Berlin is shedding his skin like a snake in a frantic mutation that relentlessly day after day transforms his parts, a city without a center, which gradually is eating away all his "inner Peripheries," in search of an identity.
Berlin was the Future when it belonged to the Past, when there were spaces to be filled and large empty areas, free to leave rooms for imagination, to still give the possibility of dreaming and creating.
In the sweltering saturation of space that is happening now, hardly still resist the realities that once gave way to people to live the neighborhood in the manner they wished.
Speculation play checkmate with old pre-existing buildings.
Soon our eyes will have no more more endless distances to get lost: overturned pulleys, smashed buildings, closed windows. Silhouettes of cranes and wind slapping on the scaffolding.
Berlin is changing face and wearing his flashy dress for the party. But scars remain, like old sutures. The hand of gentrification is a tug of war with the roots that do not want to be eradicated.
The survival instinct of the neighborhood and its traditions is as strong as the noise of the bulldozers that destroy the horizon. The metropolis of the third millennium devour and regurgitate behind them all that no longer serves and is obsolete, pushing against the borders all that is different, troublesome or foreign.
Neighborhoods so rich in history and traditions are quickly getting filled with nothingness, sparkling windows, disrespectful tourists, deleting all identities and unique characters to merge them all into a flat uniformity.