Alright. Need to concentrate my thoughts and try to put them into words in order for that immense anxiety of mine that resurfaced some time during the last days to calm down and leave me alone cause it physically hurts and makes me completely paranoid and dysphoric and afraid.
How am I feeling? Mentally I think I am in an okay place, I have been stable for the last months however I fell in love and that changed things a bit, causing me a hysterical euphoria and although I am really enjoying all the feelings which have been summoned, the intensity and the volume and the thickness of them, I somewhat forget to tend the darkness inside myself and it revolts in a very rude and very cataclysmic manner. So I am finding myself having warm and fuzzy feelings of love and care and affection, plus a very highlighted sexual desire and lust and physical responses I’ve forgotten that even existed. All this on top, and below them a dark swamp full of pity mud, a petty wetland that floods and rises every time the fuzziness needs a break because real life takes over, and the more real life takes over the more the fuzziness retreats and the swamp reigns over. No matter how thin the basis of its substance is, it spills and spoils all the good things I decided I deserve and that makes me crazy and sad and my breathing shortens and my chest hurts and I am irritated as fuck and nothing, nothing – I swear to god! – nothing makes it better, but being with that person I so radically and erratically loved and became soft and vulnerable with and that caused me to absolutely forget how to take care of myself alone.
On the one hand I am fucking grateful for that. I really feel I have it all. When I am thinking of the whole picture with my cognitive mind and my balanced feelings – and after having eaten cause when I’m hungry I become the angrier pessimist you’ve ever seen – I think I am now complete, in a sense that I am on the path that I was envisioning for myself since I was twelve years old. Making movies, writing stuff, having close friends who make absolute sense in my life, and recently being loved in such a wholesome manner that makes even more sense in my life. Oh how I cherish the way I’ve been given that love. T’was for real a precious and special gift, only for me, whose actual quality I cannot yet explain cause right now words won’t suffice and I’m afraid I will not do justice neither to the feelings nor to the reality of the beauty I am experiencing. It is complicated and it is private and I am still very protective of the details and the mysticism; an intention that won’t change soon, I suspect.
On the other hand, I became weak. What is this feeling of vulnerability for god’s sake? It hurts, why people insist we need this? It leaves you anxious and angsty and depended and that means you suck, and are obviously going to fail maintaining the utopian dream of nothing ever changes. And I don’t wanna suck cause I walked miles and miles to cover that distance and embody the “everything changes” mantra and accept it’s okay. And now I want everything to stay as is and I know it won’t and that anxiety makes me cry as I press those keys to form these words on the blank space, a canvas of endless possibilities. And now I understand why I have this heavy block on my chest for the last couple of days and it cannot be lifted with no fucking meditation practice or breathing session or even kissing session. Shit, I’m doomed. Clueless idiot.
Aaaaaand that’s what I’m bringing to therapy later. Thank god for therapy.
Earlier this month the latest issue of Yusra magazine got out of the printer. Yusra #9. In it, among other interesting things, there is the not-so-teeny-tiny feature we prepared with the main Yusra crew after I had this idea back in January. We spent more than two months working, brainstorming, making lists and organizing shit with the editor boys, Spyros and Christos, the brains behind Yusra, the senpai of visuals John Nikolopoulos and the skillful production mastermind Christina Lardikou, who was also the stylist and co-art director for the editorial photoshoot we somehow managed to pull off, featuring Shia and Reject (and also Kephi and Ian but they didn’t make it in the print and that’s a sad sad story for a different time). And we gathered texts and we gathered pictures from the people we love and from the people we enjoy to conversate with and respect them not so much for their numerous, to be honest, opinions (alas, we ourselves have millions of them, equally strong and specific) but the genuinely groundbreaking manner they release them out in the world, a manner that makes worlds collide and highlights links and connections on an existential level. Overall, what I see now in those forty pages of texts and pictures, is a universe of unique perspectives which are interlinked and cosmically connected, struggling to carve their shape into existence despite of the great efforts of each and every system to assimilate, accumulate and erase that shape, bleach it to irrelevance. If Francesca is right, we are all indeed little threads that haven’t been pulled out of the great cloth of history, yet. And until we are we have to try and meet and get to know one another and try and live together and fight together and get drunk and high together and laugh and cry and fuck together in order to get tied together and birth our knots and clots that throb and little thread lumps that breathe and scream and are full of dark red blood like a fresh wild hog sausage, so even if the blade cuts deep and pulls some pieces of us out, the rest would stay in place, a wounded mass surviving, maybe mutilated but still pulsing melted together like a hot iron/flesh Cronenberg fantasy, staining the History TM so intentionally that none will be able to clean the shit out of us and straighten out that anomaly energy we bring to the fucking equation.
How’s my anxiety now? Still there. But a couple of degrees cooler. It’s a win. Just decided that the soundtrack of that period of my life would be exclusively “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” by Poison, cause I’m country rock trash like that. 🤠