August 24. Burrocracy.

Berlin and getting organized. There are some things to do like issueing a new passport, getting some visa, establishing contacts, dealing with stuff. It’s the sameness that beats the brimbram drum inside my ears, it’s the sameness of the man walking on the Alexanderplatz again, yet again. Jumping high, jumping low, talking to people on the street, reading the newspaper in the sun over a delicious capucchino, descending into a new dancebar that is just opening and celebrating with anonymous youth sipping a flute of sekt, making unfunny remarks to the hookers that attack you in the Oranienburgerstraße like “there are two things I’d like to keep in my pants tonight and one of it is my wallet”, meeting a good friend and eating icecream together, all those highs and then, the feeling lonely, walking the crowded streets alone, dwelling in memories of a failed past, getting into stressful situations due to social awkwardness, being identified by my best friends still as the computer person I am not, being not myself yet loving this city, jumping high, jumping low, something is making my stomach turn around when I stay in Berlin. I need superhuman power to be happy in this city, whereas happiness sleeps under my pillow when I’m traveling. Those issues are hard to address, and they don’t make much fun. And I know I’m wrong. A whole city can’t be the sole source of depression. And still. There is something in that city that rips my heart out.
Bureaucracy will kill the bunny in me. I use to call it “burrocracy”. I am making a prediction here. One day, one sunny day, a bureaucrat will come with a lot of paperwork and stamps and seals and validations and forms and allowances and official documents and legalizations and notary reports and bills and diplomas and certificates and cards and booklets and social security numbers and enough! enough! that burrocrat will come one day, and despite everything I say and all the gestures I make with my tanned arms and despited how deep I look into his absent blue holes with my darkened eyes who have experienced life, that burrocrat will smile at me and with a stroke of his pen he will kill the bunny in me. Just a prediction. So I’m gonna make sure the bunny has a good life, and that I’ll drop by that burrocrat at Christmas time.
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Kamiel Choi

Dutch philosopher and poet, sometimes sharing thoughts on the internet.

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