Travelogue MAR 9

I don’t know what the fuck i’m doing with my life. I’m almost 35 years old. Currently in some small shithole town in Italy. I came here because I bought a cheap flight to Malta for €40 which leaves tomorrow morning but I don’t think I’m gonna go. I don’t even care. I don’t know where to go. I feel lifeless. My body feels stiff and stuck. I have no purpose in this world (if you say so Markus). Money doesn’t mean anything to me yet I want more. I’m not a tourist nor a traveler. I just live on Earth and wander around. I get caught in the webs of my own mind. I struggle to form proper human connections with people that last more than a few days. Anything more than that I sabotage it. Family values and traditions don’t mean shit to me. The only thing I know is what is happening today. I have highly developed skills in music and creativity and communication and writing but because of that, there is no challenge for me in any of it. Music feels like playing in the sand castle for me. Been there, done that. I went to a big concert recently where everyone was going crazy and it felt like nothing. I was completely sober but danced like I was high to see if it would be fun. It wasn’t. Impressing people in conversations and getting them to like me and love me (or hate me) is too easy. I am bored with myself. I feel the same as I do everywhere. Some days are okay. I get excited for awhile. It’s afternoon and sunny outside. I am drinking a beer alone because I couldn’t make up which smoothie I wanted. Fuck it, give me a beer. I don’t even like beer. It tastes like water out of a toilet. Why am i drinking this? What the fuck is wrong with me. Why can’t i just enjoy things. I can be this way or i can be something else. Life becomes very challenging when you can go anywhere but anywhere feels like the same dead end. They have built mental hospitals for people like me and designed medications to help people like me. But the doctors do not impress me and I don’t trust them nor their meds. I am too smart for them. I am not a fucking factory slave who needs motivation. I don’t want the things we have been programmed to want. I want to kill my SELF without destroying my body. Somehow transcend all this noise and bullshit that I see everywhere. Is it possible? I don’t know. I come back to Facebook again and again because it is a stage. I perform and you clap (sometimes). The audience is immediate, the feedback is instantaneous. It gives me something to make me feel less like a ghost. This is a blog. A show. An act. I am playing this role but I have gotten so deep into character that I don’t know how to switch it off. I want to go home but I am homeless. I want to be successful. But I can’t seem to find my vehicle for success. So many options. The world is full of places and potential. What are we? Names on a screen. Faces and feelings of people we used to be. You are a hard worker. And somehow I have managed to live without ever working. But you are also a lazy artist. I CREATE for survival. You will want to tell me things to change me. Breathe deeper. Move more. Help someone who is struggling more than you. You think you know something that I don’t (who knows, maybe you do). I have tried all kinds of shit. Nothing seems to work or could it be that i just have a shitty attitude? Nothing matters or makes a difference. This part of my identity that is now in control is poisonous. Your drugs and potions and lies do not fucking work! So what next? What is my next move. To keep slithering my way through life or to spice this all up somehow. Power? Fame? Madness? Become a monk? Surrender to THIS? Whatever this is or means. I am writing this but it is not me. My hands are being guided to type these words. Thoughts are coming from somewhere. This must be some kind of katharsis. A cleansing. I am a messenger.
When i play my songs, i feel free.
Yet it is extremely draining.
Freedom is not free.
It’s like a drug.
Highs and lows.
That is probably a sign.
Of some kind
Tell me what you are thinking.
Don’t hold back.
I can take it.