Towering behind a grass-covered amphitheatre, the remains of The Berlin Wall peer down over Mauer park’s latest wannabe pop stars strutting to an imaginry beat. Adorned with provocative art from all corners of the globe, the wall cuts through inner-city greenery like a concrete snake, history’s most revered division now acting as both a haunting reminder of humanities darkest hours and a popular canvas for social thought.
Dark embers glow, a still heart forged from starlight on the eve of judgement. A once Jovian anvil now broken by the will of false gods. Yet the lifeless beats anew. Pangaea wakes to a vast numbness, rising to dull tones permeating primordial canals, her infantile vision clouded by sea greens and sky blues. Her fragile frame exudes light as if an open doorway on the darkest of nights.
Dancing shadows draw a maze of black twisting tunnels, blocked and barricaded by cave-ins and mutant trees. At the centre of this Tomb Raider puzzle stands a small stone carving surrounded by four passageways leading off every 90 degrees. None has a visible ending, each twisting off to oblivion and I suddenly forget which one I arrived in, they all look the same.