
Karen Lamassonne

Saying goodbye to Berlin. All the history, the hofs, the cafes, the dark hallways. Messages in bathroom stalls. Strangers and smirks and lit uBahn station tiles. The haircuts, the black. Dogs waiting outside Lidl off-leash. Seven spätis on my block. The canal. Sourdough brötchen for breakfast, with extra butter. The zimt rolls. Working at Clue. Kotti. The first time I tried to pronounce Straße. The complaints and the appreciations. Grey skies in winter. Fucking February. Sonnenallee. Hermannstraße. Karl-Marx-Straße. An apartment all to myself. Quiet mornings. Summer sidewalk seating. The smell of cigarettes. Nah? Sunset at 4pm; sunset at 11pm. Candlelit bars. Clubs with no phone policies. Femme attire including white sneakers on the dancefloor. Faces full of speed and ketamine. Event poster on event poster on event poster on event poster. The first warm day of spring. 3€ slices at Pazzi. Buying groceries at the Schillermarkt. Cherry blossoms and momentous parks. Eyes on thighs and catcalls. That one pitbull on Dresdenerstraße. She’s not there anymore though. Grunewald? Bad pot at Hasenheide. Learning the proper sauna regimen. Nudity. Being scolded by an aufgussmeister. Seeking bougieness in Mitte. Falafel und halloumi teller, bitte. Azzam. (But Maroush is better.) Reminding grown men not to litter. Open-air festivals. Feeling empty, then full. Looping thoughts. Australians, Australians everywhere. Natural wine. Getting into Berghain. Not getting into Berghain. The wedding caravans of honking Mercedes. The wedding dress shops of Neukölln. The chocolate cake at L’eustache. Always foreign/orienting ambulance sirens. Keith. Blaming and praising Angela Merkel. Sitting topless at Tempelhof. Funkhaus. Being called Frau. Spilling gluhwein at Christmas markets. Unapologetic PDA. Still saying hella. Babies in backpacks and bike baskets. Abandoned TVs and mattresses. Cryptic heartbroken messages. Gold plates under your shoe. The Ausländerbehörde. A mountain made of rubble. Trees you wish could talk. Rides on the front of his bike. Music everywhere. The people. All seeking and leaving and finding and hiding and yearning and making and changing. See you soon/never/always.
Important to note, given what happened that same afternoon, this was posted early in the morning.
If now she flees, soon she’ll chase.
If rejecting gifts, then she’ll give.
If not loving, soon she’ll love
even against her will.”
-Sappho
it’s
done
without
doing
giving you
something
to react to:
Don (Gramps) Avey and his terrier. Sometime in the 20s in Cinci.
My g g grandfather Fred on the right.
Dad, Redondo, ~1960.
Don, Gloria, Dad, Daryl. 60s, Redondo.
pretty neat !
this led to that ^
TL;DR large doses of classic psychedelics may act as emmenagogues (substances that encourage menstruation) and regulate cycles thereafter. I wrote the first pop piece on this topic in DoubleBlind mag and collected stories from women, which have now been used by Johns Hopkins to conduct a proper case study.
everything
is
all sorts
a cup of coffee is a dream
a dried grain of rice, a dream
a roundabout, a dream
a cell phone, a dream
a dream, a dream
an escapade, a dream
sixlittleducks, a dream
the radio, a dream
a diamond, a dream
an argument, a reflection
love, love
a body, a temple
a temple, a house for spirits
-Ásta Fanney Sigurðardóttir
“FOREVERNOON”