Ich lebe durch Musik. Alles, was ich fühle, was ich bin, was ich sein will, ist meine Musik.

So while I sit here and talk myself down from a major panic attack, don't even ask…and also wait for a live stream of a concert, guess from now on I'll only be watching concerts on my computer, which is about the same as online sex…how about some words of wisdom? Lol as if, when was I ever wise? Let's face it, this is just distraction so I don't scratch my legs raw and bloody. Another don't ask type thing, freakin allergies and medication that doesn't really work. Or lets say works about as much as putting a bandaid on a crack in a concrete wall. I would literally kill for some relief so a simple bug bite wouldn't get so out of control. Wishful thinking.

In other news, I've actually seen a ''concert'' the other day. Lol. Concert. As close to one as I've been in almost two years anyways but in reality it was just a couple – duo, singing in a bar, which by some miracle hasn't thrown us out given that we didn't have about ten different pieces of paper proving we're not contaminated. It should be my mental state that they should be checking, you're far more likely to get stabbed for saying ''good morning'' to me, than you are to get infected by a glorofied cold. Point here is that it was a nice show non the less, and ironically people use ''touch starved'' all the time, I realised I'm concert starved, to a point where I'd be throwing underwear to this duo singing for about twenty of us in a dark hole of a bar. Well, would throw underwear to them if I was wearing any that is. 

I actually in theory wanted to share something with you guys. The fact that I've been struggling lately is nothing new, but there's a thing that someone said to me that sorta made things different, ''when a flower doesn't bloom, you fix the environment in which it grows, not the flower''. And though that's nothing shocking, I just thought about it how I'm doing things the wrong way. I'm looking for flaws and what to fix on myself instead of fixing things around me. I can't expect to get better in an environment that's made me sick in the first place. I can't get better with people that are making me sick and brigning me down constantly, but the real issue is that getting away from them, and from it all, right now is just unrealistic. Maybe thats why I spend so much of my time lost in a drawing or in a fantasy book. Their worlds, their lives are just so much better, spending hours lost in a different universe…makes your own life bearable. 

Speaking of which, you guys want some more book reviews? That much I could manage, I think. Probably. Even if reading is always much better than writing. I recently got a ton of really good ones, haven't read them all yet because I was busy working on art projects but you know…at some point. I also tend to get stuck back on Hemingway. I don't know, he's just…he's something else. I tend to re read a story I've read a million times instead of moving on to something new. A friend recently introduced me to Jack Londons Call of the wild. I knew of London before of course, I just didn't really read much of his stuff myself. The ''funny'' part is, I was going through some of his titles online and it hit me like a big fucking brick wall, my dad used to read ''White fang'' to me when I was little. He would read me before bed every night. Classics mostly. Made me think about how much I just miss that ''us'' time. Or better yet made me think about how much I just miss my dad. You know how they say, sons are closer with their mothers and daughters are always ''daddys girls''. Yeah. Sometimes a girl just needs her dad, to either guide her, help her, or beat someone up for her. And I miss mine, so much time was stolen from us and it's just…it's not fair. 

But lets not go there right now or else this will turn into another sob story which I don't want. Instead I'll share a collection of CD/VINYL/DVDs of one of my biggest fever dreams…

People close to me know that my obsession with this man is huge. Big crush. Just recently the CD on the right upper side came in the mail, I'm not going to lie if I tell you that I sobbed for good 20 minutes because it's signed. Lol. Crazy fan girl I know. Part of me is shallow, the man is probably one of the most beautiful human beings I ever saw but that aside he's a musical prodigy and a genius. I mean yes, I've always been a metal child, no doubt, but actually I really love classical music. Bach is one of my absolute favourites and I love to listen to him in the middle of the night when I can't sleep. Wait! I actually mean Johann Sebastian Bach the German composer, not the pretty blond Skid Row singer, him I'd rather spend time differently in the middle of the night tbh. Just saying. 

Another one of my favourites is the very same musical genius that Garrett portrays in the ''Devils Violinist'', Niccolo Paganini. Fun fact, I was in Vienna when this movie was shot, like literally on the movie set, but missed David for about an hour. I don't know what would happen if he would suddenly appear in front of me to be honest. I mean the whole ''shrieking fan girl''? Probably not, I'd probably be frozen to the spot and mumble something stupid, just to make an idiot out of myself. Yep sounds about right, just like me. Or maybe my last (too erotic to describe here) dream in which he was the main star in would play in my head and it would be impossible for me to even think. 

Point here, David is not an actor but there couldn't be anyone else playing Paganini because nobody comes close to their genius talent. But they differ in nature lol, David is a good boy, actually my friends constantly tease me we could never work together because I'd corrupt him. Lol. As if. But really he's a good boy while Paganini was probably the first ''rock star'' and worse than all of them combined. Booze, drugs, women…you know the works. He probably wasn't as handsome as David though, who has women falling at his feet in this movie. Not that I don't understand. I've seen the movie ''a few'' times and still have a hard time focusing on it. His face is awfuly distracting, them gorgeous eyes one gets lost in, in combination with long lashes, and then that heart stopping smile. OH.MY.GOD. Please do unspeakable things to me, anything you want, anywhere, anytime. Honest to god I think I'd go into cardiac arrest if he was standing in front of me. Sigh. That story of when I met Mick Jagger would repeat itself. I can be a complete idiot so help me jesus. I was hyperventilating the entire concert and he was at a safe distance, on stage. And when he smiled I probably came in my panties, yes I was wearing some on that show, probably just in case I'd want to throw them on stage. Lol. 

Now to end this feverish post before it gets out of control and I need another cold shower, in the spirit of sharing things I love instead of so much darkness, here's my latest drawing (a better photo with close ups will be posted on IG so make sure you check back), I am ridiculously proud of it and I spent over a month working on it. It's Oscar Isaac as Poe Dameron in Star Wars. It's a geek life for me you guys, but also, come on, how freakin handsome is he?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've been rambling because it's Davids live stream concert I'm waiting for. And if you hear screaming, sighing or hysteric crying that's just me. I'm fine don't worry, just probably having an outer body experience as a result of his gift and his ridiculously handsome face. An angel, I swear. Sigh. 

E come l'aria mi respirerai il giorno che ti nasconderò dentro frasi che non sentirai.

So I took the previous post about taking a break down. Lets try this again. Maybe not a break but just, posting when I feel like it. No pressure to post on certain days, I know I know, I can hear my media and marketing teacher pull her hair out ''consistent posting is what brings you a following and helps you reach a certain audience''. Sure. I know. But then again I'm not reaching any audiences or anything, I'm just writing for me. 

A friend reminded me about a quote my favourite author of all time said ''write hard and clear about what hurts''. These are the brilliant words of a mister Ernest Hemingway. Yeah, I may love my fantasy world, romantic books about vampires and other mythical creatures but there never was and never will be another author like Hemingway, or another book like ''A farewell to arms''. Which reminds me to look online for a fancy, pretty, hardcover copy of it. Like a special edition or something.  I have 2 paperbacks but they have been dragged around everywhere and read so many times that their condtition is somehow…well questionable. It just gives me a weird sense of comfort in moments of anxiety.  I know the book will always love me and the rain won't make any difference. 

In that spirit, I'll write hard and clear about what hurts, and also what doesn't, or maybe about the fact that Jim Morrison was right all along and people ARE strange. Speaking of which, can hardly believe he's been gone for 50 years. I remember sneaking dads records when I was a little girl and admiring the pretty curly haired singer, of course then I didn't know what a hot mess he was. Dad caught me once telling me ''you know what your problem is?'' and while I contemplate about a shit ton of things that were my problem at the time, including a pretty rockstar living just down the street from us, he says to me ''Jims hot, sexy and dead so forget about it''. Hah. As if I could do anything but forget it, even if he was live to be honest. 

Jim also said that he might have given himself to us in pieces but it was still the best of him. He was right there too, it may be bits and pieces but those bits and pieces can still be pretty amazing. So I think that's what I need to do with this blog, bits and pieces, memories, things that matter to me, things that are important, love, art, happy things. And also unhappy things because, without sadness we'd not know happiness. I know that's rich coming from me, and I know I haven't felt happiness in years but that's how in theory it should be. 

So for starters, I keep repeating things are hard, and they are. But there are moments in between worth keeping. Like this morning, I freakin despise zoom, and I hate digital world, and I hate seeing some friends only on a screen, but that can't be helped, they live in another country, another continent, some possibly on another planet, or maybe I do but that's besides the point. I talked to a friend on video chat this morning, after we went through the pleasantries about how were doing (fucking terrible the both of us) and mandatory mocking about who has the most chipped nail polish or more split ends, another friend of his joins me. He's staying with us for a while, call it a vacation, and actually ''friend'' is putting it mildly, we have some history. So the friend on the other side of the screen asks me what I've been up to these days, to which I proudly tell him that I almost finished 2 A3 drawings and I'm damn proud of the both of them (shut up ok this is huge for me between crying, break downs and never finishing anything I start). Cue in his ''aww you're such a good girl'' comment, and the man next to me choking on water. Yeah, it makes one confused as to what the hell is going on. Well bless his poor innocent soul not knowing that the man choking next to me was choking me few hours ago saying those exact words to me ''you're such a good girl''. Cue in both of us blushing like crazy, looking anywhere but each other. Don't think the person on the other side of the world – screen didn't realise quickly going ''well that's gross, also bad girl''. Lol. Made me crave for one of our crazy drunken nights spilling secrets on someone's rooftop. Soon. I hope. 

I think this hope is what's also killing me, hoping for a better tomorrow, hoping for people to change, hoping for life to change. In theory you're supposed to be the change, and in theory you're supposed to change what you don't like, but in a world this crazy that's all but impossible. And I think expectations are killing me. Every flower blooms at some point, some are just a little late. Why can't we understand that? Why can't we accept that people are different, take different paths in life, care and dream about different things? And I think these accusations and people talking is what's killing me. I never really cared much, I live my own life, it's my problem, and I wish people wouldn't stick their nose into it so much but lately it's pushing all my buttons ''when are you getting married? How about children? How about your career? Oh, you're just an artist? Oh is that what you're wearing? Oh you like this and that? Isn't that too much make up?'' blah blah blah. When I take a step back and have time to think I can say ''parla la gente purtroppo, parla non sa di che cazzo parla'' but really it drives me crazy. When did we reduce human beings to labels? Names? Numbers? God. Basta. There is a song by a local band I love with the title ''stop the earth I'm getting off'' and shit they are right. If you find a way to let me off, I'm all ears. And don't suggest NASA and the Mars project. Already tried that. 

I was just sitting here listening to an very emotional song, Italian, on replay. It's made me think about so many things, the hope above among others. It's amazing how a song can stirr up emotions isn't it? I keep telling people if their music makes them feel nothing, they're listening to the wrong kinda music. This particular song makes me feel happiness, sadness, love, loss, lust, devotion, attraction. It makes me feel the soft warm salty ocean breeze, the smell of the sea, it makes me feel those first kiss emotions, it makes me feel that wild attraction when you just can't breathe without the other person. It feels like that first ray of sunshine that warms your skin after a long gray winter. It feels like that first sip of coffee in the morning, or a refreshing rain shower in the summer heat. It feels like that sparkle in someone's eyes when they smile. It feels like a fresh coat of bright red lipstick after a firey make out session in a public restroom and like a racing heartbeat when you're afraid to be caught.  It makes me feel so much and nothing at all. A storm of emotions or complete peace at once. 

Maybe I should be a writer, pack all my poetic bullshit in a book and torture readers all over the world with my ramblings. Why stick to one type of art right? And honest to god if I start with family stories…well we go from comedy to tragedy to horror so I don't even need to pick a genre.  Maybe that would help me, maybe writing it all done would help me stop storing all that anger and stop me from it spilling over (usually in a very explosive way) or drowning in it. 

See point here is I'm trying, like so freakin hard to keep it together but like Marvel taught us, the real enemies aren't Thanos, or Ultron or whatever the fuck cosmic animal you can think of, the real enemy is in your head, it's mental illness, it's unprocessed crap we each go trhough, pack it up to deal another time but we never really do. That's the enemy. That's the elephant in the room. That's what's killing you. I am trying so hard to at least pretend I have it together, to have some kinda control with anything that has to do with my life. Well spoiler alert. I don't. Things keep happening with zero control no matter what I do. No matter how hard I try. I'm trying not to be bitter about it, not to be angry about it but truth is I'm so fucking angry all the time at everything, myself, the world, people in my life, the politics, people around me, angry at everything. I'm trying to brush it off with ''well shit things happen for a reason but believe me that only works so long. 

This is another thing that's driving me crazy, what if there's no real reason why bad or good things happen? What if the universe is just a cruel bitch that plays with us all the time? What was that thing that ABBA used to sing ''the gods may throw the dice, ther minds as cold as ice'', no I don't listen to ABBA but I do love Mamma mia. It always feels like there's a fucking Mjolnir sitting on your chest and you can't breathe, always. There's breaks in between, when the heaviness lifts and the light peaks through the cracks, a moment when you finally swim to the shore, a moment when you stop fucking drowning and you get a false hope, hope that things will get better after all. This is the moment I get my shit together and things improve. And maybe you do. I give you that, maybe you get better, but you know what's the real issue? Mjolnir comes flying back, taking you down with it each time. 

Life happens, like on a silver screen, things roll and you roll with them, you're born, you suffer, you're happy, you're sad, most of all you're alive and you try to give your little contribution to the society and the world. Mostly insignificant anyways, lets face it, the world can't really be changed, improved yeah, changed? No. Anyways you may be lucky, you may find love, love like magic and then you fucking die. Your family remembers you for a while, and that's it. Maybe the purpose isn't being remembered though, maybe the purpose isn't slaving away but living and causing as little damage as possible. It's no longer about change anyways, it's no longer about doing something amazing, it's survival and as little harm as possible. 

Here's the point, I'm trying so fucking hard to get my shit together, and I'm trying so hard to reach that point when the Mjolnir lifts but I wonder what is even the fucking point anymore? Things always reset to it's starting point in the end, you can't escape them. I guess you can only hope the little moments of clarity and happiness are worth it. 

Alright that might be enough depression for one post. I feel darkness literally seeping from my fingers to your screens. I'm sorry. Put on some happy music and I hope it brings up some happy memories. 

Cheers guys, here's to another week on this alien planet, may it be as painless as possible.