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.

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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.

ALIVE:ness

During the last three nights I’ve been waking up constantly. I’m slowly getting sick, or maybe not, I can’t get it. As I lay down to sleep I breath badly and my throat gets extremely dry, that’s why I wake up, a bit to drink, a bit to breathe. I’m not an early bird, I hate to leave my bed,  I’m not the type who will get a nap or lay down to relax during the day. I won’t stop until it’s time to go to bed again. I’m not an early bird, but in these days I’ve preferred to wake up early, instead of laying down feeling like shit. Everytime I’ve been waking up, I could still feel bits of uncosy dreams. Every time, inbetween dream- and real world there was music in my head: I tell you what, I tell you who. Last Saturday I went to see Mad Kate and The Tide at Supamolly. Since then I’ve been listening to their album “ALIVE:ness” dozens of times. I’ve been barely listening to anything else. I’m purely loving it. It’s interesting how everybody will find  in what he listens to what he likes and he needs and he’s longing for.

In the first track “golden voice”  it could be Patti Smith singing it, at least the first part. If I would know Patti I’d ask her to tell me fairy tales until I’d fall asleep. I wouldn’t fall asleep. I never fall asleep. It’s a trick I always use when I sleep with somebody, but I am never relaxed. People have told me tales to sleep. Made-up ones, a Persian one once, Grimms’ ones but I’m like kids, as soon as the tale is over I open my eyes wide open and ask “once more?”.

I attach a link because you guys have to listen to this album: https://madkatethetide.bandcamp.com/

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While writing “bodies of flesh, bodies of knowledge” is running and he could be Jeff Buckley playing that arpeggio. It doesn’t have to be anybody, I know, I am sorry, I hate it when people do that with my music, but after all we’re constantly listening to somebody else’s music.

I really liked it all, the electro/rock/new wave/whatever…  it just sounds great. I’m checking out the other albums now. Plus I will need a copy of the poster, Mapplethorpe would love it.

Vorbereitung

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.

There’s something you can’t buy: proud.
I got all the best and I got all the worst from my parents’ families. I am the worm and I am the king. Who’s the worm and who’s the king? I am. Kneel and be sorry! “The dominion is ours!”. The third ring on my fingers will turn me into an untouchable man, a loser among losers, I’m longing for that, all happens in order to end.
Last night  I was a new character, I was Alëša from The Brothers Karamazov. I dreamed I was a young monk, my grandfather died and I had to carry the coffin. It was cruel and my stomach burned. I woke up feeling so bad, I thought “somebody must have died last night, try to be cool, it just happens”, and I was crying before checking my mobile.

All day I’ve been daydreaming. Imagination is the strongest power I’ve got. People look at me terrified, because I am terrified. People smile at me, because I am smiling. When I went home tonight I felt like I haven’t been here for weeks. I looked at the streets, the tram rails and it all seemed new. Where have I been?
Somebody who feels too much, feels nothing at all.

Tonight I was at a friend’s and Winson was on the radio, Flux Fm. When I was on the terrace, there in the studio with my singer and he took a picture of us, I told him “God! So you’re not just a voice on the radio!”.  Einstürzende Neubauten, “Stella Maris”.

One more ring.

I had one hour free today. I was in Kreuzberg and I had a beer in this courtyard, no green, only women covering their heads and bodies. It was warm. One woman came from a shop near-by. She sat. Looked around herself stealthy. Fast she took a little bottle of Pfeffi from her back pocket, she drank it all, threw the bottle away and went back to job (I assume, considering the clothing).
It started raining a bit so I went somewhere  else for another beer. It was a gay bar in the Kotti area and it must have been a lesbian night. Four old gay people, two men and two women, they must have been in their eighties, were discussing about german grammar and Thomas Mann, while drinking beer and sending kisses to one another. Around eight in the evening, when I left, one of the men left as well: “ich muss nach Hause”.

I have ideas and I take notes.
I lose my notes and I forget my ideas.

The sweetest thing that have happened to me in the last few days was cuddling with some stranger in bed, all the rest was boredom.

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.

Ich bin kein Künstler, ich bin ein Arschloch.

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