lunedì 25 luglio 2011

No Comment

When a common reasoning man like myself reads something like the afytermath of the Oslo happenings, there isnt much left to say. I cannot go and ponder the reasons, the technical aspects or the political ramifications of something that caused almost over ninety people to be shot to death, a full area of a city to beirpped apart by bombs and more killings on top of that.

I am not going to brag about the fact that i'm not geographically that far from where it happened, so i felt like it was "closer to home" for me than the Tsunami or even 9/11. And i dont want to make statements with added value cause i know someone who lives there (and was left untouched thanks to chance and a timely vacation). I think that would be arrogant and pretentious.

Still, i feel hurt and a bit digusted by any form of cynicism or indifference about what happened (even if the reactions and grief were there, for once).

Some people still thought that Norway was too far from their bordwers to actually be able to care. And allow me to point this out: no matter where it happens, a man who kills almost a hundred people, targeting especially the young, is a problem to everyone. This killings werent made in the name of war, oil or some sort of religion, at least it doesnt seem so far. The place where they happned was a quiet land, calm, hardly newspaper fodder, peaceful. The person hold responsible for the killings wasnt a steretypical terroprist, in this age of racial profiling and Qran brunings. He is white, young, christian, well educated, a reader. Also a xenophobe, a conservative and with a face you would hardly notice in a crowd, if not to point otu he is kinda cute.

He is the retutn of the quintessential domestic terror: a man fueled by oneverload of information, a sense of righteousness and zealouous rage, attacking people because he wants his "values" to rule and he thinks society is a failure and needs to be cleansed of the rotten individuals.

He is an old type of terror that in the age of religious fundamentalism, and attacks that are genrally tied to larger schemes (and are generally the fodder of conspiracy theorists), has almost being forgotten. And that many will try to overlook. Some internet preachers and partisan journalists are already talking about him being a scapegoat, some sort of Lee Harvey Oswald, used to cover the REAL killers. Which i think is bullshit. But lets not get off track.

That tyype of monster has always existed and still exists and can pop up everywhere, no matter how peaceful or secure the country is. He will rant on the infinite reign of indifference that is the web, find some followers and then eventually explo0de. And hurt people.

It has happened before. It will happen again.

I'm not saying this to create a sense of dread. But waht i'm amazed at is how some people are reacting with indifference or trying to ignore the enbromous gravity of this. How some are shaking their head saying "i dont wanna know". How others are more interested in what happens in the world of celebrities and dont grasp what a LARGE, tragic number, ninety two people is. How seemingly many americans are only interested when people die in their own country.

Or, to be fair, how newspapers in my country are already exploting this carnage. To create a tragedy, or worse.

An infamous and yet extremely well paid and important editorialist for an italian newspaper, after failing to tag the shootings to islam has written a piece, today, that accuses the Oslo victims of being "Spineless kids, unable to react, too enamoured with their utopias to actually avoid death".

Some have actually agreed, commenting how the Norway Utopia was "too peaceful", "too docile", "too idealistic" and how armed citizens could have prevented this. So we're at the point of accusing a damaged nation of being pussies because they reached an ideal state of living before one of them decided, in the name of "god", that blood had to be spilled.

I dont understand. And i say "no comment".

sabato 23 luglio 2011

Music For Your Pockets: Pearlene "Murder Blues & Prayer"

This record is from the ancient year of 2003 but it just came back up on my player and melted my heart into a tasty chocolate puddle, so you have to give it a spin.

Havent heard about these guy's late doings in a while. I know they pur out some other (excellent) records but last one was from 2008, if i'm correct.

Anyhoo, their sound is pure, amazing, tasty, warm and joyous Blues Rock. Think Of The White Stripes (but with an actual band), The Black Keys, The Raconteurs or more classically Rolling Stones, Cream, Yardbirds, John Lee Hooker, BB King.....

Its blues with a rocking edge. With balls, a heart and musical skills. And a voice that sounds like caramel coated awesomeness. Dont even think twice try this one out.

Take a Bite

This isnt this album (it's from their 2008 one) but it's the only available video and it gives you an idea

venerdì 22 luglio 2011

I Know You Are But What Am I

Everytime i try to explain this part of my psyche and my life, someone, usually a lady, comes up and sass me out.

Yes i had and somehow still have body issues. Yes men do have those. Yes, i know girls are constantly judged for their looks for their whole life and fight with self hatred about their image daily. I know that. I'm not denying or complaining. I never complain that i or ingeneral, men get it worse. And i'm certainly not one of those men who brag to possess some weird empathy towards the problems of women. All i'm trying to say is that i had a time in my life where i hated my body so much i wanted to destroy it and that is still there somewhere. SO i might not understand the plight fully, but i have an idea.

When i did my first Stage work at a local newspaper, i met a young man who was smart and weird looking. He had a good job there, was respected and almost admired by the other writer. Still he always was plagued by stuttering, tics and a weird awkwardness. And he looked like a skeleton covered with rubber. He was in his twenties but looked like he was forty. I learned afterwards that he was plagued by anorexia. I remember clearly thinking how anorexia seemed ridiculous to me and definitely something stupid for a man to have.

I always was quite chubby. Not obese, but definitely armed with a protruding belly. Some of my parents didnt really care about that when i was a kid. Well, obviously, with the exception of my grandmother, who loved to tell me "you look like you're pregnant". Yet she always loved to describe how grotesque looking i was, trying to slam every sort of corrective thing on me since i was a tot, with reactions of anger from my mother.

Growing up, i became even more awkward about my appearance. I hated everything about the way i looked: my glasses, my belly, my hair (or the following receeding of em), my teeth (and the fact that i couldnt stanbd to wear braces). All those facts summed with my personality traits who were fighting against each other while i was rocketing through growing up.

Girls didnt really like me. Mostly cause i was lacking confidence.

Then i discovered metal, clothes, tribes. I let my hair grow, i became a type. I got a few more girls. But i still felt a bit fat.

One day, the love of my life, a girl i had feeling for since i was 15 and courted for years to finally be with her and almost get to the point of marriage, broke up with me brutally. That crushed my heart in a serious way for the first time. I had loved and left but i hadnt been abandoned by someone i wanted to be for my whole life yet.

After that, all my issues about how i looked exploded. I started changing appearance, hair colour, spent tons of money on clothes. And i felt fat. Always too fat.

My mother isnt a bad person but she is also a person who has no empathy or softness and she got worse with drinking and disappointments. So, after i stopped being a "son", a "child" to her eyes and became an adult that could be treated the same way she treated everyone else, she started telling me how obese i looked. Did not matter that she was in a much worse shape than me. I obviously could not tell her that. But she loved to call me "faty slob". Tell me how i was "becoming worse looking every time". How "No one could love me" because, yes, of my bad temper and my lack of real goals in life but also because i was so bad looking.

So i started eating less and less and exercising obsessively. etaking stuff that stopped the appetite. Legal stuff no amphetamines or ephedrine, butr everything close to that was game. Add that to the fact that my manic state was popping up for the real first time in ages, blasting my body chemicals in a way that simply ate me up and i became a skeletal mass of tense muscles.

And while looking kinda good, i was still so completely gone in my perennial quest for physical perfection in order to have unattainable love, that i wasnt neither sexy or confident.

I had a lot of life experience, but instead of helping me, it broke me more. I was skippin g meals, taking lots of drugs, exercising like a maniac, and making the panic slow down with booze and tranqulizers.

Of course, i cracked.

When therapy and mood stabilizers came up, i bloated. The stabilizers make you grotesque looking, without a sex drive and with a grey puddy brain. I doubled my weight in a few months. I did not really care. Mother still called me fat and others did too. But chemistry allowed me not to think about it. It wasnt even food. I just became an emotionless blob, with no thoughts or fear or taste or love or anything. I still hated my body, but my brain didnt create the feelings that came withj the hate and helped me get over it. i threw away all my cool skinny clothes. Whatever. It was the bottom.

Then i started getting off of those meds and bgecoming normal again. I ate normally, had sex again and tried to develop an appearance i liked.

Suddenly i started looking good cause i felt good. I felt so good and at peace in my own body, with a mind that was finally in sync with it that i posed naked and posted pics in a contest. And i felt amazing while doing it. I liked myself and i felt powerful.

Still, whenever i meet my family, they call me disgusting. Only now i really dont give a shit. I'm a stuuuuuuuuud! Love machine.

mercoledì 20 luglio 2011

He Was A Friend

I am having trouble grasping the real fundations of friendship, lately. Not in the usual, whiny way that seems to curse the modern emo youth, with people questioning what a "true friend" is about. I am just realizing that i might lose an importanrt person in my life, one that i let go out of lack of attention and now is fighting against a black hole that might as well suck him in. And i dont know what to do to hold on to him. And mostly, as the cowardly sentimental and passive person i am, i'm plagued by memories. And i have a werird realtionship with memories. For a lot of people, memories are a good thing, a source of strength and emotion. To me they're just something that crushes me. I need to forget good things, or i'll start regretting and thinking about what i did not do, about what i dont have anymore. About what has gone and wont come back.

While thinking about this, in a weird cinematic moment, i was watching my neighbour's dog, an annoyingly loud German Shepherd.

And i started thinking about the past.

My parents didnt like dealing with my father's relatives. They were all bad, obnoxious people, spreader of false rumors, passive aggressive bastards who loved to start wars even on the smaller topics. So whenever i was brought to my grandmother's summer house in the mountains, my parents went there, had a fight and left me alone with my relatives for the rest of the summer. So i can take some fresh air.

Up there, growing up, i would've learned how my parents were despised. No one had any issue about bad mouthing them in front of me. My grandmother loved to tell me every day how her son, my father, was a loser and a bad person that married an even worse one. And how i was just an undesired guest there, so i should just shutup and make myself invisible.

It was painful at times. When years passed and i became an adult, i would start talking back. And things would change. But when i was a kid, i couldnt do much but cry in silence, try to call home asking for help that i wouldnt get and wait to run away.

I dont have many good memories from that early times. But looking at pictures, i always see a couple that kinda strike a nerve: the ones with me and a good looking German Shephard named Pablo.

Pablo was my uncle's dog. Pure bred German Shepherd. His fur was shiny, he was strong, athletic, fierce. He was an old school dog that could chase down criminals and slash their throat if he wanted to. He had a gentle female companion named Rya. Rya was a submissive dog. She never barked much, she had gentle eyes and was all cuddles and tail wagging.

My uncle loved to abuse those dogs, whenever he was angry. He generally kicked Rya like she was a sack of potatoes, mercilessly. But not Pablo. Pablo growled back and showed his fangs. He was a great guard dog and a terrifying one too, so even if he undermined his "master" 's authority, he survived cause he did what he was supposed to do. Although my uncle hated him.

In the Summer house, when i was a tiny, chubby, sensitive thing, Pablo took care of me. I hugged this giant wolf like dog. Played with his tail, ears and paw. He licked me, let me ride him, protected me. He let me fall asleep next to him. There's pics of that.

I dunno why. Pablo roared towards everyone. Rya was a gentle dog and everyone could touch her. But Pablo was a warrior. Except with me. Something in my rotund appearance made his dog heart love me.

I grew up and became less soft but also more scared. The mindfuck of my father and my relatives was starting to dig holes in my head. I was a nervous kid.

One day Pablo tried to play with me and he made me land, hitting my head and scaring me to death. Of course that was enough for all the cuntry relatives. The chanting began:

"He's dangerous"

"He couldve killed you"

I believed them.

Pablo was locked into a secured area and i never reached him again. I was even scared to see him. He just stared at me with those intense eyes and i ran away.

Years went by.

One summer i went to the house and Pablo wasnt there anymore. Neither was Rya. The only dog there was their kid, Pisolo, a wild headed doggy who caused more trouble then them combined.

I asked what happened. During the year, Rya had died of some dog illness. They didnt even try to cure her, she was too far gone. Pablo, between that and the age, became aggressive and a bit gone in the head. He started attacking people way more. So one day, while my uncle was cleaning his courtyard, Pablo tried to bite him.

My uncle, who probably had waited that moment all his life, had Pablo put down.

I dont remember feeling bad or crying at the news. I had forgotten those times. I was over them.

Actually now its the first time i recall them.

One forget the good friends, until they're gone.

martedì 19 luglio 2011

A Special Post: Trainwreck In Sarasota "The Narrow Escape" - A Review

I've been lucky enough to put my brabby paws on an unreleased copy of Trainwreck In Sarasota (the solo project from musician Rob Livolsi) and i have to share this little diamond in the rough with you all.

If any of you want to get a taste of Rob's style, you should definitely grab his first EP "Something To Call Your Own", through the link at the bottom of this article. Its available for FREE, although it would be nice if you donated something to a talented musician that is trying to get his stuff out.

But, even more important, interest and support in his early (great) work will help him release officially the BEAUTY that is his new set of songs.

His sound is still deeply rooted in the tradition of neo folk/acoustic singer/songwriter material. What you can hear in the new songs is his guitar and his voice. But the level of skill and simple magic he acquired in the time that has passed between his early songs and this new stuff is something that words cant describe.

His guitar skills is incredible: simple, confident, mature. Differently from a lot of "troubadours", Rob doesnt rely ona few simple chords to get at your heart. He PLAYS and puts his soul in every single note. A few songs are instrumental and the absolute beauty of the sound of Rob strumming the chords, exploring a melody, getting in your soul and talking to you in the language of his guitar had my heart race.

I've been going through a bad run, lately. Life hasnt been nice to me, but listening to Rob, simply baring his heart through his instrument, made me feel different, better.

And when he sings, he sings through the heart. he sings about life and emotions and makes them relatable. But he also reached a power, a crisp quality to his voice that elevates hi òlyrics to poetry. Its like hearing Drake, Uncle Tupelo, Bon Iver, but rooted in reality and simplicity.

Possibly, this EP, is the most shiny example of how simple music, played from one heart to another through a set of notes and words, can strike chords that not even the most sophisticated piece of literature can.

I dont know how, or why, but i teared up. And wanted to listen to it all over again. Trust me, do yourself a favour and get his music. Help him out and youll be rewarded with magic.

lunedì 18 luglio 2011

Why There Is No God Or If There is, It's a Sadistic Cunt

I come from a catholic upbringing. All my family has been catholic to various degrees. Where my mother has always been extremely religious but also strongly against the pious comunity of church goers, my father and the whole line he spawned from was all strongly rooted in extreme catholicness.

Since my mother was an orphan and kept to herself, i was often left to the other side of the family for my upbringing. I was surrounded by a lot of nuns and priests and brought up with the obsessive idea that god wasnt a loving father but a supreme being that watched your every single move, judhed you and mercilessly punished you at the first sign of defiance, mistake, sin or even at the thought of sin.

The nuns told a series of anecdotes that portrayed god as a vicious father who crushed his children with more malevolent hatred than a warlord. And priests who sermonized on how being ill or poor was a way that he had to show his disgust at us.

I remember growing up and starting to avoid the church more and more, seeing how cruel the people there were, believing that i could have a belief like the one my mother had: intimate, strong, quiet and powerful enough to give her something to hold on to in life.

And i remember my grandmother, a vicious cunt of a woman who had piss and venom in her vein and a heart made of coal and rotten shit, saying: "Remember this moment when you will be sick and begging for god'shelp, cause thats when he will ignore you and laugh".

Then i became insane and started devloping manias about god. I thought that i was suffering cause i was a sinner. I tyhoughgt repeating prayers in an ocd way, enever failing, would stop my mother from drinking, my father from being cruel, me from suffering and hearing screaming voices in my head. I had to pray, to believe and never fail cause he was there and judging me.

Then i realized that he wasnt. Life happens. Death happens. I became an atheist. although i had some doubt.

A man with creativity and hopes, with dreams and talent fights for years, sacrificing his time and his relationships to get to this goals. He manages to reach his dreams. He has the woman of his dreams, they love each other. He has everything he always desired. They have a child, healthy and perfect.

Then he gets diagnosed with disease. A bad one. He will have to fight for his life against something that is eating him up from the inside. His child might lose him, his woman too. I want to be there and i have to but i let things roll over. It makes no sense that something like that would hit him at this moment.

A girl with dreams, with an agile body and a huge heart and a life full of promise gets a disease that destroys her ability to be independent, to dance and to be the butterfly she is. It crushes her body but saves her soul so it can witness her own slow demise. Theres hope but its such a long road and all the good comes from people.

Not from the sky. The sky is silent. Fuck your god, fuck your faith and fuck everyone who believes in it and prays and hopes. Whats fair ina young father having to fight for his life so he can see his child grow? Whats fair in a dancer that needs medicines to walk? Nothing.

There is no god, theres only people.

I dont know if thats good or bad but i wish things made sense. And they dont.

sabato 16 luglio 2011

The I Tried To Live

I dont really love my birthday.

It's not because of age, or because i had some traumatic experience on it or for some weird tearjerking emotional reason. It's just that... well.

I guess, that if i had a family, as in a wife and kids, maybe things would be different. But, for many reasons, i dont. So to me this day always ended up as a bit of a disappointment.

Partying up with friends always ended up with me offering beer after beer to people. I distinctly recall one night, when i was reaching twenty. Back then i already had a hole the size of a tate in my heart. I wanted to feel what it was like to be celebrated. And since i wasnt really familiar with being really loved by a lot of people, i thought it would be cool to buy them with something. So i paid a shaeful amount of money, which i should've spent on smarter stuff, to pay them all the drinks they wanted. It was fun, we got drunk, i got a lot of alcoholics giving me their blessings. Not sure if they knew me. I got laid. Nothing really interesting came out of it. I got a hangover. And then i was back to life.

That was the template for many many birthdays to come. Lots of parties that were damaging to health and left as quickly as they came. Lots of expectations that really did not gop anywhere. A constant feeling of "this day has to be perfect because it's special", followed by self selusion on how "well it was great" and then by a realization on how it was not.

When it came to loved ones and partners, gthey tried. They all loved me and wanted to do great things. I love them all for what they did. But life goes on anbd relationship fade. So while i have memories of wild passionbate nights or kisses given at midnight to celebrate one more year of me on this earth, they drowned ina lot of tears wjen hearts got broken.

And then thje dark years whhere i barely knew what happened.

Or the days where i realized most people were barely rememebering what day it was. I dont blame them, i did not remember theirs either.

It's the expectations that kill me. People always talked to me on how birthdays are supposed to be the most special day of the year and, while some of mine were, most of them werent.

I always feel the next one will be the greatest and then i remember i have a broken family, that i have been in and out of relationships for years, unable to stay on one, that i am almost forty and still have a lot to accomplish or simply do.

And every year i reflect on things that havent gone well. It's not out of some "emo" tendency, its my nature. I remember time is passing and things havent gotten easier. Organizing parties is harder and harder, i dont really have the money or the sheer will to get all the people in one place. It's not worthy to me.

And yet, between last night and today i remembered one thing. At this moment my life is special. yes, my family is still shattered. Yes most of my friends in daily life have drifted or are just differrent from what the expectations are. Yes, not everything is good.

But i have one special gift. Some people who really love me. We have oceans apart, we cant hang out tonight but we're closer than ive ever been to other people in my life. And they think of me, their heart is close to mine everyday and my days are filled with great moments thanks to them. And they make 33 years worthy.

So yeah, happy birthday, indeed.

giovedì 14 luglio 2011

Death By Silence

There's so many bad things inside of my body and my head at this moment, it's like being possessed by all sort of demons.

After years of self abuse, and being still addicted to some meds, my stomach was the first thing to go. It hurts almost constantly, twitching and spasming, too mistreated to get over the side effects of anything, from a cup of cofee, to nerves.

And my head is so messed up, usually at its worst in the morning, its really hard not to deisre stuff i shouldnt desire, a lot of the time.

Yet, one of the thing that is poisoning me the most, is silence.

I've got my large side of insults and screaming in life, i still get a lot of that. My mother is an alcoholic, my father is a venomous man. I had abusive relationships. Bad friendships. I got a lot of horrible stuff said to me and i said my share of stuff. I have an anger problem which turns me into a demon sometimes, wanting to hurt the other person with the worst words i can find, sometimes without even an actual reason. But what hurts me in a way that i cant even describe, is silence.

I know that sometimes, things are better left unsaid. I know that people need time and space to recollect their thoughts. I know that soemtimes one just doesnt want to speak or feels like it isnt the right time to do so. Or simply, sometimes theres nothing to say.

Yet be aware that few things destroy another person as much as silence. In relationships, in friendships, even during troubled times. It seems like something recurring in most people of a certain type (not sure what type iot is), to shut down and leave things unsaid for the highest number of reasons. And, again, it's understandable, most of the time.

But still, remember this: everyt time you leave a message, a text, a question unanswered and put a wall between you and a person, you kill them in a very painful, slow, torturous way.

You think you might be doing good, or you just dont care. You might be doing it on purpose or justr did not think abvput what you were doing. It happens, sometimes one just lets things run away, since its a bad time. But what you do not say, is made up into their heads.

When you want to put distance between you and a person, just tell them to fuck off. It's nasty but it's less cruel. Silence is monstruous on a whole different level. Is a poison that trickles in a person 's soul and slowly corrodes them, hurting with every drop. I die every second bie a thousand cuts to my heart when that happens. It doesnt create closure, it doesnt make things better. I dont care if you're more comfortable with that way, if you ever cared for someone, do not do this to them.

And if you're ill, or in a troubled time SOEAK to the ones that love you. Do not shut off. I know you might just not wanna think of that at the moment or just dont care. It's understandable. But whatever youre going through, it wont be better if youre alone. Just say a few words. People who love you wont be annoyed. Even a short sentence will be enough. They need to hear that so they can be there for you. Sounds weirdly selfish but its all thjat holds things together sometimes.

Leaving things unsaid is cruel and cowardly. Doing it is the worst way to destroy a person. It's more mean than any mean word and drives people insane. Trust me.

mercoledì 13 luglio 2011

Cool Things Happen To Cool People (Sometimes)

Sorry for the picture. Not cause it contains the word "fuck" (which is a beautiful word and sounds awesome), but because it might give you an idea that this is one of those "group hug" posts that a lot of bloggers out there do. And i aint like that.

It's just a good moment, alothough not for me, but i'm made in a weird way, so i enjoy when something great happens to someone i love much more than when it happens to me.

Anyway, lately, as you could imagine, things havent been good. They still arent. Shit is still hitting the fan. Yet i learned from my princess Rhian, who's been fighting down to the skin of her teeth with the beastly sickness called lupus (an illness that affects a disturbing amount of people and is brutally ignored by media and people alike) that good and quite BIG news are on the horizon: Canada (making a move that will soon be followed by other countries).

Quote from This Article

"For the first time in almost 50 years Canadians living with lupus have a new treatment option. Health Canada has approved BENLYSTATM (belimumab), a new drug specific for the treatment of systemic lupus erythematosus (SLE, or simply lupus). The announcement was made today by GlaxoSmithKline Inc. (GSK) and Human Genome Sciences (HGS) who are developing BENLYSTATM under a co-development and co-commercialization agreement entered into in 2006. BENLYSTATM is expected to become available to patients in Canada in September of this year"

Now before you go all snarky about it, because you think attention should be given to "more important" issues, like the always popular AIDS or the oldie-but-goodie Cancer, remember that this is actually a sign that somewher, somehow things are moving forward. It means that in some way, the system has chosen to try something new and try to fight, instead of giving up on ill people and simply giving them a bunch of palliative cures or ignoring them all the way. This is a step UP, it means there is hope for people fighting with an invisible and devastating illness but also for everyone who is fighting with any illness. It means things are, maybe, changing for GOOD.

Of course there will be hate and cynicism, even in front of that. talk of money, and the cost of research, talk of "my thing is the most important". Also the cost of the medicine will be prohibitive. But it's a step forward, it means there's a glimmer of hope and we have a reason to fight. Also against whoever is telling ill people and the ones who love them, that they should be silent or just give up. There is still hope, and with that hope, we will buttfuck you all until you bleed.


martedì 12 luglio 2011

I Got The Spark But What Of It?

I am not one that brags about his only creative ability, which in my case is writing. I dont consider myself gifted or talented. What i do possess is an overloaded brain and the major way to put my thoughts to rest is putting them into words. Also, since i am a person obsessed by music, almost to a pathological point, i used my writing to actually share the interest towards bands and things i love.

In simpler terms, i am a hyperchatty, ADD riddled spaz who uses a keyboard to give a tangible and stable form to his constant stream of ideas, thoughts, obsessions, so my brain doesnt collapse (again).

So that brings me to a point ive been pondering lately. A good number of people have been asking me for articles, reviews or any other written piece for their webpages. And that brought me back.

If you have a creative impulse (and all of you have one, you probably just have to find it) or a particular creative talent or passion, theres a bunch of ways you might find yourself using it:

- You might create as a therapy, as a way to heal your wounds or let the flow of your thoughts out of your head.

- You can create because the spark is there and whenever you do it, the spontaneous emission of that special feeling is like nothing else in the world. Everytime you make something, where a piece of you mutates and becomes something tangible that can be shared, your heart and head get in a spot that no one can understand if they never did it.

- You can create because you want to have something to show people. Everyone likes attention, even if they deny it. Everyone loves to be appreciated for what they do, especially for what they created. So there's always a bit of narcissism in every creative person.

That last bit, added to the general need for money or material for your working Resumé is what drives a lot of people in the sad world of going "pro".

And that's where a lot of hearts get crushed. Personally, writing professionally was a big diappointment to me. being a journalist hardly gets you any money, takes up a lot of time, has you facing the mertcurial requests of labels and musicians (who basically think of you as either a leech or a puppet that has to obey their orders) and has you hated by the public. It gives a bunch of small pleasures, especially if you're young, but it also has a high chance to destroy your passion for writing and what you're writing about.

Writing a novel. Aye. I published only one book, in a limited way, and put a lot of effort in the promotion department. Had interviews, press conferences, spots. And being a depressed mess, i didnt even enjoy it at the time. But the money spent in it, and the scarce feedback, the realization that becoming famous or making a living of it, was deifnitely a Utopia or simnply a road so long and tough that i just didnt have the guts to ride it, kinda made me run away from that.

It's similar when it comes to music, art or whatever you got: it's hard to make big money out of it. Almost impossible. It can be done, but the way is paved with people that will suck the passion out of you, disappointments and dead ends. Still the good times are worth the pain. If i had to do it all over again, i would. Differently maybe, more wisely. But then again, i would kill to have that reckless enthusiasm again.

I dont know if i can do it again, since i'm dry and tired. But if youre in it, DO NOT give up. EVER.

lunedì 11 luglio 2011


In about five days, i will become thirty three. It's a weird moment to enter my (as my friend ViVi called it) "Jesus Year". I dont consider it as a particularly spoecial birthday, but my head is feeling the changes around me strongly, these days.

I have goals, some of which i attained, most i didnt. When i was twelve, i thought i'd be married with children at this age, witha strange career. I thought i would've been an "adult". I am and adult, ive been one for a while, but i am not married, i dont have kids and i'm not really succesful. Does that mean i'm a failure? I keep thinking that some things can still be done in the future, i can still have kids one day and lòife still gives me daily surprises. A lot of times i feel stuck ina rut, not going anywhere.

A few days ago, a person close to me learned about some serious health issues that will have to be dealt with. Our relationship had gone very sour before this and what happened set a weird light on things.

He has children, little ones, and a wife, that will have to face the possibility of eventually loosing him, if things go bad. He has a whole series of projects on his shoulders, he invested himselves in aqlmost tot the point of erasing himself. Suddenly he realized some issues had to be checked and he discovered that he should've done it earlier. Now his body might fail him and his world might pop.

I used to share evrything with him and i let that go. Now i cannot recover what i lost and i cant even think clearly about what i could say to a person i used to love, before my own black soul got in the way, who now is facing the possibility of pain and leaving a family behind. I dont know how to "be there".

I always thought i could deal with things like illness, since my father fell ill three times and i dealt with it, maturely. I always thought "Being there" and "having balls" was the key. But sometimes things escape that notion. What do you do when the situation is so evil, that your "being there" is almost pointless. What do you do when what's happening might be so bleak that everything you might do would be pointless. Do you just accept it?

I just know that ive been letting thigs happen for a long time, thinking that was the right way to do, now i'm gonna be thirty three in a few days and a person i called brother might not be there next year. And a lot of things are also changing. Babies are born. People are dying. And i'm here, not really going anywhere cause i have been waiting too long.

If i diappeared, would anyone really notice? Do i have any point in this whole thing? Or have i burned too many bridges to defend myself so now if i die, i die alone?

Weird Monday Thoughts. Ah well.

domenica 10 luglio 2011

Whenever I Wake Up....

Last night i was feeling something inside of me wasnt in the right place. I wasnt in pain or depressed but it felt like a seed was getting planted. My whole body was aching and dripping with a weird negative vibe. It was one of those moments when staring at the world around m, gave me back a denaturated feeling, like everything i watchede filtered through a greasy lens and lost colour and edges. It was like feeling slightly ill and nauseous about everything. Knowing how things work, usually, that would probably mean my brain was warning me that it would've been soon time for a "downer", which is, chemically speaking, when my brain stops producing what it needs to feel "right" and just becomes dead, grey and inert.

Still, who knows. I just went out and treid to get distracted. It worked to a point, i amanaged to resist the strong urge i fell on those times, which is to drink myself into an alcoholic oblivion. I knew that if the bad thing was about to happen, the symptoms of a hangover would've made it suicide worthy (and i'm not using the word lightly).

The night ended quickly and uneventfully as it often does in thopse cases, Those nights havent been really "fun" or "memorable" in years. I guess it's my fault: i am so focused on surviving and getting to the n ext step that i forget to enjoy myself. And i keep thinking, when really i should just let my brain die.

Later, i took one pill too many, as usual, and i slipped into LaLa Land.

And i dreamed. And for once the dream was vivid and strong and full of colour. Real.

I was in love in that dream. I felt it. I can barely remember hoe it feels during my actual life, i havent allowed my heart to love completely in a long time. But in that dream it was strong and powerful. This girl was my life and even looking in her eyes made me feel like meltin'. We were giving each other dreams, thoughts, and ways to express our love through each others' eyes and lips. We could feel the warmth of each others skin speak better than anything we could ever say in words. She was my life. And i was hers.

I was sent to war in this dream. I knew i would die, cause it was inevitable. And yet i went to my own death knowing i would do anything to survive just to give this girl the hope to see me again. Thinking in the midst of pain and hate and fear about how her body felt under my touch so i could become stronger and face anything.

Then i woke up.

The house and the bed are empty.

It's hot. My cellphone has texts from someone i met the other night. I dont really know who they are and i dont care. They dont love me, i dont love them.

Nobody in the world really acknowledcges my existence. I feel nauseous and my head hurts. I could not move from the bed and slip into a coma. Go back to dreams and forget i am getting close to being broke. that i am lonely cause i make myslef so, cause i am not able to be in any other way anymore. Cause the only way i can make my heart beat is in dreams.

What if i just did that? Would anyone notice?

I made Pesto for lunch. Its still there, i didnt eat it.

sabato 9 luglio 2011

Music For Your Pockets : Tame Impala "Innerspeaker"

Unless you're an empty sack of flesh who pretends to be human in order to get free meal coupons, you will have to agree with this: discovering a band that sounds like they were made EXACTLY for you, is awesome. Possibly, one of the greatest feelings on this planet.

As i said, unless you're one of thoise sad, empty, soulless beings who consider music as something to fill silence on a commute, you have felt that at least once. There was a band you discovered that touched all the right spots, pushed the right buttons, had that sound you really loved and wanted to hear. And let me tell you one special bit of news, that might improve your life for the days to come: there's always a new band out or yet to be formed, that is there just to get at your heart. You just have to find them yet. Speciual music is like speical people: even when you think you will never meet someone like that boy or girl that mnade you feel amazing, theres still someone out there who will. Actually, they'll make you feel BETTER.

I did not know anything about Tame Impala. A freidn dropped their name, talking about a future live show, and describing them as the possible "Next Big Thing". A quick search on the interweb made me realize that i might have missed something serious and showed me how these australian fellas were being adored like the new demi gods of old school rock.

Usually that means hype, and hype is a lie. But in this case, the band IS a miracle. Think of the best of slightly psychedelic rock from the sixities and seventies. Think early Beatles, Pink Floyd, The Who, Grateful Dead, Rolling Stones, Beach Boys, The Byrds..... Think melodies that sound like they were born from a magical hart and drowned ina hjeartwarming cup of chocolatey fuzz and reverb with a strong dose of LSD and joy.

Think tunes that stick in your brain like glue but also long, trippy peaceful jams that make you feel like slightly shaking your head and dancing with a bunch of friends at sundawn, qhile the guitars wrap you up in a ball of awesomeness.

Get this one, even the special edition. It's a collector piece!

Take A Bite

venerdì 8 luglio 2011

Count To Three And Shut The Fuck Up

Ok, i admit, today anger is galloping inside my head. I'm sorry the chemicals who manage my brain apparently decided today was the right day to unleash the piss and vinegar, so the best thing for me, is to use this place as an outlet. Still, i know some of you understand my feelings and in some cases even share them. So, lets doa gorup hug, while stomping our feet. (well that one might be this summer's new co0ol thing, who knows).

Have you ever grown tired of some specific sentences? I dont mean that in a "ugh i cannot hear that phrase anymore, iuts so stupid" way. I mean some words you cannot bear to hear anymore because you stopped believing in them or you feel, they're getting said with increasing lack of heart, sincerity or meaning.

It's weird ho0w feelings and important things are either never said these days, or said too often. Something has broken inside our collective hearts and turned us all into numb people who do not say things until it's too late, or say them so often they lack anyn reality or substance to them.

I'm Sorry

I think i know maybe one or two people whoi have a heart big enoujgh to contain enough feelings and emotion to actually feel sorry and apologetic enough to really mean it when they say it. But the others utter this phrase as some sort of weird, pointless patch to put over broken fellings, gaping mistakes or just as a way to get over a bad moment while still having to say something. If someone close to me is suffering, if i'm going through a hellish period, you dont have to say youì're sorry. Maybe you are, maybe youre not but dont feel the need to say it. If youre one of the good ones, i know you are. That is also why i choose ypou top be part of my life. because youre real and you have feelings. So you dont really have to say things like that. And if you're not close to me and you really dont care, shut the fuck up. No you're not sorry. You do not give a shit about the paiun that's going on. You are just saying that because you need to say something so you cxan get out of this moment thats making you feel bad. Just shut up.

And if you hurt me, or someone you love, saying you're sorry wont fix anything. Show how you want to fix your mistakes with actions not words. Make things better. There's no amount of "sorry" that will fix the hole you'll feel inside of you, the mountain of guilt and shit, once the ones you love are gone, one way or the other. And in the end, they'll all go away. And you'll think over and over about the mistakes you've made, and how all those "i'm sorry" didnt mean anything.

My father used to say, still does, "i'm sorry" after doing the most hurtful shit. Then did it a minute after. And if faced with the lack of logic of that, he just answered he wasnt really sorry. It was just the "right thing to say". It isnt. Everytime you hurt a loved one, you take something aweay, and it cant always be fixed. Just know that. You will nevert make some things better. It's how it is. So avoid the easy way out.

I love you

If it's supposed to be meaningful, then dont give this to everyone. A heart isnt an endless, limitless star that you can share with everyone. Again, some hearts are so big that they're almost endless. And those hearts can give and rtecive love until the end of the world. Yet, not every heart is that way. Most people abuse that word and the meaning it has. If you say to someone you "love" them, you have to mean it. You have to want to give your life for them. You have to want them to be a part of you. It doesnt necessarily have to be romantic, it can also be about friendship. But even in that case, you can enjoy someone's company, like them, be fond of them, but if you love them, it has to mean, you want their happiness more than you want yours. It sounds cheesy and maybe over the top, but its the utter truth. I do love some people. And i do want their happiness more than anything else, id give my life for it. But its a special thing and its something i dont share with everyone.

So i dont say it.

We're Friends

Yeah, i know you think you're a scoial creature and you think you can count anyone you interact with two times a year as a "friend" but the fact is, the real "friendships" are like real relationships. They're tough, uneasy, strange and they reward you with real feelings. I can have great friendship without having met the person and i can see a person every day without ever really feeling like we connected. Its chemistry, so use your words correctly.

Things Will Get Better

They might not, so hearing you say it liuke it's a fact makes me think you dont have your shit together. Bad things might keep happening and bad peoiple might keep doing what they do. Maybe trying to face the negativity and accept it is better than hoping for changes that will not come.

martedì 5 luglio 2011

Why, I Get Called A Mysoginist Pig

I have a bunch of views that seem to cause furious rage even between the most reasonable circles of people i have discussions with. As any person who loves to discuss issues with people and loves debate (which is seriously different from arguing or fighting, dont forget that) knows, triggers are different with everyone. Some people will blow off at the mere mention of race, others with religion, others with sexuality. Politics are genrally indifferent to most, after the great "meh who cares" epidemy of the nineties. Still, theres always a few topics that make people seriously angry, and will get you labeled wrongly even before you can actually explain your points.

An example is abortion. In some places more than others, but yet generally it is still a very controversial issue for most. No one seems to have a strong opinion on it and the ones that do are usually even hardert to talk to.

Yet, a topic that i always found very weird to discuss, as it creates some weird stances and hypocritical ones is prostitution. Honestly, i am not completely firm on my points but i believe in them.

I cannot accept the concept of prostitution and i am strongly against legalization, yet i realize that it's such a deeply rooted sickness that maybe that is the only possible way to deal with it.

I have interacted with prositutes, some of them even worked in the "red light districts" of european cities. As much as some girls or pseudo feminists will love to tell you how selling sex is the ultimate tool for female empowerment and how a high number of call girls have a great life and wouldnt do anything else, those girls only described repulsively awful scenarios. Even the most normal case usually involved a high percentage of sleaziness from the client part which gave me the creeps.

Now recently, in a discussion, this point was met with "you cannot use a few dramatic stories to stop the most ancient job in the world and people's right to buy sex". Fair, i think in the end it's impossible to stop it. Yet, i do not see buying sex as an exercise of freedom. Sex is something that happens between two consensual people, as a result of their interaction. As much as some morons love to poin out how picking up a girl in a bar is the same, it isnt. A hookup in bar is a mutually consensual decision between two adults to have a sexual interaction. A girl will hardly go with a guy that disgusts her (and viceversa, generally). Prostitutes hardly pick clients. Some say they do, but it's a myth. The most repulsive, vile person in the world know that if he has enough money, he will be able to abuse a woman freely for a fee.

That is also why prostitutes generally exist, to give the possiblity of sexual activity to people who wouldnt be able to get it anywhere else. Uf you ever go through a red light district, the regularsa are usually guys that those girls wouldnt even ask the time to, on a normal basis. Instead with the right amount of money these people can decidce what to do. It's rape, justified by money.

It is not empowering. The girls are just objects and considered as such. Any website where people write "reviews" for legal prositution outlets, describe the girls and acts as they were describing a piece of flkesh they're buying at a butcher shop. It's repulsive.

Pornography and strip clubs are not the same. Yes they're vile and degrading but when it comes to a porn movie, you're watching people who are having sex with each other and faking in front of a camera. Ona distorted level, it's still acting. The debasement is there but stops to a certain point. And Strip Clubs are full of rules and codes of conduct who kinda make the whole thing far less wrong. Although both of those cases are STILL degrading, i find the use of pornography less damaging as an exit for a potential rapist, rather than him abusing prostitutes.

And even getting rid of pimps doesnt save girls from a series of abuses. Theres a lot of lies about legalized prostitution. The sanitary coverage they get, is way less attentive than one would think. Most of the safety measures are put on by the girls of their own inititive and some of them will even skim over that when offered extra money by a scumbag. Lots of them have "unofficial" pimps, who stay out of their "rooms" and give them "protection" from dangerous people for a percentage. To that, add the fact that the state exploits everything it can exploit in the situation.

As it often happens, the ideal situation would work but the reality is as grim as the non-legal version.

All that said, i realize that it will never go away. Still, dont ask me to say it's ok. It isnt. Sex is supposed to be fun. Nothing's fun there, no matter how hard you lie to yourselves.

And that is why i've been called a mysoginist pig.

domenica 3 luglio 2011

It's Not Funny

Ok, this is basically one of my weird rants where i just unleash my increasing inability to understand people in a written form, so either bear with me or skip it.

A frequent reaction i get when i talk about my increasing belief in the fact that people and society are going through ana alraming mental regression and slowly becoming an army of irrational, destructive children with social disoreders is often a sentence in the lines of "well, you just met weirdos, most people arent like that".

Or "Assholes are just louder". Or "Your country is full of weirdos, we dont have those here (note: here can be any place, including any shithole country where weirdos are actually more than the normal people).

No. Sorry. If you're sane, you mi8ght want to convince yoursefl that things are actually nromal and that the incresing insanity and cruelty of people isnt an issue but you would be wrong. It's a FACT: humani9ty is getting to the end of the line. People are becoming increasignly irrational, insane and erratic. A small group of intelligent ones is advancing but somehow the deafening stupidity of the majority is destroying what's left of the society's sanity.

Let me give you a few examples:

1) A recurring link to a series of photos ios being posted on the web. In these photos the picture of a raw skinned rabbit, sold at a supermarket is being passed as a "fetus of a dead alien". Usually something like that would be stuff for trashy tabloids. Yet, the photos have been shown on a Science Themed Tv Show as "Potential Proof" of the existence of aliens. That happens too, no worry. Problem is that said video is being spread like the plague on the web. Some rightfully cynical people, addressed how ridiculous it was, in humorous manners and those people were burned at the stake as haters and non believers. I personally got accused of being a hate mmonegerer and of being unable to grasp the "conspiracy".

Wake UP. Aliens never landed on this planet. If it happened, it did aeons ago. There was no "Area 51". Most of the films are fake. That picture is a skinned rabbit. The governement, any governement, isnt hiding UFO's. There are no UFO's. The sightings of them are usually hoaxes. If there is life in the universe, we probably will never meet it.

Realize this: your life ON THIS PLANET has to make sense. Stop hiding your head in beliefs that involve a possible sci-fi future of meeting the unknown. Because even if it's there, you will NOT see it. So focus on the present and stop acting like shadows are faeries.

2) There is no god or afterlife. People dont have auras or souls. And yet, daily, i meet persons who come upw ith newly found faith in Spiritual nonsense. Rational people who start believing in angels, in bveing able to communicate with the dead, in being able to talk to god, in prayer. Or people who become part of new cults that believe in the "inner spiritual energy" of mankind. Lots of those are quick to say that traditional religions are silly, or that Scientology is insane but then give money to the cult of Baba-Yiji-Wahwah. "Hey the man did suddenly become a spritual guide after losing all his money gambling, but he seems to be so wise".

I lost powerful minds to the false security of spirituality.Think about it: what proof do you have that any form of spirtuality or unearthly manifestation might be true? Answer: none. All you have is feelings, and feelings arent facts. The only truth is tangible and no spirituality is tangible. There's no special souls, dead people are dead, no god, no afterlife, no mystical energy, nothing. We are flesh with impulses and we only have one shot at living-. That is what makes life spescial, that it's all we have. If we dont use this time, we wont have a second chance. So stop hding in fables which are just there to make you less afraid of death. Death is logical and natural.

3) I keep noticing how ex-idealists or people who craed suddenly become socially disgusted pricks who got a job, or money or enough comfort to quit having a conscience but instead of still caring about the world witha different point of view, sold themselves to evil. I get it, cumfarts, you realized that all politicians suck and you can afford not caring abvout anbything cause you have a large income and will never fight about anything again but that doesnt mean that people who have ideals or simply get angry because their country is treating them like crap are all stupid.

Recently, my country is going through a phase of trumoil who could possibly lead towards change (or not). While i dont side with all protests, riot or actions, i have a firm belief that anyone who feels wronged has more right to act accordingly, than a person whose only contact with the system is through Facebook. If you havent voted in years, and i dont care if you think you did it out of some social principle, it's a lie, you ahve no right to beliuttle the ones who believe in change. You cant make jokes on how you hope protesters get clubbed to death. You cant post on blogs how disgusted you are by people that are passionate on beliefs because you think "ideals are for morons". You cant just express how disgusted you are at your countr and how you lack any interest in it, cause if you live here (and even if you move), it's still YOUR COUNTRY and you owe it ATTENTION. If you dont care or your only feeling is anrk, disgust or hate, GET THE FUCK OUT.

Go to the US and see how beloved you are there, Guido.

sabato 2 luglio 2011

Music For Your Pockets: De Staat - "Waiting For Evolution"

If you are in the bunch of rock lovers whi know the band Queens Of The Stone Age and were disppointed in seeing them turn slowly but inesorably in a soulless hole of mediocrity, before putting out that epitome of "Meh" that was the super group Them Crooked Vultures, you owe to yourself to learn more about these Dutch fellas.

If uou never heard of the bands i mentioned, you're probably a martian, so i'll try to explain in terms your music hating martian brain understands.

De Staat play a take on rock thats very close to the one Queens Of The Stone Age were trying to pull off: a style that mixes everything and ends up creating something new. A bit of psychedelia, a bit of hard rock, a bit of grunge (god, i hate that word), a bit of funk, a bit of bouncey new wave rhythm.... A bit of everything and justa lot of creativity.

And De Staat definitely win in the creativity department. This album got them their breakout in 2009, with its weird sound mixture, their peculiar videos and some wildly insane live performances (for example, one with a steampunk -like robot drum-machine) and most of everything with their GREAT tunes that just get in your head and dont leave. They have another album out but this one is defnitely my favourite. Check it out, peasants.

Take A Bite

venerdì 1 luglio 2011

B-Sides : A Tale About Lost Hours

Every song has a B-Side.

It used to be that way, at least. for every sung story there was a nother one that got lost and a few remembered or cared about but that never really became important for the majortiy that ruled the logic of events or made your existence worthy cause they remembered it and talked about it.

In the end, most life were made of a few good songs and a lot of b-sides. Or like a large sheet of paper, covered in words and tales, where suddenly some took a lit cigarete and started burning holes. The holes took away whole sections of the story and while the pages went on, there were more and more h0oles. It still made sense to most, but who wrote the story knew that most of it was missing.

He used to think all days would matter. He lived every day to the bone. Even the inane moments had a strength to them that made them stick. He made mekories, whether it was through awkward times ina school builfding or with his early friends doing their first silly but unforgettable mistakes. or with his ealry girls, failing more than what he was achieving. Spending time with his family. Time that wasnt pleasant or good but stayed there.

Maybe it was hope, Maybe it was the fact that with so many years ahead, things were more maningful back then. He didnt realize it. All he did was live the days and dream of times where things would achieve. He hadnt known the taste of the bottom yet. The real bottom, the one thgat doesnt taste like tears but has a blank feeling that erases all taste and makes you forget what you loved once. That digs holes in your stories. that makes your time a b-side, while you start hating the main song.

The thing changed. As they always do. He started having to make decisions or let others make them for him. Go to school. Picka job. Choose if you wanna live or survive. Live your week waiting for the weekend to come so tyou can get shitfaced and feel like you really have feelings again. But all that happens is that those few days slip away and you're on monday again, waiting for the nest time.

It wasnt that good, lets hope next one is better. Maybe tomorrow things will be better. Dont loose hope, things will improve. Its almost saturday, we'll get drunk and forget this week. Its almost.

And suddenly it was all about moving forward. He lived the best parts in life withotu actually thinking about what was happening. And he didnt know that was what was happening. He loved and fucked and all he could think was "what will i do tomorrow?". "What will i do next?" "what if...".

And then it was gone. All went away before he started loving it. He4 became alone before he started realizing how beautiful thew times were. And the days started slipping.

Put sand, colourful, beautiful sand in your hands. It slips away. Calmly at first, then faster, and faster. Suddenly the hands are empty and you abrely remember how the sand looked like and how it felt touching it and feeling it. And the memeories fade, no matter how hard you squeeze your brain to keep them, they get eaten away from your soul as you die one second at a time.

And all you want is to at least feel again what it was like. You know you cant go back there, but at least remember. At least hold on to a day. but it slips while you're thinking.

He kept losing one day after the other and he didnt kno why. And they became years.

Things went away, people died.

He just blacked out cause being there was scary. Then he blacked out cause he forgot how to be there. Then he just wasnt there anymore. The black out was his life. And he was dead inside. No memories. Nothing left. Blank.

Someone told him that your life has a meaning in th hearts of the one who rememeber you. Yet nothing really si remembered. His father wanted to send him in the world as a man and failede. He never had children of his own

No one remembers who the fuck he was now.