Sprummer Has Sprumm

I'm writing from a computer that's over ten years old. A vintage black Macbook that's still in perfect working order. The dust on it has my nose itching. Typing on it evokes memories of typing on a typewriter. Because the keys are taller, they have to be pressed more firmly to elicit a response. It makes the experience more tactile and deliberate. The reason I'm typing on this machine, which was given to me by an ex-girlfriend a long, long time ago, is because I've forgotten my charger at work. The battery died yesterday while playing music through my speakers. The urge to write struck me and so I got down on all fours and slid under my bed in search of the old computer. It isn't as snappy as the newer models, but what it lacks in speed it makes up for in reliability. This thing is built like a tank, and is as heavy. Wild that a 12-year-old computer has managed to outlast a top of class model half its age.

The weather is sunny and gloriously warm in Berlin. The entire city is alive with sound and motion. Birds are everywhere. People, too. Outside all of the cafes groups of people sit in the sun drinking and laughing and smoking cigarettes. Couples walk with smiles on their lips and beers in their grips. Summer in Berlin is a special time. And while it isn't technically summer yet, it feels that way. Summer has come early here for the second year in a row. And really, summer isn't about a period of successive months between May and August, it's about a summer feeling; of heat, cold beer, long days and even longer nights, a time when shorts and t-shirts signal newfound freedom from the cold clutches of winter. Worldwide weather patterns are changing and we'll need to redefine what it means for summer to start. Sprummer.

Right now there is little difference between spring and a mild summer day. Except for the pollen of course. Fits of sneezing wake me each morning, followed by intensely itchy eyes. The itching localizes right at the corners of my eyes where they bend in towards the bridge of my nose. I've never had a mosquito bite on this part of my eye, but I'd imagine it would feel something like this. A few minutes ago the sun left my living room, where it had been pressing itself against a painting of a woman hanging on the wall. The sun sets at a slightly different angle this time of year. As it sinks over the horizon, the light passes through an old tree in my backyard. When the wind moves the branches the light moves across my apartment like fire. Somehow it acquires a liquid texture as it travels through the windowpane, producing a really soothing and psychedelic effect. Outside, through the open balcony doors, I can hear the protests of small children as parents usher them away from the small petting zoo. Birds continue chirping, and will continue to do so for perhaps another thirty minutes or so, when the sky has grown dark.

In a few days, to properly kick off spring, I'll go to Barcelona with Asia. I don't think I've mentioned her here, officially, but it seems I should. Asia, not to be confused with Earth's largest and most populous continent by the same name, isn't even Asian, she's Polish. To further complicate things, Asia isn't even her real name, it's Joanna. A fact revealed to me only after having known her for more than a year. Last weekend she and I participated in a marijuana-fueled, mango Pagan sex pact. I think this means we're engaged now. Or maybe we're married? I guess Barcelona will be our honey moon. During the ceremony I remember feeling my genitals becoming one with hers. It momentarily horrified me because I thought she'd completely consumed my manhood. But, for every ritual a sacrifice is necessary. We spilled the blood of my choked chicken, and it was magical. I shouldn't throw jokes in here during her introduction, or focus on things sexual. She's so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so much more than someone to take drugs with and fuck. She's the kind of partner I've always dreamed of. I don't want to get all gushy and write long droning paragraphs about her, so I won't.

But I will say we make a great team. I'm excited to roam around Catalonia with her at my side. We'll spend five days in the city proper, sightseeing and eating and drinking, and then we'll have six set aside for an off-roading adventure where we'll try our hands at life like hobos. Sleep will take place in a tent or in the trunk of our car - a trusty Ford Focus, assuming the car rental company hasn't deceived us and replaced the vehicle with something comically smaller, like a Mini Cooper or a Fiat - and showers will happen surreptitiously, at small coastal beaches in the early morning. We'll be eating a variety of indigenous beetles and moths that we plan to attract using local honey and fresh wildflowers. She tells me that we can grind them up into a delicious pate and spread them over rice cakes. As far as a bathroom goes, we plan to rob two shiny red buckets from a Spanish toystore shortly after we secure our getaway car. In addition to our mobile accommodations, we intend to spend a least a few nights in the homes of complete strangers, hopefully with their permission. But we don't mind staying without their permission, also. It will be hard for them to protest too much with our buckets over their heads. The night before Easter I guess we'll lock ourselves in cave somewhere and then emerge the following day proclaiming that we are Jesus Christ, the lord and savior, returned from heaven to heal the sinful for a free meal and a ride to Girona airport.

More on our adventure once we get back...