ștefan, if you go to the pool can you bring me ozy's poop shovel? eeee, if you go to the pool nye nye nye… who the fuck asks for a sixty cents shit-scooper right after wishing you a beautiful life!, like in the movies, before you close the gate for the last time after five years…
i should be grateful she broke the spell. she used to say she's a witch anyway, ha. freedom!!! if she hadn't said that stuff, i'd still be floating in my swamp of confusion in sector five.
when i told florian at the memorial he was shocked, wait, didn't you break up last year? yeah bro, but it only hit me now, know what i mean? i was in another movie. with benone, the project, uber. the memorial was in february, lila moved out in september, and now it's june. took me a while, hahaha. but that's me, i get it slower…
i'm having a laugh now, it's been like eight months, two weeks, three days… and fourteen hours. but back then i didn't understand, my head was stuck up in some fat resin clouds, like the shitty air i swallowed on the scooter, teeth hurting, felt like eating metal.
so yeah, have a beautiful fuckin' life! is a pretty good ending. strong, positive, final, pathetic enough for a scene like that. leaves room for hello, politely, but it's still distant… no room for doubt, for hope that there's anything else to add to our table of contents, just another happy couple cleaning out the shit from the litter box.
poop shovel… that's how stories should end!!! not that hollywood crap, have a beautiful life, blah blah. credits don't roll until real life sticks its nose in with some line like that. what? everybody shits. even cats. why go downstairs, walk twenty meters to the pet shop and buy another one, when there's already a shovel with trash written all over it? yeah ok, i'll come bring it, it's not like i have anything better to do than walk a kilometre on foot, you know i care about turtles. who cares my heart breaks seeing you again and you loving someone else? not even waiting for the body to get cold, like stela said. well, what can you do if the girl's love doped? i even defended her…
shovel… we sip romantic dramas from the titty since we are babies, but there's almost nothing out there about the pragmatic shit, the stuff that fills the rest of life, the backdrop we exist on, about what actually ties us together. i say we need more break-up stories. about the need to not be together anymore. about how to suffer, how to live alone, not the same tired life only makes sense if i'm glued to someone else, half me half ick. we love, we buy shit together. we confuse love with hoarding. and then what? what happens with all the garbage that left? everybody breaks up and almost everybody divorces… do we drag it all into the next chapter? shove it in the toilet with the cat's poop?
real life… wtf is real life anyway? tall tales, ready or not, here i come, poop shovel in my hand, better run! ugh, we live in stories, frame-stories, smaller an' smaller bits, ready for content. contentable, ha. parents shoot our naked asses, good thing i got away without that silly pic, ha; they jot down the weirdest freakin' anecdotes in the back of their minds, wow, other kids were babbling and you were speaking two languages, walking, eating with your baby cutlery. fml, i peaked way too soon. they mix it all with memories from their childhoods, with other people's stories that happened who knows when. it's their fuckin' story, we're just supporting characters, a subplot that messed their script.
and they're supporting actors in other people's stories, picked up from thin air, a meagre crumb from the story of the world, of creation, of beginnings and endings, a grain in the infinite fucking' universe. i could fill the national library with how many times i heard you could write a book about my life, ok, i'll stop everything and get on it, ok?
fuck, what do you expect, when we always think we're the main characters, lint from the universe's belly button, framed proudly on ig?! we learn about truth, virtue, relationships from music, from books, from movies, as if those assholes know what love is. projections of projections of other people's stories about everything, limited by self-knowledge, by the ability to actually discover life, to filter this ocean of cringe content we're drown in since birth, have you renounced satan? how the fuck am i NOt supposed to be scared of death, scared of everything, when that's all i learn, twentyfourseven, on every channel? that i'm the navel of the earth, i must leave a mark, even if i destroy the planet in the process? that i, at any cost, must get away from the inevitable end? how do you fucking get away?
beginning, middle, ending. the only unbreakable rules. everything rest is stage managing fluff. the viewer doesn't care. cover my silence with something, 'til my time comes. someday even the universe will start shrinking until it disappears. and all the stories we clench to leave behind, all the noise we assault ourselves with nonstop, everything anyone ever thought will be replaced by total silence.
the noise of poverty. the chinese drop raised the power of twentythree. the noise of depression. the noise of sleep deprivation. the noise of illness. the noise of lost intimacy. the noise of a makeshift home, of paper thin walls, everyone can hear everything, the scratching of cockroaches, the squeaking of rats, the creaking of a rotten floor, the water running into a rancid dishpan, rain inside the house, arguments, water flushed out the window, cause there's no toilet to flush. the noise of parents who won't get some fuckin' sleep, the noise of children woken up too early. the noise of old junk. the noise made by the instant hit of sugar and caffeine, poison for cents, sold as an energy drink, fuel for one who has nothing to drink, at least the water in the energy drink is clean. hopefully. the noise of cops looking for trouble. the noise of the crowd, of the scandal, of the bad thing that can become worse in an instant. at any moment. the noise of the street, just one wrong step away. the noise of the cold. a hot heating wire in a concrete block, like steam under pressure, a hot pipe that can save you, the chattering of teeth that times how long you've left.
i wrap myself in layers and layers of noise, a cocoon of agitation and screams, lest i hear the silence, with its damn baggage. to forget myself. my whole life with the tv on, to cover up whatever i'm afraid of. no idle moment. my whole life on the phone, in notifications. my whole life buried in headphones, news, podcasts, i have to know everything, about everything. the artist's emotions? fuck that, anything to escape my own. to protect myself from myself. i have to know happening to everyone else, so i don't have to look at my own shit. i'm fine, yeah, sure, very fine. how are you? oh, i'm so sorry to hear. o, no, if it's quiet, my thoughts start to be heard, to control me, to scare me. too often i mistake myself with the thoughts i have. that's what i was doing, at least.
but are they even my thoughts? who am i, really? how do i separate myself from the tons of content i've stuffed my brain with since i was a kid? cichi cichi cichi :* aaaaa, hollywood, marketing, consumption, do a lot, fast, well, be the best version of yourself, first prize with a crown, i didn't get that one, one bad step could be your last, you only have one shot, why aren't you like your sister, choose wisely, eat your animal proteins, adidas torsion, don't die, recommended by doctors paid by the company, become a doctor, priest, soldier, you were wrong, shame on you, car, house, wife, whiter, brighter, celebrations with lots of gifts, what, man, you didn't fuck her, drink the best milk that destroys your heart, you flunkey, only eat beef from cows we execute after grazing them on real pastures, don't gorge on those we torment with corn they can't digest, life insurance, the best chocolate, surely without slavery, in what world do you have to remind me of that?!, the best vacuum cleaner, the newest shitphone, giro giro tondo, casca il mondo, buy, bale sugar from morning till night, study what we want, become the best version of me, man, guaranteed, stick it in, don't be a sucker, excessive consumption can be harmful to your health, extraordinary offer, car, house, wife, perfectly masculine, consumption of any kind is harmful, why isn't that clear?, casca la terra, for strong people, good will prevail, everything is a battle between good and evil, but it's all just empty talk, on the internet, whoever shouts the loudest wins, i have to learn to shout, let's all learn to shout, let's form shouting corporations with budgets the size of entire countries, continents, let's cover each other, a nonstop choir of shouters, at night, during work, on weekends and holidays, tutti giu pe' terra, we get involved, we revolt, political action, we block projects, we bring down governments, we change mayors, presidents, directors, mentalities, directly on the internet, so what if we fry the planet, we get cancer from barbecues, beer, cheese, eggs, polluted air, shit water and ninety-nine out of a hundred useless things we use anyway, never stop, big broccoli lies, our products are very good, excellent, our chickens, sheep, cows, pigs, our citizens listen to chopin on airpods, wearing balmain shoes, driving german cars, but not opels, what a sham, poor thing, we guarantee that we massage their temples before executing them, you can have anything in twentyfour hours, on the same day, instantly, free shitment, just give us some more bucks, your greed, what??? you want parks instead of developments? we'll sue you, we'll destroy you, we'll take everything from you, you'll die with us around your neck, we judge everyone, for everything, good is always confused with evil, if you exist, you can be judged, you deserve to be judged, you will be judged, don't worry, we pretend we know everything, but we have no idea, we waste our time finding out things that don't matter, everything we need to know is obvious, any idiot knew it thousands of years ago, but we are informed, we have the power, you have to buy now, quickly, the offer expires, don't be a fool, don't be a loser, come on, what are you doing, you still don't have credit, a car, a house, a wife, consumerist children, there's a time for everything, come on, what are you doing, you're wasting your life, is there a thought of mine?! that i haven't heard in a taunt, manual, film, story, ad, lecture, self-help book? is there anything in all this crap that comes from me? is there anything that truly represents me? i always think about the worst, i'm a mess, a loser, i have nothing, i know nothing, i want nothing, my whole existence is turning into waiting for the tragic outcome that i don't know how to cheat anymore. good will defeat me. fuck it, it's okay, at least if things don't pan out for me, i can play the victim, hey, look at me, stare at my shitty life nonstop an' you'll feel better, yay. congrats, zukkk, you saved us all.
heeeehuuuuuuu... insertin' my dick… i couldn't live in the city anymore, bro, i swear. i couldn't stand all the noise of that horror orchestra of consumerist existence, the background noise in which we live our scripted dramas, never able to hear each other, too much chaos, lethal pollution.
i... i always thought noise was just annoying, but now i realize it's unbearable. how it destroyed me...
silence, what a privilege... to hear it. space to think. without noise, it doesn't exist, hmm. or noise doesn't exist without silence, huh. they need each other, yin an' yang, silence is the sky that the planes we take to nowhere, to run away from ourselves, scream on. bahaha.
i'm still not used to being with it, accepting it. it's freakin' creepy sometimes. maybe it's the idea that after i die, everything is silence. that nothing exists anymore. silence and nothingness are almost identical, they have something... visceral, ancestral. silence allows me to connect with... dunno. nature, existence. everything. it relieves me of anxiety, frees up the mental space taken up by the permanent illusion of survival. it helps me identify real dangers. to connect with that authentic fear.
but when i feel it's too quiet, i rush to fill it, cover it with something, put a damn towel on yourself. usually, right after the last word was said, omg, do you want to say something else? sorry for interrupting you, sure, say anything, just don't be silent, please. it's easier to hide everything in loud music, endless parties, opportunities and events that don't budge our souls, people who talk all the time, cover everything, drugs, drugs, drugs, the shitphone that holds our hand after a day of work, maybe it's the only thing that we get attention from, haha, how sad, it gives us a dick... but that's how it is, it caresses my head before bed, i'm never alone, women, weed and weather, booze'n'pills for everything not working, for everything that could work better, why should i eat my veggies, fruit, i'm busy, i'll just order a burger, i always have something important to do, i'm in a hurry, don't have time, as long as i move i make enough noise to cover myself in the warm embrace of oblivion, an entire fuckin' symphony, like tramadol coverin any pain i no longer wanna feel, i don't even know if it's still there, god forbid i hear my body trying to tell me something, begging me for something, warning me about something, screaming for me to stop. as long as i ignore it, run away, as long as i'm always on the road, it doesn't exist. if i stop, i start to hear, to feel. the anxiety. the pain. the shame.
fuck, i'm ashamed most of the time. of things that happened in twothou'six, in ownine. i'm ashamed of something i thought about seven years ago, even though i never told anyone. i'm also ashamed of the thought that someone might hear my thoughts and laugh at me. what would benji say if he heard my thoughts? what would you say, cuz, if you could speak? hm? is it possible to die of shame? you'd prolly get cancer, a stroke, something. silly...
i'm really surprised i don't hear that voice whispering crap to me all the time anymore. maybe it joined a union, haha. long live the four-day work week! how the hell can you stay quiet when someone's putting all that nonsense in your head? i'd rather bang the music. i'd rather stick my head in all the parallel universes on my phone than let that voice sabotage any shred of confidence i've managed to build.
okay, the orchestra has arrived in my lil' hometown too, no one can go five minutes without a ride anymore, development, they say, progress, haha. but it's not so intense that it can knock me down, that i can't tune my instruments... not yet. the dog barking on a distant floor, a car door slamming behind the block, an opel diesel, a ford gasoline, someone getting ready to leave the house, the radiator popping under the pressure of the water, the hum of the refrigerator in the corner, the poorly grounded outlet crackling softly, the gas burning in the boiler, the water running on another floor, a vw diesel, what a smell... whatch'u have to do for complete peace and quiet? be rich? does anyone in the city have peace and quiet, fo' real? can you escape from the constant noise of unnecessary hustle and bustle, cars, technology depriving us of more and more movement, of more and more senses? just covering up the roar of blood in your eardrums when your temples throb with effort, the water moving under the pressure of your muscles, your rapid breathing, desperate to feed your tense tissues, when you climb three flights of stairs in the heat, that primordial sound, like in your mother's womb. how disconnected we are from ourselves...
man, my head hurts... the days fly by when i'm in the city. the first time i'm actually glad to be in that hellhole. okay, a few days. max. i had to move away to feel this. for years i was disgusted. when i saw the mushroom cloud hoverin above the place, i felt like returning to a radioactive motherfuckin' home, a masterful garbage dump, a girlfriend i wanted to dump ages ago, but didn't. for a while, that's what i actually did, ha...
i'm really glad, i know it's temporary, a little exposure to poison is a vaccine, ha ha. i like to take it slow, see what's changed... wait at the traffic lights, let everyone else go first, screw the ones behind me, breathe, bro, learn to be patient, who makes you drive around like crazy?! sit alone in a cafe. go out in my pajamas. being sad and have no one look at me, haha. just go for a drink and have no one recognize me, as if decades had passed; that's social life, in a few months years go by, in years, centuries, you become a stranger. sometimes a week flies by and i don't even notice, just hangin at my sis' crib, sleepin with hayan, no one even knows i'm in town.
smack, i shouldn't have left the plants in the car. who would've thought i'd stay so long? that frickin' joint, eh... two puffs did it for me. there's just no flooooow between us, girl. i slept in a week what i should sleep in a night. maybe i should have slept another day before getting behind the wheel... hm. i should be ashamed of myself for doing it again, i'm not twenty anymore.
also, i shouldn't have hit the road hungover, it wasn't a good combo... what was the point of pushing myself? there's no point in rushing. aargh, nothing makes sense. sometimes it seems like life would make more sense without me. inserting my dick in this hangover. i just stuffed those disgusting hotdogs in my trunk, for three shelves and a box of food bags, fuckin' kelso.
benji flaps his wings, he beats the drums, tucâtâcâ tucâtâcâ i grieve different i grieve different... those plates rattle too, eew. i don't even know why i call you benji, you're not a dog. ficus benjamina. benji fits better with this ugly teddy bear with a suction cup, lemme take it down. benji the bear. i don't know why i still have it. since i got this car, i haven't moved a single pebble. the same old italian music. same decorations. same dust. plus about six months of new layers, i just sprayed some water on the body. the whole car wash thing seems fishy to me, i swear, too many of them, man, everywhere... they just sprout like… mushrooms after rain, it's definitely some kind of laundering... absurd. what's the point? as soon as i wash it, it gets dirty again, wasting water we don't have.
that's what it's called. the plant. ficus benjamina. it would be a shame if it dried up completely. it didn't crack in the dark of the stairwell for so many years, it didn't crack in the dust of renovations, it didn't crack outside, in the cold, it didn't crack on its own in the attic, at mrs. skoda's, at hundred'n'four degrees, and now i'm fuckin' it up in just a few days, in this stupid heat wave? what, four days at ninetyfive? and it's only june. okay, it's nintyone in april nowadays, our house is going down the drain and we're happily hanging out in freaking five bucks a cup caffes. lucky i just changed the freon, i can pollute a little too, otherwise i'd be in a stove by now. ugh, i feel so sick, i would've thrown up by now. i think i have a slight fever.
the alocasia seems okay, good thing i wrapped it in this bag. the peace lilies will recover, as they have after every war, hehe. dunno about my copilot, the guy in the yellow tuxedo, yo, why you sitting there, all sulky, not saying anything, why'd i leave a hole for your mouth? tied you up like a baby'n shit and you're still bumpin' around at every tur, goddamit. well, that was monday and today is saturday, excuuuuse me.
benji rustles, the plates clatter, stela's folding bike creaks, that one bangs, the other one rattles, whistles, buzzes, clangs, grinds, snorts, puffs... the symphony of moving. i kept it in the basement for so many months for nothing. why the hell am i carrying it with me, man?! i don't know why she gave it to me, why i took it, why i'm carrying it. it made her unhappy sitting on the balcony, unused. okay, i'll put it in my basement... what do you do if you don't have a basement? where do you hide your unhappiness? do you keep it on display all day?
i put lila's junk in the basement too. everything. it haunted me from every corner, damn it. she took a hike with a little bag and left me staring at her footprints until i couldn't take it anymore, i'm ghostbusting your ass, bitch. all the junk in bags, neatly stacked, bang! in the back of the basement. all that was left was to call the priest to bless our home, gtfo, with your… morrocanoil scent that i loved to sniff. so yeah, it really is a good place to hide your misfortunes.
the pink armchair in which stela's bike rattles, lila bought it as well. for the yard. but soon she didn't like it anymore, like so much of the crap she buys. i think she liked the idea of buying, of completing the order, it was like she was hitting the jackpot or smth. the worst part is that i caught the bug too. why the hell would i max my credit cards on trinkets and sneakers i don't need? who the hell made me get credit cards?! i have to get rid of them asap. man, it should be illegal to get a loan with two-thou' per month, right? you barely have enough to live on, how the hell are you supposed to pay the bank back?
adina wouldn't let me take it last time, it's junk, she said, it had mold growing in the basement. but when i came to pick up the plants, it was next to the trash. so i cleaned it up a bit and put it in the car, hahaha, who's the sucker now, adina?
fuck, maybe it's hard for me to let go, still. maybe i feel compelled to make up for it, because i left so many things behind in other relationships. it would be unfair to come out on the losing end again, right? well, lila really left me a lot, i don't even know if i should celebrate or just throw everything out! it's driving me crazy. fucking carry them around. where the hell am i supposed to put all o'them? who tf needs so much crap? move them, think about what you're going to do with each one.
and these mismatched plates... i don't know why i even brought them, i don't think they were ours. but look how well they balance the crazy symphony. we were really missing some high notes, tu câ tâcâ tâcâ, tu câ tâcâ, tu câ tâ.