November 15, 1989 east Berlin - Journal

Last week the Free World witnessed the collpase of the DDR (East Germany) and the opening of the Berlin Wall. Demonstrations in East Berlin and the flight of DDR citzens through Czechoslovakia spelled the end to Erich Honecker's reign. East Berliners celebratyed crossing the 'death zone' top stand atop the Wall uniting the Capitol of the Third Reic, Weimar Repulic, and the German Empire. Nearly 300,000 Osties or Easties streameed into the capitalist island of the Bundesrepublik deep within the Iron Curtain. Most returned to their homes. No one had foreseen this event. Earlier this year Erich Honecker had claimed, "The Wall might last another hundred years." but like his predecessor of the thousand-year Reich time proved him wrong. His replacement, Hardliner Krenz lasted only another three weeks.

"Die Mauer ist weg!" - the wall must go was the battle cry of the protesters, who started at a church and whose numbers grew from hundreds to thousands to tens or thousands with any violent response from Stazi, the State Security apparatus.

In the Autumn of 1982 I traveled from Hamburg to West Berlin with Henri Flesh, the Bsir's DJ. THe Pan-Am flight landed at Tegel Airport. Lufthansa wasn't allowed to land in West Berlin. We took a taxi to the four-star hotel near the K-damm arranged by Jurgen, the club owner and our friend. The street exuded the wealth of West Germany. We settled into our rooms and went for a swim in the art-deco pool with a tiled hot tub. Fluffy white robes and a line of Persian brown.

After dressing we headed to the Zoo U-bahn station. We had met Christine F in Hamburg. Both of us had read Wir Kinder vom Bahnhof Zoo. She had said that the prostitution scene had died with so many ODs, but we had to see and discovered she was right, but it was still day. We wandered through the zoo and that night hung out at the Djungel. Berlin's # 1 disco for people like us. I drank myself drunk and returned to the hotel before midnight. I'm getting old. 30.

The next day, gray, but not rainy, we took a taxi to the Brandenburger Gate. Still bearing the scars of the Battle for Berlin. Beyond was the Berlin Wall. Graffitied on the concrete. We climbed to a viewing platform to view the death zone. Bleaker than I had imagined. Guards in towers with the order to shot to kill. Henri had scored some coke last night and we finished off on the way to Checkpoint Charlie. The transit entrance to East Berlin. A very heavy border guard processed out passports and waved us through the checkpoint after having converted twenty BBR marks into DDR currency. THe paper notes felt like toilet paper and the coins were very light, but we had Deuschemarks and were willing to spend our money.

There were no taxis and we walked in the direction of Karl-Marx Plaza. It was easy. East berling's only tall structure was a TV tower there. The bullet pocked buildings enroute were a stark contrast to the decadent spledor of the other half fo the city. There were many abandoned buildings and towering piles of bricks, asif the Soviet refused to admit the war was over. Only two Trabants passed us, sounding like lawnmowers. There wasn't much to buy in any of the stores. Very little food. Karl-Marx platz was devoid of people. The sun came out and we ducked into a bar. Everyone inside froze. Their eyes shifted in their head. Theyw ere searching for Stasi. THe East Berlin cops. I could speak a little German and ordered a round of beers for the entire bar. 25 pfennig each. I put down a 10 DDR note. The barman did nothing, No one came for their beers. I suspected that they were frightened that if they accepted something from us, they might be arrested. I took out my remaining money and left it on the bar. Henri did the same.

"Biers fur alles."

No one followed us into the foggy afternoon. Footsteps pounded the cobblestones and a troop of Soviet soldiers goosestepped past us, almost as if they had been ordered out of the barrack for two druggies. We were glad to be back in the West adn I reckoned that so was the DDR.

That night we returned to the Zoo Station to score. Once more nothing. We were lucky in the Djungel. Henri got to spin for a few minutes. The crowd loved him. They avoided me in my black leasther jacket. Henri advised, "You don't have to look touhg here. You aren't working the door. Relax. We're on holiday."

He was right and I danced with several drag queens.

After we returned to the htoel. I looked easst over West Berlin to the searchlights playing over the Wall's death zone. East Berlin was dark. I wondered what its citizens thought about the brightness of their rich twin. Envy. Envy for ood in the suppermarkets, good cars, and freedom to to a slave to capitalism. No one, but the cadre wanted communism. Plus the Stazi, who had collected the smells of thousands of suspected enemies of the state, so their dogs could track them should they flee.

Then I remembered Clover Nolan, the blonde runaway who had participated with Klaus, Cookie Mueller for Anthony Scibelli's photo-roman. She had left New York for East Germany in 1979. She had sent me two postcards from Poland. She had met a KGB officer and said that he looked me only with more scars. I've added a few more since she left the city. I hadn't looked for her in East berlin. A shame.

Before sleeping I wrote a short story about a old poetcalling for the reunification of Germany. Stazi wants to deport him to the West, where he is wanted for the killing of several SS officers after the end of World War II. I didn't get oo far. I nodded out to no dreams. The sleep of an East Berliner.