Category Archives: blog

Watch me now!

Saturday morning, I slept long. I had a proper shower, the one during which you can get a hair mask. I haven’t shaved in a week. A few things create little trouble to me. I need a way more free time to accomplish whatever my desires are. I haven’t eaten too much shit, and I haven’t drunk much. I’ve started German classes two weeks ago, it’s not going too bad, I do even dream phrases in german now. The real trouble is that I’m having no free time. I have sheets of notes, I wanna do so many things and it all brings to freedom. Working is necessary to live, but working is to die, then I’m trying to create a way to enjoy working, which implies to change job as well. Rather, to create my own.

I’m a huge Patti Smith fan. This is a manifesto from 1974.

Sixteen and time to pay off
I get this job in a piss factory inspecting pipe
Forty hours, thirty-six dollars a week
But it’s a paycheck, Jack

So hot in here, hot like Sahara
You could faint from the heat
But these bitches are just too lame to understand
Too goddamned grateful to get this job

To know they’re getting screwed up the ass
All these women, they got no teeth or gum or cranium
And the way they suck hot sausage
But me, well, I wasn’t sayin’ too much neither

I was moral school girl, hard-working asshole
I figured I was speedo motorcycle
I had to earn my dough, had to earn my dough

But no, you gotta, you gotta relate, babe
You gotta find the rhythm within
Floor boss slides up to me and he says
“Hey sister, you’re just movin’ too fast
You’re screwin’ up the quota
You’re doin’ your piece work too fast”

“Now you get off your mustang, Sally
You ain’t goin’ nowhere, you ain’t goin’ nowhere”
I layed back, I get my nerve up, I take a swig of Romilar
And walk up to hot shit Dot Hook and I say

“Hey, hey sister, it don’t matter whether I do labor fast or slow
There’s always more labor after
She’s real Catholic, see, she fingers her cross and she says
There is one reason, there is one reason”

“You do it my way or I push your face in
We knee you in the John
If you don’t get off your get off your mustang, Sally
If you don’t shake it up, baby, shake it up, baby”

Twist and shout, oh what I could will a radio here
James Brown singing ‘I Lost Someone’
Or the Jesters and the Paragons and Georgie Woods
The guy with the goods and Guided Missiles

But no, I got nothin’, no diversion, no window
Nothing here but a porthole in the plaster, in the plaster
Where I look down, look at Sweet Theresa’s convent
All those nurses, all those nuns scattin’ ’round
With their bloom hoods like cats in mourning

Oh to me, they, you know
To me they look pretty damn free down there
Down there, not having to press those smooth
Not having to smooth those hands against hot steel

Not having to worry about the in-speed
The dogma of in-speed of labor
Oh then they put damn free down there
The way they smell, the way they smell
And here I gotta be up here smellin’ Dot Hook’s midwife sweat
I would rather smell the way boys smell

Oh, those schoolboys, way their legs flap
Under the desk in the study hall
That odor rising roses and ammonia
And way their dicks droop like lilacs

Or the way they smell that forbidden acrid smell
But no, I gotta, I gotta put clammy lady in my nostril
Her against the wheel, me against the wheel
Oh, the in-speed-o, slow motion inspection is drivin’ me insane

In steel next to Dot Hook, oh, we may look the same
Shoulder to shoulder sweatin’ 110 degrees
But I will never faint, I will never faint
They laugh and they expect me to faint but I will never faint

I refuse to lose, I refuse to fall down
Because you see it’s the monotony that’s got to me
Every afternoon like the last one
Every afternoon like a rerun next to Dot Hook

And yeah, we look the same
Both pumpin’ steel, both sweatin’
But you know she got nothin’ to hide
And I got something to hide here called desire

I got something to hide here called desire
And I will get out of here
You know the fiery potion is just about to come
In my nose is the taste of sugar

And I got nothin’ to hide here, save desire
And I’m gonna go, I’m gonna get out of here
I’m gonna get out of here, I’m gonna get on that train
And I’m gonna go on that train and go to New York City

I’m gonna be somebody
I’m getting, gonna get on that train
Go to New York City

I’m gonna be so big, I’m gonna be a big star and I will never return
Never return, no, never return, to burn at this piss factory
And I will travel light, oh, watch me now


A life on the ground floor

I hate living on the ground floor. It’s been two years now and it will last as long as I won’t earn more money, this means I’d rather get used to it. The bedroom window must be closed with shutters and I hate it. I like sleeping with natural light and it makes it easier for me to wake up.

Last year I was writing at the computer like I’m doing now, all of a sudden the curtains opened and the post man said “hey my friend!”. What the fuck, dude! Ring at the door like everyfuckingelse, bitte! Since we hadn’t been friendly to each other for some time, then once we had a long talk in the street, and now everytime he sees me around he honks to say hello.

This morning I was opening the shutters and I saw this guy crossing the street towards the flat in that right moment. Hell, no, I hurried in with only one shutter open. Guys, I was just looking too shabby to be seen, let’s say it. Morning look is not that sexy.
The guy crossed the street and came to my window, open the other shutter and blocked it the way it should be. The real question is WHY? I don’t know him. I must say somehow I liked that #Ihaventgotmarriedyet


Mornings are a real trauma for me. Waking up is the most horrible experience. I do work well in the morning, if I have to do any e-job, that should be done in the morning. Nevertheless, the first hour I’m awake is something unbearable. My second coffee only can be considered a good one. I could never have a regular job starting at 8am, i.e. From time to time I’ve to do it, and I sleep so bad the previous night. Not to mention that before I’ve had my second coffee nodoby should ever tell me even “good morning”, that would ruin my whole morning irreparably. Any word said makes me angry.

But then I’ve got a shower. The shower makes me feel a civilized human being and I can even have human relationships after that.

And now I’ve got to hurry up and make myself the second coffee. I need to do a phone call but I’m not sure I’m ready yet.


We shoot for Art’s sake

Last Saturday we had our first shooting as a team in the supergeil studio in Dessauer Straße. Food photography for Naturalien. I’ve already seen a good preview of the job done, I love it. It was a cool working day. Moreover we had the chance to eat all this super healthy and super tasty food, which was amazing!

You’ll soon get a virtual taste of it all!



Sweat tastes good

It’s a matter of attitude, it’s all how you see things, then they become something specific. The weak, WEAK, thing is that everybody wants to be so cool. What’s so fucking amazing about being cool and unique? We’re so many, who gives a shit. We all are, we all are not. Last night there was this asshole, I’ve met him through some dark music-oriented event or something, I said hello and asked what he was actually doing in life, not that I cared that much. He said he was playing music, djing, about once or twice a year. You boy wanna make it sound like YOU’RE SO COOL YOU ONLY PLAY ONCE A YEAR. I’m not sure you really do that in life, boy. I asked what music, he said “a bit of everything”, I said that didn’t mean much, but then again, I didn’t really care. Then there’s the spanish girl. God it took me ten attempts to understand the work “e r o t i c”. Did I find erotic men dancing in underwear? Then the topic became “flaccid penises”. There’s nothing really wrong with that, but I guess usually is considered not so “manly”, and everybody wanna be a perfect show-off, which means if you’ve to be naked, you’ve to be “well structured”, which is very boring indeed. Then I met this australian guy who had a custom design shop where he basically sold t-shirts. I don’t usually care about how people live, but I asked if it went well, yes “incredibly well”. He was very glad to have left Kreuzberg. He now lives in Wedding and we started talking about a place I love with all my heart there, “Tango Loft”. I worked there for a short time and I’m so glad I’ve met such beautiful people. If you wanna have a taste of beauty, among lilium and candles, go there.

I guess I’ve to spray some antispetic on my nipples. They are insensitive. This means I’ve to keep an eye on them if you pull them or something, you may even rip them off, without me noticing. Licking them is only for your own pleasure, and I always feel a bit strange. The best result you can get is infecting them. Anyway I do keep them clean, so it’s fine, if I wouldn’t do it everyday I’d have a little tit right now. Moreover your boyfriend or lover or whatever is getting back and I have no contract with any of you, but I perceive he is not enjoying the view.

I had a really long talk with this norwegian guy. He’s actually supported from his country to create art, which is mostly painting. He takes pictures of very spontaneous moments (you wake up in the morning or something) and then he paints them, making all of that a bit less “natural”. The grandma was sicilian and she was called Teresa. I had to tell him I had watched a documentary about Maria Theresia, lovely Holy Empress, fighting Friedrich II. In such circumstances, like 9am with a guy in underwear, I may even discuss which is the best way to cook pumpkin. I’m a MASTER in good-talk-in-the-wrong-moment. While fucking I may even ask you why you divorced. Not saying I haven’t done it yet.

At the end of it all, it was a really boring night. It started with a guy asking me if I had drugs and it ended up with the same guy at the Garderobe asking me if I had had fun. The most funny thing was to see these people dressing in the courtyard, all going back to “ordinary life”. In fact I don’t understand why people need cages and labels to feel free.

It’s alright baby, you’re only choking.

Control, selfcontrol, it’s all bullshit I don’t even wanna write about. I’ve wrote so much about all of this shit when I was a boy, and it never brought anything helpful. I guess I’ve been writing the same bullshit , again and again, as if it were any rehabilitation formula I’ve been prescribed, I’ve wrote about the shit that filled my body up until I felt like choking and I’ve been so diligently told myself that I had to find a good healthy solution to all that shit. Something like painting your bedroom walls light blue, shading into grey you know, it’s  a good colour,  I do advice you that one, but don’t dress me up like a princess. Well then, nothing worked out and I just gave up my medicine, no more writing.

I must confess I feel like writing pointed out a few things I wanted to know, if I could read about them, I would know them better,  the absence of means cut out way too much. So here I come again, writing bullshit, imposing myself to have that selfcontrol I never had. As I am writing this, I do smile, and it’s rather a sneer. I do pity myself. Still I don’t give a shit, everything sucks, and I don’t want to discuss this with my friends, what for? Oh yes, I’d get advices, but you know what?, I just get pissed off.

I decided to do this whole shameful thing online because I’m the kind of person who constantly takes notes, I am actually compulsive, I have many agendas and such books I fill with whatever, and I’ve got notes on my desk here and in my jeans’ pockets and in my backpack. I don’t even look at them afterwards. This shit I’m doing now sounds more like a one-night-stand, just throw everything into the fucking loo then.

I do flush now.

Il controllo, l’autocontrollo, tutte stronzate di cui non voglio nemmeno scrivere, di cui ho scritto talmente tante volte quando ero ragazzino e non è mai servito a niente. Ho sempre utilizzato la scrittura come una forma di disintossicazione, scrivere circa la merda che mi soffica e ribadirmi i soliti “buoni propositi” pastello… stronzate senza nemmeno la puzza di merda. Allora ho smesso di scrivere. Ho smesso di preoccuparmi, perché tutto quello che mi sono sempre imposto di fare e di non fare, non è mai andato in porto.

Tuttavia ho come l’impressione che non scrivendo tendo ad ignorare completamente tante cose che invece non voglio considerare futili. E allora scrivo di nuovo e fingo di avere controllo. E impongo a me stesso quell’autocontrollo che a volte mi manca. Già mentre lo scrivo sorrido, ed è un ghigno. Mi faccio pena. E non me ne frega nulla, perché fa tutto schifo, e non me ne frega di parlarne con gli amici e di ricevere suggerimenti e consigli e sai cosa, mi incazzo e basta.

Scelgo il supporto virtuale perché prendo continuamente appunti, sono compulsivo, ho diverse agende e fogli sparsi ovuqnue, negli zaini, nelle tasche di giubbotti e pantaloni. E allora così è una botta e via. Tutto nel cesso.

Tiro l’acqua.