Ich bin ein Baum October 2, 2006Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
I suppose I most resemble a poplar. Though I don’t emit that allergy-inducing wool. Much.
It’s no fun looking like a tree. I blame the neighbours. Keeping up with the Schmidts, if you will. I helped a friend move to a funky new flat in the funky area down the road yesterday. The streets were resplendent with funky types who bore no resemblance to poplar, ash or London plane. We were rewarded at a café at the end of his new funky street. I cringed as I wandered in at the mover’s side like a dim child on a school outing. Everyone looked like a member of some revolutionary movement or other. The men looked as if they took part in group sex sessions at least once a week. The women looked like Sinead O’Connor with jobs. Everyone slunk around coolly. I lolloped around like a new-born giraffe and then sought refuge in cigarettes in an attempt at coolness but accidentally lit the filter of my most public fag.
I wandered home having taken my leave of the assorted moving party… I crossed the border from funky area back to this backwater. The average age shot up from 34 to 90 (according to a Gallup poll. Margin of error: +/-3%). The average weight shot up from 65kg to 120. Jeans were replaced by pressed trousers and dinner-lady costumes. Hochdeutsch changed to Berlinese. Healthy complexions changed to blotch. Brad Pitt changed into Arthur Mullard.
No wonder I’ve turned into a fucking tree in this desert. I need to get where it’s at.