tales from beyond the bubble wrap

There are no tales from beyond the bubble wrap. I can't tell them. Yet, I can see, out there, there are people living completely different lives. I got on a train, if you want to see Germany, get on that train. I've been a tourist travelling other countries' countrysides, they look different. They are not Germany. It's something about the grass and the trees. Here There Here I am a tourist, too.
FITBW
I sit on a bench in Nowheretown, Germany, reading Rainald Goetz, Klage, from inside the bubble wrap, am I smiling, I am, I recognize the wrapping. My arm reaches out, I am trying to touch the clouds, the sky looks extremely close, close and squeezable. Ridiculously close, why is that, I am only 400 metres above sea level, here there here this is not the Alps.
FITBW
Back. On the train, Jason Schwartzman travelling through India in a perfectly tailored Marc Jacobs suit. I fell in love with a fox in corduroys. On Saturday. Familiar wrappings. I wrap myself in a train travelling through India Germany.
Back. There Here In Berlin. The sky far up, my hands rest in my lap, not tempted. Skyscrapers never touch it, too.
FITBW


foxfit, never touch ground:
saturday's corduroys through monday's slacks.