The rain obviously couldn't decide either,
it fell flat on the shiny plaster, in which the neon
Writing of the "Krachnest" and the lights of the few other
Shops, then he preferred to let the wind
drift across the mostly shabby cars, which are almost completely
park left and right of Oranienstrasse. That Berlin in winter
was hard, he'd been told, and he'd believed it.
But now that it was real, it was different.
Anselm struck the collar of his dark blue homecomer-
Army coats up. Somehow it was cool. All this
Berlin Island Bleak-Atmo... walled city...coal stove smell
and a sense of so many possibilities.
No wonder Bowie moved here, he thought
He had a date. Another try, the fourth one this week.
Funny how hard it was to find a drummer in this town -
when there were thousands of bands, bands of all styles, from which
most of them played for a few marks everywhere where it's something like that
like a stage. Like over there in "Krachnest", in its basement
they had their headquarters. Rehearsal room was such an uncool word,
it sounded like diligence instead of inspiration, genius and turmoil.
At that moment, twenty meters from the "Krachnest", an old,
dark red hump-backed volvo and parked rather swinging.
It took some time for the door to open and a long, lean guy
i got out of the car. He wore a wide coat with a faded flower pattern,
blue suede trousers with several holes and old laced boots,
that looked too big in spite of his size. So perfect.
A pair of drumsticks looked out of the coat pocket.
"So you're Anselm!" - said the Hagere and walked straight towards him.
And then there was the scent.
Intense and soft, springy, spicy and above all warm.
Warming up, just like that. A stove of fragrance.
"So, you're the drummer?"
"Exactly! I'm your new drummer..."
Uh, yeah, I'm Anselm..."
When he unlocked the door, a piece of memory
in him like a shadow from long faded days.
And disintegrated again.
The scent, however, still intensified in the narrow staircase.
Flowers were added now, heavy and overripe, field herbs,
tart, straight plucked out, a little bitter or also sweetly stunning.
It was confusing, he thought of chamomile tea and an old rose-
bouquet with his favourite aunt in her Viennese Belvederchen.
On the other hand there was this clear edge.
Mysterious, wedged somewhere between earthly and heavenly.
New wave, not punk.
Anselm unlocked the door.
Shortly afterwards the Hagere sat behind the Gretsch Drumkit.
Anselm decided for the Telecaster and started the AC30.
He played the riff from "But a Dream", slightly distorted,
i'm not being cautious, because it wasn't about him.
Suddenly the Hagere stood up again and stepped up to him.
"Before I get started - a little elixir for you..."
He sprayed Anselm, who just kept playing, a few times
from a small amber bottle to the chest.
Then he sat down behind the Gretsch again and started.
Dry, straight as a candle, actually nothing more than the usual
Wum Ta Wum-Wum Ta. But so precise and sharp,
with such a ravishingly swinging hi-hat, which always scarcely
before the first hissing the Basedrum pushed up - more aggressive
and more thrilling than anything drummers have ever done before.
How long that went on - hard to say.
Just as the Hagere a few sophisticated Basedrum snare variants
anselm became completely aware of the fragrance,
he merged with the beat, the riff entwined him,
the guitar tones turned into swaths of flowers and herbs.
To the thunderstorm of flowers and herbs came now what had been missing.
The basis on which everything made sense, the key, so to speak.
A deep, lush, archaic hippie aura that is more likely to deny
and rebellion. Or no, it was the postulate, the essence
of Love and Piece, no ifs or buts. It reminded him of
a wide panorama, in front of which the time courses blurred.
"I knew he wouldn't get bored,
here in the punch society..." said his uncle Nelson,
"but believe me, he's had enough of this elixir..."
Anselm opened his eyes and just saw,
as his uncle swiftly and nimbly the little bottle in the pocket
of his floral dressing gown.
Then he dawned back into the deep vastness of his dream.