Haunting nightmares

Have you ever had nightmares that kept haunting you for a long time? I've had a few of those that kept haunting me for years during my life and I think the one I've had last night is one of those, too.
When you wake up in the middle of the night, confused, anxious, agitated, disoriented, caught between being asleep and awake and you can't really tell reality from dream. That lingering echo of the nightmare has its claws dug deep into the nape of your neck and keeps doing that for hours, days. And this feeling of uneasiness and discomfort just won't go away. You're still having that nightmare while being awake because it never really lets go.
I fucking hate that.

Flesh and Bone

When I look into the mirror I know that the face and body I'm looking at belong to me, they are mine and part of me. But they don't feel like they are me, who I am. They feel like a mere shell, a coat, a casing which hides what lies underneath, who I really am. My body is just a vessel, a machine built from flesh and bone, and the me inside is dispersed within that matter. I don't feel like the body I'm looking at is me. Sometimes it even feels like I'm looking at a stranger and only my eyes give away that I'm inside this body. Strangest feeling ever.

Past and Present

Past and Present
(Self-portrait)

Growing up is painful. Not only because of growing pain or that confusing time of not knowing where to go or who to be(come). Being an adult is painful. Not only because of all the responsibilities and stuff that is expected from you and the limitations and boundaries that you're not really able to escape from.

As a child, I wished for growing up fast. So that I could do whatever I wanted and not being caught in this shithole called my childhood anymore. So that I could escape and spread my wings. Like most kids do, I guess.
Now that I'm all grown up, it pains me to look back. To look at who I was, what has been, what has happened, what that all did to me. At least the stuff I can remember, which is not that much, to be honest. Still. And it doesn't really matter, at least not here, not to you.
Point is, when I now look at me while looking back, it's painful and amazing of what that all can do to a human being. What that has made me. From good to bad to hell to bad to mediocre to kinda good. But it will never be as good again as those few first years. It hurts. It makes me sad. Not always, sometimes it makes me strong and proud and confident seeing what I've survived and overcome. But most of the times it just hurts.

Well, I guess being able to grieve for yourself, your past self, your past and all that is important, too. Even though it wanna makes me curl up in a ball and hide from everyone and everything until the day I die, but hey. I'm an adult now. I have to do stuff in order to do stuff. So what the fuck, eh. Even tho I still feel like a child most of the time. Like I've not grown at all. But then again I know I did. Living and being alive is confusing as fuck.

Korn in Stuttgart, 24.03.2017

Hachja... kaum gibt's keine wirklich "dringende" Motivation mehr, lass ich meinen Na'vi-Blog wieder schleifen. Na ja, Wurst.

Ich war gestern mit meinem Freund zusammen das erste mal auf 'nem Korn-Konzert in Stuttgart.

Die beiden Vorbands waren nich mein Fall; Hellyeah hat so oder so schon n Pluspunkt, weil Chad Grey der Frontmann is, aber mir wär's lieber gewesen, wenn er mit Mudvayne dort aufgetreten wäre. Der nichtmal 30minütige, heruntergerissene Quicky war echt... underwhelming. Ich hab' anfangs nichtmal sicher sagen können, ob das jetzt Chad oder irgend ein Ersatz auf der Bühne war. o.-
Heaven Shall Burn is nich mein Fall; Metalcore war noch nie so meins... Wobei ich den Jungs lassen muss, dass 'se ne geile Show abgeliefert haben.

Wir saßen links von der Bühne relativ mittig und hatten besten Sound, einen guten Blick auf die Bühne und die Menschenmenge in der Halle, die übrigens komplett voll war. War echt 'n Haufen Menschen - und alle warteten irgendwie nur auf Korn.

Ich hab schon immer davon geträumt bzw. mir gewünscht, Korn live zu sehen. Allein schon wegen dem, was ich persönlich mit der Band bzw. ihrer Musik verbinde. Allein JD live zu sehen war Hammer (der Mann hat nach wie vor nicht nur meine Bewunderung, sondern auch meinen höchsten Respekt). Man merkt, dass sie jahrelange Bühnenerfahrung haben und natürlich haben sie "nur" ihre Setlist runtergespielt, aber das hat dem Ganzen überhaupt keinen Abbruch getan. Die Stimmung, die sie gestiftet und verbreitet haben war einfach nur unbeschreiblich gut. Die komplette Halle hat mitgegröhlt und mitgesungen, mir war's scheißegal, ob ich mich zum Affen mach; ich hab jeden Song lauthals mitgesungen/geschrien und hab mich einfach nur mitreißen lassen. Ich war voll drin und unendlich glücklich.

Danach war ich komplett weggetreten und benebelt und heiser und taub und ich würd's ohne zu Zögern wieder tun.

Fucking best concert ever.

Top 3 Konzerte... hmm. Korn, Satyricon, Watain. Wobei Satyricon echt extrem nah an Platz 1 ist, allein ganz vorne mittig zu stehen und als einzige Den Siste mitbrüllen zu können und dafür n verwunderten Blick von Satyr zu kassieren... Haha :D

Viele Bands sind live sehenswert, aber für mich vor allem Korn. Warum hab ich das noch nich früher gemacht?

Na ja, dieses Jahr treten 'se gleich nochmal aufm Breeze auf. Ein Grund mehr, dort hinzugehen, sei's auch nur für den Tag, an dem sie spielen :D Korn würde ich sogar Eisregen vorziehen. Die Jungs hab ich ja immerhin schon 2x gesehen, hehe.

Mein Freund hat das Video aufgenommen und bei 0:47 sieht man kurz meine Haare durch's Bild unten links nach oben fliegen, weil man muss ja manchmal zum Hirn-wegblasenden-Headbangen ordentlich ausholen :D

Static Sound

Static Sound

Well, connected to this post here.

On hiding your real you

Back. Well, that Na'vi post on my other blog was quite... underwhelming, lol. If I can come up with anything better I'll add it to it later.

Anyway, where was I going... ah, right. Hiding your true self. Every single one of us carries that little core inside. That core that is your essence, the real you, everything and every side of you you're trying to hide away from all those prying eyes or eyes who wouldn't really see and/or understand. Call it inner child, call it ugly sides, call it fetishes, call it traumatic stuff, call it whatever you want, it doesn't really matter. That core is composed of many things that we try to hide away - or have to hide in order to survive on a daily basis.
Your coworkers or the cashier in that supermarket or even rather good acquaintances or even your (closest) friends wouldn't really want to cope with that, so we all act. At least to some extent. It's very difficult to find people who would want to see and even accept the real you.

We all have a patchwork identity, several parts and roles of us stitched together to form this entirety of being which is you. If you've never thought about it until know, give it a try. You'll notice that you act differently around coworkers instead of, for example, your loved ones who are fairly close to you. We're all chameleons. And that is perfectly fine. It's part of human nature. And we do and/or control this either consciously or unconsciously.
But using your patchwork-identity or different faces consciously is still somewhat different, in kind of a bad way. In a way. If you get what I mean.

It's just that... this acting makes me sick. At least when you have to act. Have to hide away everything which could make a bad impression but is an essential part of you, in order not to scare away others or lose opportunities or whatever. It's lying. It's being unfaithful and dishonest to others and especially to yourself.
But in our society we have to go along with that, I guess, and just stick to acting and small talk and talking about superficial stuff that isn't interesting at all. At least that's how it is when it comes to myself.

That's another reason why I love my art and other (disturbing) shit. Like movies or artwork from other artists or truths and facts which are so repulsive, it makes you wanna turn your head around and look away, but instead, you keep looking and get sucked in and captured by it and endure whatever this does to you. Because it's forcing you to look at ugly truths, about what is really there, what would usually be hidden or what no one would rather not see any other way.
I love stuff like that. I just love it. And I love it when people feel the same way about my art, about my thoughts, about anything that originates within me. It's one of the things that makes me feel happy and accomplished.

All this superficial stuff is making me sick. I can really feel it, it makes my stomach turn. Fake smiles and pretending to be happy all the time, faking happiness, talking about superficial and unimportant stuff all the time, WHO THE FUCK CARES! UGH!
I definitely don't.

I guess many of us know moments like this. When you can't stand that nonsense small talk anymore, but you go along with it and fake a smile or try to change the topic because it's making you sick.
Or screaming internally so loud you can't even hear or own thinking anymore, but you stand there with either a blank face or fake emotion. Blergh.
Talking to a customer and faking interest in whatever he's telling you or is complaining about, because you just don't fucking care, but you have to stay friendly and fake interest, so you just do it and get it over with.
Why the fuck are we doing this to each other, lol.

Yeah, I know. Because it's easier, prettier, more convenient and less dangerous. And because that's just how it's done. Bah. THIS is fucking repulsive to me.

I wish we'd be able more often to have a glance at all the ugly you's, all the stuff you're trying to hide away so badly. Not because it's more entertaining, but rather because it's just more honest. Less fake. More real.

Hiding your real you all the time is also painful. No wonder so many people suffer from depression and/or gastric ulcers or worse. Did you ever wonder about that?
It's not just endogenous causes or abuse or traumatic events or too much work or whatever, imho THIS is often a reason for people to develop mental issues or not being able to recover 100% from them.

There were times when this hiding away game made me even more sick and mentally ill. Well, no more. Of course, it's still aggravating and sickening, but it's not as bad as it used to be.

Luckily today I can accept the complete me. All good sides, all bad, fucked up and twisted sides. I love being who I am, however difficult and sometimes unbearable it may be. I can embrace myself, whatever others might think of me. A couple of years ago the exact opposite was the case, tho. I cared too much about what others thought of me. For what? Always feeling insufficient, too damaged, too fucked up, too different, too much a failure. Well, FUCK YOU ALL.

Also all of you who just wanna see the sickeningly sweet and bright sides of life and ignore the whole of reality. Just fuck off.

Seelenschwaerze

"Es ist eigentlich eine Schande, nie sein Innerstes komplett nach außen kehren zu können. Die dunkelsten Seiten, die ungetrübte Wahrheit ist zu schwer für jene Schultern, denen man sie auferlegen will. So oder so bleibt nur bittere Einsamkeit.

Man kann das tiefste Selbst zwar erahnen, doch bleibt stets nur Ungewissheit. Keine Masquerade, kein Spiegel zeigt das, was sich seinen Weg in die Außenwelt bahnen will.

Körper sind nur dunkle Kerker, Verließe ohne Schloss, Herzen ohne Schlüssel."

That grainy noise

Meh, I still have to come up with something to post on my other blog; since the Weekly Na'vi Post project thingy is about to end, it would be a shame if I'd miss out on posting one last time as part of that project. Uhm, yeah, guess I'll just write about exactly that, hrh. It's about practicing anyway, so why the hell not.

Here I wanted to write about something different, tho. About what, exactly? Still can't kinda wrap my head around it...
Exactly this is kinda like a (n almost) constant state I'm in; my brain is always running on like 120%, always hyped up, never really calm or taking a break, always thinking about something, there's always background noise going on, kinda like static, and it's often pretty difficult to filter that noise, grabbing particular thoughts and building them into something that is comprehensible to me or other people that don't know how my brain works.
That's why I've never really good at expressing myself with just words. The moment I'm able to grab a single thought and try to "translate"/process it, it becomes even more blurry and grainy and often disappears back into the background of my mind, before I've been able to make people understand what I mean or wanted to say.
That's also why I prefer writing over speaking, let alone drawing. I can take my time to grasp these thoughts and translate them, even if it takes forever.

That can kinda become unbearable tho, if you really need to let it out, but are unable to translate it. It keeps building up and you keep thinking and thinking and thinking and you feel it creeping up the nape of your neck but your mind stays blank and you still can't grasp it, still can't let it out. When this happens and I can't make it in time and control it, it almost tears me apart and my head is feeling like it's about to explode and redecorate the walls of my apartment into a juicy reddish color with bits and pieces of bone and brain.

Yet Another Night

C̵̡̨̰̳̗̮͔͍̮̪̼̖̯ͩͯ̐͂̈́͒̋̆̔̒̃͊́͞ͅo̡͈̖̲͉̭͙̰ͭ͊̐ͤͭͧ̂̋ͫ͑ͫ̀̚̕͢͠n̷̻̩͇͙̲̪̦͇͈͙̱̫̤̤͚͓̲̠͂͗͂̋̅ͪ̒̅̋͒̅͐̈́̓͞s̩̞̗̦͇̘̥͚̤͑ͬ͆̓͊ͬ̄̽̇̈́̀͘͝͞ͅť̡͈͉͔̞ͨͧ̃͊̈́͛͆̒̓ͫ̎̒̋̌̆̚aͥ́ͦ͗̅͒ͮ̒̇̔͆҉̴̶̥̘̰͚̟͕̯̝̲̜͖͜ͅņ̡̜̬̯̗̪ͯ̎̐̊̊̇͂̓̒͒̓͛̉̍͒͗̊̌̚͡t̶̉́̔ͮͥ̀҉͍̫̰̲̦͠ͅl̸̛̳̬̫̦ͭ̏ͤͬ͊͌ͫ̌͛̍͒́́y̯̳͔̘̪͔͔̮͕̯̌̏̆ͮͪ́̌ͭ͐̾̈́̋͗̃̎̓̀̋̕͡͡ ̶̺̘̥̞̺͉̩̫͙̭̱͓͚̱̹̞ͧ͗̾͊͛̃̏̃̏ͭ̋̿́́͜t͛̽̑̿̃̉̎ͣͩ͗ͪ͆̐ͩ͒̚͢͠҉̜̪̰̮͖͕̰̯͎̥͕͇̠̥͔̰͖͠ͅh̅̏̅̽̽ͭͯ͏̨̩͔̟̰̤̲̞̪̱̦̭͜͡i̴̸̮͖͍̼̝ͦ́̎ͩ͟͞n̡͚̯̝̤̙̱͉̣̙̠̱̹̩̮̜ͮͤ̌̌̂̈͒͗̍͌̌͐̚͝k͐̀̒̎ͭͭͬ̎̽̏͋͏̴̛̹̘̭͉̬i̅ͬ̃ͣ̄̓ͧͨ͋͒҉̦̬̫͖̗͈͇̫ͅn̴͗ͤ̐̍̓ͧ̔̅͆̈́̃ͦͥͬ͛ͭ̽͏̣̳̱̮͓̗̜͓̟͕͓͇̠̖̻̫̘g̢̛̭̹̘͎͇͉̖͈͎̪̬͌ͫ̓͌ͦ̇͂̐̔̐̾̾ͪ̐͛ ̵̧́̄̐́̚͏̯͈̤̝̭̜̦̙̹̪̪̰͕̖̥͍̦a̟̩̙̱̻̳͇̜̘͍̞͈̹͕͉͉͈̪ͨͩͨ̾ͥ̎ͩ͢ňͥ̽̂ͧͭ̇҉͉͍̻͇̠͍̟͠dͮ͐̂̓̋̐̑̂̓̀͂̅ͪ́̚҉͔̟͇̪͚̳͖̦̳͕̼̫̥̯̳͙̱͡ ̧ͩ͒́̓͂̉̐ͫ͆̇̈́͘͘͟͏̲͖̬͇̖̬̭͕̗̣͎͈͖͙͕͎̤t̵̶̷̜͍͍̥͓̖͉̠̞͎͍̱͔̦̹̲̠̉̑̑̇̄̓̈͗̆͛ḥ̷͉̖͈̳̥̤ͪͤ̐̚͘͠͝i̛̠͙̲̹̤̼̖͇͈͓͓͈̯̟̖͂ͥͣ̅ͥ͒̄̅́̇̍ͬͩ͒̽ͫ́͘̕͝ͅn̜̝̰͕̞̫̟ͯͤ̒͌ͨ̀͘͜͡͠k̡̦̟̭̦͕̪̳͙̫̺̜̼̼͍̭͍ͫ͆͒ͣ̏ͩ͋̽ͫ̎̈́̈ͬͨ̓̎́͝ͅi̶̧̹͓̮̱͈̲̻̜̙̓̔ͧ̿ͭͪ̂̄ͨ̅̄̀ņ̵̨̯̮̹̣͔̤͖̩̳̻̝̤̺͙ͥ͂̾̑͡ͅg̸͎̬̹̳̮͎͇̠͖͍̩͔̯͔͇̳̋͛ͫ̂̈́̋͌̋̔̌ͤͣ̓ͯ͋̀̚͟ͅͅ ̸̷̤̩̪̗͖̣̇ͣ͛̓ͪ̋͊̓̋ͬ̇̈̽̅͒ͣ͞͞a̴̢̩̺̪̩͖͗ͣͤ̆̌̃͑͟͡n̵̨̝̻̻̦̯͓̦͚̹͖̘̲̤̗̤ͦ́̃́͜͠ͅd̴̻̝̮̲̜̥̟̘̠̫̮̳̖͎̮̜̏ͮ͂ͤͨ̎͗̾̋͐̽̊̍̔́͘͞͞ ̷̣̺̻̟͎̝̼̝̮̺̲͇̘̳̤̦̦̻̋̔̾̚͢͠t̴ͫ͆̾́̓͋ͬ̒̊ͮͮ͑͑̑ͦͫ̄̌͏̷̷̮͖͔̼͕̯͖͚̗͔̥̟͘ḥ̢̢̲̮̯̣̲̪̬͉̦̻̩̮̘͙̮͍̂ͪ̅͛́́͗͌̋̋͆ị̸̼̥͚̲ͫͫ͛ͨ̓͐ͪ͟͝n̷̴̙̺̳̪̱͍̖͔̟͉͉̻̔̒̆͑ͪͬ͗ͦ̑́͌ͤͨͧ̇̽ͨ̏͐͞͝ķ̧̗̙͇̼̗͔̙͍̘̭͖͎̮̱̱̦̻̠͆ͥ̋̒ͬͬ̅̿̒̀͟͡į̛̀͂̐̔ͩ̌ͨ̎̓͛̿̈̂҉̰͕̯̖͚̣̬͓͚̝̼͓͕̖̹̝̤̪͖́n̵̗͎̘̼̹̻̝͍̲̹̏ͨ̾̉̐ͤ͆͑̀̿͊͑̇͜g̷̨̛̮̥̘̗͔͙͔̥̭̖͚̠̝̾ͦ̓ͧͧ̇ͩ̈́̐̚

̵̛̬̺͎̲͍̖̜͔̺̺̹̆̍ͩ̊̂͐ͪ̏͂ͭ͐̾A̳̫̫̼̱̖̪̋͗ͣ͘ǹ̵̜̰͇̻̘̘̙̺̗̦̃̓ͮ̒́̌̑ͫ͐͘d̋̉̏ͯ́̌ͩ̔ͤ̚̚҉͏̷̠̯̙̟̫ ̢̧͎̖̭͚͈̥̟̲͇̱̠̖̬̉ͥ̂ͯ̐̾ͩ̉͑͂͌̎́ͪ̈́̒̕͜͡t̵̸̨̟̞̳͔̝͕͖͙̲̞̭͍̰̋́ͣ̑̓̌ͮ̏͐̒͘͝h̸̼͓̱̟̪͍͚̳̘̪̖̤̼̐̑ͧͪͥ͆ͫͤ̐̉̈ͪ͠į̴̛͎̝̩̹̫̮̰̦̖̦̼̥̪͖́ͫ̎̅̀͘n̜̣̰͖͍͖ͮ̒̈̓͋ͬ͌̂̔ͩ̂̀̈́̃ͬͫ̒͟͢ͅk̸̡͕̥̣̮̰̺͎͙̮̹̥̠͔̰̑̏ͯͭ̃͊̆ͬͧ̀̚͢ȋ̵͖͈̣̠̘̭̝̳͚̥̖͙͎͐̈͗ͫͮ̀͂ͪ̏̓̀͘̕͘n̶̤͕͕̙̹͈͓͚̙̦͖͉͇̫̻͕͖͌̃̒̒̉̐̔̔͛̃ͪ͟͝͞ĝ̸̢̣̞̙̗̞͕̿̔̎͂͘͘ ͚̠̫͋ͦͬ̐ͫ̃ͩ̋̃̒ͩ̓̂̀͘̕͞ä̪͖͍̼́ͮ̈̓ͬͤ̈ͫ͐̓͢͡ͅņ̒̾̆͒̐ͩͤ͋͑͂̒̄ͮͨ̚͟҉̧͔̪͇̳̠̯̗͔̼̩̤̩̟͔̗̖ͅḏ̶̪͎̻̼̼̳ͣ̍̈́͂ͬ̌̍ͬ̒́͌̒ͤͨ̏̍ͧͦ̚͟͠ͅ ̫̤̩͔̳͇͉̹̮̰͈͚̻̘͖̮̖͔ͯ͐ͯ́͐̍ͭ̂̌̊̒ͤ̚͘̕͢t̸̨̘͖̜̪̻̬̣̪͙̲̉ͦͬ̓̃̏̆͐̑͐̆͊ͪ̊ͥ̚ͅḫ̤̜͉͉͖̪͔̹͚̗̞̈̌̈́̄́͐ͫ̓̐͆ͮͩ̈́̓̓͂̅͘͡i̡̗̺̳̱͉̘͉͍͙̟̖̩̠̝̮͈̯ͫ̈ͩͤ̒̔͗̽̑ͣͮ̊̓ͬͮ̆͜͞ͅn̓͊͑̓ͬ͑̋̾̽̈̋̒͒̾̈͆̎̄͏̵̕͜͏̤̘̰̯̞͖̰͍͎͙k̸̲͍͕͖̺͐̽ͬͬ̓̿ͨͫ͘ͅiͦͣ̌̽̀̃̈́͏̨́͏̭͎̤͎͍̲̮̜̣͇̘̹̖͙̘͚͘n̴̙̰̥̻͍̮͎̜̭̹̹̱̮̬̖̻̼̮͙̓̒̆̇́ͪ͛͋͒͆̏ͩ̏͛̆ͨ̓͝͝g͑̋̾ͪ̀͑ͩ̍̒̑͆̿̓ͤ̕͏̻̭̖̻̜͇̪̣̳͍̝͎ͅ ̢̼̖̜̼̲͓̯̱̺͕̜̪̼̪ͯͪͤͦ̒̈́̓̽̐͑͌̆̆́̀̚͘͘a̡̖̥̹̖̱̞̺̗͊́̂̆ͥ͊̃͌ͫͪ̂̃ͫ̀ͩ̅̓ͮ̾̀͢ñ̸̢͙͍̠̘̪̣̳̖̣͚͈̼͇̖̼̟͔͂̓̎ͯ̽͗͐́̕͘d͛ͣ̄͗̃̑ͬ̉̋̋ͬ̀̀ͩ͒ͯͪ̐̄͏̡̢̬̼͚̻̱̝́͘ͅ ̴̷͈̩̯̞̞͖̜̖͍͊̓̌͒͐̑̚͡t͉̼̪̮̻͖͎̰̳̥ͨ́͋̆̑̂̒̑̍͒͢h̵̶̷̡̻͕̱̟̻͖̰̰͉͈̬͚̺̟͖ͩ̔̑ͦ̿͊ͤ͗̚͢i̷̴̢̝̤̫̹̲͙͉ͮ͊ͧ͊̆̏ͫ͌͌͂̀̍̾͢͠ṋ̷̗̩̜̱̦̬̺̖̝̮̬̬͚̣̺̲̳͚̑ͯ̂ͩ̆̈́́̌͒̃̏̓ͫ́̓ͦ̊ͦ́͞͝k̷̵̗̣͉͇̦̞ͥͥ̒̎̃ͨ̅͋́ͣ̔ͬ̅̉̒͐̈̉̚͢i͊͊͐̌ͦ̓̋̋̐̈́̀̽͝҉̡̮̻̻͇̝̰͚͜͡ͅͅn̢̼̩̹͇̈ͥ̈ͫ̉͌̀͂͆ͤ̂ͧ̅̈̋ͤ͗̒͜͡͡g̡̡̤͙͕̺̞̖̑̽̂ͩ͒͌͂͗ͣ͗́ͫ̔͜͞ͅ

This process of how my brain works, with that constant background static, is why I need to draw, why I need to find an outlet at least from time to time. Because no matter what I do, that stuff still keeps building and piling up and if I don't do something about it, I either become numb (like explained in the last post here) or (/and then) the exact opposite (in a very... "bad" and unhealthy way).

Anyway; in general making people understand what I want to say or what is going on is... a thing. It's difficult finding someone who's interested in hearing your thoughts in the first place. I'm used to being overlooked and ignored, or being told indirectly that it's just too much effort/too exhausting to put up with what's going on inside me. I'm used to that the majority of people don't like my Art. They either find it too repulsive, can't/don't want to connect with it or aren't interested in it. Don't get me wrong, that's perfectly fine for me. It's been that way my entire life, regarding everything "me", so why start to bother now. That's what I'd like to be telling myself and actually believing it.
I can't deny that I'm just a human being. It's part of human nature to be wanting to be seen by others, to be accepted, to be wanted, to not be left behind or ignored. When people make me feel unwanted or like smth to throw away or even beat up (mentally), I'd be a fool to claim that it wouldn't hurt, at least somewhat, still.

But then again it's just about that one (and maybe a very few others) who actually do like me, accept me, listen to me, and at least try to understand me. It's just about that couple of people who actually take their time and try to let my Art speak to them, feel something during that and then sometimes tell me what that was. And that I actually do believe.

I mean, it took  me my entire life up til know to getting to know who I am and how my being works. And often enough there are still moments, where I'm not so sure about that at all.

I also wanna write about hiding your true self, but I guess I'll do that another time; either here via edit or in a new post. First I have to get that fucking Na'vi post done x)
So, "later".

Lest I forget

To me, Art is more than just an imitation or interpretation of life. Art is my life, and my art is me. Drawing anything just to draw something isn't what I want, what I need. Not on the long run. Of course, it's my job to take commissions from strangers and take their visions and feelings and translate them into a picture, into something that has a meaning to them, that is important to them. I've been doing that on a daily basis for the past... 3+ years, without a break. I've tried before to find myself again, I tried to draw in my old style, trying to get to the gutter of my soul again and tear some shit to the surface, but I wasn't really able to. So I kinda just... drew two new versions of two old pictures, and half-heartedly tried to draw something dark again, hoping to use these as a valve, an outlet. Didn't work. Eat shit or die, so the daily routine went on again. Draw, draw, draw. For others. Always for others. Or meaningless pretty (fan art) crap that's just superficial.

But I can't go long by just that. If I keep doing this for too long I lose touch with myself. I become numb and nervous and depressed for no reason, at least no visible reason because I'm not reflecting on myself; because I don't question anything regarding myself; because I become afraid of digging shit up that could make be become unstable again. So I just go along with the daily routine and literally become a mindless zombie. A functioning machine. Nothing more.
But I don't want that. I can't do that.

So I had to do what I did. A trip to the sewer, face down, getting dirty, feeling like crap and happy at the same time and making the best out of it. I guess that's (among other things) what I need to do to stay as sane and stable and myself as I can. To remember who I am, to never forget what has been and what currently is, where I've started and what I've achieved. To stay in touch with myself.

Lest I forget, I've tattooed myself on Thursday again. A piece of bandage wrapped around my left wrist in between the tattoos that already been there. Just a little reminder, so to speak. "Don't forget who and what you are."

"Morast" + "Finding myself again" (copy+pasted)

Copy-pasted from my other blog.

Morast

16. Februar 2017
Mir geht es seit einigen Jahren eigentlich ziemlich gut. Kleinere depressive Phasen, die aber mitnichten vergleichbar mit denen von früher sind - früher kannte ich über Jahre hinweg, eigentlich mein halbes Leben, nichts anderes als... "dies".

Im Laufe der Zeit verinnerlichte ich es, es wurde zu meiner Normalität, zu mehr als nur einem Teil von mir. Meine Welt, meine Realität, mein Inneres, mein Äußeres, ich. Meine Kunst war mein einziges wirkliches Sprachrohr, mein einziger, wirklicher Sinn. Der Schmerz war meine Kunst, meine Kunst war ich.

Seit ein paar Jahren habe ich immer wieder das Gefühl, ich hätte mich selbst, meinen Kern verloren. Ich kann nicht mehr in meinem alten Stil malen; ich weiß schlichtweg nicht mehr, wie es geht. Die Gefühle von damals waren der Motor, jedoch noch viel mehr als nur das. Jetzt wo mir dieser Motor fehlt und ich mich zumindest augenscheinlich selbst längst gewandelt habe, ist es eigentlich nur logisch, dass meine Kunst sich wandeln muss, einen anderen Motor finden muss. Aber das gelingt mir nicht, egal, wie sehr ich es auch versuche.

Ich kann diesen Prozess sicherlich nicht erzwingen, nur weiß ich nichtmal, ob dies überhaupt ein Prozess ist, und falls ja, ob dieser Prozess jemals zu irgendeiner Art von Ergebnis führen wird.

Es gibt Tage und Wochen, in denen ich es vermisse. Die Welt, die immernoch irgendwo tief unten in mir lebt, die durch bestimmte Dinge wieder wachgerufen werden kann und die sich ab und an zumindest ansatzweise blicken lässt. Die Welt, die damals Hölle, Zuflucht, Heimat war. Mein altes Ich. Meine alte Pein. Die Gefühle, die mir so viel mehr Vertrautheit, Geborgenheit und Sicherheit geben als mir eigentlich lieb sein sollte.

Es gibt Tage und Wochen, in denen ich keinen neuen Motor finden möchte.

Wer bin ich eigentlich? Heute, jetzt?

Für viele mag es sicherlich idiotisch klingen, wenn sich jemand die schlimmsten Jahre seines Lebens zurückwünscht (zumindest auf emotionaler Ebene, nicht unbedingt die Geschehnisse, die damals stattfanden). Aber na ja, so ist es offensichtlich wohl bei mir. Es fehlt mir. Ich fehle mir. Zumindest ein nicht unwesentlicher Teil davon.

Immerhin kann ich dank KoRn einen Teil davon wieder hochzerren, zumindest erahnen, wie es damals war (KoRn machte damals den wesentlichen Teil meines Musikkonsums aus). Man vergisst zu schnell. Zu schnell und einfach rückt alles zu stark in den Hintergrund, droht unter grauem Morast für immer verloren zu gehen.

Dieser Post muss keinen Sinn für irgendjemanden ergeben; ist eher mehr für mich selbst.

Edit: Beim Versuch, den alten Motor wieder mit Sprit zu füttern und zum Laufen zu bringen, kam folgendes heraus:

Morast

Ganz ok, oder?

Finding myself again (translated)

19. Februar 2017
I've been able to open some doors which have been closed for a long time, and now that they're open I love and hate it at the same time. It makes me feel bad, but this again makes me feel good.
These dark places, feelings, thoughts have been my home for almost my entire life and I love being able to visit them again, no matter if it hurts or helps me.

I've been drawing to pics which I like a lot. They both carry a meaning.
Of course I've improved over the past few years, my technique has become more refined, so it looks different to what it used to, but it's good to know that I'm still able to draw the way I used to when it comes to meaning, transportation of feelings and issues.
Being able to transport what is inside my head to the surface and put it on paper.

Yep, it seems like I've been able to find these doors again and what's behind them. I've found them, opened them and said hello to myself.
No matter how much it hurts, it's good to be back.

Well, hi

I thought I maybe shouldn't contaminate my language learning nerd blog with any more "dark" posts, so I created this blog here as a quick and easy outlet for all the stuff that's going on inside my head and which I feel the need to write down.

Posts here will be either in English or German, depending on my mood or how fast I need to type or how I'm able to convey feelings in either of these languages.

For my more peace, love and harmony-ish blog about Na'vi, visit Tskxekeng ne tìyo' - for more info about me and/or my art, go to SickDelusion.com.

Ah and greetings to that fucktard who took sickdelusion.blogspot.com in order to never post something ever up til today.

Also, this blog isn't a cry for help or begging for pity - you can keep that to yourself (constructive thoughts are always welcome tho). It's just here for me to sort my thoughts and to get 'em out of my head. Simple as that.

"You don't have to watch me sewing myself back together again"

Nothing To See Here