beklerken, Alfred Herrhausen’dan D.2, Jessica Barthel, ve Ute Weiland ile tanisma sansina da eristim.

Bu sirada soylesinin cikisinda liseden arkadasim C.’ye ve universiteden arkadasim S.’ye rastladim. S., C.’nin kiz arkadasi, ve iki kiz daha Berlinale Talent Campus tarafindan, filmcilik alanindaki ustun yeteneklerinden oturu yaptiklari basvuru sonucunda Berlinale’ye davet edilmis, 5 gunluk bir atolye calismasinin son gununde Reha Erdem ve Yesim Ustaoglu’nu dinleyerek etkinligi destekleyemeye gelmislerdi. Isin ilginc yani, yaklasik 2-3 senedir kendisini gormedigim C.’ye bundan sadece 2 hafta once bir gece yarisi Besiktas Ihlamurdere’de rastlamis olmamdi. Ben komsum-arkadasim F.2 ile yaptigim kisa bir yuruyusun ardindan eve donerken, C. de Fulya’da yaptigi bir hali saha macinin ardindan evine dogru gidiyordu. Dunya hep kucuk ya, en cok da Berlin’de karsilasilan bu tesadufler beni epey bagliyor bu sehre galiba.

Potsdamer Platz’da bir cafe’de emailleri kontrol ettikten sonra D.2’nin daveti uzerine Unter den Linden’daki Deutsche Bank ofisine gittim. Kendisi ile verimli bir gorusme yaptik. Su anda Urban Age Direktoru icin ayarlamaya calistigim 18-21 Subat Istanbul toplantilari icin bana fikir verip yardimlarda bulunurken, biraz da dedikoducu ve ilgili tavri sayesinde oradan buradan muhabbetlerle epey ilginc haberler aldim.


Carsamba aksamina dogru atesim cikmaya, hastaligim iyice belirginlesmeye baslamisti. Burada fazla detaya girmeyecegim bir hadise uzerine de, daha once gerceklesmesini planladigim ve eski kiz arkadasim A.’nin da dahil oldugu bir 3luyu gorusmeye katilmamama A. ile birlikte karar verdik. Cok acikmistim ve cok sevdigim bir yerde bir aksam yemegi programi idi bu (Tiergarten S Bahn duraginin altindaki Alman pub’i) ama onun yerine acligimi Alexanderplatz istasyonundaki bir Cin bufesinden devasa bir noodle box ile kapatmaya karar verdim.

Saat aksam 6 civarinda hostele dondugumde uzun haftanin yorgunlugu, hastalik ile birlesmis agirligini iyiden iyiye hissetiriyordu. Fotografini birkac hafta once Istanbul Modern’de bir muzede de gordugum dogu Berlin’in unlu sinemalarindan Babylon’la ayni koseyi paylasan sokaktaki hostelimde yaptigim 2 saatlik is calismasindan sonra odaya donerek Berlinale programina son bir kez goz gezdirdim.

Saat 9’daki filme bilet bulamadik ama saat 10’da Potsdamer Platz’daki kisa filmlere gidebildik. Film gosteriminin yuzdek 80’ini uyuyarak gecirdigim icin, 1 kisa film disinda digerlerinin cogundan cok az sey anlayabildim. Gene detaylarina girmeyecegim bir aksamustu hikayesi olarak, keyif ve temp dozu dusuk gece saat 12’ye dogru agir bir hastalik uykusuna yolculukla sona erdi.

Sabah 8 gibi kalktim. Dune gore daha iyi hissederek. Bogazimda beklentilerimin cok altinda bir agri var ve belki de yarina kadar bir seyim kalmaz. Saat 10:30’a dogru Tegel Havalimani’na vardim. Ilk defa Urban Age ucus biletlerimi almisti. Zira Istanbul’a, Urban Age ile ilgili bir is icin donuyorum. 2 hafta daha Istanbul’dayim ve sonrasi Londra’da yeni bir hayat mucadelesine donusecek.


Besiktas’tan Berlin’e, uzun, yorucu, karmasik, genelde soguk, buzlu, karli ve gene hayatin inanilmaz temposuna girdiginizde sizi asla birakmayan o muthis enerjinin verdigi anlatilamaz hislerle eve dogru gidiyorum. Uzuuuunn ve guzel bir haftanin ardindan. Fotograflarina bakip yamaclarina gittigim mekanlarla, farkli cografyalarda hikayelerine birlikte baslayip birlikte bitirdigim guzel insanlarla ve bohcamda Y.’ye alip hediye edemedigim bir paket Mozartkugeln ve bircok bircok aniyla gene eve dogru donuyorum. Her defasinda yeni bir gozle bakmayi ogrendigim essiz guzellik ve essiz cirkinlikteki Istanbulumun silueti yagmur bulutlarinin arasinda hayal meyal secilen yeni gokdelenleri ve yigin yigin uzanan kirmizi damlari ile, sonsuz ceperlerini zorlayarak etrafindaki batakliklara yayilirken, son bir kez hemen altimizda enginlige uzanan, goz alabildigine masmavi Karadeniz’e son bir bakis atiyorum.

aus Berlin

Warschauer Strasse'de bir gecenin ardindan, 22.10.2008 - saat 03:00 sulari, Frankfurter Tor civarlarinda bir yerlerde, ne ictigimi hatirlayamadigim minik bir barda doldurdugum bindunya kafa'yla yazilmis bir seyler...

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Hayat inanilmaz bir sey. Sag gozunun ucunda Fernsehturm'un diyagonal isiklari. Karsinda Sovyetik bir blok, neoklasiksel facade ile. 6gen cizgili sokak lambasinin arkasinda, 8 katli bir bina, 35 metre eninde, neredeyse butun Karl-Marx Allee ve kesinlikle Strasse der Pariser Kommune hakim. Ufak balkonlari ortasinda, Viyana'nin palasina benzer ideolojik ve estetik kaygisiyla. Mini mini komik cumbalari var 20 yil once Dogu Berlinlilerin ucuz dikis makinalariyla nakis islerken pencere kenarinda cekirdek citlettikleri cunku DDR sosyalizmi hic bir zaman cinsiyetleri denklestirme derdinde degildi 5-yillik devlet iktisadi planlama programlarinda. Komik minik bulutlar parca parca uzaklasirken gecenin karanliginda, der Himmel uber Berlin'e bakarak aldim ilhamimi...

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Some bullshit I've scribbled down my some 0.20 Blood alcohol concentration in the middle of the night in east Berlin. Sorry, it's only in Turkish for the time being...