#AM Berlin

[sistertonin]

Deadly Glow? Glowing Deadly? Pretty Glowy?

[artsandculture]

Woman at a Window (1822) 🎨 Caspar David Friedrich 🏛️ Alte Nationalgalerie 📍 Berlin, Germany

At the window of a barren room you can see the back view of a young woman looking outside. It is Caroline, the wife of Caspar David Friedrich, who looks from the artist's studio to the opposite bank of the Elbe. In 1822, four years after his marriage, Frederick created this small-format, private image. Even in the year of origin, the painting was shown at the Dresden Academy Exhibition: "A small picture depicting the artist's studio in his peculiar simplicity, in the middle of the background the window with the view of the Elbe and the opposite poplars, would be very true and pretty if Friedrich had not followed again here, which it loves to depict people straight from behind." (Wiener Zeitschrift für Kunst, 1822, . Börsch-Supan and K. W. Jähnig, Caspar David Friedrich, Catalogue of Works, Munich 1973, pp. 96). While the Viennese Magazine for Art reacted to Friedrich's painting with incomprehension, the mystery of the turning-off women inspired the poet Friedrich de la Motte Foqué to become a sonnet. Friedrich consistently constructed the simple, empty interior of horizontal and vertical. Nothing reveals comfort, only a short piece of floor made of wide wooden floorboards, a dark wall and a high window are visible. The female figure alone and the prospect of delicately green poplars on the other side, opening up by a wide spring sky, enliven the presentation. Resembling the filigree peak of a church tower, a ship mast appears in the upper window area, structured by a narrow cross. A subtle color sound of blue, green and ocher draws attention to the light steps in the finest nuances. With this 'window picture', Friedrich picked up a romantic motif of longing that links inside and outside, closeness and distance. The view outwards simultaneously goes inwards, in the center of the soul. Two further interior representations have been handed down by Friedrich: "Woman ascending to light" (1825, Pomeranian State Museum, Greifswald) and "Climbing woman with a candle" (around 1825, loaned from private property in pe.). Like "Frau am Fenster", these images remained in the possession of the artist's family for a long time. It was not until 1906, on the occasion of the exhibition of the century in the Nationalgalerie Berlin, where Friedrich was comprehensively represented with 36 paintings and 57 drawings, including "Frau am Fenster", and the painterly work of the artist, which had been forgotten, was rediscovered.

[writingbyshiloh]

3 Times You Hear People Refer to You as a Team and the 1 Time You Didn't

Berlin x Reader

CW: Reader goes by Vienna and is a medical person (only 2 lines about it!) suggestive content but no smut, sneaking around? no beta

AN: I’m so normal about Berlin I promise (lying). I'm definitely forgetting a CW but nothing too bad or dramatic happens. 

WC: 1.7k

“Wait, what's with team Germany? Two people with city names from the same country?” the dark-haired young man asks. You know his name is an American city, starting with a D. Dallas? Detroit? Denver!

It's obvious who half of the team is. Berlin is the capital of Germany. You don’t know who the second is. You frown while trying to remember the other city names in Europe. Oslo, Helsinki, and Moscow but none of them are in Germany. 

“Vienna?” you ask, pointing a finger at yourself.

His dad, Moscow smacks him on the back of his head. “Vienna’s not in Germany, dumbass.” 

Denver laughs, loud and not caring about his geographical mistake. “Right, it’s in Italy.” 

Others join in laughing at his second mistake. 

“It’s the capital of Austria?” You say bewildered. “They speak German but it's still very much in Austria.” 

Too late for you to interject, the team name had stuck.

The second time is during one of the many drills the professor makes at all hours of the night. You had an advantage, being awake and somewhat alert.

“Any man would forfeit his share of the heist for you to look at him like that,” Berlin says quietly, smoothing his hand down your back. You’re both stretched out on your bed, hardly dressed, with tired and heavy limbs. 

You feel your face heat up at the compliment but try to push it down. Both of you agreed to keep it casual but he has a hard time doing that. You stopped trying to kick him out immediately after sex to avoid his “theories” about how women need to be held. Why let him tell you when he can just do it? 

“Helsinki likes men.” you counter. His words are sweet, but you don’t have much faith in him, seeing as he’s a divorcee of 5. 

“He’s not blind, is he?” Berlin bumps his nose against your jaw, trying to get more space to kiss your neck. 

The buzzing alarm throughout the house saves you from trying to come up with a reply. You both slip out from your bed, rooting around the discarded clothes on your floor and chair. 

“Is this a weapons drill?” You ask quietly slipping a blanket over your shoulders to protect from the night air. Berlin cocks his head to the side listening to the three repeating beeps. 

“Yes.” 

You grab the fake weapons from your dresser specifically for these drills. You pass the fake gun to Berlin hoping it will look similar to his weapon, keeping the knockoff rifle for yourself under your blanket. Berlin kisses the corner of your mouth before opening your door and leaving towards his room. You slip out and go the other way, closer to the outside door.

You arrive at the checkpoint third, beaten by Moscow and Dever. Sometimes you hear them sharing a late-night smoke so they were probably awake. Half a minute after you Berlin arrives and Oslo follows next. The Professor nods his approval and writes down everyone's reaction time. As the rest of the group filters outside, Berlin subtly nudges your arm when Tokyo and Rio arrive together with one fake weapon between them, even though their rooms are in different parts of the house. 

Nairobi is last, her sleep mask pushed to her forehead, lamenting about how early is it, how others need their beauty sleep, not her though. You hold out both of your blanket-covered arms for Nairobi and Tokyo to cozy up against the chill on the night air. You used the same blanket when there was an evening fire a few days ago so the thick smell of smoke covers any hint of your time with Berlin. 

“Moscow, Denver, Team Germany, and Oslo. Congratulations on your fast reaction time and the attention you paid in the lessons, you’re free to back to bed. Nairobi, Tokyo, Rio, Helsinki, please have a coffee or a snack and meet me in the classroom in 10 minutes.” 

You have a warm bed waiting for you, possible company included, so you shrug out of your blanket, letting the other two share it. You shiver in the cold air and pick up the weapon before retreating into the house. 

The sun is hazy and low in the sky, calling to the bugs in the grass to move and flit around. There’s no actual lesson, but the Professor is answering questions anyone may have. Small groups have broken out, Nairobi, Helsinki, and Oslo all bonding while smoking, the Professor and Moscow talking about some negotiating, while Rio, Denver, and Tokyo are playing a card game, one filled with slapping hands on the table, and accusing one another of cheating.

You and Berlin are moving slowly to the song playing out on someone's radio. It’s not out of the ordinary, Tokyo declines every time he offers her a dance, and Moscow has no worries about spinning you around to whatever is on the radio. You even try to dance with Nairobi sometimes, both taking dramatic steps, more focused on making others laugh than the proper form.

There's still a small space between both of your chests trying to show nothing is going on between you both. It's hard though when he had two fingers hooked into the belt loops of your pants to push and pull you with ease. The dance is only a simple box step, step forward, to the side, step back, and then to the other side, but you can feel his charisma and passion in every step.

“Take a look at team Germany.” The professor says, drawing more attention to your little dance. “A negotiation is much like a dance.”

You break out of his hold to sip your drink before moving back into the starting position. With a nod for Berlin, you take a step forward and he gently pulls you in the same direction. You keep dancing, steps more slow and exaggerated for the demonstration, while he counts, a smooth repetition of one, two, three, four so the group can see the movements.

“Now…who is leading?” The Professor asks, the back end of his pen pointed at you both. Answers are overlapped, with no one strongly holding any opinion.

“Why would you say Vienna, Denver?” The Professor prompts, try to get someone to reach the answer before he needs to explain it.

“Vienna moves first, and steps forward. They’re leading.” Denver says. You can see Rio nod in agreement.

“No, it’s Berlin. Watch how he leads, helping Vienna follow.” Moscow points out.

“Yes, exactly. In a negotiation, it will be much the same. On the outside, it will look like the police are leading, and we are following. But actually…” The professor trails off, watching Team Germany dance.

You see Berlin raise his eyebrows, silently gesturing that he wants to spin you. You quickly nod, and at the start of the count, he pulls you close before pushing away. You spin away under his arm before turning back to the original dance position.

“We’re in control.”

You’re not sure if the hoots and claps from the table are for Berlin and you or the plan. You hope it's for both.

The fourth time you’re called Team Germany neither of you are around to see it.

“I think you look hot.” you tell Tokyo, sitting on her bed, watching her and Nairobi as they make last-minute adjustments to their outfits for the festival.

“You should come!” Nairobi begs you, holding out her hands to help you off the bed as if the only thing stopping you from joining is being stuck in place. You accept her help and allow her to pull you to a standing position.

“If I didn’t have a medical lesson with the Professor tomorrow, I would.”

“Oooo, sounds hot, are you going to study anatomy?” Nairobi teases. You know about how sexy she finds the Professor, something you can’t judge her for.

“No, it’s going over every medical misfire that can happen. Berlin and Helsi are going to be there too.”

You can’t tell if the look Tokyo is shooting at you is strange or if she's drunk. You don’t get the chance to ask her before Rio and Denver come crashing in.

“This is pure elegance, my friend.” Denver announces, dancing in his jacket, while everyone crowds around him.

“What the fuck! Is this Berlins?” Nairobi asks. You know it is but you don’t have a good reason to know so you let the others figure it out themselves. “He’s going to fucking kill you.”

Denver's cries of reassurance are drowned out by Tokyo shushing him and encouraging the group to get moving. In the corridor, everyone lowers their volume.

“Have fun! Be safe! Drink lots of water!” you wish Nairobi and Tokyo as they give you an over-friendly kiss fueled with alcohol. You try to wipe off the excess lipstick before giving up. Denver and Nairobi walk you back to your room on their way out, Tokyo and Rio getting something they forgot back in Tokyo's room.

Outside waiting with a cigarette, Denver reaches into the pocket of Berlin's coat and quickly retracts his hand.

“What's wrong? Cut yourself on one of his five previous wedding rings?” Nairobi asks, setting her cigarette aside to see what hurt Denver. More casually, he reaches into the pocket and pulls out a few items of jewelry. Laying them flat in his palm, he holds them up for Nairobi to examine.

“Holy shit! Those are Vienna’s.”

“Why does Berlin have them?”

“It’s fucking obvious, team Germany is fucking!”

“Who’s fucking?” Tokyo asks, arriving with Rio in tow, a few smears of lipstick around his mouth.

“Vienna and Berlin! Look!”

“What should we do? Tell the Professour?” Rio asks, surprised at the discovery. He missed all the signs from the past months that something was happening right under his nose.

“No! This is the perfect get-out-of-jail-free card.” Tokyo offers

“Tokyo you’re late to class” Nairobi says imitating the professor before using her regular voice “Well, team Germany is sleeping together!”

“No one says a word about this. We need to wait for the right time.” Tokyo says. She knows she and Rio won’t be hidden forever. But the leader and the medical expert sleeping together? That’s ammunition she can’t wait to use.

[cryptidwrestling]

[oldguardleatherdog]

The Night Before the Tribute In Light September 10, 2003

I.

One month ago today, this long-forgotten photo suddenly popped up in the photo app on my laptop. I took this photo with my Sanyo clamshell phone on September 10, 2003, 21 years ago tonight, from Hudson River Park in Manhattan.

Don't ask me how it survived all these years or where it's been stored all this time or how in the world it could have found its way to me from the long-dead storage servers of a long-defunct cell phone carrier. We're in the penumbra of The Anniversary, and time is out of joint.

I had been back in New York for about a month (after getting violently run out of the place I was staying by a fellow who is now one of my closest friends), homeless and living in that roach-infested HIV crack-house shelter at 96th and Broadway that I describe in "The One Decent Thing I Ever Did" (it’s archived on this blog), and you can imagine my state of head and spirit at this moment, the night before the 2nd anniversary of the terror attacks on the World Trade Center that drove me from my home in Lower Manhattan, four blocks east of the site.

I was sitting on a bench in Hudson River Park on the West Side of Manhattan, somewhere near Houston Street, maybe ten or fifteen blocks north of World Trade. I hadn't noticed these beams of light as I walked, and I think they might have just been activated while I was sitting there. As I recall, it was a full moon in Virgo, and I was positioned just right to snap this shot. I had *no* idea what this was all about, as I recall, but I thought the image was so striking and affecting that I wanted to capture it.

As it turns out, this was the tech run-through for the first September 11th installation of the “Tribute In Light”. Here’s Google’s AI summary of this remarkable memorial:

So there I was, just two years after the blast, stunned by this sudden, mysterious apparition rising from just south of what was still a giant, messy hole in the ground. I was still not fully myself at that time and would not regain my full memory or sense of who I was until the following January (therein lies a tale!), and as I recall I was just numbly stunned, not knowing what to make of it.

As I write, I’m getting the physical sense memory of that moment: the dog in me (my medulla oblongata speaking) feels his hackles rise, it’s not what I expect to see filling the hole in the sky, is it another attack? Do I bark at it, sound an alarm, run towards it, away from it, why is there light there, is this some unholy ruse, another trick being played on me from that big smoky hole where nothing but poison has spilled out for the longest time?

My phone rang. It was a fellow that I had met and hung out with in San Francisco while I was stranded there, and I was stunned to hear from him, especially at that moment. “Hi Dave… well, right now I’m on the riverfront looking at the damnedest thing… [I just wanted to make sure you were ok] hey, thanks for checking in… yeah, take care bud.” I closed the phone and started walking south along the riverfront, toward the light beams.

When I got there, I saw the massive banks of klieg lights assembled in their arrays, a strange and unfamiliar (unwelcome) echo of the shapes and the placement and the footprints of the place I loved so well.

The faces of the artists who surrounded the lights were intense, focused, sober. I still didn’t quite know what was going on, but there was profound reverence in the air, on those faces, at that place, as the beams of pure white light soared upwards, past the point of naked-eye discernment, unending, likely petering out tens of thousands of feet off that spoiled piece of ground, perhaps piercing the ionosphere, did they get clearance from the Federal Aviation Administration for this? Are pilots being disoriented by these columns at 45,000 feet? Do they touch the feet of God?

II.

And I kept walking south, my back to the light,

Down to the oldest part of the civilized island,

Past the Battery, the bronze bull, the buttonwood tree,

The Port of New York dead ahead,

The Staten Island Ferry terminal, ramshackle, ancient,

Entry restricted by terror tape and armed sentinels

No two uniforms alike, a panoply of enforcement,

Heavy weapons at the ready, so jarring in my neighborhood,

And the working dogs with the keen snouts, the trained muzzles,

Jumping up to paw at the brown bag in the soldier’s hand

Is that peanut butter? Apple? Hunk of cheese?

Let’s play! You’ve been so serious, so worried,

You smell sad and scared, are you lost? Let’s play!

Even Cerberus needs break time, belly rubs, treats!

For the first time in weeks, I smile to myself

As I round past the ferry, those strange lights at my back.

Hope I can sneak past the turnstile downstairs,

I won’t have to hike back up three hundred blocks

To that awful low place. Did you know roaches bite?

They shit on you too. Try to sleep, fully dressed,

Watch cap pulled low on my head, long sleeved shirt

Buttoned up to the collar, heavy pants tucked in boots,

Gloves on my hands, one more night without food

Half-bag of speed takes my mind off the pain

Sleep comes in fits if at all. – On the train

Dreading the stop: ninety-sixth street and Broadway.

Tomorrow, this city will jack itself off

In performative weeping and gnashing and cursing

Oh, how we loved them! I snort in derision,

You didn’t lose nothin', you pieces of shit!

Let the dead bury the dead. Beams of light

Don’t feed this refugee reeking of ashes -

What, do I smell bad? So sorry to stink up

The place where you’ve laid out the feast for your friends

Who still have their jobs, their high homes in the towers

Behind the glass doors where your larders are stocked

With the food that you bought with your government money

That flooded your midtown Manhattan apartment

With all the new clothes, electronics, the sausages

Fresh from Enrico’s, Zabar’s, D’agostino’s,

Bought with the Victim’s Fund money you stole

When you filed your claim. “OMG, it was awful!

“I couldn’t get up to the fifty-fourth floor,

“I had to find shelter on Upper Park Avenue.

“Power was out. I was homeless that night!

“So glad that my friend who was shopping in Gramercy

“Gave me the number to call for my claim

“September 11th was horrid! I told them

“I couldn’t go home for two nights! Oh, thank God

“The claim got approved with a wink and a nod

“And no one’s the wiser – I’ve never been south

“Of the Plaza Hotel! That all happened on Wall Street,

“Who goes down there? Jesus Christ, are you kidding?

“That’s four miles away! Christopher, are you coming

“Or what? Reservations at Nobu won’t wait

“For you or for me, so quit primping!”

The pain

In my stomach, relentless. My gorge won’t stop heaving.

Am I gonna make it? Damn, *ouch!* What the fuck…

The tooth that I hoped would hold out just gave way,

Fuck me. Another huge hole in my grille.

When I made six figures and lived in a high-rise,

Fuck buddies laughing on Saturday night,

Nobody told me that one hundred minutes

And two hijacked jet planes would make such a difference.

No one will laugh with me now – my best friends

Are yelling and angry, how dare I show up

Sweaty and toothless, a walking reminder

Of September tenth. No, I’m not gonna feed you.

III.

Now, twenty years later, they’ve retooled their memory:

“Animal! Damn, dog! We’ve missed you, you know,

“Wow, you’re alive! You look fabulous! Listen,

“I never gave up on you. Give a call

“When you come to the City. I want you to meet

“My beautiful husband – he remembers you too!”

IV.

Twin beams of light where the Towers were anchored,

Okay, not exactly precisely those spots,

But who’s gonna criticize? Look and recall

How majestic they were. Yeah, the new One World Trade

Is cool, I suppose – no one mentions the absence

Of Two World Trade Center. Insurance, you know.

Not enough money or civic ambition,

And Bloomberg discouraged it. Why add a target?

“Don’t you think sixty or seventy stories

“Are more than enough? Hell, let’s just get it done.

“The sooner we finish construction, the better.”

V.

*There will never be lumens of adequate volume

Sufficient to seal that hole in the sky,

But the hole in my heart I will finish, I tell you.

Walk with me as I go forward. Tomorrow

I’m back in the studio. Tonight, we can play!

You smell like apples and – damn, is that chocolate?

(our light beams shine upward forever)

"Good boy!"

Animal J. Smith San Francisco, California September 10, 2024

[mitamicah]

Genderflag!Jere 🥹🏳️‍⚧️

Redraw of my own picture from Berlin 10.16.23

[yoda-bor]

nace girlies found dead

[arcticpuppeteer]

Suck It And See at Mercedes Benz Arena, Berlin, 2nd May 2023.

[galli-halli]

Jakob, Thomas, Klaas & ein sehr schlecht gelaunter Joko - BWB [19.04.24]

[brookbee]

David Bowie — "Boys Keep Swinging" on The Kenny Everett Show, 1979

[shittywriterbrain]

she's like a saint to me

[13-wonder-writer]

Hallo Tumblr Tatort Community,

ich hab mal so ne Frage zu der Art, wie hier mit dem Begriff Queerbaiting umgegangen wird. Wie definiert ihr das, dass man es im Hinblick auf den Tatort verwenden kann? Denn besonders in dem Saarbrückener Tag lese ich häufig Witze über sich vom Öffentlich-Rechtlichen queerbaiten zu lassen und ich muss dem, obwohl ich im ersten Moment darüber gelacht habe, einfach widersprechen. Während bei lang etablierten Tatort Teams (wie z.B. Münster) ein tatsächliches Argument besteht, dass aktiv von der ARD gequeerbaited wird, weil die Angst besteht, dass ala die Nanny viele Zuschauer abspringen, sobald aus dieser will-they-won't-they-Situation eine wirklich fundierte romantische Beziehung entsteht (nicht zu schweigen von den outraged Boomern, die sich über den "woken" Tatort beschweren), ist es für mich bei Tatort Saarbrücken noch lange zu früh, um ein Urteil darüber zu machen, ob die ARD absichtlich eine Masche zieht, um Saarbrücken für die junge Menge attraktiver zu machen. Schließlich haben wir gerade erst einmal fünf Folgen, wobei der Plot von Adams kaputter Familiengeschichte immer noch nicht richtig aufgelöst ist. Gut, an diesem Punkt möchte ich anmerken, dass ich nicht wirklich mit dem offiziellen Tatort-Social-Media-Account in Berührung komme, also kann ich nicht einschätzen, ob sie da irgendwelche falschen Versprechen machen. Aber auch da - ist das schon queerbaiting oder nur teasern, wie es bei jeder anderen Geschichte auch üblich ist?

Ich weiß, dass man nach den Jahren des tatsächlichen Queerbaitings der großen Shows der 2010er (z.B. Supernatural) etwas sensibilisiert ist und eine starke Reaktion folgt, wenn mögliche Anzeichen von Queerbaiting auftauchen. Könnte aber auch ein Slow Burn sein. Und ehrlich gesagt finde ich es schade, wenn das gängige Prinzip eines Slow Burns innerhalb einer Serie ausstirbt, weil die Zuschauer dauerhaft befürchten (müssen), dass sie verarscht werden. An diesem Punkt ist es vielleicht etwas gutgläubig zu sagen "trust the process", aber die ARD hat uns in 2016 mit Robert Karow (Berlin) einen explizit queeren Kommissar gegeben, der gay sex on national television hatte. Die ARD hat also schon bewiesen, dass sie es können - vor allem mit ihren neuen Teams, die vor allem an eine junge Generation gerichtet sind (z.B. Berlin, Saarbrücken). Wir werden abwarten müssen, aber die Hörk Zeit wird sicher irgendwann noch kommen (ich klinge jetzt so delusional wie jeder Johnlock shipper, aber scheiß drauf).

Also, was will ich hiermit sagen? Ich kann mich nur wiederholen: trust the process. Das Urteil ist, dass es für ein Urteil zu früh ist. Die Autoren bräuchten sowieso mal ein wenig Zeit, um den anderen Charakteren ein wenig mehr Leben einzuhauchen. Es kann ja nicht sein, dass nur Adam eine ausführliche Backstory, character motivation, Familie und so weiter hat und vom Rest bekommen wir gerade mal so, dass Leo ne Schwester namens Caro hat und Esther Fußballfan ist. So kann das ja nicht weitergehen. Um eine satisfying Romanze zwischen Adam und Leo aufzubauen, braucht es Leo ein wenig mehr an Motivation, als nur ADAM. Als würde sich sein ganzes Leben vor und nachdem er zurückgekommen ist nur um ihn drehen. Meine Fresse

[solaradastra]

Neues von Robert Karow.

"Was machen Sie hier?" - "Maniküre."

[mitamicah]

I guess I wasn't done with the Helsinki sketches x'D

[dirtymortalkombatconfessions]

[fitzrove]

Hate when someone online vents about not liking traditionally feminine things - and ESPECIALLY not liking the fact that society forces them to do it - and every response is

a) pick me accusation

b) "i used to be like you too but now i love my 294050 step skin care routine and playing with makeup and skinny jeans and gilmore girls teehee :) you'll grow out of it <3 anyway you should like it more because it's really good for you and helps your confidence!! Don't you want to have something to talk about with other girls :3"

c) "it's not valid to say you hate those things that's misogynist :("

d) "those things are not gendered, everyone should have a 294050 step skin care routine and wear makeup <3 especially queer people regardless of gender because everyone knows queer = femininity and if you don't do this you're ugly and boring and also queerphobic"

The worst thing is that some queer women do this, like bestie I thought living outside a pretty major societal norm meant we all had to reflect on the ways in which society (and the people it consists of) tries to put everyone in a box and, you know, fight it when we see it....... Even some lesbians do this and if you call it out they say "just because i'm a lesbian doesn't mean i'm not hot and conventionally attractively feminine!!" which I find terrible