tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow

what a weird day. i'm a promoter without a phone which is both challenging and oddly cathartic. i've had all kinds of strange pre antislam errands to run, like aquiring a megaphone, buying wierd prizes from McPaper. *i'm not saying anything other than there may be a kitten theme involved* and as i stopped into kaisers on my way home to celebrate getting everything but my nails *did*... i noticed this rather striking punk rocker boy in the bio section, looking at whole grain pasta or something, and then my eyes trail down his black t-shirt and faded jeans, only to notice his... bare feet? which looked suprisingly clean for someone walking around a grocery store and the streets without shoes on. did i miss the memo on it being really punk to walk bare foot?

i walk away from punk jesus and see this b-boy perusing various kinds of sparkling water. looking really serious, putting one down and reading the label of another, maybe kreuzberg is gentrifying in a whole new way, where punk rockers walk around bare foot in the bio section, and b-boys are really careful about which bottled water they buy.. hmmm. did i mention i bought a megaphone? i spray painted it gold, because well, i still have a can of gold and a can of pink paint from when i painted the bikes. i may paint the inside pink, i'm not sure yet.

anywayzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz i'm rambling. i'm thinking about going over to ping pong bar to promote a little, but damn these emails keep coming with more names for the fanlist. so darlilngs, if you want a hope of seeing any of the action tomorrow, defo come at 8pm. i don't want to jinx it but it is lookiong rather like we'll pack out. and who are you packing out to see? what is the definitely final final final line up? well i'm about to tell you dolls...

tomorrow night at PingPong Bar
Glogauer str 21, Kreuzberg Berlin 10999
doors 20.30, show 21h

THE ANTI SLAM PART ZWEI

..FEATURING...

the anti-slam jury
Tom Mars
B*
Sarah Brockhausen
Jacinta Nandi

Timekeeper/Scorekeeper
Michael Haeflinger

Sacrficial Poet
Carlos X

The Anti-Slammers auf Deutsche

Tilmann Birr
Wolfgang Hogekamp
Sergio Gerau
Benjamin During
Till Reiners
possible surprise guest...


The Anti-slammers auf Englische (don't call them *expats*)
Moon
Niti
Dara O'neill
Ditto
Mirabelle Jones
Lady GAby

and as ever... moderating over the messy proceedings..

Paula Varjack

p.s why pay a fiver on the door when you can be on the three euro fan list? you have until five thirty pm tomorrow to email any and all the names you like to antislam@live.com

delayed summer, random tuesdays, at least its not sunrise

uh oh, i think summer kicked in late...i'm liking minimal again. on friday night at watergate, a club i swore i'd never go back to, on a night i swore i wouldn't go out. I'm taking chemical cocktails that keep me up until the sun forces sunglasses on and everyone around me is losing it
the dj hands me a jug of jager and the promoter is cutting up lines with eyes with that glint that suggest he's ready to seduce the young boy cub kids who may not be that straight after
they knock, back the vial of the thing that some party with and others use as a date rape drug. but they're taking advantage of him too. and they are a colourful crew. eighteen to twenty six.

one called himself a g-sexual. i can hear accents cut through beats. the tourists from london keep coming but that was friday, and now its tuesday, i was going to stay in but thought i'd check out a jam session until i ran into a friend who was having drinks in the back of that all night place called baghdad where we enter worlds smallest smoking room
unless you count the one they"re building at luzhia

but anyways, i'm doing my best to focus. comprehending as much as i can of this group conversation in german, when this drunk skater boy with an open shirt
something retro calafornian about him or a seventies porn star maybe its the mustache ?
but its not him i'm intrigued by, he's got this super hot tiny asian chick wiht him
wearing the greenest shortest dress ever which she lifts up to reveal even shorter cut off shorts
and then around the table i hear thatit was birthday barbecue earlier in gorlitzer park
only for some reason someone broke out pepper spray

i can't process this. so i question are we going to the jam session?
no?
the blonde drunk skater who is wearing a flashing light necklace that says
hot
*no really i'm not making this up*
takes us tall to his flat aroudn the corner, by now there are like fifteen of us and as we walk out i see this irish boy i met at bar 25 or kept meeting at bar 25 every time i went there
my running joke being he never ever left
now i say to him
congratulations, they closed, you got out
and he says he's so glad its over, and i can tell he wants to find out where we're going. it looks like a party in the making, but i don't really know him so i don't invite him and feel like he must have the impression i'm part of this big crew, when actually i only know like three people with me, and we this new born tuesday party massive walk and tease our friend who runs an illegal bar that we love. about creating this choas by daring to closeon our favourite night to go

we get to skater boys' flat, its on the fourth floor because isn't it always
the flatmate is friendly but maybe not excited to have us all stumble in but its early and
we're not that drunk and anyway there are already like twenty people there. but the vibe is more after dinner party and our vibe is more.. party and then the drunk boy, he puts on music
some luxus hi-fi set up, then he puts on that track sunshine
which has been a bit of a minimal anthem all summer and cranks up the volume

and people are already ashing on the floor. and i listen to the beat and the repeating vocal
and think about how here, here in berlin, tracks that talk about being awake until morning
tracks about daylight coming are always goign to be anthems
they make you celebrate your party endurance, your commitment
the smiles you share with those you've never exchanged names or hello;s with. but kept running into thursday, friday, sunday, weekend after weekend, dancefloor to dancefloor
this the city where partying past sunrise isnt' hardcore,
its just normal

but the party we're at now is not really a party the music is turned down
and then we leave walk down the stairs en masse. and the guy who invited us come along. we get stuck on the corner by that place baghdad again. and i'm kind of wishing i'd left with that irish boy instead. he had said he was going ot an open air bar my friend works at. but now i'm just on a corner with people i mostly don't know, getting quickly irritated by group dynamics where everyone is always responsible for at least one person. so when you try to leave someone says,

i just need to get
who just needs to get
who just needs to get
who just needs to get
until you're a group again

we go to the jam but its too early so there's a terrible band. self absorbed musicans wiht no soul
and an audience of onlookers who look too polite to walk out and seem scared of the stage. all standing as far back as possible

we
are now only four
we lost the others on the way. we stay a little . i have a good chat with one of my friends. then we all leave. but i don'tl go home because i run into another friend, who i pluck from the sidewalk bar he's at, and wander somewhat aimlessly trying to agree on the best bar to have nightcap in but everywhere['s too empty, too boring, too\
tuesday?

we end up in a bar that was once a kind of divey kneipe. but is now frequented by hipsters
and we talk abotu love and sex and relationships and closure, and i drink my double whiskey far too quickly. so we walk out , go through pitch dark gorlitzer park, that i was warned to never cross at night, when i first moved here/ and when we get to the street, where he must go one way
and i must go another, my love advice has degraded to that of a frat boy.
i cycle off saying only .

ultimately we're all rubbish (meaning women)
but then you all are too (meaning men)
and with those sage words i ride home, feeling civilised because at least its not

sunrise

its making me krazr...

so i got this phone that is like exactly like my old phone which is special because you cant get it anymore it was this limited edition motorola thing which mattered before iphones and blackberries made all other phones redundant. anyways so i buy it,

because its like gold and is the only kind of phone i've used for years and years *the motorola krazr if you care. which i love because it has a memory card for lots of pics and a voice recorder and the front panel is a mirror which makes good for checking make up but rubbish for dropping on hard wood floors which i've done with my last 3 krazr's repeatedly.

its all shiny and new even though i bought it secondhand. and i'm all excited about it when i get it back to the flat and then i put in teh charger and my sim and charge it up but the thing about these phones is they save the messages on the handset and there are all these messages in german and they're all dead girly

then i think about all the phones i've had stolen from me, and had lost. and i'm thinking if this girl sold this phone wouldn't she have deleted the messages? and it does seem so recent and then i start to feel really bad and think its begging to be stolen and think maybe i should
drop it
on the floor so its cracked and then it will look more like my old one and less desirable to steal but either way i can't give it back to the german girl who lost it
and now i feel kinda bad using it.

and then later i meet my friend for a drink and i explain how all the messages are all really really really girly like,
LOL do you think he's flirting with me

and then he's like
so you read all the messages??
and then i feel even worse.


maybe i should just take it back...