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My little niece and nephew helped me with this video. They had as much fun as I did!

I feel like Instagram is often misused. In its essence Instagram is a platform to share parts of your life. However, I don’t always think that’s what it’s used for. In fact, I think it’s fucked up our society greater than we can even understand. I’m guilty of it, myself. 

It’s used for pictures. Some say a picture’s worth a thousand words. Some of us scroll through a thousand pictures a day, probably with the T.V. used as back ground noise. How many words could they all be worth? If you’ve made it this far, I thought it might be cool to go behind the scenes of a picture. Or pictures. When I look at art, I don’t just look at it for it’s merits or how it makes me feel. Often times I wanna know how, why, and what the artist was doing when they created it.

So, I thought I might go about this post in an unconventional way, if only for me to look back one day when I’m old and senile and can’t remember the story behind this series. 

 It’s called “Girl in Hat.” People have inferred that it’s of my ex. For the record it’s not. It’s of a girl from Sweden. These prints were done in 2016, possibly during the best fall/winter of my life. I was living in Muenster, Germany. It’s fucking crazy how I ended up there. 

It all started in Greven, Germany, about 15 miles from Muenster. I used to live in Greven the year after I graduated high school. I forget, I either met this dude Adem at a bar called the Lennox or at the skatepark the night after I met all of his friends. He’s one of the craziest dudes I’ve ever encountered. Whip smart but in a very unorthodox way. At his core this dude is one of the kindest people around. Out of the group of the 13 or so friends I made in Germany all those years ago, I’ve stayed in contact with about half of them. Adem is one. 

So in the summer of 2016 my friend Aaron and I took a trip to Spain. We went to Madrid where he used to live, and Barcelona, our favorite city in the world. From there I met my mom and we went a few places before ending back up in Greven. 

It was such a beautiful night. Mariola, Adem’s mom heard we were coming through town and invited us to dinner. It was cute because Adem’s mom speaks about as much English as my mom speaks German, as to say there was no way for them to actually speak to each other. I mean, yes they communicated with one another, but it was Adem, his girlfriend, and I translating back and forth. And let me tell you those girls had so much fun together. They laughed all night like sisters. While Mariola played my mom music from the choir in which she sang and showed my mom pictures from her family photo album, Adem and I slipped outside to have a smoke and catch up. We’d talked over the phone or messaged through What’sApp or whatever, but we hadn’t seen each other in four years. He asked me what my plan for after Muenster was. That was the end of my mom’s trip and I had to go see about a girl in Barcelona. Besides that I was totally open. 

He asked if I had anything going on the weekend of such and such and I said that didn’t. ”Good” he told me. 

Adem’s a professional skate photographer and he was going on tour with the Muenster Titus team in Warsaw, Poland. “Do you want to come?” I was like fuck yeah. I had just started skating again and I was getting the feel of my board back. So after it didn’t work out with me and the Mari Linda (unfortunately), my Brazilian girl in Spain, I flew over to meet Adem and the team. I was the newcomer, but these guys couldn’t have been cooler. That’s one great things about skateboarding. We’re accepting people in general, but if you ride a skateboard, your almost automatically part of the crew. 

That trip was fucking wild. I forgot what it was like to party with Germans. Those crazy fuckers can drink with the Irish. Especially the skaters. So for five days, we got up in the morning and skated all day. That is the best possible way to see a city in my opinion. Cruising through it on your board. And then at night we went back to the hostel and pregamed. Once when we were nice and drunk we wandered around the corner to the “fun” street in Warsaw. It was full of bars and strip clubs. We’d stay out all night drinking and then wake up and do the same thing all over again.  

Well one night I had gotten so fucked up that and I didn’t make it skating. In fact I stayed out by my self that night and got home just as they were leaving. It’s not like I was on tour or anything. I didn’t need to get and clips so I ended up sleeping all the day. Around three o’clock in the afternoon I was awaken by a commotion outside my window. Two stories down I heard the team and Christian was cursing like a sailor. I could tell he was hurt, but that made very little sense. He was the filmer. If my recollection is right they were skating down hill when Christian, or “Bluelme,” as I came to know him, with a 40 pound backpack full of filming gear ate shit and skid his face across the rocky road. He had a T-shirt wrapped around his head. Needless to say it was soaked in blood, and dripping down his bare chess. He was f u c k e d up. You could see in his eyes that he wasn’t all the way there. Concussed for sure. That was our last day there, and besides Christian, we stayed out all night. The next morning we said our goodbyes. 

In just a short week I had become very close with that crew. I knew I was gonna miss them and I hoped they felt the same way. They took me in as one of their own and I’ll never forget that.

When they left back for Muenster I flew to Italy where my friends were getting married in the foothills right outside this little beach town called Chiavari. We all stayed there for a week, including the bride and groom, and explored 50 kilometers in all directions. We did your typical tourist shit, but typical shit kicks ass. I never understood why popular things get such a bad wrap. Their popular for a reason. Anyways, we lied around on rented beach chairs, bathed in the Mediterranean, and ate insanely good Italian food and drank Negronis and cheap red wine. 

The late night/early morning of the wedding was an absolute disaster. For some reason the group got split up and Tyler and I ended up at some random club. We drank there and then had pizza with some locals around the corner. Right as the sun was setting Tyler got a ride to his hotel on the back of some girls moped and I got stuck. My place was up in the foothills and no taxi was going that deep and in that direction at that time in the morning. I found some of those beach chairs for rent—yellow and white striped—and tried to fall asleep. That’s when some guy came and kicked me out in Italian. I slept on some rocks a few feet down. It was an especially hot morning and I got a sixth degree sunburn. Later that day the whole crew rounded up and we headed to Cinque Terre which stands four 5 cities, or something like that. I can only speak for the first city because on the train ride to the second I had a panic attack and had to go home. 

Anyways, I digress. The following morning the group split up. Most of them were going to Paris followed by Amsterdam. I needed to get back to Germany. Josh, a friend from California, was meeting me there. We went a few places before ending up in Amsterdam. Originally I was going to stay through the Josh’s time there, three months in total, but I wasn’t ready to go home so I went back to Muenster for a few days. Well that’s what I planned- a few days. 

I stayed with my friends Christoph and Tini for a couple weeks. It was a little weird because Christoph was my ex’s brother, but long before we broke up Christoph and I promised each other that no matter what happened between his sister and me, we would never lose contact. I’m glad we didn’t because I love that dude, and I love his girlfriend too. Tini and I quickly became Bff’s. I slept up in their office on the second floor. They said they were happy to have me for however long I wanted to stay, but I felt like I was beginning to cramp their style, even if I wasn’t. So I decided to rent an Air BnB for a  week in old town on Cow Street. I fucking loved that apartment. 

Christoph had to work every day, but Tini and I didn’t have shit to do, so everyday I’d ride Christoph’s second bike over to their apartment and pick her up. It was part of our daily itinerary. Kaese broetchen (Cheese rolls) from Kiepen Kerl bakery and good salami from the market. Around 2 we’d head to the best day time bar in Muenster. Stuhlmacher is in the heart of their little downtown, and is perfect for people watching from their sidewalk tables. After that we’d get on bikes and head to the river where we’d continue to drink beer and listen to Frank Ocean. (It was around the time Blonde came out, and still every time I listen to that album it reminds me of those two.) Christoph would join us later. 

I was having a blast there and I didn’t have anything that I needed to get back to in America. I had just dropped out of grad school and I still had some cash from my dad’s inheritance. That’s to say that I wasn’t in a hurry, but I still needed to get home at some point. “Next week.” That’s what I said for about a month. 

Then one day it all happened. The whole scenario was serendipitous. I had run out of the weed that I had brought back from Amsterdam and needed more. Let me tell you this- if you ever find yourself in a town you don’t know and you need some weed, go to where the skaters are. Back when I lived in Muenster 8 years before I used to skate this place called StadtWerke. It’s the best spot in town. So Christoph, Tini, and I got on our bikes and headed that way. 

Who do I meet there but my man Christian “Bluemle,” the filmer with whom I’d been on tour. He was as surprised to see me as I was him. We got to talking. Of course he had a week connect who happened to be sitting on the stairs ten feet from us. I bought a few grams and Bluemle rolled up a joint. By the time it burned to the end he asked me what my plans were. I told him that I was planning on heading home next week and Tini and Christoph laughed because they had heard me tell that same story a million times over. That’s when he said, “Well if you’re looking for a more long-term place to stay, one of our roommates is moving out and we have a free room.” 

Yeah? 

“Yeah, I gotta run it by my other roommate, but I’m sure he’ll be cool with it.” Riedel was most def cool with it and a week later I moved my one suit case to Wolbecker Street.

I’ve lived in a lot of great apartments and have had a lot of awesome roommates, but these guys are right at the top of the list. We clicked immediately. They were a few years younger than me, but growing up I had always been the little brother, so it was cool to be the older brother for once. Fuck, just thinking back to it now, I wish I could replicate that time. It was all fun and games. Literally. We’d go skating all day, drink and smoke at night, and play either Fifa or this card game called Shit head. 

It was also a lucky coincidence that both of them were creative types. Bluemle worked at the local skate shop and in their headquarters where he moonlighted as a filmer. He’d always be editing something in his room. Riedel had a handful of creative outlets. Mainly he was a dope ass goldsmith, but he was into all kinds of art, and played the guitar. And then I was gifted with yet another artsy friend, all be it a different kind. I met Alina out one night at a bar that my friends had just opened. Originally Alina was just stopping by with her friends before the went to the club, but in the end she told her friends she was going to stay back and hang out with me. She became my muse. 

The four of them inspired me to get back to painting, so one day I went down to the local art shop and filled up my basket with all types of shit. I had to go back the day later because the shop was so big I didn’t get to see everything they had to offer. I found some hand-pressed German paper and bought as much as I could cary. That night I made a stencil, which is my own way of print making, and got to work on the “Girl in Hat” Series.

I gave a few of them away. Besides Alina and Adem’s girlfriend, I don’t  remember to whom. I know I sold few as well, but to whom, I forget as well. The rest, I shipped home. They’re somewhere among the some 150 painting/prints I’ve done throughout the years.

In any case that is the history of how the series of “Girl in Hat” came to be, and I wish I could go back to the days when I lied them down. 

You dressed me, undressed me, raised me

And we moved too,

Well, I also lied to you

No, those drugs I didn’t do

And yes, I was in class too

You often asked yourself what was tearing me apart inside

But in you, I didn’t want to confide

You were home all alone, you missed me

And asked yourself, what you still were to me

Asked yourself, what you still were to me

Home is always only you

Home is always only you

You picked me up and dropped me off

And you stayed awake that night when I had whooping cough

You are so wonderful, you are so kind

And all of this has been so often on my mind

We were in Prague, Munich, Amsterdam, and Berlin

When you think about it, Where didn’t we go?

You often asked yourself what was tearing me apart inside

And honestly, I just don’t know

You were home all alone, you missed me

And asked yourself, what you still were to me

Asked yourself, what you still were to me

Home is always only you

Home is always only you

This was a song called “Oft Gefragt” by AnnenMayKantereit in German that I translated into English. I thought it worked perfect.

You gotta love this little city, if you’d feel so obliged to call it a city. I guess it is that, but it feels more like a town, maybe even just a big village. And you’d probably never find it, like the little gem it is, unless you happened to stumble upon it like I did.

It’s a little place in Germany called Münster, but they don’t speak much German here, at least not with me anyway. The only time I get to speak German is when I’m doing business. And I don’t mean business business, I mean when I’m on the opposite side of a business transaction, I.E. when I order something at the cafe or with the girl at the checkout stand in the grocery store. And there’s Maja too- we strictly speak only German. But with everyone else, the second I open my mouth to introduce myself (mostly because my accent is so horrible), the conversation switches immediately to English. I don’t blame them, and they’re not in anyway doing this to be rude- that’s just the way things are here.

In my opinion there are four Münsters. But one surpasses the other three with flying colors. And they’re beautiful colors- the colors of summer- blue sunny skies which last long into the night until the burning of the glorious pink and purple set fire over the water of the Ems. The Ems River is the closest you get to the ocean here, and it is more than enough. Actually, it is perfect if you’re in search of a body of water, which everyone is on a hot day. There’s even a beach, so to speak, where instead of sand there’s grass on which you can lay out all day, drink some beers, BBQ, and then go play in the water.

You do have to be careful though for Summer Münster is still Münster and holds true to the saying that somebody special used to say to me: “Es gibt zwei Wetter in Münster- Entwieder es regnet, oder die Glocken spielen. Und wenn es beide gibt, ist es Sontag.” It doesn’t have the same ring to it in English, but what she meant was: “There’s only two kinds of weather in Münster- Either it’s raining, or you can hear the church bells… And if there’s both, then it’s Sunday.” It doesn’t even make much sense when you translate it because of cultural differences so if you were to instead reconstruct it, the basic meaning is- It’s always raining here. Considering such, you would find it funny, like I did yesterday, how swiftly they cower from the water when they see it so often. You would think that it was raining fireballs the way the population clears from the sidewalks and take cover in huddles and bunches under the nearest awning against the building walls. That’s how it seems to me to seem to everyone. Everyone except the girl whom I saw yesterday who seemed to gawk at the downpour as she walked down the empty sidewalk, eating her ice cream.

What makes Münster so unique is that you can be anywhere (anywhere which needs going to anyways) in no more than 15 minutes. And even then you’d be reaching the outer limits. It takes about three songs to get from the StadtWerke to my door, two and a half depending on how fast I’m peddling. It’s not the bike capital of Germany for no reason. And, I think, presumably it has the most bike thefts per capita, so you better lock your bike or my old roommate will be giving it to me for the summer. It also happens to be the skate capital of Germany, however purely in a merit kind of way. There’s about two skate spots and if you’re thinking of getting from A to B, you better have your skate shoes packed away and your walking shoes on because this city is exactly how you would imagine it— cobble stone streets everywhere, which are no doubt impossibly beautiful, but also impossibly horrible to roll through.

And if you are walking, you will sooner or later get to a street that you have to cross, (it could be any street). If there ever was a German no-no (and you can smoke in front of babies here), it is crossing the street on a red. I kid you not, (Picture Harold and Kumar, if you’ve ever seen it), it could be 3 in the morning, without a soul in sight, and you better believe the dude at the corner is not jay-walking. I just don’t get it, nor do a prescribe to it. It’s only a matter of time until one of the cops pulls me over and writes me a ticket. But until then, it is simply hilarious and extremely cute.

Speaking of which, I once met an extremely cute girl at a crosswalk. It was right across from this little place called the Kiosk Ecke. I believe that’s its official name, but the kids are calling it the “Corner” these days. It’s even become a verb- “Las uns cornern.”

Long ago this little bodega was your skater’s hangout, where before, during, and after a sesh they would chill on the corner outside the establishment. Now it is the center of the party scene where the skate culture, that was once shunned, is intermingled with the rest of society who now calls it their own as well. It is the best place to find yourself on the start of a Saturday night, for it’s a diving board for whatever comes next. And what comes next depends completely on what subculture you’re with. I’ve been on and heard from both sides- the skaters and the Himmelkinder. When I’m on my way somewhere, they’ll shake their head in disagreement and say something to the tune of, “Oh There. No we don’t go there.” And honestly I don’t take sides. I’m no local so I don’t know. Being someone who is not engrained into the society here and who is open to everything is a beautiful thing because all is seen through rose-colored glasses that don’t know any better. I’m glad it’s this way. I like a little ignorant taste of everything.

However, if there’s one place which I am most happy to end up at the end of the night is a place called the Amp. I don’t know if I would call it your typical bar, for it’s not solely a bar, but it isn’t a club either. All I know is that there is a doorman, tequila, a beautiful patio, and there are two dance floors which give you double the space to make a fool of yourself. But it also makes for double the fun. And if you stay around long enough—that’s when the sun starts to come up, you can finally get a turn on Mario Kart next to the dance floor that plays the hip-hop. And by all means, when they kick you out, you will be forced to make a decision of the two evils- there’s the simple one- head to the Pizza place next to the Corner and stuff your face with fries and mayonnaise, or you can head in the opposite direction of home, further down the street, to this place called the Haverkamp. It stays open until way past the wee hours of the morning, almost until lunch time, by which time you’ve gone too far and you’re probably going to stop and get some fries anyways. Make sure you get them to go though. Nobody at that hour needs to see anyone in that state, drunkingly gobble down that disgusting but oh so delicious meal.

And you better get something to eat on the way home because the grocery stores, as well as pretty much everything else, are closed on Sunday. That’s one of the big differences between here and home. It’s a culture thing, but some things are the same everywhere, like how couples fight. There was this one time last year that I was standing behind this couple who already had all their groceries on the conveyer belt. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could tell they were arguing. First, the dude shot something at his girlfriend. You could tell that he was just waiting for her answer, and I didn’t think it was going to come. Maybe she conceded? I thought. Joke was on me though. In this country, just like it is in ours, nobody wins until it escalates. So she shot back and he wasn’t having it, nor was he having “her” groceries, which beforehand were “their” groceries. Next thing I know, he takes one of those little plastic sticks and separates his things from hers. Lol. Some things, no matter where you are in this world ever change.

Not for from my house is this big church. There’s big churches everywhere here, but if while you’re here, you’re only going to see one, then the Church on the Principal Markt is the one you gotta visit. It is done in the Gothic style and it looks even more goth, because from the bombings and burnings of World War II, it has been stained grey by black smoke. At the very top of the pointy, single spire hang cages from which the Catholics used to punish the Anabaptists by leaving them there to hang until they died in the public eye. It is kinda creepy, as is the street that leads away from there. It is said to be haunted, and that if you look in the window of the second restaurant on the right, you might see the two ghosts that still haunt their Stamplatz, but I don’t know if it’s true because I never look.

I’ve often been asked why Münster? There are a million places in the world to go see. That’s true too. Barcelona, Paris, London, maybe Copenhagen and the list goes on and on. I could go to any of these places, but do you know what these places don’t have? The people. They have always been so good to me. They have taken me in as one of their own and I am forever grateful for that.

The people closest to me are dealt throughout the city like a deck of cards, and in the same way, you need them all to make the set complete. The king and queen of hearts live at the top of the castle on Salz Street. There are two jokers— one of them always has a camera, the other always has a girl, and with both of them you never know what’s going to happen. I love it. I also love when I peak at my hand and I see aces, however, unfortunately this rarely happens because the aces have moved away. I have an apartment here, but home is up the spiral staircase on Wollbecker Street, across from the bakery. There live the three jacks, whom when we are all together make up a full house.

My friend texted me a couple questions the the other day. First he wanted to know, “How’s Germany?” “It’s been good,” I said. “Need to relax though. This last week was a little much.” What should have either of us have expected though? Getting back here again, I felt like a kid in a candy shop. It was 0-100 real quick, hopscotched from A directly to B and hit every letter all the way to Z. That’s the best/worst thing about being here— there is always something to do, which is an awesome problem to have if you’re here for a quick vacation, you don’t have a budget, and you’re able to exhibit some self restraint. I don’t fall into any of these categories so now it is time to pump the breaks and treat this place like home while I’m here.

Then he asked “Where in Germany are you again?” I said, “I’m in this little place called Münster, but they don’t speak much German here…”

And here I am yet once again

Barefoot at the piano

Dreaming up love songs

In which I sing of you

And you and me

We were aberrant

Not to me

But to the ones whom we disquieted

Late night when we got too loud

We would sit together and alone in our silence

But what I remember best was just lying around

Every morning

You naked in bed

And me barefoot at the piano

And here I am yet once again

Barefoot at the piano

Dreaming up love songs

In which I sing of you

And you and me

We used to be us

But not anymore

It’s you there, me here

You just had to know everything

And it drove me away

Yet in the end it was you

You who left

So that’s why I’m here

Just to feel alive

Barefoot at the piano

And here I am yet once again

Barefoot at the piano

Dreaming up love songs

In which I sing of you

And you and me

It wasn’t enough

And here I am

Barefoot at the piano

Dreaming up love songs

Dreaming of you

Dreaming of you