Weinachten mit der Addamsfamily, Weinachtmarkt und mein Geburstag!

Sam and I at the Volksbühne

On Saturday evening I went to meet Sam, a guy I had met a few times in San Francisco through our mutual friend, Kai.  We were meeting at the Volksbühne, a popular theater in Mitte to see a free play, "Weinachten mit der Addamsfamily."  Sam is only in Berlin for two weeks.  He speaks four languages, but German is not one of them.  Still, he is trying and feeling that very familiar American guilt of having life be easier because he speaks English.  

"You're here for two weeks.  Relax.  It's a tough language."  I tell him.  

The play will be in the second floor lobby of this very posh theater, and the whole of it is done up in goth glory.  Black lace and chiffon drape the sparkling chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, and there is a withered Christmas tree with doll parts and plastic skulls dangling from it's branches.

The play starts, and I am impressed by the physicality, the commitment of the actors.  Of course, there is a lack of character depth, but the play is a comic book, really.  Of course it is all in Deutsch, and again I am impressed by how much I understand.

The play lasts about an hour, filled with the antics of Wednesday and Pugsley as they try to kill Morticia's new baby.  

 

After the play, it's still early, about 7 o'clock, and Sam is up for a stroll about town.  We go to the Weinachtsmarkt at Jannowitzebrücke.  This particular Weinachsmarky is more like a carnival with rides and games where you can win things.  It's the type of place I love and hate at the same time, huge beer drinking crowds, lots of noise and flashing lights.  It's amazing and repulsive.

Weinachtmarkt, Jannowitzbrücke

Weinachtsmarkt, Jannowitzbrücke

Weinachtsmarkt, Jannowitzebrücke. No that is not a beer in my hand, it is a Club Mate, which is a carbonated mate drink, much better (and cheaper) than Red Bull.

Weinachtsmarkt, Jannowitzbrücke.  These were at a currywurst stand.  Granted, they are practical, but well, they just look a little like a used condom to me.  Yech!

Weinachtmarkt, Jannowitzbrücke

Sam and I wanted to go on the Ferris Wheel, but it cost 5€.  We decided to take our 5€ and spend it at Silver Future instead.

Silver Future

 Over drinks, we talked about similarities and differences between the Bay Area and Berlin.  The main thing that I have noticed is that in Berlin, I don't have to explain that though I identify as queer, I am not gay.  I don't have to have the "What is queer?" discussion with folks. Culturally, they just kind of get it.  I like this!

Yesterday was my birthday and it was a good one!  In the morning I schlepped myself out of bed and went to the Universitat der Künste to see about getting work as a life model.  They said to check back next Semester.  So I will.  I am just absolutely going to keep showing up until they give me a job.
After, I went to Kottbussr Tor, a stop in Kreuzburg, because Robert had told me about a shop tht sold yarn on Oranienstraße.  It was time to buy myself a little present.  I look at buying yarn as an investment.  If I make hats, I can sell them.  But in order to sell them, I've got to have product, a spread, so to speak.
I found the shop and they had some really nice 80% wool blends on sale.  I bought a few skeins and started crocheting immediately!  I went to the Lidle and bought some wine and prosecco for the party later, then cam e home and worked on my hat while watching Harold and Maude dubbed in German.  I know the entire movie in English, so if I watch it 20 or so times in Deutsch, I think I will have a much better grasp of this language!
In the evening, people came over.  We sat around the table, talked in English and German, ate Mac and cheese and chocolate cake and drank a lot of wine.  Everyone left around midnight, which was PERFECT!

I have been in Berlin a little over 3 months, and though life is rough here, I feel a real sense of community, like the city and the people I know care for me.  They see I am genuine, that I have a good heart, a creative mind, and that I can deliver.  I make an effort here and then things happen.  Slowly, but they do.

It's the first night of Channukah this evening, but I've no plans to celebrate.  Daniel invited me to a Channukah party on Saturday night but I've been invited to leave Berlin!  I'll be traveling by train with Robert and his sister to Rostock, which is in the northeast of Deutschland to spend Weinachten with his mother and father, who speak not one word of English.  Oh my!  A bit excited, a bit terrified.  This is going to be interesting!

Yom Kippur: A day of Forgiveness

 

"In America, they don't have fresh bread.  It's hard to find in some places, and it's expensive." 
We're sitting in the middle of Grunewald Forst (Grunewald means greenwood, forst means forest), and Asia, who has spent a lot of time in the US is making cheese and tomato sandwiches with bread we bought at the train station.  She's Polish.  I think about the availability and accessibility of fresh bread in Poland, Germany, the Czech Rebuplic, and then I look at the cheese and jam sandwiches I have brought with me for our outing.  She's right!  I'm used to processed, sliced bread.  It's what I grew up on.  This is yet another thing that makes me an American, and slowly, I am learning that being an American is no worse than being anything else.
It's Yom Kippur, and I'm with Asia, her friend Satu, Sharon and, of course, Zigi. 
We are not fasting.  Instead, we are out among nature and newly-found friends.  We talk about forgiveness. 
"I forgive." Sharon says.  "I forgive myself." His statement has gravity.  It pertains to his tarot reading from last week.  I feel myself get lighter.  I feel him lift.  This makes me glad. 
Earlier, I was taking pictures, and he had the nerve to say to me, "Harvey, stop making things.  Be."
And I listened and put my camera away. 
Now the girls have caught up and we are in a birch grove, the trees tall and slender, with papery white bark that I remember from my childhood home in Santa Barbara, California.  I keep identifying things or wondering what kind of tree or fungus or grass.  But I need to still my mind.  We all stop for a sit and some food and I lie down on my back, stare up at the sunlight coming through the canopy.  And I let go.  I release.  I forgive.  I forgive myself for letting Matt move into my house.  I forgive Matt for all he put me through after he broke up with me but wouldn't move out of my house.  I forgive the communication breakdowns, the best friend breakups, the misunderstandings and the "pay attention to mes" and the "you're unimportants," and all of it.  I forgive my brother and his wife for making me feel pushed out of my family.  And I forgive God, or the idea something like him or her or it.  I breathe and I forgive God for taking my father and I forgive myself for not being able to fix it all, for not being able to be in all places I needed to be at one time, for not being able to learn to drive, for being unique or "differently-abled" or whatever you want to call it.  And I breathe.  I forgive the Nazis who hung my people from these trees 70 years ago.  And I smile.  Zigi is licking my face.

We hiked for hours, saw amazing fungus, talked about travel, language, charity, clown, theatre.  Asia has a sister-like quality to her.  She is funny, sarcastic, warm, open and lovable.  At one point she just turns around and hugs me, giggling, and then asks, "What do you want and what are you thankful for?"
"I want a visa and I am thankful for everything."  I answer, and then add, "I want love and I'm thankful for love."

At the end of the day, we are in a parking lot next to a soccer field, catching the last of the sun.  It's gotten cold.  Sharon lies on the ground and I use his belly as a pillow.  "Friends and forgiveness and food." He mutters as I doze.  On the S-Bahn home, we fall asleep in shifts.  I decide not to go to the party with them this evening.  I'm exhausted and need to get up early to go twist balloons at the Boxhagener Platz flea market.  It's not clowning, but I've got to make some money.

I reflect on the way the sunlight dappled the earth or the way the leaves sounded like an ocean wave when the wind rushed through them, the way the earth felt cool and comforting beneath my shoulders, and the way the giant mushroom crop on a tall, broad oak had the spongy feel of flesh. 

I anyone can identify any of these mushrooms for me, that would be incredible.  I think the red ones are aminita, but I'm not sure.

Deep breaths.
-H.

Together At Last: HE at Barbie Deinhoff's

On Saturday night Eve and I had our first gig together in Berlin at a small queer cafe in Kreuzberg called Barbie Dienhoff's.  We got there early and were welcomed by a tiny square stage and a backroom with mirror and lamp.  This was also the beer storeroom so it was a little cramped.  Neither of us are at all a princess, so this was just fine with us.  We got ready and then sort of hung out.  We were not scheduled to go on until at least 10, and it was only 9.  The bartender, a French guy named Valentin, was positively adorable and delivered drinks to us in our dressing room."
So what, I ask you, are two clowns locked in a beer storeroom to do?  We took it to the streets!  Sharon and Daniel showed up with Daniel's aerialist partner, Asia when Eve was directing me to get up, sit, do things outside. The fun just began!  I feel that our friends being there helped fuel our bizarre walk-around street performance.  They played along as we pole danced in the window and strutted on the street, Eve taking sips of people's beers and me pulling limes out of my pants.  The lovely Sadie Lune showed up, which made me very happy.  For some reason, that lady always puts a smile on my face. 
Around 10:30 we finally began. Eve danced to get the crowd interested and then brought out me in the big cake puppet.  We had been working the cakedance a lot, and discovered some new things, and I am happy to say that it finally works!  I had a lot of fun performing with Eve.  I love our partnership, the way we trust each other and can bounce off of each other's cues, but something happened for me onstage during my last solo number.  Something bizarre and unexplainable.  A chapter closed.

For as long as I can remember, I have been creating work that is somehow about gender and sexuality.  These have been the themes that have been driving me, making my creative wheels turn, giving me my edge.  I am shocked to say that at age 35 (I'll be 36 in December) I think I am done with these topics exploring these topics in the ways I have been.  I am still interested in the way people develop, in what we are attracted to, and I will always and forever consider myself a part of the queer and transgendered community, no matter who I date or what my own personal gender identity may be, but I don't think I am interested in talking about it onstage at the moment.  This is a real shock to me!
And now my question is, what is next?

I have a polka-dot apron.  Yesterday I put it and my nose on and met Eve, Daniel and Sharon at Boxhagener Platz fleamarket, where we were going to busk.  But instead of playing like a clown, I ended up twisting balloons.  I guess this is what I do when I busk.  I made about 12 Euro in a few hours.  Not great, but not horrible either.  The apron,though.  It changed things for me.  Feminine and domestic, this fashion article brings a new light to making a dog or a lion out of a tube of latex, a creation of something from nothing.

Later on, I had a gig at Scheinbar, where I would put my nose on and sing "My Man," a song written for American Vaudeville star and Jewish icon Fanny Brice.
 Again, the apron!  The song, me, my presence was changed by this old-fashioned article.  And I am no
t going to resist the new costume.  Where can I go with this new feeling?  I wonder?

One other performer I must speak of at Scheinbar (get ready):  Frank Sanazi.  www.franksanazi.com
I don't remember the last time I laughed so hard.  Wow.  This kind of comedy takes some real chutzpah.  It was awesome.

I actually managed to get home at a reasonable hour and get some sleep.  Today I had plans to go busk by the museums or Brandenberger Tor because it's a holiday and the museums are closed, so the place will be crawling with tourists, but honestly, I have been working really hard and am beginning to feel slightly rundown.  Maybe I'll take a day off.

Rosh Hashonnah: Not So Traditional After All

On Thursday Eve and I rehearsed in a small park in Prenzlauerberg.  I don't remember the name of it, but it's a strange little spot on Papalallee that is a park, playground and cemetery with a theater next to it.  I tried on Eve's moustache and became Boris.  I wonder who this guy is.  I think he is part walrus.  I'd be interested to play around inside him and see what happens.  He is either a cowboy or some sort of lazy cop.  In any case, he is confused.

After rehearsal, I went to Eve's place.  She is living on the top floor of an old squat that is now a flat with roof access.  I am hoping that I can move into her room when she goes if I do indeed figure out a way to stay.  The place is amazing, a little gritty, high ceilings, art everywhere.  On the balcony is a miniature/forest, swampland, complete with DIY pond.  The roof is accessible by ladder and gives a beautiful view.

We bask in the sun for a bit and then I have to come back to Neukölln for a tandem speaking appointment.  S-- a friend of B--'s, is working on her English and has agreed to help me with German.  At 6 the bell rings and I invite Simone up.  She is a stout woman with mannish haircut, and a slight left-side deficit.  Her eyes are firey and she has a warm smile.  I like her immediately.  We figure out how we will structure our time.  An hour of English, and hour of German.  Perfect.  She speaks enough of my language to have a conversation.  She asks me about clown and I tell her about the idea of the other.  We talk about Artuad.  She is working on a writing project called "Handi-captured" challenging notions of disability and looking at how every person has deficits and is able-bodied at once.  She says she is an in-between person.  Due to certain things that have happened to her, she cannot do things that she used to with out help, but she is an independent and strong woman, and likes to do most things by herself.  I tell her a little bit about me.  She asks me to write a one-page story for the project.  My deadline is the 12th of Oktober.  Yes!

At 20:30 she goes and Daniel rings the bell.  I get ready to go to this Rosh Hashonnah celebration, trying to look nice, conservative.  I did not bring so many clothes with me, so this is not an easy task.  The woman having the party is orthodox, which makes me nervous, but I will be with my friends, people I trust.  They will keep me safe and comfortable. 
Before we go to meet Sharon at Hermannplatz, which is about 3 blocks away, Daniel looks at the directions in his email.  Of course, they are in Hebrew, so I can't read them.  We walk to Hermannplatz, Daniel chattering playfully and me a bundle of nerves and caffiene.  I begin to smile in spite of myself, and by the time we get to the plaza, I am dancing to music in my head.  Sharon arrives in a huge bicycle with a seat on the front.  "Get on!"  He says in his authoritative tone.  I laugh and decline.  We shove each other around a little bit. 
We try to figure out where we are going.  The directions say to take the U-7 to Nuekölln station and then walk to some address.  It's written in Hebrew.  I have no idea what it says, so I just say, "Okay!"
Daniel and I hop on the train.  Sharon pedals off.  He'll meet us there.  Outside the station, we reconvene under a bridge.  I pull out my map and we look for the street we are supposed to go to.  It is nowhere.  Sharon takes the map, turns it over to the list of street names, stares at it.  "I never remember the order of the letters."  He says, handing me the map, "Can you find it?"
This shocks me for a moment.  Sharon has a brilliant and complex mind, speaks two languages fluently (Hebrew, English.)  But it makes sense. Both he and Daniel grew up with a separate alphabet.  I keep finding myself in these situations where everyone has something separate to contribute of equal importance.  All auslanders (foriegners), we all sort of need each other.
I find the street and the location on the grid.  It is on the other side of Berlin.  What to do?  If we try to go there now, we won't get there until midnight.  We can't call the host because she cannot pick up the phone due to it being the high holy days and her being orthodox.  And we are hungry.  We begin to walk.  "No sausage."  I request.  "I've had enough sausage."
"Oh, but this is traditional food for Rosh Hashonnah." Sharon chides.  (Sausage is pork.  Do the math, goyem.)
We don't want döner.  We don't want shawerma.  We want pizza.  "Harvey,"  Sharon says in his commanding voice.  "Use your powers.  Find us pizza."  We walk along.  I focus on pizza.  After 3 blocks, it appears, but it is pricey. 
"Sorry. " I say.  "I forgot to focus on cheap pizza."
Daniel begins to chant, "Cheap, cheap, cheap."  Too more blocks and voila!  2 euro pizza!

I get a margarita pizza and the Israelis both get salami and cheese.  Our pies come.  "Shana Tova," we all say and laugh.  Not only is salami unkosher, but they are eating it with cheese.  After, I want to go to a park.  I have a few bier in my backpack and, hey, it's new year's.  We walk and talk about all kinds of stuff.  Life, death, the soul, what it is and where it goes, pick up Daniel's bike, which is by my place. Eventually we reach Templehof Freiheit, only to find that it's closed.  We sit on the side of the bike path.  It's woodsy.  Sharon pops open the bier with his lighter, Daniel stretches out on his back.  I here rustling in the bushes and turn to my right. A fox is staring at me!  It is still, we are still.  Sharon moves his leg and the fox darts back to his hidden safety.  I feel magic in the air.  "Shana Tova!' Sharon and I clink bier bottles and Daniel's plastic one filled with water. 
We finish our biers.  Again, Sharon tells me to get on the front of the bike.  I acquiesce and get a ride home.  "Tchuss!"  I yell after the boys.  Daniel has sped off ahead. "Good night, Harvey!"  Sharon's voice trails off as he pedals toward his home at the circus.
My first observance of the Jewish New Year.  Nice!

We have plans to go hiking in the forest for Yom Kippur.

Shana Tova, Artist Visa, Playing To A Dead Crowd

HE: A Genderstranged Clown Duo

Shana Tova everyone!  It's Rosh Hashannah, the Jewish New Year, and tonight, for the first time in my life at age 35, I will celebrate!  The Israeli boys invited me to a dinner party thrown by an orthodox Jew.  I'm a little nervous, hope I can come up with something appropriate to wear.  But I'm also quite excited to finally get a chance to do this high holy days thing, and to do it in Deutschland.

In the park yesterday, Daniel and I talk about life and relationships.  The conversation comes around to Jewishness and our voices get a little hushed.  It feels so liberating and free to be here.  I feel I can flaunt the fact that I'm strange and queer, but I have to talk to someone I good long while before I'll reveal my heritage to them.  I have known Sharon and Daniel for almost 2 weeks, and it's not a long time, and yet we are all bonded.  I think our blood has a lot to do with it.  There is a part of all three of us that is ready.  Ready for it to happen again.  Ready to hide, fight or stand.  We know that if things turn, we are there for each other.  It is our Jewishness that makes it so.  I never thought that these issues were buried so deep inside me, but I guess they are there.  And Berlin pulls them to the surface.  Slowly.

I think about my homeland, the USA, and what we have done.  We have massacred a native people, stolen people from another continent and held them in bondage.  Just last week, an innocent man was framed and killed by our government because of the color of his skin (ref: Troy Davis.)  How are these hundreds of years of systematic oppression different than Hitler's brief reign?  I don't have any answers, and I know these questions are unpopular, but still they are there and keep me awake at night.

Last night I had a small gig at the Kookaburra Comedy Club on Schönhauser Allee.  The night was put together by an eccentric performer and MC from Stuttgart named Otto Kuhne.  Other performers where a cellist and singer of the comic variety named Matthias and an AMAZING beatboxer named Pete the Beat.  I have heard a lot of beatboxing in my life, but I have never heard anything like this.  Pete was in his late 40s and claims to have introduced beatboxing to Germany.  He was a very humble and friendly guy, and completely expert in his craft.  I would believe he was the first one to beatbox here. 
I only made 10 Euro, which is a bummer, but the night was really lovely and I have seldom met three nicer guys.  I didn't even feel weird sharing a dressing room with them.  They were all courteous, spoke English to me, made me feel like a competent and important artist.  Really, I was playing for them, because truth to tell there were about 7 people in the audience including Eve, and during my set, maybe one person laughed one time. 
It was so frustrating!  I feel like I did my job as a clown!  I listened to the audience,  I asked them what they wanted.  Too much?  Not enough?  They gave me NOTHING!  So I just had to go on and get my eight minutes over with.  And then I was done.  And the person who booked me was happy with my performance, and that's the part that mattered.

After, Eve and I go to a store, get a bier.  The cashier opens them for us and we walk out to the street to find a step to sit on outside a closed shop.  "Shana Tova," I clink Eve's bottle with mine. 
"Shana Tova!"  She says to loudly.  I wince.
"Eve, you've got to-"  I stop.  How do I explain this to her.
"What?" 
We talk about our separate ancestries and I learn about the French-Canadians. 
It starts to make sense to me why French and French-Canadians don't want to speak English.

We make a rehearsal plan, talk about busking.  I hop on the train to Alexanderplatz and then transfer to the U-8, getting home around midnight.

Even with all these heavy thoughts, I think I have decided to stay here for as long as I can.  I try to convince myself to come home to the bay area, but aside from friends and family (which I value most dearly) what is there for me  in California?  I've no place to live, no job until June, am a slave to the public transit system (which is quite mediocre) and everything is expensive.  Though the current exchange rate is 1.36 USD to every Euro, food and rent are quite cheap here and, if nothing else, I am respected for my craft.  Also, no one who is part of the circus world has told me I do not belong!  A major life-changing shift. 
So I am trying to find out what the possibilities are for changing/refunding my return flight on November 30th.  Tomorrow or Monday I will go and register for a month long German language program, collect my bank statements, photocopy my passport, buy German insurance and ask Bridge for a signed paper saying I reside at this address.  I believe I can get a visa extension of at least 3 months this way.  It's true, I'm only here until November 15th, but that's plenty of time to find a place.  If anyone knows of anyone in Berlin renting a room for 250 Euro a month or less, let me know. I'm currently seeking an under the table job, too.  Made one inquiry about an English-speaking nanny position I found on Craigslist and am going to find out about stagehand stuff.

Last night people in my dreams where speaking German.  I only understood a few words.  I don't know what they where talking about, but I now it was German.  I have never had a dream in a foriegn language before.  This place, it has seeped into my consciousness.  It wants me to stay.

It's all a little stressful and overwhelming, but I believe I can do this.  If anyone would like to make a contribution, financial or energetic, to the Harvey fund, now would be the time.
http://www.gofundme.com/8y660

The Good, The Bad, The Emotional Baggage

On Saturday I have a workshop with a woman named BT.  Eve, my clown partner has arrived the night before and decides to come, too.  I am really excited!  Excited to see Eve, excited about the workshop, excited!  The place is a little hard to find, but we do.  At the beginning, I can tell something is going to go badly for me, but I do my best to ignore this.  BT notices that my left arm doesn't straighten.  I explain, quite succinctly, that I cannot bear weight on my left arm.  I'm used to this.  I work in a physical form.  My arm is part of my physical body.  A good clown teacher will see that I know how to deal with this and let it go, but I feel BT's attitude toward me shift.  She makes too much of a big deal out of it.  Besides Eve, there are two women in the workshop.  They are older, one in her 50s and one in her 70s.  They don't really know how to use their bodies.  But both their arms straighten.  I am immediately cast as the other.  Whatever.  I'm paying for this (45 Euro) and I am going to get something new out of it, goddammit!  If I just have a good attitude, BT will forget about my arm. Right?
We walk around the space.  She doesn't like the way I walk.  Thinks I am "clowning."
"No," I say.  "That's how I walk."  I have always been told that I have a distinctive walk.  I used to feel self-conscious about it, but I don't anymore.  I LIKE the way I walk!  People recognize me by it.  It is mine and mine alone, a hard gait to forget.  People have asked me if my walk is a result of my brain injury.  I don't know.  My accident happened when I was 2.  There was no me before it.  I am a result of my brain injury, every part of me: my walk, my arm, my mind, my sense of self, my ability to fight, my independence, me.  And I don't have to medically validate myself to anyone.  I am just me, and that is it.  And that is good enough.  I have lots to offer, lots to learn, lots to teach.  But Bartushka can't see any of this.  All she can see is that I am unique.
And she does not like it.
We do some exercises, nothing new really.  I maintain my positive attitude.  Then it comes time to show work.  I set up the cake. She has a different vision for the piece.  Fine, that's what workshops are about. You try other people's ideas.  If you like them, you keep them.  If you don't, you throw them out.  I am trying all the things she suggests.  She says, "Now stick your hand out the top."  I stick my right hand out the top.  She says, "Stick your other hand out first.  It is too much for the audience to see that hand first."  She is referring to my truncated thumb.
"No!" I say, maybe a bit too firmly.
There is a pause.  "Then show it off." She says after a beat.  And I do, I waggle my half-thumb around, I stroke it with my fingers, I make it the sexiest amputation in the world.

When the workshop is over, she encourages me to come to her open stage at Scheinbar, where she has booked me to perform a mini-slot of 3 minutes on Oktober 2nd.  She booked me after seeing my video.  But I guess when she say my video, she didn't realize that I am really "other," I don't just play it onstage.  She wants me to come to Open Stage to workshop the cake.  But you know, I don't feel like giving here anymore euros, anymore cake, or anymore me.  I would cancel the gig if I didn't need the 15 Euro she was payng me so badly.  She likes the song I sang in the workshop.  I'll do that.  BTdoesn't get anymore sweat from me.

Eve and I hang out a bit, and then she has a dinner party to go to with the guy who is hosting her.  Daniel has invited me to a circus show that evening at the Shake! tent (the circus near the Ostbanhof.)  I am not sure if I will go.  I feel weird and I realize it is because I am angry!  I haven't been angry in a while, but BT really hit a nerve.  If I wanted to be treated like that, I would have stayed in San Francisco.  Since I have gotten here, I have felt safe, unjudged.  I have felt at home at the CIRCUS, for crying out loud!  I have felt accepted, like I had something valuable to offer.  Now, I am just MAD!  But I decide to go see the circus and the Israeli boys. They always make me feel good.  I can be myself.  Daniel just accepts me and Sharon asks a lot of questions.  We are painfully honest with each other.  The things he has done in the Israeli army and the things that have happened to me, they make us both sort of aliens, and we connect through this and humor.  Also, the boys and I are all Jews.  I think the three of us feel a little bit revolutionary. At the Shake compound, I go to Daniel's trailer.  He is on Skype with his mom, introduces me as "Harvey. She is Jewish girl."
I find Sharon.  "What is wrong with you?" He asks me.  How does he know?  How are we so connected after such a short time.  I try to brush it off.  "You must let go of anger.  It doesn't help."  He squeezes me.
"Ja."  I say, but I'm still mad and he knows it.
"Stop being angry or tell me why?"  He says.  He doesn't mention the third option, which is me leaving, so I guess it's not an option.  I am not ready to talk about it, though.
"Sharon," I say, "I think that we have both experienced things that we don't think the other would understand."
He nods slowly, chewing on my words.  "I understand."  He steers me to the kitchen.  "I have to clean."  He sits me down at a table.
I want to help, need a task.  I tell him so.  He nods but then sits.  We start talking.  I tell him the bare minimum.  I had a difficult time in this workshop.  His eyes light up.  "That's good.  It means you learned something new."  Then, out of the blue, "You need to learn Hebrew."
"I'm working on German right now."  I dismiss his thought, though I think it's adorable that he wants me to learn his native language.  "I didn't learn anything new.  Let's clean."  I do the dishes angrily and he wipes the stove.  Daniel comes in, starts drying.
We go watch the show for a bit.  Or, they watch the show.  I try, but am too mad.  As I'm leaving, Sharon grabs my hand, but I leave anyway.  It is a bunch of young kids from a circus school.  They are all wickedly talented.  I sit outside, write in my journal.  The boys come out.  "You miss the whole show!"
"Sorry," I say. We go back to the kitchen.
"You need to eat." Sharon tells me, handing me a plate.  I pile it with pasta and sauce made out of yams.  I eat, then go back to the dishes.  "You are still angry," he gets me to follow him outside so he can smoke a cigarette.  "I hate watching all these young people do things that I will never be able to do.  At least you have an excuse."
"That offends me, I say.  And then I tell him.  I tell him about the workshop, about how the instructor could only see my thumb, my arm, my otherness.  I tell him about wishing I were like other people until one day I woke up and I was glad I was me and I just want the rest of the world to get over my differences, because I have.  I tell him about being a kid and being in special PE.  I tell him about trying to hide my scars and then cutting off me bangs.  I tell him everything I can.  He deserves it.  After all, he told me about killing a girl point blank, sitting in a tank for five days, waiting for any Palestinian to pass, about being brainwashed, about how he has flashbacks and his mind won't leave him alone.  How sometimes his reflex of violence terrifies him.  So I tell him.
And he puts his arm around me.  "The world,"  he stops.  "When I asked you about your thumb, it was scary.  People are not ready.  You are unique.  You are different.  You are a real clown!  Some people..." He trails off.
"I'm ready!  Fuck people!"  I say. "Let's finish the kitchen."  We play music from my kitty backpack.  I sing and dance around.
After half an hour, Sharon asks, "Are you still angry?"
"No!"  I smile, and then Daniel comes in.
"Good," Daniel says, "Then let's go to Nuekölln for a beer!"
Sharon won't come, wants to wake early and study German before a meeting he has with a possible juggling partner. We hug goodbye. I tossle his hair, he plays with my pigtail.
Daniel and I go off on our adventure and Daniel tells me all about this girl he is dating who is "not his girlfriend." (Yeah, right.) I introduce him to the American phrase TMI.  He likes it.

That was all Saturday and there's more to report, like actual Berlin stuff, not just Harvey stuff, but this seems like a good place to close right now.

TMI?

Circus, Disability, Cops in the Head

First, a cheers to small successes:

My sim-card was running low.  I slip on my sandals (it's sunny today) descend the five flights of stairs and walk down the street to the cell phone shop.

"Hallo, Ich will nach ober meine sime-karte."

The guy behind the counter asks, "Zwanzig?"

"Fünfzehn."  I reply.

He presses some buttons, hands me back my phone.  "Danke.  Tchuss."  And I walk out the of store.  No English!  First time.  It is a microscopic thing, this interaction, but something
something
is starting to happen.

I begin to relax.  No longer do I sit forward, alert, stressed on the U-Bahn, furtively listening for the announcement of my stop in what used to sound like a peanut butter-mouthed language.  I start to hear word separation, consider sentence structure.  Mind you, I still have no idea what anyone is talking about.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I feel blessed to have fallen into the crowd of people that are surrounding me.  Last night I went to a circus-varieté/cabaret at Zirkus Zack.  I wasn't sure if anyone I knew would be there except Jana, who was the stage manager/director.  I was a bit nervous about finding the place, but it was very near the Ostkruez S-Bahn stop.  I walk into a compound that feels like burning man.  The ground is packed dirt.  There is a permanent bathroom but everything else seems fairly mobile.  Some trailers, one of which is a concessions stand.  At this point, I am quite used to not understanding most of what is being said around me.  I don't feel self-conscious about being alone.  In fact, I feel strangely safe.  But I do get a little bored sometimes.  I see a child about age 4, take out my balloons.  "Hallo!  Hund oder Katze?"  The child looks at her mother.  I say to her mom, "Ich speche kein Deutsch."
Mom smiles, says to kid, "Hund oder Katze?"
"Hund."  The child says, so I make her a balloon dog.
There is another child, "Hund, katze oder blumen?"
"Blumen." She gets a flower.
An area in the dirt is cleared and fire arts start, poi, staff, some crazy looking apparatus I don't know the name of that resembles a staff but has big flaming rings on the end.  I feel like I'm in Black Rock City except this is real life.  An announcement is made.  I don't understand what is said, but everyone lines up by the tent opening to go inside, so I follow. The old adage, "If everyone else jumped off a cliff, would you do it too?" comes to mind.   There is a certain amount of trust I must put into those around me these days, I suppose..
"Harvey," a familiar voice says my name, though it is not one of the Israelis.  I turn.  Tobias, with his wavy salt and pepper hair and prominent nose saunters over to me.  "Hallo!   Come, Vie are closer in zie line."  Tobias has this amazing accent, soft, gentle, precise.  He is from Southern Germany.  I wonder if they all sound like this down there.  I join him, his girlfriend Jule and their friend Robert.  They all speak English.  Tobias and I start to talk about heady stuff, performance theory and psychology, but he doesn't have the English for the more complicated terms, and I definitely don't have the German.
Inside, we sit together.  The Israelis show up and Sharon comes and sits next to me.  The show begins.  The premise, a hotel. Clowns, aerialists and acrobats tell a story line that is possibly a bit thin, but then again, I cannot understand what is being said onstage.  The talent is amazing.  There is breathtaking sole tissu act, some very talented jugglers, and a few incredible clowns.
There seems to be a different set of taboo here in Berlin than in California.  Even is San Francisco, I feel that references to sexuality and gender in the media  are somewhat marginalized and most definitely only for 18+.  On the other hand, violence is not only accepted but expected.  We Americans are addicted to guns, to war, to blood.  Here, it is rather opposite.  While this wasn't necessarily a family show, there were definitely people with kids there, and there was a lot of sexuality happening in the clown work on stage.
There was a cross-dressing man who played both male and female roles in a tryst under the sheets, complete with the sounds of creaking bedsprings and then acted as the woman who had to get out of bed to pee and wanted to get back into bed for another romp.  A female clown did something with cigarettes, stole cigarettes from someone in the audience, and then sort of freaked out and told the audience that we should all love each other RIGHT NOW!  There was a sort of slow build to all of this.  I believe the act was about desire.  Or something.  Whatever it was, it made my sides ache.
My favorite part, though, was two naked men in a bathtub.  I am told that this is a copy of a sketch by a famous German comedian who just died, (http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/aug/24/germany-comedy-loriot) I am not sure what they were talking about, however I believe some of it had to do with penis size and that the water was cold, and that the rubber duckie was an intruder and not allowed in the tub.  They both took turns standing up (multiple times) and revealing that they were indeed naked and one was possibly Jewish (if you don't get it, ask someone else), manhoods, wobbling around unashamedly.
This would never happen in America.  Not in a million years.  Berlin, Ich liebe dich.

But there was something that happened to me inside.  See, I have always had this rocky relationship with my body, not how it looks but the way it moves, the things it is capable of.  I'm a brain injury survivor, grew up with words like "special" and "disabled" pasted onto me.  These labels were meant to help me by helping others understand me. (At least, that's how I feel about it now.)  But because of these labels, I was allowed to think movement was a scary space, and also a space that I was excused from inhabiting.  In graduate school, I had to learn to dance.  It was terrifying.  I didn't want to do it.  I almost dropped out.  I almost got kicked out.  I would run out of the studio crying and lock myself in the bathroom like a child at the simplest request to cross the floor in a group improvisation.  I had nightmares and insomnia at the same time.  Cold sweats, dry mouth, the whole thing.  Phobia.  It. Was Not. Fun.
But then this thing happened, where I looked across the circle we were sitting in and realized that we were all fallible. Specifically, it was that someone else in the class (a person I thought was a very graceful mover) couldn't touch his toes, either. And I started to have fun.  And I started to love to move.  And I started to dance.  My second year of graduate school, I went to circus school, and it was a place I definitely did not belong.  It was the polar opposite of the loving support from that first year of my studies.  There was only one right way to do things, and I was not doing it.  I tried and tried and tried at juggling, acrobatics, rolla bolla.  And then my dad had a stroke and all my strength, effort and will power went elsewhere.  The circus became a door that was closed to me.  There was no love for me there, no ensemble, only judgement and alienation.  So I've had a pretty bad attitude toward the circus for about 5 years.
But I come here, to Germany, to Berlin, where all of a sudden, the type of person I am is no longer oppressed.  Jewish, queer, an artist, I may not be rolling in the dough, but I feel so safe here.  Safer than I feel in San Francisco, anyway.  The first place I perform here is a circus tent.   The first person I meet (beside Tobias) is an aerialist.  I don't say anything about my head injury. No one asks me about my scars, the way I move.  I am a clown.  I make the audience laugh.  That is good enough for them.
Watching this show last night, though, all these things bubble up inside me.  Things I thought I left in Amerika but things I can't leave in Amerika because they are inside me. They will come with me wherever I go.  I am not going to do even the simplest acrobatics.  I am not going to juggle.  My left arm will never straighten.  I will never in all my days be able to bear weight on it or effectively straighten it without having minor surgery and physical therapy (and I just don't have the insurance for that, thanks USA.)  But none of these people know that, none of them are asking and none of them care.  I don't need to validate any part of myself to anyone.  I am a clown who has come from Amerika.  That is all and that is enough.
In this city, I will never need a driver's license because the transit is so amazing and the streets are safe.  I can be an artist and no one questions my contribution to society.  I am not angry here.  I feel like I have a place.
The learning curve for this language is slow, but I can handle it.  I wonder if it is time to put my old baggage to rest, to dump it somewhere, to emerge, to transform.  I am beginning to have real, true conversations with people and this seems like a difficult thing to translate from die Englisch sprache.  Though it is true, no matter how far we run, our pasts will be with us, no matter how long we wait, until the oceans run dry, this stuff will be there.

To Be Jewish in Berlin

circus studio

At 6 o'clock I have rehearsal with the cake puppet.  I meet Daniel at the Circus at Ostbanhof.  (There are two red and yellow striped circus tents, at least one rehearsal studio, a large kitchen with seating for 50, bathrooms, and a costume shop that also has rooms where people sleep.  Also several caravans.  Unfortunately, there is no heat in the caravans.  I guess they not for winter residency.)
I put the dowels in the puppet, make it stand, stretch a bit and Daniel comes in with his friend Ola, who is from Poland.  We run it a few times.  He has some good suggestions.  Then Sharon, the Israeli clown from Sunday night comes in.  Now we get down to the nitty-gritty!  He's got all sorts of things to say.  I learn from his comments and direction that he really knows his shit.  He begs me to study buffoon. (He is not the first one.)  We work for a total of two hours, after which my body as tired, but not as tired as I would expect. It seems I am getting stronger!  I lost 5 pounds of my body weight somewhere and have know idea where it went.  But one thing is certain, and that is that I am in shape! Daniel and Ola go to the kitchen.  I run the piece for Sharon a few more times.  It is interesting to hear his suggestions and impressions.  He does not understand things like the play on gender and the feminist aspects of my piece, but he does understand comedy and puppetry.  I take in what he has to say.  A lot of it, I will use, some I will not.  I am glad for the fresh perspective.
As I disassemble my puppet, he asks me if I want to eat.  Of course, he asks me in Hebrew, so I have to say, "What?"  He acts surprised that I don't speak Hebrew, but I think he is playing with me.
"But you are Jewish!"  I explain that my family is non-practicing, but we have the blood and the past of pogroms, anti-semitism, etc.  So he asks in English, "You want to eat?"
"Ja!" 
We go to the kitchen, were Daniel and Ola are talking.  Sharon takes stock of what is in the refrigerator.  I ask who would like bier.  Ola says yes, Daniel says no.  We all start talking again.  Sharon takes me gently by the shoulders and steers me out of the room.  "To the store!  Now or we will never get there."  We stop by his room first and Zigi, his little dog (part pug, chihuahua, and pit?) growls at me, tries to attack.  I am a stranger in Zigi's space.  Sharon kneels down.  "Zigi  Zigi!"  He stands, puts his arm around me, shows Ziggy we are friends.  Ziggy runs away, comes back, sniffs me, barks but does not bare his teeth.  Slow progress.  Sharon and walk to the Ostbanhof, a major train station and bus stop.  Also in the Ostbanhof are two supermarkets, an Apotheke (like a pharmacy,) a Schlecker (like Walgreens but without medicine) and a host of restaurants. We go to one of the groceries and Sharon buys eggs, onions, tomato and garlic.  I buy five large bottles of bier. The bier comes to around 6 euro.  I must be careful with money, it is true, but I also feel that if I am a little generous now, karmically it will come back to me.  This proves to be true again and again.  So I will keep on believing it.
On our walk back to the circus, Sharon and I start talking about our lives.  He is 29, has been in the Israeli army and in combat.  We talk about how the dark sides of ourselves relate to clown.  I ask him about the Isreali-Palestinian conflict, how he feels about it now.  "I was so stupid."  He says.  "I let myself be brainwashed and did horrible things.  I have taken life.  Now, I meet Palestinians, they are my friends.  How could I have believed the lie?"

Die Juden

Back in the kitchen, Ola asks about being Jewish in Germany.  Sharon says, "Berlin is not really Germany.  It is Berlin."  I talk about how, in 2007 when I first came to Berlin, I was afraid.
"You are Jewish?" Daniel is surprised and delighted.  His eyes twinkle at me.
Sharon has just gotten his German passport.  His great-grandfather was a German citizen and died in a concentration camp.  His grandfather to Israel after the war.  Evidently, his Grandpa was able to pull some beaureaucratic strings and make Sharon a German citizen. We get into this conversation about what it means to be Jewish, if it is a religion or a culture. 
"I like parts of the Torah,"  Sharon says.  "Jews are intellectual.  We ask too many questions.  That is why we got kicked out of heaven."
Is this actually part of the Torah?  I was never religious.  I don't know.

Daniel and Ola are talking about practical things, aerial dance, where to busk.  Sharon is cooking dinner and he and I are talking about the holocaust, Isreal, what the hell we are doing here, being an artist in this world, where does clown come from, but with a certain levity.  "One egg or two,"  he asks me. 
"One," I answer.
"But they are small, and you have been working hard.  Two?"
"Ok, two."  I pause.  "This is what makes us Jewish.  The way we share food.  Come on, have some more!"  I chide him. 
"You may be right!"  He says.  "Would you ever lie about being a Jew?"
"No."  I don't even have to think about it.
"Someone wants to kill you."
"Then I will die." I am surprised at how fast the answer comes out of me, how I don't have to think about it.
We open a bier, I take out my camera ask Ola if she will photograph the three Jews.  We stand clumped together.  "Everyone say holocaust!" Daniel says.  The flash goes off.

Sharon and I eat this marvelous concoction he has made of tomato, onion, bell pepper, garlic, and egg, mop up the sauce with bread.  I play music from my ipod on the speakers in my kitty backpack (best purchase EVER!)  Daniel and Ola have a Michael Jackson dance party.  Eventually it is midnight.  Daniel and Ola go off to his caravan, leaving Sharon and I.  We finish the beer, he gets Zigi, who is so glad to finally be outside that he forgets I might be a threat, jumps on the bench where I sit and licks my face.  We sit outside in the surprisingly warm night air, talk for an hour.  I am not sure if the trains are still running, but I need to get home.  Ziggy and Sharon walk me to my platform and wait with me until my train comes.  I think we are both surprised at our connection to each other, which seems purely yet deeply intellectual.  We both wonder why we must muck around the dark spaces in ourselves, why we cannot just leave our pasts somewhere else.  Our journeys our separate, but perhaps similar.  The train comes,  We hug.  "Tchuss!"
I ride one stop to Jannowitzebrücke station and attempt to transfer.  It is 1:15 am on a weekday and the platform is closed.  Fuck!  What the hell do I do?  I go out into the night.  There is a bicyclist.  "Spreichen zie Englicsh?"
"Ja."
I ask him if he knows how to get to Boddinstrasse, my stop in Nuekollon.  He does not know of a bus.  "It is not so far.  a 30 minute walk." 
"Danke," I sigh.  He pedals off.  I would like to walk, but I am unsure of the route and don't want to attempt it for the first time at 2 am with the cake puppet under my arm.  I check my wallet and hail a cab.  It will be 10 Euro but I don't see another option.  My cab driver is Turkish, speaks English, takes me where I need to go. 
I have a gig tonight at the KingKongKlub and will get part of the money from the door.  I hope a lot of people come.  I think I will start to learn walking routes.  I feel much less self-conscious about walking here at night than I do in the States.  There are no guns and there is a different relationship to alcohol in Berlin.  No one is going to mess with me.  If I had known about the U-Bahn closing, I would have researched the all night busses, but without a smart phone and not speaking the language, I did not see a way to figure out a route.  If I had asked Sharon to walk me all the way home, he likely would have said yes.  Oh, well, Maybe next time.

Dance!

Berlin, I love you! Will you marry me?

Where to start?  On Wednesday when I landed in Berlin I knew two people.  One I had only corresponded with over email.  The other I had not seen in four years.  It is now the 19th of September.  I have been here five days and belong to an international community of artists.  I am in love with EVERYONE!  My head swims with possibility.  My heart opens with gratitude.

Kruezberg across the Spree River

But I guess I should start at the beginning, Saturday, when I stopped fretting in my giant room on Hermannstrasse and got on the underground to go to my first gig, ZirCouplet at the Shake! tent at Ostbanhof.  My tech was at 4:20, I was supposed to be there at 4.  It looked like it would take about half an hour to get to the station and then 5 minutes of walking.  I left the apartment at 3 pm, just to be on the safe side.  A transfer point at Jannowitzebrücke station to the S-bahn (there are two inner-city rail systems in Berlin, the S-Bahn and the U-Bahn) caught me up.  For some reason, my train wasn't coming, had been cancelled.  Of course, I could find no information in English.  At 3:40, I started to panic.  My first gig in Berlin and I was going to be late?  Not going to happen.  I ran downstairs to try to find the 248 Bus stop, but could not figure out which direction I had to take it.  I hailed a cab.  The driver spoke no English but understood Ostbanhof, which is a major train station.  Giving the driver 6 Euro, I hit the ground running toward the only red and yellow-striped tent in sight, which, to my relief, was the Shake! tent.  I got there at 3:55.  A tall, thin man with glasses, a green t-shirt that said Zirkus Zack, and wavy salt-and-pepper hair stood outside.  He waved at me.
"Tobias?"
"Ja, Harvey.  I recognize you from zie photo."  His smile is warm.  I feel immediately at ease.  Every stereotype I have ever heard or felt about Germans is, at this point, bogus.  Berliners are a diverse and relaxed bunch. 
"The S-Bahn wasn't running.  I hope I'm not late."
"Oh, relax.  You are fine." he says, showing me inside the tent.  An aerialist, whose name I will learn is Daniel (pronounced Daniél) is doing his tech on the stage.  We will become instant friends.  But more about him in a moment.
The seating is 3/4 round bleachers, the floor wooden.  Tobias, (pronounced Tobías) escorts me to one of the dressing rooms.  "You can put your things here and we vill be ready for you in about 20 minutes, is okay." 
"Ja," I smile and nod, already high off the energy of the place.  "I just need to put my puppet together.  I am sorry for not speaking German."
"We are very international cast.  You are not the only one.  English is no problem."
He leaves me to put my cake puppet together and soon it is my turn to tech.  There are two stage hands to help me but I have nothing for them to do!  Clowns, we do it all ourselves!  At least, that's how I think of it. 
After my tech, I learn that there will be a dvd made of the nights performance.  Wow!
I go to change, do makeup, and stretch.  Daniel introduces himself.  He is from Israel, flamboyant and flirtatious.  We clique immediately.  Others begin to arrive.  A german dance/gymnastics troupe, a sideshow freak named Roc It, an eccentric performer who sings and plays the musical saw from Spain. This is varieté!  I feel like Sally Bowles but more DIY.  There is German being spoken all around me and I am impressed with myself that I can pick up one word every third or fourth sentence.  This is a new phenomenon.  I am getting over my cultureshock and beginning to relate.
At 7:30, we all meet in a circle onstage.  Jana (pronounced Yanna) translates to English for the 3 of us (Daniel, Mara and myself) who don't speak German.  Tobias gives directions, explains how the evening will go, thanks us all for being here, and than has us do a group warm up.  Some things are the same no matter where you are from.  We all make noise, wiggle around and then run to the middle of the circle, put our hands in and go, "Wooooo!" in an ascending scale.  Performance is a universal language.  I am home.

The cakedance, my first act, is new, not as polished as the second.  It doesn't suck, but, well, it's still a baby.  It goes okay.  The second piece I have been working on for 9 months.  I could do it in my sleep.  It is a piece of gold.  The audience eats it up.  They will not stop laughing!  Unfortunately, my light cue at the end comes too quickly, before I finish.  I think I had a language barrier with Markus, the lighting technician.  No big deal.  We will fix it tomorrow.
At the end of the show is a finale.  We are called out to the stage individually and then take a group bow.  Upon exiting, the audience is still going crazy.  Something is said in German and lots of people run back on stage.  Daniel, Mara and I don't know what is happening.  Jana yells, "Now, now!  Everyone onstage!"  Daniel goes, Mara looks confused.  I grab her hand.  "Ahora, ahora!"  We run back onstage.
As I am changing back into my street clothes, Tobias knocks.  "Ja!  Come in!"
"People to see you!" He is all smiles.  I believe I have impressed!  In walk Julika and Neo.  I can't believe they have come.  I am elated.  I take off my makeup, use my drink ticket, have a Beck's.  We stand and talk outside.  Julika and Jana are old friends.  I get the feeling it is a small and close world of artists here.
Around 11:30 pm, we all part ways.  "Tomorrow!  Tchuss!" I wave and I literally skip to the train station.
--------------------------

Something is going on.  Polizei (police) are swarming the station.  I push terror down inside of me.  Berlin seems such a tolerant place, but programming is hard to overcome.  I see police or large groups of German people singing in the street or at the station and well- I don't even want to say where my mind goes.  I am a Jew.  Let's leave it at that.  I am not proud to have these thoughts.  They are something that I must overcome.  But the thoughts are there and I might as well be honest about them. 
It is illegal in Germany to have anything to do with Hitler, to say his name silences a room.  I have heard that in other parts of Germany, Stüttgart, Kastle, folks will flat out apologize and buy you a meal if you tell them you are Jewish, such is the shame of their past here.
I get to my platform and it is empty.  I am on the wrong side, but on the platform across from me, lots of cops are surrounding a group of men. The men are singing, shaking their fists in the air.  A knot of distress ties itself in my stomach.  What to do?  I get myself on the correct platform as far away form the men's song and the polizei as possible.  What is going on?  My train comes quickly and I transfer to the underground at the next station.  There is no trouble here.  Relief washes over me and the high of the show comes back.  On the underground platform, I spot my first butch-femme lesbian couple.  They are young, cute.  I approach them.  "Spriechen zie Englisch?"
"Ja," the femme, who looks of Persian descent, nods.
"I perform at the KingKongKlub in Mitte on Wednesday.  I am clown and do queer and gender performance."  I give them my card.  They smile.
"Cool!" The femme says.  "We have not been there yet.  We will try to come!"
My train comes. "Tchuss!" I wave goodbye.
Upon my arrival home, I see that someone from the ZirCouplet staff has not only friended me but also suggested that I contact a person name Viehölala for future gigs.  I message Viehölala right away.

On Sunday I wake too early.  It is raining in Berlin.  I bum around the apartment, take a long shower, try to go to the grocery store and I discover that everything in my neighborhood except the Vietnamese restaurant is closed on Sunday.  I have chicken curry and rice for 3,50 Euro, do the dishes in the kitchen, drink more kaffee, and decide to hop the train to Ostbanhof at 4 pm.  Call isn't until 7.  I am meeting Jana at 6 so she can help me fix my light cue by translating for me.  I want to check out the area around the Ostbanhof station.  Rain or not, part of the wall and what looks like a beautiful park is there. 
Leaving the station, I cross the street and head into the park, which is actually a small river bank along the Spree.  I discover a place called Yaam.  Entering the gate, I am in agiant green field with fruit trees and a little shelter, outside of which sits a man with skin the color of pitch.  Am I supposed to be here?  He motions for me to come.  I do. 
"Hallo!"  I say, smiling.
"How are you?" he says.  By his accent, I know he is from somewhere in Africa.
"English!"  I exclaim.  "I am good!  What is this place?"
"This is Yaam!  We are international.  It is a place people meet, hang out, through there," he points to another gate, "there are stands.  You can buy food and drink."
He tells me that he is from Gambia and I say I am from California.  I invite him to ZirCouplet and promise to come back another time, but now I must wander by the river.

I walk along the Spree, see Kruezberg on the other side.  It is hard to know if I am in East or West Berlin, the wall is such a wiggly line.  For me it does not matter, but for some people every time you pass from one side to the other without conflict, you exhale with relief.  Soon it is 5:15.  I am ansty, want to get to the tent.  I go and it is open.  Daniel, who is staying for the moment in a small trailer on the circus grounds, greets me warmly.  He is with his friend Sharon (Sharón) who is also Israeli, a juggler and clown and will be the last act of the night.  Sharon saw my act last night and says, "I don't know what I am doing yet.  Will you watch?"  Of course!
We go into a small studio space.  Stilts and other circus apparatus hang on the wall.  The place smells like a gym.  Again, I have the feeling of home.  Sharon shows me some stuff he is working on.
"Your technique is good."  I tell him, "But I can see you thinking.  You are not really looking at me.  I need to know that you see me.  That you are vulnerable.  You need to breathe onstage."  We try again.  It is better, but there is something missing.  I approach him.  "Everything you do and feel, I need to see happen here."  I touch his spine.  And again, but there is still too much thought and I have 15 minutes before I meet Jana in the tent. 
"Okay, we need to play a short game."  He protests.  I can tell he is nervous, too in his head.  "It won't take long."  We chase each other, make eye contact, shock each other with imaginary lightning bolts that shoot across the room from our fingertips.  After 5 minutes, we are both out of breath.  "Again!"
And he nails his piece, makes me laugh. 

At 6:30, Tobias comes to the dressing room.  "You need anything?" 
"Nope.  Everything is great."  I am beaming.
The Cakedance went better last night.  I got a little feedback form Sharon and tried it.  The second piece was okay.  The audience was more aghast, less open, but they definitely laughed.  After the show I am changing and taking my makeup off.  Tobias comes in.  "Someone to see you!"  He says.  "They are in the tent."
"Really?" I am surprised.  I button my pants and go out to see who could be there.  A tall man with dark hair and glasses introduces himself as Viehölala.  I cannot believe it.  His facebook picture is a fabulous dragqueen.  We talk extensively.  He want to find me work, offers two gigs but they are for nights Eve and I are already booked.  He says he has some more information and will email me.  We talk about the Cakedance.  He has some wonderful ideas.  He asks about the puppet and I bring him back to the dressing room to show him the construction.  We hang out a bit, then he is off and then I get PAID!  40 Euro! 
The Israelis and I hang out.  Sharon has to go and Daniel invites me to his caravan (synonomous with trailer.)  We hang out and talk.  Apparently, if I sign up for German language school, I can get a Visa for up to one year.  That information is a little overwhelming, but is definitely something to think about.  Funny, the immediate reason I think I shouldn't do it is I miss my mom.  Daniel says he has rehearsal space during the day and will workshop the cakedance with me on Tuesday.  Great! 

I leave at midnight and there is no trouble at the station.  I come home walking on air.  Today (Monday) I wake at 11 am, make kaffe and eggs, write this.  Now it's time to shower, dress and go to Kaiser's (Safeway-esque supermarket.)

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