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.
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.
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.
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.
This is the text I’ve sent to a dear friend before two gentlemen had stolen my mobile: “Am I a simple man? Maybe I am”. Twenty minutes later the phone was gone, I was following the thiefs into Kreuzberg’s dark and empty streets. As a man with a blinking light was walking in the middle of street straight towards me, giving this kind of signals, I gave up and went back. The area was clearly “protected” and I alone could not possibly do anything useful, not even trying to buy back my phone, which was my intention. To that followed a couple of phone calls to my own phone, then a couple of phone calls to the police, then a short chat with two policemen. I was sent home “to get some sleep and have a good Sunday”.
The day after I could geolocalize it, I phoned the police again but the only help I could get was “go there yourself”. I understand it, I could have phoned the police again IF I would have had those guys with the phone straight in front of me, but by the time I reached the area my phone was gone.
In the last month I’ve been sick three times. I’ve had like a never ending cold and three times light fever. As I blow my nose, I get blood on the tissue. I usually react my fathers way, I try to care a bit with beverages and stuff and I keep doing my regular life, I’ll be gone soon. Paracetamol for dinner and for breakfast and I beat it. On Monday I had to stay home, my back was hurting like hell. It’s still not doing great and during the night I wake up sometimes, oh well. I was a strong man, something changed. As a result of it all, I lost weight.
I’m a compulsive busy bee. I can’t get things done and I’m already getting new things to work at. I can’t really control it. While I’m writing I know I have a few important e-mails to write, a flight to book, I have to tidy up this shitty room because on Saturday we’re having a viewing of the apartment, since we leave (adieu Charlottenburg, I NEVER liked you), and there’s stuff piled everywhere, I’ve got to work it out. And even if I realize this is priority now, to do even before my German homework (yo), I’m looking at these two sweet guys I took somewhere. Probably they were tea holders. I’ll transform them into candle holders. I can create a base with balsa, I have the equipment (I did scale models at university). I just don’t understand what material is that, it’s too dirty, may be copper. I have other copper boxes I brought from home (they are super clean and shiny), I’ll buy some copper product and try to clean them that way. The German word of the day is KUPFER.
While writing this I’m trying to reach this other guy to take some dishes for the new flat. You see? I DO NOT HAVE THE TIME, but I’m trying to make myself more and more busy.
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.