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October 5, 2009


The party was over. The moon was howling. We would not rest without seeing a giant puppet.


We found Bismarck and Co. in this Fragonard grotto off the Strasse des 17 Juni. One of his pals is a sibyl reclining on a sphinx and reading the Book of History. Bismarck should be doing his own homework if he wants to amount to anything.


Look at this sweet little stargazer, lost in thought. Time to put away your eternal rumination set and go to sleep now, silly. Be happy you are alive and can go watch the sky. 


My, Goldelse, I never knew this side of you. And what a set up. The dimly lit unterweg was open and waiting just for us.


Earlier was Reunification Day. This street was pink guzzling gold. People wedged between people from the gutter to the gutter. They shared sweat under the cloudy sky and complained across nameless ears. Yet all the while sidewalks remained conspicuously free.

Some were exiled to the quiet woods where no tree or bush stood unmolested.

Men to the trees and women to the bushes! Men bellow into the high canopy as women giggle at the fallen leaves. 

Now the striped stands are shuttered but the sausage steam escapes. Stragglers stagger silent-drunk and the Schutzhunden keep them straight. 


The puppet was giant. The giant was sleepy. We have homes for giants.

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