Berlin Walls, Hipsters & Haikus by Mike Marino (superbooks4u .txt) 📖

of those wonderful no star red star cinder block hostels that the Soviet mind finds so fascinating. “I’m sure the whole fucking country is full of masochists heavily into Tolstoy depression and physical abuse as a sport,” I whispered in her ear. I got distracted by her morning scent, a combination of light sweat, herbal shampoo and perfume that made me think of having sex in a rose garden  mixing the odors of orgasm and roses with just a hint of a menstrual cycle. She drove me crazy every day!

 

Once we checked into the Comrade Hilton Hotel 666 we told the troupe we’d get together the next morning  to check out the performance area (where we would meet our three western agents and do the switcheroo with the three we brought in.)

 

Sibyll and I spent the day exploring East Berlin. Very grey and dark and formless in contrast to the West. One thing about going to war with America and her allies...you may lose the war and suffer, but goddamn, do we know how to rebuild you afterwards.

 

After a real East German dinner of boiled potatoes and sausage of questionable lineage, we drank a bottle of Soviet wine which is a notch above a can of heated Sterno with a kerosene chaser, but it did the trick...made us drunk and horny.

 

“Never fucked on this side of the wall,” Sibyll offered.

 

“Nice of you to share,” I replied. “By the way did you remove your Tampon?”

 

She laughed and said, “I forgot, you remove it for me.”

 

“You know these were invented by a German doctor in the 40’s. You guys invent everything,” at which point I removed her clothing and dutifully removed it carefully as if I were defusing a left over RAF bomb near her Brandenburg Gate.

 

We made love behind the Iron Curtain which added an element of Cold War heat to the lovemaking process. “I wonder if Stalin ever read the Kama Sutra,” Sibyll said  in between thrusts and moans to which I replied, “He only knows how to gang bang in a gulag with a bisexual Bolshevik! He’s a fucking uncultured Cossack!”

 

Soon we were spent... our bodies limp … our hearts full as we held fast to each other in the heat of the room that formed our sweat and joined our musk, fusing us together as one. We drifted off to sleep in each others arms….then it happened!

 

The Dream!! Did I dare dream about being arrested as a spy and shot at dawn? No! A torture chamber of horrors in Moscow followed by a beheading by a Tartar sword? No!

 

I dreamt about our circus performance gone haywire as the entire troupe sunk into a quicksand of degeneracy!

 

 

Horst Scheisse, old Horst Shit himself was going ballistic as American dummy, Checkpoint Charlie McCarthy was banging away at Marlene, Horsts’ own ventriloquist dummy, Charlie had her bound and gagged  giving his woody a workout. To the Greeks ventriloquism were the voices of the unliving, so any good con artist prophet could pull off a scam and blame it on the ungrateful dead.

 

The dream got even stranger, I was in a cold sweat. I dreamed  three of our circus performers launched a crime wave in clown costumes, led by Horst  the Ventriloquist who is soon mysteriously murdered! Then a midget East German spy turns into a talking dummy to solve the murder of Horst. I kid you not!

 

In the final dream sequence, I took Horsts’ place and Marlene the  talking dummy takes charge and control,

 

Then the dream got downright bizarre as I became the dummy  and I had to leave Berlin after raping a female Chinese puppet who spoke no English. When a puppet has rape on it's little wooden head, his woody will win every time. Soon I  holed up in a Berlin bunker as the Red Army moved in. I hanging out with a perverse gang of goose stepping Gestapo women with whips and boots where we all were engaged in unlawful sex acts with  underage hand puppets.

 

As a puppet/dummy myself i got a hard on over a marionette, a puppet on strings. She looked like Sibyll and  she was hot in a bad girl sort of way and probably would have made a great topless puppet dancer in her day!

 

The dream took another fast turn when all the mimes began screaming (silently as mimes do) running with machetes to remove the balls the jugglers were juggling, roasting them over the fire eaters campfire that was merely a two midgets turned into a roaring campfire!

 

I awoke with a start and waited to clear my head careful not to awaken Sibyll who it turns out was awake already. Seems she too had a dream where she was a topless hand puppet dancer and I was a hand puppet schtupping her  in a Punch and Judy show in the park by the carousels.

 

We shared our two dreams and decided then and there...no more Soviet wine, but our dreams did lead to me removing her tampon once again! “Remember,” she warned, “I’m not really a hand puppet but feel free to find an opening!”

 

Punch and Judy never had it so good!  

Chapter Ten - The Contortionist Dream

 

Chapter Ten

The Contortionist Dream

 

East German audiences did not exactly get our mojo in overdrive.  In fact it was a VW van stuck in neutral. Why so reserved? They were as  quiet as Russian Orthodox church mice except for polite proletarian applause where appropriate.

 

Sibyll said but they are partial to  mimes because they keep their mouth shut, you know, mums the mime?  No state secrets divulged. No Gulag a go go hullabaloo to dance too with electroshock therapy at the Lobotomy Hotel.

 

Clowns?  Ah, yes. They are perceived  as covert operatives wearing clown shoes and big honking noses working for the Colonel of the  KGB or worse, for the Colonel at KFC!

 

West Germans on the other went absolutely we surrender Berlin bunker bonkers over Herr Punch and Fraulein Judy, the Adolph and Eva of marionette puppetry,  but their East of the Wall counterparts will sit stonily in reserved silence. Maybe the brutality of Punch and Judy reminded them of a recent personal interrogation over some stolen Brillo pad toilet paper or a few pounds of Tsarist Faberge sausage

They did seem to like the exotic flesh revealing thighs of wonder spangled costumes of the females of the troupe. Even the Berlin Wall can’t hide a hardliners hard on! I leaned over to Sibyll, “Well now we know what floats their U Boat!”

 

She laughed and observed, “Look Michael any time a female contortionists shares the stage with a  belly dancer from Turkey gyrating with hydraulic hips, German engineered by the way, you will find you have  old school Weimar winner!”

I could see her point.   Sheer costumes leave the imagination to run rampantly wild over the Berlin wall of decorum, and as a visceral bonus, if the sun was just right,  you could catch a glimpse of shadows of long shapely legs and and fine highly tuned rear ends that would surely cause a quick draw showdown of an erection. Even I was running  wild out of control with no brakes downhill with the thoughts of a carnal tryst with a carnival contortionist belly dancer no matter what country or political manifesto she was weaned on  ...the possibilities were and are and for all time, always will be infinite and endless.

 

My dream (Sibyll tried to fulfill my fantasy one night as we were swimmingly drunk on Germany’s finest white wine) is to make love, no make that lust to a  contortionist who can wrap her legs around her head from a sitting position and I can be a pivot point...insert your own visual here.

 

Some of the stranger acts only an  East Germans seemed to get a charge over were the electro freaks who could attach themselves to lightbulbs and provide the electric current to light up a full string of Christmas lights at the Reichstag!

 

“You know Sibyll, I bet some of the others would love to see escaped mental patients in Soviet  straight jackets chained upside down in tanks of water while a dozen piranhas would add to the maudlin ambiance with  the possible amputation of limbs in a feeding frenzy of deranged fish!”

 

“You’re sick, Michael. But that’s why we love each other.”

 

“Well, as long as we are deranged together. Wanna make love behind the tent? Honest, the mimes won’t say a word! We can dress as clowns and honk each others horns?”

 

She gave me a small fist shot on the arm that came with a gentle laugh.

 

“Later, maybe we can some midgets to join us!”

 

Love that girl..always thinking ahead….

 

As we pondered whether or not to fuck under the big top or on a trapeze, we noticed more and more we were  under the microscope of the watchful eye and rat-a-tat-tat machine guns of the itchy trigger happy East German police.  We noticed too, a number of what had to be KGB agents cruising and perusing the crowd as if one of the East Germans may attempt an escape by hiding behind one of those rather large Aryan female Brunhilde operatic belter of screeching tunes for the Fatherland!

 

We also were aware that the three agents from the US, UK and France were on site and ready to make the switch with the three we brought in as part of the circus troupe. The switch would be tricky so we would cause a diversion to pull off the magic. Should we saw a mime in half or have one of the fire breathers torch the tent? Decisions … Decisions.

 

We managed to lead the operatives to the dressing room tent where their counterparts were already awaiting them, costume and all. This was getting a little too James Bondish for me but what the hell….There was a flurry of costume and street clothes exchanged, documents from the East all forgeries by the finest West German criminal  counterfeiters in hand and identities swapped…

 

All looked well at first...the trick was getting the previous agents out without being caught with our pants down.

 

We needed a diversion...mimes were everywhere infesting the neighborhood with Marcel Marceau Recon Units looking for a new home even Helen Keller would feel at home. They tell me   that a mime in the sack is worth more than two jugglers and a ventriloquist for a foursome...a fivesome if you count the dummy. Let’s see, I’ll see your mime and raise you two fire eaters and a contortionist who does a fabulous pretzel act while standing on YOUR head! It would be hard to untie a contortionist and as for fucking a ventriloquist you don’t want to confuse a woody with a goody. “Hey, you had orgasm and I didn’t even see your lips move!”

 

All this because of the Berlin Wall! It was the personification, in concrete and barbed wire of a political prophylactic, I could see it as a musical production in the future at the gallery complete with rousing musical numbers, flamboyant dance choreography, and outrageously fabulous costumes! It’s ‘Boys in the Band’ Meets ‘The Berlin Wall’!!

 

Hard labor with show tunes!

 

Forget Rogers and Hammerstein...this is a Hammer and