+the careless slipping of the tongue on just another private part+
Darling, I need far more than I say.
I hate this time of year. When the holidays approach. They always remind me of how everything was fucked up after I was thirteen. How before, everything used to be so much better, how before I actually had a so-called “family”.
I recall how when I was eight we’d spend Christmas Eve watching Biblical films on TV. My mum would make these almond cakes and my brother and I would cuddle up against my dad, and for reason we’d feel so safe.
I think that’s one of the last pleasant memories I have left that hasn’t faded into oblivion. Although now, most of my memories are overridden with the ones from the past ten years.
Christmas Eve in 1997 was spent dancing in a smoke-infested club in Rome with other dancers whom like me looked forward to this time of year because that’s when we’d make the most money. It was also the year that I wrote the first letter ever to my mum but never had the courage to truly send it to her. Now whenever I re-read it, it still manages to make me feel ill. Probably because I didn’t even have the guts to write her in first person and used the third person as a way to detach myself completely from the reality that I was living that she was oblivious to.
Your daughter, she’s a dancer roaming the cities of Italy trying to do the best that she can. But did you ever ask her how she feels? No, I don’t think you ever asked her how she feels. Your daughter is broken but nobody really cares. She has to do the best she can. But did you ever ask her how she feels? She doesn’t think you ever really cared. Your daughter lives with seven strangers who all like to make her feel like she’s worth something. But she never feels like she’s doing the best she can. Oh, you never ask her how she feels. Now, she doesn’t even ask herself how she feels. You daughter sleeps on a mattress on the floor and all she has to make her smile is a photo. But you never really asked her how she feels…..oh it doesn’t really matter how she feels. She doesn’t need you at all. No…..she doesn’t need to ask for more. Not anymore.
* * *
It’s still raining and grey. And I keep listening to the Afterhours obsessively. And I wonder, is your world so grey Mr. Agnelli? Or do you just like to sing it that way?
I smoke your brand of cigarettes and pray that you might give me a call.
Next week is the MTV Awards in Rome and before the actual awards show they’re going to have free concerts from Elisa, Carmen Consoli, and The Cure. The fab thing about that is that I’m going to be presenting the guests for the concerts. I’m really excited especially because of The Cure. Speaking of The Cure, Robert Smith was beyond amazing at the Placebo gig last week. Of course, Placebo were just as amazing themselves, but then again, it was quite obvious that they would be.
Speaking of concerts I’m going to go see Nick Cave’s gig on Friday. Hopefully Emily will be able to make it as well. It should be smashing, I’m excited about it already.
There’s an interview I did for All Music that is out this month. Reading over it, I realised how I should really keep my mouth shut 90% of the time. If I’m not in a slacker mood in the next few days I’ll actually post it. So then you can all witness me gushing over musicians, djs, and actors. Warning: None of you are safe when my motor mouth is released.
I hate this time of year. When the holidays approach. They always remind me of how everything was fucked up after I was thirteen. How before, everything used to be so much better, how before I actually had a so-called “family”.
I recall how when I was eight we’d spend Christmas Eve watching Biblical films on TV. My mum would make these almond cakes and my brother and I would cuddle up against my dad, and for reason we’d feel so safe.
I think that’s one of the last pleasant memories I have left that hasn’t faded into oblivion. Although now, most of my memories are overridden with the ones from the past ten years.
Christmas Eve in 1997 was spent dancing in a smoke-infested club in Rome with other dancers whom like me looked forward to this time of year because that’s when we’d make the most money. It was also the year that I wrote the first letter ever to my mum but never had the courage to truly send it to her. Now whenever I re-read it, it still manages to make me feel ill. Probably because I didn’t even have the guts to write her in first person and used the third person as a way to detach myself completely from the reality that I was living that she was oblivious to.
Your daughter, she’s a dancer roaming the cities of Italy trying to do the best that she can. But did you ever ask her how she feels? No, I don’t think you ever asked her how she feels. Your daughter is broken but nobody really cares. She has to do the best she can. But did you ever ask her how she feels? She doesn’t think you ever really cared. Your daughter lives with seven strangers who all like to make her feel like she’s worth something. But she never feels like she’s doing the best she can. Oh, you never ask her how she feels. Now, she doesn’t even ask herself how she feels. You daughter sleeps on a mattress on the floor and all she has to make her smile is a photo. But you never really asked her how she feels…..oh it doesn’t really matter how she feels. She doesn’t need you at all. No…..she doesn’t need to ask for more. Not anymore.
* * *
It’s still raining and grey. And I keep listening to the Afterhours obsessively. And I wonder, is your world so grey Mr. Agnelli? Or do you just like to sing it that way?
I smoke your brand of cigarettes and pray that you might give me a call.
Next week is the MTV Awards in Rome and before the actual awards show they’re going to have free concerts from Elisa, Carmen Consoli, and The Cure. The fab thing about that is that I’m going to be presenting the guests for the concerts. I’m really excited especially because of The Cure. Speaking of The Cure, Robert Smith was beyond amazing at the Placebo gig last week. Of course, Placebo were just as amazing themselves, but then again, it was quite obvious that they would be.
Speaking of concerts I’m going to go see Nick Cave’s gig on Friday. Hopefully Emily will be able to make it as well. It should be smashing, I’m excited about it already.
There’s an interview I did for All Music that is out this month. Reading over it, I realised how I should really keep my mouth shut 90% of the time. If I’m not in a slacker mood in the next few days I’ll actually post it. So then you can all witness me gushing over musicians, djs, and actors. Warning: None of you are safe when my motor mouth is released.