Life in a blog

I’m miserable. Right now, I am very miserable.
But it’s not just me. Or you. It’s the whole country. And you feel it, too. When you’re walking down the street, looking in stranger’s faces. You know they are miserable.

Money. Love. Hate. Work.

No matter how much we try to laugh it away, deep down we know that we are miserable. And it’s not just the unpaid mortgage or the electricity bill...
It’s life, too.

We all need a bailout. We all need to bail ourselves out. The government won’t do it. Whenever a bank is in trouble the common man has to face unnecessary charges for complete bullshit, just so that the billions and billions they owe slowly decrease. Whenever a city decides to invest in a unrealistic and just plain stupid project it’s our money they take if all of a sudden the bill doubles.

But what about us?

Money. Love. Hate. Work.

We need an emotional bailout too. Money worries are the worst, but as soon as you see the light at the end of the long black tunnel, does it get better? No. Sometimes it’s even worse. Too much stress slowly kills us inside. If it’s not the money we’re worried about, it’s people. A fight you had with a friend, a guy that doesn’t call back, a family member struggling with their own problems.

So will this ever end? How can we pay our emotional debts without forgetting the real ones? It’s either or. Either you stop living and pay or you live and fuck up.
Either way, we’re still miserable.

-I feel sick for no reason (no, I’m not pregnant)
-I don’t know if I should put my Manolos on Ebay cause I never wear them anyway
-I have to pay £600 by the end of this week. Right now my balance is £7.03
-My cat keeps eating plastic even though I repeadetly told her not to
-Work annoys me
-I still can’t handle money
-Watching Chéri yesterday broke my heart
-I’m starting to get my hopes up again – unnecessarily
-My cat has an attention problem
-I have no idea how we’re gonna clean this flat until Sunday
-I have a massive wound at the back of my right foot that doesn’t cooperate with shoes
-My dad is slowly dying of cancer

Where have all the good times gone?

Hey guys!

I just wanted to let you know that I've just launched my new blog today... It's called Leaving New York City and it pretty much contains my life since June last year. It's very personal stuff and it's very dear to me so I'd be very very very happy if you checked it out! You can find it on:

http://leavingnewyorkcity.blog.co.uk

and here's a little preview and introduction to it all:

Leaving New York City

Welcome. To my deepest secrets, feelings, happenings, lovers, haters and generally everything I went through in the past year. A year ago in June, I started writing things down. No dark random entries in my little black book, no short stories that I keep to myself, no articles about my views on society, no, it wasn’t like anything I’ve written before.
I can’t precisely remember why I started to write. But I remember making a drink at the coffee shop and suddenly having this idea, this title. „Leaving New York City“.
I have various theories why I chose this title for my collection of texts but they all came after I chose it. You could say that this title doesn’t have any meaning or sense at all, and you might be right. But to me, it just sounded right.

A couple of months ago I spilled water over my laptop and I was facing the possibility of losing everything I had on my MacBook. Everything, including this. I couldn’t bear the idea of having lost almost a year’s writing and that’s what made me realise that I have to put this out there somehow. Not just because it’s safer out there than in here, but I feel that as an aspiring writer I have to get used to the idea of people reading what I put on paper or screen. And I have to be comfortable with it.

This „book“ contains so much. But most of all, it contains nothing but the truth. I can guarantee you right here and right now that there is not even one single lie in here. But I came to the decision that I can not be responsible for putting other people’s truths out there as well and I don’t want to get anyone involved in some kind of trouble or embarassement. So I have decided to change all the names. However, I’m sure you’ll know when I meant you.

And one last thing... please don’t get angry at me for what I wrote. I have thought well about anything I put online and LNYC started a year ago so you know that my views and behaviours might have changed. Believe me, it’s hard enough to cut my mind and soul in little pieces and present them all on one huge platter.
I hope you will appreciate my honesty, be entertained or moved or motivated to think about certain matters and maybe even start putting your own personal truths out there.
Long live the freedom of speech.

Yours truly,
Antonia Landi

I have waited a long time to write this blog. Not because I wouldn’t know what to write in it, I pretty much had this all in my head for a long time now. No, it’s more because I needed the right time to write this. The right mood. The right feeling. Well now here it is. I know it might hurt some people but I don’t care. As an aspiring writer I feel it is my duty to express myself, especially on subjects as blogging and writing per se.
So I was reading through one of my friends’ blogs.

There are several kinds of writing out there. I told you before and I’ll tell you again. There’s shallow, useless writing. There’s political writing, that kind that makes you want to start a movement. There’s personal writing.
This is about shallow writing. Empty writing. The kind of writing that puts me in this mood. Useless writing. You read it and it doesn’t do anything for you. Guess what, „writer“, I don’t want to know what you ate yesterday and what tv show you saw after that, even if it might sound so fucking interesting to you. Nobody wants to know that. If you want to put something out there for your friends, at least give them something they don’t have to pretentd to like. You can talk about your day alright, as long as you come to some kind of conclusion. What does it help me if I know in which kind of evening activity you joined in? Was I there? No. So I couldn’t recall any good memories from it. All I have is your mediocre English and a writing style that makes me want to bring up my breakfast – which was Rise Krispies, if you're interested in any way.
Some people really shouldn’t write things. And if they really have to, the world would be a much happier place if they did it in secret. Go buy yourself a diary with a little cute lock on it. Cause that’s where that shit belongs. Locked up, between oh so cute puppie heads and little hearts.

I guess writing is such a normal activity that anybody can claim to be able to do it.
Putting words after another, easy.
Writing a formal letter when needed, okay.
Expressing your thoughts in a manner that engages the reader? Not so much.

Some people really shouldn’t write.

I just came back from the cinema – as I happen to do quite often lately. Anyway, today, after a much too long time of waiting, my friends and me finally saw Slumdog Millionaire, which now attracts even more people due to their immense success at this year’s Academy Awards. Of course, after reading so much about this movie, I did have quite high expectations. But most of all, I relied on the opinion of my friends – all saying that this is THE movie to watch, that you really live with the characters through their whole turbulent lives and so on. So Danny Boyle must’ve done something right, right?
Shortly after the Oscar celebrations I read a tiny article in the beloved Metro about Danny Boyle’s father not being as enthusiastic as the rest of the world, or so it seems. He said the film was decent but that his son could’ve done better.
Now, personally, for me, the movie was good. I can say with confidence that it is a good movie. However it could’ve been better. Due to the film being set all around that Who Wants To Be A Millionaire show, it is split up in several fragments. Although it doesn’t make you loose the trail of their story, I don’t think it allows any deeper connection for the spectator to make with the characters. A whole bunch of fragments in this movie are very real, almost too real. I very much appreciate the director’s sincerity when it comes down to portraying the Indian slums, and I think everybody should see that the world put on screen is real, that there are still millions of children whose faith that truly is. However, I don’t think the whole prison scene should’ve needed the realism it had. For all the sadness that is already in this movie, for all the poor children and murderers, I think we would’ve understood ourselves the graveness of that prison, even without the beating, the drowning and the electro shocks.

So what exactly did it lack? Maybe it needed a bit less fake realism and a little more bollywood, for, however tragic the history of India might be, that’s what kept them alive, and that’s how those people really are. A little more colour in those settings covered by dust and dirt, a little more happiness in those children’s faces, and even if it was only because somebody escaped for once.

All in all this is a good movie. If you want to watch it, go. If you don’t necessarily need to watch it, don’t. I was curious, I wanted to know what the hype was about and now I know. Or I don’t know, for that matter. But whatever way you look at it, Slumdog Millionaire is an exceptional movie – exceptional because for once, a major motion picture, a blockbuster, a multiple award winning movie, did not shy back from the reality that’s out there and maybe, even if it’s just one single person out there, it did make an impact on someone.

I went to a punk concert yesterday. Or at least I thought I did.
I’m gonna be quite frank with this. I can’t and won’t talk around it and I’m really the last person to censor my own thoughts.

So it was Anti-Flag. Thanks to a friend of mine, I was on the guestlist. She sorta knows the band. The three of us arrived in Glasgow and it was rainy and windy. Obviously. We arrived at the venue and that’s the first time this thought came to my mind. What the fuck happened? I was scanning the crowd again, looking for a sign that I’m really at the right venue cause after all, at a Rise Against and Anti-Flag concert you would expect some punks, right? I really really hate to say this but I just have to, even though I’ve been called names all my life and I hated it. Emos. A lot of them. Is this a punk concert? I don’t know.

But as soon as the band came on stage all my worries were forgotten. This was the real Anti-Flag, the ones that make me feel incredibly strong, yes almost invincible, they make me feel like I can achieve anything if I just do something. Number 2 had one of his speeches near the end of the set and I must admit it really touched me. I know, the words were the same, the paroles were the same, I’ve heard it all before; but seeing him stand on that stage and say it, scream it out loud, made me believe in all of this again. It made me think about a lot of stuff, it made me re-think stuff as well, but most of all, it made me believe that there are still people out there who DO make a difference.

And then the after show party. You know, I’m really the last one allowed to point fingers at people, but after building up a certain picture of your idol in your mind, it’s hard to see it destroyed in front of your eyes. Of course they are all human. Of course. They are humans with very strong beliefs, or at least that’s how I think of them. Girls? A lot of girls? Alcohol? Was this still the punk band I used to know? I don’t know.

We live in a world where veganism and straight edge are the new punk. But what happened to the old punk? The ones that go on the street, and not only to protest against Kentucky Fried fucking Chicken? Yes, the environment is important, it has always been, but what about us? The ones that won’t quiet down just because society tells them to do so? What about the people who refuse to count material things as valuable? Where are the spikes, the mohawks, the leather jackets, the doc martens? I don’t know.

Davey destroyed the punk scene?
It’s already destroyed.

After all of that, after writing this down even if I’m still not sure if it’s the right thing to do, to put it out there; after listening to Die For The Government, which is in my opinion one of the best records AF ever made, if not THE best, after thinking a lot, thinking about how people change, why they change and if it is possible to change so much after living a life of such strong beliefs, I tell you:

This is not about or for Anti-Flag.
This is for you, Miriam and Lovisa.

Cause I know, that despite of what I’ve seen yesterday, there are still people out there that tell you to fuck police brutality and that wars will never be over unless we unite ourselves and destroy all borders. Cause after all, how can we act in unison when we don’t even know anymore what unites us? One people, one struggle.

In the words of Chris Nr 2 and Anti-Flag, who I still admire and love:
If tomorrow you hear somebody say something racist, sexist or homophobic, speak out loud, stand up for yourself, because you know that we will back you up.
We are not alone. And together we will fight until the world we live in is a better place for everyone.

LOVE. PEACE. UNITY.

I hear you. Every fucking night you decide to have a huge party with uninvited drunken guests you hardly know I hear you. Why? Because I have the shittiest room in the whole flat: Crammed in between the living room and the room next door, window facing the main street and door facing the hallway and the main door. Every time somebody decides to make noise I hear it. I hear it even in his thoughts, in the millisecond before the actual noise reaches me. I hear your stupid drinking games, your stupid attempts to land a girl and even your stupid attempts to entertain people while sending me to wild rage whenever I hear your huge clumsy hands hammering on the keyboard of my piano, sending those fine strings and me to despair. I hear every single word you speak, every single move you make, every single laugh. But why would I even care, you think. Well maybe, oh fellow student-friend, maybe there are people in this flat who actually have to EARN their living, that have to work on Saturdays and Sundays and have to wake up at six am during weekdays. No, my student friend, life is not a party. You are four years older than me and you still didn’t realise? You are so naive it almost makes me want to pity you. But know that, oh flatmate, oh distant friend, colleague, stranger, drug dealer or whatever you may be: Every time I have to stand up from my finally warmed up bed to go out of my room, go into the living room and face a dozen or more drunk faces staring at me, every time I have to tell you to PLEASE be a bit quieter because I have to wake up again in five hours and I would much appreciate it if I got some sleep before that, yes, EVERY SINGLE TIME the level of your voice makes me come out of bed once more, let me tell you, it makes me hate you just that little bit more.
My fellow readers, this is not just a flatmate rant. It’s about all of you fucking idiots who can’t just stay at home for one night and let me sleep. I really hope everyone I have in my mind right now reads this.
With flatmates, it’s different. You cannot hate them with a passion, you live with them.
But YOU. You, the annoying friend who just won’t go away, the annoying friend who is a fucking alcoholic and gets drunk every day out of his mind just to end up molesting other people to the point they just don’t find it funny anymore, YOU really get on my nerves. If I didn’t have to share this flat I would tell you and your friends INSTANTLY to leave my house and never come back. Even hearing your name mentioned in a conversation makes me wanna scream. Every day I have to fight – fight for the living room, fight for those couple of hours of peace before you FUCKERS who don’t even LIVE here come back and destroy everything we ever tried to establish.

It is 23:52 now and you still haven’t left. What’s even worse now, you moved to the hallway, so that I can hear your screaming voice even more perfectly.
As if the fucking SHIT that leaves your mouth would ever want to be heard by anyone with more intellect than you drunken bastard.

This flat makes me want to scream.

How do I start this blog entry? I don't know. Let me just tell you what is happening and how it makes me feel.

Since Twilight I keep listening and listening to the movie score over and over again. And quite often when I'm so focused on one certain record or playlist, I find it hard to make the transition. I have certain songs for certain moments, certain artists for certain moods; for example I couldn't listen to the Wombats if I was stressed and I couldn't listen to System Of A Down if all I want to do is dance around. The score to me means Twilight, it means bringing back the images in my head, the characters in my mind and the story in my heart. But what if I just went out for food shopping? Dreaming of Edward might be kind of distracting. So I had to choose... What should I listen to, I often wondered. And I wondered for a long time. And then the scales fell from my eyes. Of course. Vampires. My Chemical Romance. Of course. And after My Chem came Taking Back Sunday and after them came Black Flag and the Misfits. Of course. And I felt and acted like I didn't in a long time.
But this time, it felt good.

Bye bye indie-rock, bye bye everyday stories of love and happiness, bye bye Killers, Wombats and Ting Tings.

There were moments in the past few days where I wanted to be left alone, yes, even disappear at times. And that's exactly what I did. I took my iPod, full volume, put my hoods on, my chucks and my scarf and my coat and just disappeared. Nowhere near having the urge or feel to talk to anybody or even just exchange a friendly look. No, sometimes I just need to be by myself. And it felt incredibly good.
I think it's very ironic that something that may seem negative and anti-social made me feel so free. For once I truly didn't care about anything. I mean, I never gave much attention to the mainstream and mainly because I do not want to be a part of it, that's a choice I make. But working in a Coffee Shop and being surrounded by people all day, I've learned to make a step in their direction, make them feel less creeped out, maybe.
Sometimes in the past I felt like I was losing myself and who I am, but it's good to see that I can also take that step back.
I felt ultimate freedom just by having the courage and strength to go out there and just not be a part of it.
If I want to have a bad day, then this is what I'm going to do. If I want to shut you out of my life, then this is what I am going to do. Nobody can be happy for all their life, it is unnatural, and most of all - I don't want to be. All my creativity and inspiration mainly comes from having to find answers to impossible questions, solving riddles that threaten to drive me into madness, having to go through shit and coming out of it.

Fuck the bus driver, he'll survive if I don't say thanks today.
Fuck those tourists who do nothing but stand in your way.
Fuck the girl on the till, I'm just there to pay and walk away.
And maybe, today, just for once, fuck you.

What is it about that movie that fascinates me so much? The first time I saw it – on Sunday, really not long ago – something happened. I was touched in such a deep way no movie or book or anything like that ever did before. It’s just a story.
Since Sunday evening, since that night I couldn’t stop crying, even when the lights went on, even when people were leaving and the credits were running, since that night I have random spasms and outbreaks of creativity. Dialogues and pictures, entire scenes forming in my head – I can virtually see them, I can see Edward and Bella in flesh and blood standing right in front of me, talking. I feel what they feel, hear what they think, it’s all right there in front of me.
And I did it again... in just three days I’ve seen a movie twice.
But it’s so much more than that...

Is it the „don’t“ that makes this story so attractive to me? The danger, the „I know that it’s bad for me but I can’t help it“? The knowing but unconscious self-destruction...
Or is it the intensity of their love? That they would risk absolutely anything in the world to save each other and to be together regardless of how unlikely it seems that they succeed?
Is it just the „forever“?
Everything has to come to an end, that’s the way our lives work. Death is the final ending. But in Edwards case... Eternity truly is forever.
So is it just the magic of that word? Forever.

It seems so bizarre... And yet, it happened again. I was rushing home, eager to get on my laptop and write everything down that’s going on in my mind right now.
I have written short stories before and other stuff of that kind but never ever has someone seen it. Texts that come from so deep within are usually something I keep to myself. But I must share this. I must share what’s running out of me, like a wild stream of thoughts, pictures and words.

You may read it, you may not. You may think I’m crazy and to be honest sometimes I think that, too. But this movie has given me so much. And I can feel that it’s not over yet.

Edward... Why are you still here? I thought you were leaving me... Don’t look at me. Go away. You’re torturing me... I can’t look into your eyes any more... I want to touch you, feel your cold white skin... I want to feel your breath on my neck whenever you have to control your own desires... I want you, Edward. I need you. Like you said... You are like my own personal brand of heroine. You are my drug. I can’t spend a day without thinking of you. I want you. I need you. Take me to the sky, take me to your world. I don’t care about here and now, if this is not with you I don’t want it. Wherever you are, I am too. You stole my heart, Edward. And you never gave it back. Even if you think this is the right thing to do, even if you think you will save my silly mortal life like that, you’re wrong. You are the reason I’m dying. You’re killing me, with every day more and more. I cannot be without you. I never knew why you didn’t just let the venom spread... I could be like you. We could climb up trees and mountains, lie in the sun, watching our skin turn to diamonds as we look into eachother’s eyes. Edward, you cursed me since the day I met you. It doesn’t matter how much you think this is going to help, I am forever yours and no one can change that. My blood runs in your veins, your mind speaks to mine, our hearts beat in symphony. You will never leave me, I will never find the power or will to let you go. For as long as I live, I will be yours. Forever.