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Christmas time


As I started brushing the floor, I thought “how useless is this?”, but then I added “you must always be ready for anything to come”.
You must be ready for joy and grief, they may be knocking at the door anytime, and you will have to let them in.

Last year, when I went to visit my family for Christmas, my grandma was doing really bad. My mother told me as I got home, “when you go visit her, you may get a bit shocked, she is not like you have left her”. In fact she couldn‘t talk or move. She had to eat artificially, it was no use to go to the hospital, we all agreed it would have been extra pain and distress for an old suffering woman. We rapidly organized shifts to hold her arm, since she got a needle in all the time. I noticed my parents exchanged the keys of the family mausoleum. While my mom was with her mother, I cleaned the huge living room in our house, waxed the marbled floor, and I hated rituals. My grandma often told me how to settle her own living room, after she would have passed away. It‘s a room in her house which I haven‘t seen often open, I even brought a drawing  of that floor as a study for a project, while I was studying design at university. The ceiling has paintings, the room has two balconies on two different streets. My grandmother used to receive her guests in one side of the dining room, instead. You can access this mysterious living room from my grandfather‘s study or from a “secret door”. I had lunch twice a week with my grandparents as a boy, and after lunch I would go to the study with my beloved granddad. He would show me all sort of things, a picture of her dead baby-sister, a document where the king gave a “honor” to his dad, ancient books with waxed covers, … while the huge portraits of his grandparents hanging on the wall were staring at us. The two-shutters door who led into the huge living door was always closed. From time to time I asked him if I could go in. They would let us kids do almost everything, but we always asked. I would inform them if I had to to go to the toilet, instead of just “going” and walking through the house, i.e.
I loved that living room. Inside there was a small picture of my great-granddad, he was eighteen years old there and he was just starting his law studies. He was a beautiful man, in the picture he was portrayed with a foulard around his neck and at the centre of it a jewel with a stone.

My grandmother couldn‘t go back to her own house. She has explained me exactly where to put the bed, what flowers, but it was not possible. It will be our house.
If it depended on me, I would keep the main door shut and put an end to this farce! I couldn‘t give a shit about people coming to visit, nor would my parents. They would accept the ritual. You are not suffering and I don‘t see why suffering has to be displayed on a big screen. This is sick. I don‘t need your flowers, I don‘t need your condolences, I do not need you there. I would let in those ten people who have lived with that person, the ones who cared. All those coming because you-just-gotta-show-up, would sit on the sofa and look at us. “He must be N., I haven‘t seen him in a lifetime! Oh and… is that the little one?”. You would sit on the sofa and look around yourself. Yes, I do also think that painting is beautiful, my mother has great taste.
While cleaning my mom‘s floor, I was getting angry at all these meaningless rituals who feed society. I shall wear a white shirt that day! When my granddad died my mom wore dark clothes but she wasn‘t wearing all black, thanks god! Let‘s not be ridiculous.
I did it for my mother. In fact a few hours later she actually asked me if I could take care of it, I told her I have already done it.

A couple of days later, my lovely grandmother sang a bit and I still go visit and kiss her. We kiss eachother a lot.

Creativity is work, it’s atonement

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…


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.