top of page



Photography @berlinlandscapes




I am sitting here at Berghain in the inner and outer glow of existence; the glass stairwell which connects the two dance floors.

I keep returning to this place between dances, in various states of waiting.
Everytime the light is different. From a silvery moonlight, a blood lunar eclipse, to new moon darkness.

In each state I dance for you here, sit, watch others pass, learn how to be between.


An event is taking place,

A gathering, exhibition, or party perhaps.  

A performance is prepared but unplanned. 

The performers are amongst those gathered;

One creating rippling vibrations of sound which fill the room,

The other immersed in conversations with people and space.

One walks towards the other and removes her clothing,

Removes all layers, but her flesh toned underwear. 

She moves place;

Empathic to the bodies of those gathered, the sound artist, the interior,

And takes on a new form. 

Focusing internally on her centre, 

Becoming hyper-sensitive to the vibrations there, 

She surrenders her body to it and is moved. 

This movement continues, 

As long as the nonsensical narrative of the body demands.

There is no ending,

Just a pause. 

Fountain of Youth 

Standing at the fountain of youth 

Where a maiden greets me

She asks me three questions 

Which unlocks my psyche 

Which allow me to reach to the core 

To touch the eternal light

I cry as I reach 

Because I believe myself to be separate 

From light

From beauty 

From love

Others see me crying

Lessons are reflected in my tears

I wake to write this dream

And hear the sweetest music 

Rising from below 


New Moon Lunar Eclipse


I am sitting here on the S-Bahn

Between Spandau and Berlin

You are sitting opposite me

I am noticing my thinking processes

As I write in my note-book

You are on your phone

Between thinking and writing

Between writing and observing you

Between my urges and desires

As what I believe to be appropriate

To do or not with you

I am separating my desires from my intentions

And my intentions from my actions

I have something to say to you

Between these thoughts, desires, intentions, and actions

There is life passing

We are passing life

Here on the S-Bahn

Between Spandau and Berlin

It is a special evening

The Summer Solstice

A New Moon

And Lunar Eclipse

I must get off at the next station

But I don’t want too

Skin Between

I am sitting here on a bed on the floor

The fourth story of a building

Both foreign to my body

It is morning

The sun is sharp and the air cool

It caresses my cheek like a lover

Yesterday I walked from this bed to his home

But he wasn’t there

From his home to Berghain

But it wasn’t open

From Berghain to my favorite bar

And met a friend

I am organizing a queer performance laboratory

To expand and consolidate my community

Transform my perception

Elevate my practice

To reach the moon and fall again

Deeper into myself

The only self I need

And touch


Reflective Writing Post Meditation Healing with Andre Fau 

I sit here before my computer still listening to the Universal Harmonies you sent me that we tuned into during our shared meditation earlier this evening. We began at 6pm. It is now 10pm. I return from a walk by the spree between Bellevue and Hauptbahnhof stations, between daylight and nightfall. I was walking towards the light of the almost full moon. I was walking towards the light of my almost full self.

As we sat together in a column of blue light, I felt the light and comfort of all I knew to be true, shared with another human. This beautiful human attracted me to him and I confess to finishing the meditation with a semi erection.

I was and am, questioning what it means to be open to receive from others and the universe and to be protected from the psychological dangers being open can present the self with. I  am questioning how much I need to prove myself and my love for others to the universe in order to justify my own existence on this earth. The Universal Harmonies, the Higher Frequencies, the Moonlight and the Spree continue to run through me. Me, a channel of light with infinite connected pathways both forward and backward. Both inward and outward. I write this all in gratitude of the connection we made with each other, with love, with transformative states of perception. The name of my present solo development process is called EnterOne. Now I know why, now I know you and know I am ready to unknow Tsuki Becoming. 


The Long Now 

Laying here at Kraftwerk

Beneath lights floating softly 

Body stretched out like canvas 

New frequencies pass through 

I am not alone

Sitting here on the SBahn 

Between the endless here and there

Body hunched over tablet writing 

Trembling with the rails 

Transcend the human world 

I am not this body

Laying here in bed 

For the very last time 

Body becoming dust particles 

Floating towards the moon 

Translate this poem into kisses 

And ask how long is now 



A white light pierces through the darkness

It screams hysterically into the void

All other emotions appear as manipulations 

Safety mechanisms to feel loved 


This light, this scream, is honest

It is beyond me

It is beyond reason 

It does not love another

But has an insatiable need to reach out


Treat each other as sweetly as we can 

While we make space for our monsters of truth 

My Own Berghain

It's not crying you see
Just my eye balls sweating
I danced all night
I danced all day
Between the two I floated

But never fo a moment
Did I stop and think of you

The memory of us sweats out my face
Makes mess of black tarkett

I'm becoming the centre of my own black lake
It oozes out my chest and spreads beneath me

I want to play in my lake
More naked than naked
No need for another
Nature itself is my sex date

Coming out
Catching breath
Seeing light through branch and cloth
Remembering its touch

I danced you out of me
So I could become this body
Which can be seen in the aftermath of trauma
In beauty and truth

In my mind I have long black hair
That blows in the warm breeze
And eyes that burn

A New Moon appears
Tsuki Berghain


'My Own Berghain'

Second Space Projects

Melbourne, Australia  2017

Berlin to Brussels


I am sitting here at the Berlin Central Bus Station. I am sitting at the very place, on the very step, where we sat together years before. The coffee is warm in my throat and stomach. The breeze is cool through my hair and on my eyes. The bus to Brussels has been delayed and I have extra time to sit here and write. This is not a coincidence. I don’t believe in them anymore. There are layers of meaning in every moment. I have moved through so many today.
A calm morning coffee with Leisa,
An anxiously confused travel to meet Takeshi,
An inspired rehearsal together,
A flirtatious mass of messages over Facebook, Instagram, and Grindr,
Climaxing in ecstatic solitude on my bed,
A sleep; a slip deep inside myself,
A tentative collection of belongings,
And now here, an extended departure at the bus stop, in which I am gifted with time for reflection.
All these moments and more in a single day. I try to see myself, my body, my life, from above. Notice the spiraling patterns of longing, expression, connection and return to self. There are no ends to these hungry expanding pathways. Or are they tentacles, pulling the pure light of distant souls towards an endless void only to find that we all create fantastical displays of artificial light bought at the same boutique supermarkets? We display shows of beauty and humor, of strength and fragility in hope of masking the dark crevasses of our soul.
I ready myself now for departure; from the place I am still piecing together to make a future home. Fractures of processes, survival, art, friendships, forgiveness. Like crystals they form from the dark cave of the soul, from the imprint you left in me.
I long to transcend the social systematic confines which fool me into believing I am separate, but find my feet still firmly rooted to this earth. My body still drawn to directions that oscillate, that rock, that bring me to sleep each night. Even here, now, on the moving bus I am taken to bumpy dreams I know to be true but know no way of communicating except through dance and becoming.



We no longer walk through air
But an endless thickening tide of information
Zaps and tickles punctuate the surface of our skin
We need to develop gills to survive without our latest flotation devices
Devices that act as islands
As utopian salt-crystal bubbles, 
As isolation booths full of helium
To float or drown
Or hope; and walk on water
On the promise of a body of land
To share bodily wisdom
To soothe bodily impulses

Between the Here and the Now there is Pain 
I kiss each Chain which grants me my Freedom

The memories of metal and tenderness of wood 
Seep through skin, absorb through flesh 
Bony structures suckle on surroundings 
Post Romantic 
Post Human 
Archisexual Alien 
Becoming one with her Man-made Frame 
Yearning to Become one with his Womyn-made Spirit 
Dancing together alone as TWOMAN 

We stand one man apart 
The distance between which keeps us together 
Knowable forces move our structures 
Gravity caressing Anatomy 
Unknowable forces brought us here 
Unspeakable forces create new pathways 
The circle is only an illusion of time
An elusive frame we aim to forget 


Being Between


My face vibrates warmly

This Berlin winter morning

It was nuzzled into my pillow

Imagining his foot

Holding his big toe again in my mouth


The day has just began

And gave me my first full orgasm with my self and it’s imagination

It passed through


Again this Saturday, we have plans to meet in flesh

But between plans and commitments lay so many present moments and sensations

The desire to connect this burning desire and my soul purpose, to dance, to refine all the layers of my communications

Which connect and separate my soul from the outside world

From an expanding community of friends and artists

And the misunderstandings on the way


Of who I thought you were

A shadow and comfort beside this body

This bed

“Between Skin and Skin, there is only Light” Murakami wrote

Linked to shadow and flesh

Tsuki dreamed

This day into Being

The Inner World of the Outer World of the Inner World

by Peter Handke

I wake up asleep:

I don't look at the objects, and the objects look at me;

I don't move, and the ground under my feet moves me;

I don't see myself in the mirror, and I in the mirror see myself;

I don't pronounce words, and words pronounce me;

I go to the window and I am opened.

I lie there upright:

I don't open my eyes, but my eyes open me;

I don't listen to sounds, but sounds listen to me;

I don't swallow water, but water swallows me;

I don't reach for objects, but objects reach for me;

I don't take off my clothes, but my clothes take me off;

I don't talk words into myself, but words talk me out of myself;

I go to the door, and the handle presses me down.

The shutters are rolled up and it becomes

Night, and to catch a breath of air I dive under water.

I step on the stone floor and sink in ankle-deep;

I sit on the box of the coach and put one foot before the other;

I see a woman with a parasol and break out in a cold sweat;

I raise my arm in the air and it catches fire;

I reach for an apple and I am bitten;

I walk on bare feet and feel a stone in my shoe;

I tear the bandaid from the wond and the cut is in the bandaid;

I buy a newspaper and I am scanned;

I fighten someone to death and am left aghast;

I stuff cotton in my ears and scream;

I hear sirens wailing and the Corpus Christi procession passes by;

I open the umbrella and the ground singes my feet;

I run into the open and am arrested.

It is over the floor that I trip,

and with a wide open mouth that I make conversations,

and with the palm of my hand that I scratch myself,

and with the police whistle that I laugh,

and out of the ends of my hair that I bleed,

and on opening the newspaper that I choke,

and caviar that I regurgitate,

and I tell about the future,

and I talk to things,

and it is through myself that I see,

and corpses that I kill.

And I see sparrows firing at cannons;

and I see catatonic in ecstasy;

and I see the newborn baby actually having wishes;

and I see the milkman at night.

and the letter carrier? asks for the mail;

and the preacher? rolls on the ground;

and the firing squad? lines up against the wall;

and the clown? flings a grenade among spectators;

and the murder? does not occur until the eyewitnesses appear.

And the mortician cheers his soccer team;

And the head of state attempts to assassinate the baker's apprentice;

And the feild marshal is named after a side street;

And nature is faithfully reproduced after a painting;

And the Pope is counted out standing up -

And listen! The watch ticks outside itself!

And look! The guttering candles are growing! 

And listen! The scream is whispered!

And look! The wind petrifies the grass!

And listen! the folk song is bellowed!

And look! The raised arm points down!

And listen! The question mark is commanded!

And look! The starved man is fat!

And smell! The snow is rotting!

And it is morningfall,

and the table stands on one leg,

and the escapee assumes the lotus position,

and the trolley stops on the forty-ninth floor.

Listen! It is deathly quiet! - It is rush hour.

I fell asleep awake

and fled the unbearable dream for gentle reality

and am humming hue and cry to myself, merrily as they say -

listen to my mouth watering; I see a corpse!

Translated from German by M.Roloff

Theatre of Sleep by Guido Almansi & Claude Beguin

Tsunami –
A poem for Japan
by David Milligan-Croft

The world cracked
And up you rose
From the Ring of Fire
On a day when the gods were too busy.

You rode ashore,
Like 40,000 apocalyptic horsemen,
Not pausing for houses, for cars,
For people, for breath.

Dragging their kicks and screams
Through concrete and timber and twisted steel,
Splintering bones
Like cherry blossom twigs.

Until they were silent.
And the world was silent.

Then you slithered away
On the belly of the night,
Lapping the shore while
Licking your greedy fingers.

And after you are satiated,
And we have un-buried our dead,
We will climb up out of the mud,
And the sun will rise again.


Tsuki Tsunami 

Pelem Festival, Indonesia 


Moon in Cancer - 29.09.21

The multitude of internal processes,

And the very moment I write this first sentence,

A river of digital and external dialogues pass through.


This is not the poem of a poet who sits in isolation,

But rather, who engages with each passing moment of a regular working life,

While simultaneously seeking solace, expanse, space to express and exist,

In total freedom and connection with the Cosmos,

And yet invisible to the outside world.


I sit between toilets flushing and a window dividing me and the rain.

Another boy comes to sign his name and empty his bowls.

My initial response is frustration at being pulled away from my private thoughts.

Which turns to empathy for these children,

Who are taught languages, history, maths, sport and even art,

And yet not how to feel or be still or move from the deepest parts of themselves.

Their own unique universe.


The alarm rings, and I am again interrupted.

The real emergency however exists within.

In my own ‘Emotional Landscape’ as Bjork so beautifully sings.

I am grateful for this moment to co-exist between worlds,

A training ground for my feelings and responsibilities to vibrate together.

bottom of page