|me writing at a Cindy Sherman Exhibit|
The city of Berlin can now consider itself a place that cogitated much thought from my brain and teased much writing from my fingers. Again, I'm not sure why, but the cafes and museums certainly didn't hurt. And though I have talked about it before, I do sometimes wonder what it is that causes such a burst of writing. Still shorts, these—mind you—but some are becoming quite original.
|Me Writing in Einstein Cafe|
I would even point out that the weather wasn't the greatest. And yet it worked. I almost couldn't find enough time to write. A good feeling, and perhaps I should leave it at that. But with creativity, and how one can harness it, being all the rage, let me add at least a case study to the matter.
|Pretending to add to the plethora of tagging. I actually couldn't think of what to say|
Traveling itself, to a new place, can always spark the mind and cause it to make new connections and thus start new stories. But this isn't always the case . No, this time it was certainly the city itself. The fact that it was partially gentrifying amidst the graffiti and the decaying ruins of communist-drab cement buildings certainly had something to do with it, but it wasn't just that.
The city itself seemed very certain of itself, seemed to know exactly what it was about. Its inhabitants too. And me, some random moron scribbling away in a cafe didn't matter to it or any of the people around. And true to their attitude, I failed a crucial test. At a moment, when I could have joined the (seemingly) million other taggers, my mind blanked and couldn't come up with anything. And so I didn't write (but I did pose like I did. A very bourgeoisie thing to do, or at leas tperfect for the Facebook world of images).
That in itself is worthy of analysis. Why was writing on a wall suddenly so different than writing on paper? The permanency of the act? I suppose that when I write it's all about knowing that it will be edited, corrected. You know, Michelangelo chipping away at the marble trying to get his sculpture and all that. But is that it? Was it also my middle class sensibilities coming out and decrying the desecration of a wall? (even if I know that doesn't make sense?)
Hard to say, though I would like to hear what the real taggers have to say. I imagine that one needs to go out with a premade fabrication (even if it's just the thought or idea), otherwise one won't have the time to do much. I also didn't see any stories written out. The wrong medium? I think not. But perhaps someone out there can put up one of these stories and see what comes of it. 
I do hope to go back, of course. This time with a paint pen. My next stories will have to be short and succinct enough to be scrawled on their walls. And you? You ever tag? How about a story?
 The only time it works is if I feel trapped in a place, then simply the movement itself can effect some change.
 That alone is enough to cause me to think of a myriad of ways to come up with tagging stories, or different parts of stories all over the city. Perhaps it's the best medium for graphic tales to be told? Or picture book kind of tales? I'm afraid I don't have the talent for the painting, but I can stick figure my way through it.
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