le chat fantôme à père lachaise

So be the post-modern german interpretation of the black cat phantom at père lachaise. Tomb stone and garden deco. Work of "art," duplicates in the age of modern reproduction. I had a walk along Lake Constance, pondering on life and philosophy. Pondering on Baudelaire, and then Benjamin. Pondering on the Erlösung, as the mundanity has been so deafening and I'm not sure if I've missed the calling. Where shall the flaneuse be looking for the aura? If we are indeed endowed with the little messianic power, where should we be turning our heads to?

The Berlin Stories: post script

I had written (and lived in) drama and poetry, experienced ardent passion and hopeless dissociation, embarked on adventures and misadventures, squandered youth and assets and finally, undergone countless chatharsis in this area where Rilke and Isherwood had left their footprints. If Tempelhof had taken my nihilistic mid 20s in, Schöneberg had showered a creative soul in her early 20s with all she asked/cared for: an artsy, art nouvelle Altbau apartment with giant stairs and a huge balcony; a kitchen painted pastel blue by an aging artist, and the walking distance to the bourgeoise Akazienkiez. Thank you Schöneberg, for appeasing my tempestuous early 20s.

130817, revisiting Nollendorfstr