MIST

 

So sorry, I can't even switch the Sun on in Paris these days. I need vitamins. Real life is finishing with "my driver".

Cheerio my darlings.

kisses,

Connie

SL Hardships

Goddammit, I have been laid up for so long I've apparently forgotten how to wear bloomers.

I kid you not. No matter what I try, I cannot get the blasted things on, and the beautiful frock I am wearing today, courtesy of Vivi, is naturally transparent even in its most respectable configuration. So I am displaying my charms to all and sundry, but there seems no helping it if I ever wish to wear the thing again.

I despise my "real-life chauffeur" at times. She informed me that wearing bloomers in real life is merely a matter of lifting them up and then poking everything back into its proper compartment. She complains endlessly about how difficult Real Life is. Well, she ought to try applying cosmetics or putting on undergarments around here before speaking on the subject of hardship.

In any case, happy Wednesday, my darlings.

The weather is splendid, the birds are singing, and cocktail hour has already commenced. Everything, save perhaps ladies' attire, is perfectly hunky-dory.

xx

Connie

17 Years enjoying the Weimar Republic!!

 And of course I missed the celebration I was so determined not to miss. Our dear Berlin turns seventeen this year! Many of us have been happily stranded in 1929 for well over a decade now—Delightedly stranded, I should say ;)

I didn´t miss, however, Frau Jo in the midst of preparing the dance-floor while dining at the Adlon with the heartless Herr Abbott (the gentleman who adopted my girls when I... disappeared).

I hope you all have the chance to enjoy the festivities, with or without me. I am still hoping to make it on time for the flooding! Though my real-life chauffeur remains quite unable to understand what we Second Lifers find so enchanting about standing in torrential rain for an entire day.

I shall leave you with a few photographs my aide took while I was socialising about town the other day.

The grand Adlon Hotel! If you have the means, there is no finer place from which to discover Berlin, enjoy delightful company, and ensure that one never leaves the table hungry, and more importantly... thirsty!!

Mysterious character. My real-life chauffeur insists he bears a striking resemblance to an older John Lennon, whoever that may be.

Maltheus (maltheus.canis)

And so it was celebrated, the event I once again managed to miss—courtesy of my blooming brains… or lack of!

Frau Jo built this in a single evening, entirely on her own. Now I know where those biceps came from.

I love their posters so much I might just steal it one of these nights, before the water ruins it.

Mega dinner at the Adlon, outstanding as always. The best bit… the bubbly, naturally… or perhaps the cake Herr Clarrington so generously baked for us at a “modest” price (not). Or herr Abbott sea-blue eyes!

This is the wholesome Ma’am Silvye—the lady with outstanding taste who chose my old house as her new home. I absolutely love what she’s done with it… apart from the small detail of it no longer being in my hands, of course. It turns out she is quite a lovely lady as well, and a genuine pleasure to spend time with, nearly as outstanding as the original tenant *wink*

In the distance, the sleepy yet very wealthy Herr Clarrington.

Our nurse extraordinaire—Oda’s sister. Oh dear, I must be going senile… her name escapes me, and I’m only on my third martini.

 

I wasn’t lying—our beloved Frau Jo really did manage all the decorations on her own. I only hope she doesn’t charge us for it by raising the rent!

Maltheus again, adjusting his sleeve.

And ... the mysterious Maltheus. It´s the last time I promise! As you can tell, I am quite taken by his countenance and by the impeccable quality of his outfit. One should never allow a well-dressed gentleman to slip off one’s radar.

The lovely new park right by the guest house in the Tiergarten—quite possibly the best place to enjoy these long summer evenings in our 1929.

Cheerio, my darlings—have a lovely day!

And if there’s any gossip, come visit me at the Hof while I’m still here! I should be moving as soon as I get the advance for the new book or marry another millionaire *winks*.

Küsschen!

Connie

SERENITY

 

Allo mes amies!

I trust this little note finds you in excellent spirits.

I have been rather busy of late—nothing unpleasant, quite the opposite. My muses have returned, loud and insistent. My next book, I fear, will either make dear Gyna fall in love with me all over again… or hate me for daring to dismantle her favourites.

Berlin is buzzing in its usual way, all light and noise and promise, and I hope—if time allows—to slip into it properly this weekend. One ought to enjoy these things when one has earned them, n’est-ce pas?

I miss you… all of you… rather a lot.

Yours,

Connie xx

Friends?

  

Herr Cice. What is he doing wearing such a fancy suit? isn't he a commie, Good God.

HERR CICE : "Please, Connie, can you tell me exactly where you live in Berlin now? I'd like to know so I don't make the mistake of setting fire to someone else's house on May 1st...."

OK OK... there is no way I am missing the riots this year YEEEHAHHHH. Then again... I am poor for the first time what side am I supposed to be on?!  *sighs*

So Many Wars and So Little Time

 

How is life going, you say? Simply spiffing! I’ve somehow managed to reclaim my motorcar from the chap I foolishly sold it to *winks* and it seemed a capital idea—until my Gyna reminded me that now he can spot me tooling about town *sighs theatrically*

Who is he in the photo you ask? An old friend, a proper gentleman, and, by sheer coincidence, the British consul. He’s regaled me with so many war stories I might just attempt to pen them—once I figure out how to write without tripping over my own inkwell, of course.

I’ve been in hiding these last few days, like a cat avoiding the dog, making sure the actual owner of my beloved car doesn’t stumble upon me. Fear not! I shall reappear soon. For now, I feel like a tinned sardine in this grimy little hole I’ve the misfortune to call home.

Cheerio, my darling Berliners!

xx
Connie

Moves

 

Hasan Baglar’s ‘Danlock’ has been crowned the grand prize winner of last year’s Cewe Photo Award (Image credit: Hasan Baglar)

Right then, I suppose I may disclose a few further morsels from our most hectic Berlin existence.

My darlings Gyna, Herr Ross and I may — may, I say — be up to something distinctly improper. Though really, “proper” is terribly overrated, is it not? One does not relocate to Berlin in these spirited times in order to behave like a parish hymn.

I cannot reveal particulars. Not yet. Let it suffice that the day demanded celebration, and celebrate we did… with a dance.

And upon examining the photographic evidence thereafter, I was reminded of an image my rather mysterious driver from Real Life, once shared with me from some distant future (see above). Tell me truly — were our movements not suspiciously akin to those of a praying mantis?

If so, I shall take it as a compliment. One must admire a creature that knows precisely when to sway… and when to strike.

And that shall be all for today! One mustn’t serve the entire feast upon a single plate, my darlings. *wink*

I trust you are doing scandalously well — or at the very least, interestingly so. Do try not to languish in dull corners of existence.

And please… do not forget…

Life is terribly short, reputations even shorter — so if you must misbehave, do it with style.

Until next time.

XX

Connie

Herr TopHat and New Accommodation

 So the story goes…

I have been compelled to abandon my charming little apartment above the Keller. Apparently jazz at ungodly hours does wonders for the soul but very little for one’s nerves. And, as my RL driver so dryly informed me, the place possessed “too few prims,” which I assume is modern slang for “architectural insufficiency.” One never argues with the woman who holds the (virtual) steering wheel.

Thus I have relocated to the in-famous Hof.

Now, before you gasp into your teacups, allow me to present the advantages:

First — I reside at floor level. This is significant.  It opens thrilling prospects for enterprise. A lady with a door directly onto the street is a lady with possibilities. Interpret that as you will.

Second — I am in delicious proximity to dear Dorothy, and directly opposite Gyna’s most extravagant sky-level residence. She remains suspended above us mere mortals in the finest building in town, heroically sustaining herself through her writing. I admire this greatly, though I suspect she also enjoys looking down upon us — artistically, of course.

Third — I have entirely forgotten number three. It's escaped me mid-sentence and fled into the ether. Ah! But wait — it returns!

I now live beside a new Berlin resident: Herr TopHat. A fellow American, no less. And another writer. Though where I dabble in prose, he appears to flirt shamelessly with poetry. He bears an uncanny resemblance to a rather improved edition of Edgar Allan Poe — handsome, but still carrying that faint air of beautiful doom. One half expects a raven to deliver his post.

He is delightfully witty, very pleasant in conversation, and mercifully does not rehearse tragic monologues at dawn. This alone makes him an excellent neighbor.

There are, of course, other novelties unfolding in town, but a lady must preserve some mysteries — and her typing fingers.

I leave you with a few photographs for now.

May your Sunday be restful, mildly scandalous, and accompanied by excellent spirits.

Küsse 

Conniexx

Some Postcards from a Cold January in Berlin, 1929

 

Herr Cice and his Oda, I think their skin will come off if they try to pull themselves from each other now. On the chair the young Leonor.

Sir john, Mitch Charron's cat. They both live in a boat in the stream now. Brave. In fact Sir John hasn't moved in days, I fear he has achieved the frozen-status at last.

My Gyna who is about to turn to the dark side! enjoying her last months of freedom. I cannot leave her alone two days, she always gets into trouble.

Drinks at the Wannsee last Saturday, and the first time I saw Oda after a whole year. I have missed the girl. She is a married lady now! I hope herr Cice doesn't asphyxiate her with Italian mega-love.

A lazy morning at the Kranzler cafe in Unter Den Linden, Lindin? blooming German kills me every time. You know where I mean, just in front of the Bundenber, Brendenburg... B-something gate in Berlin. The two lovebirds keeping the distance... for my sake I bet.

Moi, wishing it was already midday so I could drink something stronger than coffee.

George the Terrible, deliciously handsome though. I guess they deserve each other.

Madame Sylvia (sylvia.pettirosso). My RL driver says she looks just like Madona (don't ask, I have no idea who that Madona is. People in a hundred years seem to have strange names), perhaps Madam Sylvia will be her mother or grandmother one day.

Gottfried Lenz (gottfriedlenz), mysterious gentleman. He loves flying. No human being who loves flying in one of those flimsy machines can be trusted... other than Gyna or Mitch of course. 

A second hand shop I didn't even know existed when I inhabited "Lesbenstrasse". Now I visit it often *sighs*

Home sweet home ... ish. The best about it... that I have to walk less than 20 steps to be inside the cheapest watering hole in Berlin

The Secret cafe behind one of Clarrignton's shop. A real pleasure... if one survives the low beam / lethal trap at the entrance.

Sweet Temptress Vi! In that photo I am wearing one of her beautiful designs. We were both frozen, but  sahen zum Anbeißen aus !! 

And with this and a cake... till tomorrow at eight as my RL "driver" often says.

Have fun, everybody, should you be feeling peckish, the Communist Party is offering free soup and bread at the moment... nor that I would eat anything they offered of course ahem. 

Küsse!

Back Home... In a Cardboard Box

 

Look who’s back in town.
Yep. The best mystery-writer in town. Well... one of the best mystery writers in town. Ok... one of the writer's in town. 

After a minor brush with the law, trusting that time, distance, and a well-spent fortune in judicial goodwill will smooth things over — at least for now.

…with not a dime in my pocket.

I've just spent what little I had left on a flat above The Keller. I doubt I’ll be getting much sleep. A wonderful excuse to drink and dance the nights away — assuming I can find a generous third-party wallet, willing to support me and my vices.

On another note, I paid a visit to my darling Gyna. She doesn’t seem particularly bothered by the fact that I now belong to the “lowest” class, nor that I spent the past year behind bars. That’s just who she is.

That said, she did make me suffer through her wall of fame.

She’ll need a bigger house to hang the photos of her masterpieces at this rate. Hopefully it will have a spare room for pauper friends. *grins stupidly*

In the meantime, my “driver” in RL has also undergone a transformation of sorts — a huge one. She’s relocated abroad and everything, after all manner of (mis)adventures. She claims to be in one piece now, though I fear she may be even crazier than before. *crosses herself*

Let me rest my fingers; I haven’t typed this much in nearly a year. I also need to find some cardboard boxes to sleep on until Frau Jo lets me move the little furniture I have in storage into the new flat.

Hugs to all the Berliners. I have missed you more than you know. Even Jo’s beverages are better than the junk I was forced to put in my mouth at that horrid county jail back home.

Küsschen

Connie xx

A MYSTERIOUS BOOK FROM A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER - MYSTERIOUSNESS CONTINUES IN BOTH WORLDS

 

Still trapped, but in the odd moments I allow myself to rest I am reading a curious thing. It's a magic book one of the veterans used to read at the Keller. It hasn't been written yet and it won't be written for another 63 years, I had to ask my RL driver to send me a copy. It wasn't easy. Smuggling objects between time/space is strictly forbidden, it can break the fabric of spacetime whatever that is, and apparently no seamstress can repair such fabric. Or that is what They tell us.

This kind of rules reminds me of the tree of knowledge in paradise. Why is it that the Gods don't want us to participate in the knowledge of all things and frighten us with death or worse and yet place appetizers like the tree in the garden Eve shouldn't have eaten from? After all we are part of them... those "all-things"  and have been given a brain... or some of us have, anyway. I don't think mine works particularly well *Connie blushes*  but some people around me could do the job better than the Gods; Actually... that's probably why They don't want us to meddle with things. Mm... maybe this book will answer that question.

I wonder how the veteran could read through it, the font used is tiny. It's a good thing I still have good sight. My RL driver said she couldn't read it to save her life. And it's long, over 700 pages long. I love long though *wiggles eyebrows*. 

I also wonder what that gentleman was doing reading a book full of leftists, though of course is also full of "rightists". And so philosophical. I didn't think soldiers had any interest other than to take enemies' lives and win medals and look martial and handsome in their uniforms.

But above all The Discovery of Heaven is funny, I find myself reading aloud and chuckling to myself.

 So basically: an angel comes up with a plot to fulfill a certain mission - I still don't know myself what this mission consists on - and to do so he/she/them...  (angels being the first genre fluid characters in history..)  will need to manipulate a group of humans to carry out the mission on his behalf in Earth. 

Anyway, I suspect this is going to keep me entertained for a while, though I still would much rather be back in Berlin with you lot. Or even better, be back in Berlin with you lot while readying The Discovery of Heaven at the Keller with a huge glass of whiskey on the table. *Connie pauses for breath*

Miss you dearly, I should be back on Saturday. Leave some bubbly for me pretty please. And keep on reading, it's the only solution to whatever mess both worlds are heading towards