I didn’t want to write about this for a long time, but certain circumstances pushed me to do it.

It’s about Berlin. Friends. High-up friends — what I call “the high society.” Friedrichshain. And trust.

As I already said, recent events made me deeply reticent toward everyone — including, ironically, myself. Should I trust my own senses, or should I just let everyone fuck me over for no reason?

It’s the classic “to be or not to be” situation from Hamlet, as a new acquaintance told me yesterday, thinking he understood me. 🙂

Well, I was never an editorialist. But lately feel like I have to become one. Because the world we’re all living in is getting more and more fucked up.

Friends become enemies overnight. Judgement everywhere. Everyone assumes I must have some hidden agenda because I know how to write.

Jealousy. Envy. Gossip.

We keep trying to destroy each other for absolutely no reason.

Actually, sorry — there is a reason: money.

Something that stopped being a real problem for me a long time ago. Maybe the night I thought I had discovered civilization instead of ending my days as a human being.

And I’m still poor as fuck, but at least I am smiling.

So now I’m asking all my so-called friends around me: what is money to you? 🙂

Because I already feel rich.

At forty-six years old, if I die now, I know I’ll die happy. I know I left something behind.

I first said this when I was thirty-five, and now, eleven years later, so much more has happened in this cosmopolitan place I call home…

I almost built a solid house with a wonderful woman. I planted a tree in Bucharest, in Izvor Park, while continuing my fight against climate change through Green Revolution.

The funny thing is that nothing I ever did was enough.

Not for Green Revolution’s planet.
Not for Berlin.
Not for my “family of friends,” here and there, scattered all over the planet.

And things keep getting darker.

Wars everywhere — hidden in plain sight. Money. Oily interests. And now the Big Brother of our Orwellian era: the perfect machine for watching everyone.

Lives erased for no reason, then stored away or released into some metaphysical parallel reality. Multiple personalities appearing and disappearing overnight.

The only thing that still feels real in this life is ART.

And yes, I will continue writing about art — not politics, except when absolutely necessary, like I used to do a very, very long time ago.