eros unregulated

Written by Cathoel Jorss, published 12 years ago

On New Year’s Eve after a quiet dinner party at the home of a Romanian artist & Swedish poet, I climbed the round hill that gives Kreuzberg its name: cross mountain. In the dark it resembled Borobudur, with heads facing outwards as far as the eye could reach like ten hundred white buddhas. Three different, unevenly consecutive countdowns announced midnight’s arrival: I was tempted to start a fourth, even more raggedly: Zehn! Neun! Acht! 7! 6!~ Looking back as flares lit the sky I noticed something strange: though walking here we had passed through dozens of gaggles of Turkish dudes with their mini rocket launchers & quivers of searing flares, this crowd was Caucasian entirely. My companion looked thoughtful when I remarked that I could not remember ever being in such a homogenous crowd. Maybe it’s more segregated here, he said at length. Hmm maybe.

Meantime the most unregulated fireworks display in living memory had gotten underway. All around us people let off Roman candles and stepped back (with difficulty) to let lighted rockets propped upright in empty champagne bottles go off. Within seconds of the first countdown the entire city rim was alight. I was laughing with jubilation, such a night: for ten minutes or more the crowded mountain was the sparkling centre (from the viewpoint of those on it) of a sparkling city, its whole horizon lit and sinking and sparking and burning with explosion after explosion. I’m not describing this very well but the effect was just transporting. We screamed and hollered. People waved giant sparklers. And every ghost in the vicinity picked up its tatty skirts and hiked out of there. 2013::EROS.