Tag Archives: writing

Live together

This is my first free day and I’ve been writing for two hours. Some log-in problem wiped out my writing. I start from scratch, again and again. I type in words and I wipe out emotions. What I have written matters only to me, it’s not that important that it’s all gone, because it’s all in my head anyway. The head play tricks and emotions are all tricks of the head. In my family we are used to talk about death, my parents are no drama queens and they deal stoically with it all. I have seen my dad crying for a death once, it was not about his dad. After his dad had died, he was sitting in the kitchen alone, drinking tea, waiting for us to come back, so he could tell the news. As he told me, I shouted he should have phoned me instead and ran upstairs. I’m too emotional, he couldn’t be like this, for his job needed him strong. When my mom’s dad died I was living in Rome. I booked a flight and left without saying anything to my flatmates. If anybody will die or be sick in my life, be sure you won’t get this information from me. I am not able to talk about it. Asking me how things go then, it’s silly, I will tell you it’s all fine also if it’s not. Or I will not answer, as I usually do. If things go wrong, do not ask, I hate it. People love to talk about their problems, I do it as well, I tell about my everyday life problems, I tell you about my hair, about whatever bullshit, but I can’t go deep into details, I am just done like this. Like my mom and dad. They don’t talk. They barely talk to us about it, but they do things. If there’s a lesson and they have given to us children, it’s about life and humanity, and most of the people don’t get it. Wherever I turn people are greedy and selfish. As I went home for holidays, I noticed things. My dad would wake early and go to his mother-in-law to help with breakfast, since she cannot do it by herself. After that he would go have a coffee with his own mother. After that he would say goodbye to all troubles and work on the countryside. My mom visits her mother every day. They have never complained about the responsabilities they have with their parents. Not even once! If I look at other old people’s children, they are mostly not there. Too boring, too heavy. As my mom drove as much as she could to help her aunt who was dying by cancer, the aunt, incredibly attached to her properties, asked once to my mom: “why are you doing this?”. My mom said because once she had done it for her as a child (in fact she wasn’t that kind of aunt, but it was nice to say). After those few words, my aunt told my mom’s brother “beware of your sister! She will steal your house”. When my greataunt died, with no children, my mom was the only serene one, who had helped as much as she could. Three different wills came out soon after the death, furniture, half a house, and jewels were mostly to be acquired. Everybody was pissed because she has been evil in her will. Only if you’re truly pure in your behaviour, you won’t feel betrayed. My mom’s mom lives in this old people house. I and my siblings went there everyday and I never met any other grandchild, I must say not even a son or a daughter. At one point we would know many of them, we would kneel and kiss one, shake hands with another, talk with another, talk nuts with many of them. This lovely woman sitting with my grandmother at the dining table is still completely capable with her mind, but not with her body. Once I cut her food and thought what a miserable daughter she had, enjoying her mom’s house, but never paying a visit. These are people and this is life. I noticed my siblings’ attitude and manners and even if nobody ever thought us anything, we have learnt a lesson. The greatest lesson I must say, since it won’t be properties smoothing our pain when we’ll be in need.

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.

kids

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.

I’m sick.

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.

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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.

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