What you say is what you are. Nobody will ever see you, they will only hear you. Keep fucking silent.
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.