Do I feel anything? One of the last t-shirts I’ve created says “NUMB”. At times I feel I am. I hear about sick people, about dead people, about all the shit going on here and there and I feel so little empathy. Since a couple of two months I wake up feeling extremely sad, anguished, like if I have this heavy weight on my chest. I spend the first couple of hours feeling like this. Right now I feel like that. Usually I’d better not talk with anybody, for no reason at all I may get pissed off. The only thing that can relax me is creating. I just finished painting a custom Ein Arschloch logo t-shirt. I’ll do another one, with a simple geometrical drawing, in the next hour. I sewed a bag. I bought black cotton cloth and thick thread. It took me about five hours, it’s not complete yet, it will be a kinda backpack. I’ve always liked producing my own things, I’m obsessed about personalizing my stuff. Plus I got it from my dad, I mean the ability of being relatively good with my hands. He is a fisherman, farmer, electrician, house painter, restorer, cook, he would cut our hair when we were kids, he would sew anyting if we ask him. He produces white and red wine, honey, beer. He has the most amazing plants and flowers, wherever he lives it’s full of green. He is good with animals, he used to be vet for our animals and when he was teenager he actually raised a crow, the animal was free, but would follow him and wait for him as he was going and coming back from school. His real job was another, and he was good at it as well. Among the children, I’m probably the one who’s closer to him about these things, I’m not as good as him, but if I can spend a day pruning olive trees, I’m glad.
It takes me a lot of time to do all of it, that’s why I’m a bad friend. When I’m actually free from work, I could just go out and spend hours sitting and chatting and I would enjoy that. I miss that also. But I do need to work on my shit, sorry. A bit of playing, a bit of writing, a bit drawing, a bit of dreaming. All of it makes me a better man, I can see that. I’ve to go out soon, but I’ll try to tidy up a bit. Usually I am a tidy person, I just have too many things I deal with. But it’s all chaos around me, it means it’s all chaos in my head. If I’m able to tidy up, maybe I’m doing any better.
I went to the kitchen to grab some wine and it looks like it’s a fine day out there. I would love to go out for a walk, instead by the end of the day I must have prepared a lot of material for the coming week. I’ll be running from a job to another, and then the beloved german class, etc.
My mother would like to know what I’m working on, but I don’t love phone calls and I hate texting. I’ll tell her at some point. Lawyers, car rental, screen printing. It must all start and work out well within the next few days. Then insurance, tax consultant, Termin!
And I have to book a flight and check my schedule at work to see what’s good, what’s bad, what stinks, what smells amazing. I may be buying a shiny latex item in the next few days. We’ll see. I still wait for an answer from some guys in order to take a dirty appointment in the city. You don’t want to know.
My stomach contains more shit than yours, can’t really explain that.
Back to work, now. Next Saturday I’ll be DJing at the Neu! Bar in Prenzlauer Berg. Do come. The motto for the night is FUCK THE DJ, just saying…
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Mommy kill me.
Kill me. Kill your son.
I can’t see you. I don’t remember your face. Who are you, teasing me? Whip my back. Please leave bruises, I need to remember. I am lost. I’m drowning and there’s no way I can feel the water chocking me. Who’s killing me? Is it you, mom? It seems like I’m dreaming and fear is tempting me. My head hurts but I don’t see you mom. Where did you hide?
I am scared and I am lost.
I’m so fucking into “contemporary psychedelic rock”, you have no idea. I love the atmospheres, I’m tired of being a fighter, I am a silent fuck off’er, can you say that in English? I don’t believe in anything and I don’t believe in anybody anymore. It’s all bullshit, that’s why I don’t really have to care about social conventions or such shit, today I wanna wear red lipstick, tomorrow I wanna wear high heels, next week I wanna wear a man suit, I can fucking do that. I guess I’m doing good, also if I always have this sour taste in my mouth, it’s not because of the booze, it’s because “I wished it could have gone differently”. I admit I’ve known precious people, at times there was that “what is this?” moment with somebody and I’ve been thinking rationally then, like “hey, this could work out, smart, good, pretty one!”. I never feel anything. I only think about what I want to feel. This is terrible. Only a couple of times I’ve done something because I really FELT LIKE, I usually do it because I think it’s good thing to do/rational thing/whateverworksthingtodo. It was not like this when I still lived in Rome, afterwards I became way more hard to deal with, apparently I’m just more “relaxed” and “open” or something similar, I guess. I am not. I shut the doors. There’s no way to come in, I try to have a look out there, but the more I go outside, the more I get naked, the more I fly high, the more I’m shut into my precious and private empire of shit. I discovered loneliness in a different way. I like to stay alone, I like to go out alone. I’m an easy talker, na klar, but it’s usually people coming to me. People think I am sad. This is my face, sorry Leute. So they would sit and ask what’s wrong and I should enjoy life. Months ago I kissed this woman, eine echte Berlinerin, she would have turn seventy years old anytime soon. All around us was pretty hardcore, kids.
I just wanted to say that when last Sunday night P. told me I probably wanted something I couldn’t have, and the night was still begininnig for the both of us, well, I feel relieved. I do like you and I do like the idea of it. There’s some rock’n’roll fanciness about it. And I truly appreciated the sweetness, back then. I felt good a few days ago, I didn’t have the “weight” of making things work anymore, which is something I have assigned to myself, as I’ve said before.
Now I want to provoke myself, I want to embarrass myself, I need strong emotions. This morning my weight was 59 kilos. I never went any higher than 66, but lately I can barely reach 60 kilos. As I get a bath my hips burn, my legs burn, my left arm burn. I’m doing way better than ten days ago, but I do scratch myself, again after so many years. And it looks bad, when it’s over I still have a huge dark spot where before I had little bloody holes. I don’t understand.
I have big plans, like always, like all it’s been written during my adolescence. Only one thing would really terrify me now: leaving Berlin. I can’t imagine that. I do cannot.
Today is my day. As a kid it was always a bit of a special day. My name is not common, in Rome I met a girl with my name, in my own town I only knew my grandfather with the same name. If I were still living on the island, if my beloved grandfather would be alive, I’d be going to visit him. He lived in his family house, a fancy ancient building with paintings on the vaults, always perfectly clean and tidy. It was always so warm in there! I was raised in a huge old house myself, we also have vault ceilings there, and even when we put the heatings at the maximum, it was never enough in winter. My grandfather would be dressed elegantly, he was always elegant, also if he was just staying at home, also when he could barely stand and he was next to die, he would never use his hands to eat, he couldn’t act differently.
He would be wearing a dressing gown. We would kiss then he would make a half bow and he’d say “illustrious!”. I adored him. I was never bored with him. In my hometown nobody really celebrates name-days, but my grandparents came from another town. They were both born in this minuscule town, to visit it is really fascinating, full of palaces, they had a number of nobles families there, I’ve seen some of these palaces from the inside, they are incredible, private gardens, living rooms one after the other, gold. If you want to make my grandmother happy, ask her where is she from. She would tell you about the dance parties and the palaces, during the war they hid in the country houses, which were again little palaces, actually my great-uncle owns part of the original property and it includes a chapel. If you ask my grandfather about that village, he would say they are just ignorant people, living in these decaying houses (nobody works, that would be vulgar!), he couldn’t stand it. My grandfather was a teacher of italian, latin, greek. I also studied those, like my mother. My grandfather often regrettet one thing. He was sent to a boarding school, it was common when you were coming from a good family. My grandparents sent my uncle to a boarding school. I guess they did it because he was an unbearable kid to deal with. My grandfather often regrettet this choice.
Let’s go back. In my hometown nobody would care about name-days but in the town were my grandparents were born it was celebrated more than the birthday, so we were used to “celebrate” it as well at home. I even forgot it this year, my sweet mom remembered me. I attach the picture of a rose I killed when my grandfather died. They were living in the summer house, when he died. As I was getting in, I felt my stomach breaking. I stepped back and as I was sure nobody would see me, I entered from a second door, nobody knows about that, then I would find myself in a terrace behind the kitchen. I sat there, there’s a table with two chairs, we kids would eat there in summer. One of my uncles saw me and sent my grandmother. It should have been me going there, to her, but I was broke inside. This is our day and it would have been really funny to phone you and tell you about my life in Berlin. You would have told me about history and about places I should absolutely visit.