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Our day.

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.

Auguri nonnino.


You boys want to kneel so bad !

Does my bedroom looks like a drug dealer’s filthy space? Why’s that? Must be the sofa. Sofa = friends = clients. What? Nonsense.
My idea of a sofa there has only porn oriented aims.

I finally got access to a huge archive of music I couldn’t access in almost one year. It contains all stuff from my Italian time. Wovenhand, Radiohead, Bauhaus, Chet Baker, McLusky, und so. It’s so much fun, even more than my gin and tonic. Hey guys: D.A.F. Ach, lieber Gott!

I could now put the carpet my great-grandmother sewed for my mom, because I am “ancient, as ancient as the sun”. I also found a little Persian carpet mom brought me from Iran. I talked with her a couple of hours ago, she in Japan at the moment.

I want to run. RUN. RUN! I find it so boring it’s taking weeks to settle everything in this new flat. Na ja, alles in Ordnung. Musicians in Berlin are so soft-pervert, it’s intriguing, but it’s not enough. Gehen wir! Wohin? Nach Hause. Meine Freundin wartet auf mich.
You must know I have discussed this with a drummer in the States, I’ll give him stories, he’ll write the book. I’ll tell you about your boyfriends. Once in Milan we were playing as support act for Courtney Love and Hole, a couple of girlfriends were shouting something at me, something sweet. Little time after some loser-boy who was there, somebody who wanted so bad to KNEEL, wrote that the girls were ignoring I just “wanted to fuck their boyfriends”. Oh boys! Boys are silly. Boys are little bitches, prude hungry whores-wannabe. I am so glad I’ve left that sick circuit.

I have plans I won’t tell here. But It’s countdown time, kids.

I’ve gotta go buying wine and such delicacies. I tell you goodbye listening to Nick Cave.

When somebody dies, I’m feeling selfish. I think I won’t be able to talk to that person anymore. But then, have I done it that often? Impossibility leads to desperation, we wait for nothing more than this, we want to be desperate, struggle, feel ’til everything breaks, when it doesn’t break, just get colder, waiting for the next good reason, good excuse. When my great-uncle died nobody told his brother-in-law, my grandfather, because he himself was terribly sick, he died one week after. How much must have suffered that little adorable woman inbetween? My great-aunt lost brother and husband within one week. The day she died, I think about his brother and how much he would suffered from this.

Strangely I spent my early afternoon with a very old lady, something next to ninety years old I guess. She could barely talk, barely walk, barely eveything and I did my best with my poor german, and she smiled in a way I recognize. I wanted to kiss her and care about her. Loneliness is all we get, also if we’re not lonely, we’ll feel lonely, because we’ll get tired, tired of every single thing.

Tomorrow I should walk through a forest and get exhausted and fall. Fall alone in the forest. Fall! Fall!

Do you know I already know where my grave is? Is a family affair, I can be eveywhere, but I have my private elegant silent slot in there. All I ever wanted to be, fancy, elegant, silent.

Soundtrack: Pink Floyd.

I’m a middle class loser and I like my windows clean. It’s the first thing I cleaned in the new flat: the bedroom windows. There are useless things I like. Porcelain crockery, silver tea spoons, old-time beauty, but like my mother, precious beauty. My mother is an extremely simple person, really humble, down to earth etc. She considers pretty vulgar my way of dealing with certain stuff, like telling too much and showing off, which she’d describe as “stupid”. She is right and she really considers it as the most vulgar thing on earth. A couple of months ago I was there when this woman responsible for a costume museum in town told mom that everybody loved a certain dress my grandmother gave them, it must be something mid-1800. There was a certain way the lady could put up the edge of the dress to walk or something without making a real effort. My mom totally “diminished” the whole thing making a joke. When we were home I said “Mom I’ve to tell you something but please don’t get angry…” before I could even say  it all, she said sharp “People HATE show-offs!”. I feel so stupid everytime. I am stupid why I am also writing it here. At time I appreciate my stupidity, it keeps me company. At times, I must say, she wears some rings if I ask her to. She has beautiful hands and she loves rings, but like me, she only loves beautiful rings. When it’s the “right time”, she wears them.  She is maybe the only one who can really get my taste, we like the same things and we’re disgusted by the same things. She is the only one I would ask an opinion about a vase or a ring or a suit. I love mom.

In the last two months I got sick like four times. In the past years I almost never had fever before. I handle that the way my dad would, “just keep doing your thing, it’ll be over soon”. I always succeeded in it, but still four times “in a row” is too often. Plus I’m always feeling dizzy. Often when I climb up/down stairs I feel vertiginous. At times I stop for a couple of second or I just try to have something to touch or grip right next to me. I eat a lot, but I don’t eat often enough. I know my body very well. It’s screaming DANGER! DANGER!
When I was sixteen years old, I was often feeling bad. I got my blood tested and everything looked okay. After one year I had to change school. I went to a new school in a new town where I couldn’t be a new person, because everybody knew  about me already, but I wasn’t feeling that same bad way anymore. I was alone there, but it was better.
Now, after two months of little fever and weight loss, I started doing my  usual BEST thing: scratching. NOT again! But I started. Something is going wrong again. I’m extremely sadly giving up my german classes, I need time to do so many things, and also if studying german is something I actually like, my body and my head, the whole thing together is saying “you’re doing too much, we’ll abandon you at some point”.

I became completely pessimistic and optimistic at the same time. I feel a mixture of shit. The idea of death destroys and terrifies me but helps as well, all we do is social convention, so without being an “animal”, which stands for “dangerous”, why shouldn’t I say to anybody I like and meet on the street “hey hi do you want to fuck?”. Why should I worry about the way I look? Why do I have to g a t h e r stuff, to feel comfortable while drowing in futile memories?
Yes, yes, I love memories. The day my grandfather died, I killed a rose. I still have it with me. It’s so useless, but why should I care? Society is shit, because society is composed by anonymous strangers. It all makes no sense. What I fear is that I reached the point I could do everything, or nothing at all, since it’s all a useless game, and we struggle for nothing at all.

We struggle for nothing at all.

I‘m working on so many things, I’m getting lost. I’ve closed a few tabs, I just keep  fifteen of them open.

I’m setting a website up, it’s for my brother, he rents a studio apartment to tourists and he needs one. I started designing  a logo, but then I also started gathering info and ideas for the website itself. I’m not able to do one thing at a time. I’m also trying to make this e-place a bit nicer, it’s pretty shabby at the moment. I need time. And the final aim, you don’t know yet, is to create a whole new catergory. That will be great. But I’ve got to buy wood and colours.  And I have to draw a lot. Yes, I won’t tell more at the moment.

I also have to buy wood to build up an open wardrobe. I have the main pieces already and I’ve already designed how it must be , it’ll be very easy to assemble. While writing it I’m already thinking  how to build a better base. I don’t want to think about it now. I don’t want. I do not w a n t.

I’m buying  a  cable to connect the drum machine to the pc. Why the hell do I have this SHITTY Windows 10? I don’t even remember upgrading anything, but I must have done it myself. It’a a crazy race to reach nothing at all.  All my devises bother constantly because they want to be upgraded, but I know they’ll work bad afterwards. We shall buy new stuff. New shit. Buy, then die.

In the last couple of days I’ve been listening to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club a lot. Good guys.

I don’t even understand why I’m having everything in two different languages (English and German). I guess I always choose English but German impose itself somehow. German. Last Friday I started the glorious B2 class. I have so much to study. And I have to clean up a bit, because during the week I’ll barely have time to eat and sleep.

AND being as busy as I am, I’m writing here.

Fuck it.

Last time I’ve used this guy here it must have been ten fucking years ago.

My high school was a gymnasium, I wouldn’t have any design class there. When at university (lovely branch from ARCHITECTURE) I had to give two technical design exams, I felt sick. I couldn’t sleep the night before (still drawing three dimensional bullshit) and I got fever. I was damn nervous.

Second and last  time in my life I’ve got fever because I was damn nervous, it was the day after I’ve had a trial here in Berlin, it lasted one day. I felt cool as fuck, but I’m a nervous type, I’m never cool enough.


You look at me, you talk about me, you laugh about me. I pity you.

You look at me, you talk about me, you laugh about me. I pity you.
You look at me, you talk about me, you laugh about me. I pity you.
You look at me, you talk about me, you laugh about me. I pity you.
You look at me, you talk about me, you laugh about me. I pity you.
You look at me, you talk about me, you laugh about me. I pity you.
You look at me, you talk about me, you laugh about me. I pity you.
You look at me, you talk about me, you laugh about me. I pity you.
You look at me, you talk about me, you laugh about me. I pity you.
You look at me, you talk about me, you laugh about me. I pity you.
You look at me, you talk about me, you laugh about me. I pity you.

You look at me, you talk about me, you laugh about me. I pity you.

Everyday I sit on a train, some asshole in front of me tells his girlfriend I’m a freak, I’m gay, I’m ugly, I’m strange, something is wrong. I see that. I stop reading my book. I look at him. If I’m in the right mood I smile. I actually think ugly things like “when you’ll be back home, in your shitty cheap flat, you’ll switch on the huge tv  and you’ll follow some stupid shit. Maybe you’ll fuck your girlfriend. She is dyed, you have shaved down there. You even LOOK sexually boring. Yeah look at me baby.

The Brothers Karamazov

I hate to be doing things because it’s necessary. Is it  really necessary? Oh yes, you’ve already told me that, “it’s the way it goes”. Everybody does it, everybody must do it. “Everybody” is for me synomyn of “stinky shit”. Do you know that everybody shits? Somehow it’s something we can’t talk about.

It ends up that I have to work because otherwise I won’t have money for anything; everything has a cost, freedom has a cost, freedom does not exist, we shape it the way we like it. Yes I’m boring, I know but I don’t care, I don’t see why I should. We were talking about necessary things, working, eating (possibly healthy, god! everybody went freaky crazy about this), sleeping. What’s more? Society has rules. I was a good player, I had tons of friends and could manage to keep in touch and organize dinners or little home parties. I would go to their parties and their concerts. I would write letters and then e-mails. My mom is a mistress in this. This takes time and I never have time, nowadays. Friends get offended. I am truly sorry and I feel pretty anguished about it. “Anguished” is the key word of the last month. It’s a constant feeling. Right now as well.

I got to the point I have to understand what I want and what I need and I have to accomplish that. I’m not able to force myself in anything anymore, I feel really bad. Lately I’ve been reading Miller, the book is in English, because I “have to” improve my English, like I have to improve my German. Yes kids, my day is not longer than yours. I brought from my family’s house a few books in Italian, I NEED it. We have now Plato, Pasolini, Whitman, Nietzsche, Tolstoj, Fallaci, Freud, a lovely book my older sister brought me about German fairy tales and I bought myself two Dostoyevsky. If it depended on ME I would spend my days reading. I would talk to nobody, I would possibly stay in the countryside. I am really considering the idea of living, for some months, in the countryside. I’ll need years only to work on this project, but I’ll do it.

I just wanted to say I started to read “The Brothers Karamazov”.

Everybody calm down! I’ll be a good dull cow and work for you, whatever it means, I’ll only read while I’m sitting on the train.

I shall plan to go very far.