The disastrous sequel to
Who I am–the blog no one red*
Same title, same boredom, same idiot
Starring: Micéle S. Red van Shouten
Guests: Vincence Sega, Noncence Atari
In my last picturesque autobiography (yes it is, considering the fact that it was actually supposed to be a flyer) of my pseudo rock star life I may have mentioned that I spent my spare time with writing lyrics and vocal lines for a modern Melodic Metal band once in the early years of our still young century. After that phase of representing testosterone, glamour, and testosterone I realized that I grew old and therefore nintended to set priorities–which meant to become more mellow and less dick, which also meant that I had to change the majority of my habits.
Consequently, in order not to challenge my countable amount of hair too much, I gave up screaming and headbanging. One says that losing hair doesn't come with Metal Music but with age. Whatever the real reason, I haven't found a recipe for staying young and potent at the same time, so I 'ave to blame my past music "carrier" for the undeniable existence of my unholy shakra's landing area that life off the beaten track automatically brought about. In other words, life sucks and below I may tell you why....
Who am I? – The bloke no one met
After my share of time with the band, I constantly played with the thought of founding my very own Metal band. Since I didn't want this little dream to turn into an idea as bland and unconceivable as a deluded open-air-baby-fart I accomplished what I thought was a smart plan.
First, I wrote some easy-cheesy songs with the equipment I already had. Then I bought office materials, brand-new studio equipment, furniture and tools vital for every kind of upcoming working process I had in mind, and other inexpensive materials I needed to mount the entire homemade installation. For instance, I had to collect a few dozens of these 29 centimeter-long, square-shaped egg boxes which I fixed on the wall as an improvised isolation against unwanted reverberation.
Having collected all this, I built a low-price working room for creative work that served as both a music studio (for recording vocals and guitars) and a contemporary atelier (for keyboard programming, drawing, textwriting, and artistic jewellery).
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| Atelier/Office |
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| Studio part, first wall |
I knew it would take me some time to bring this concept to existence but I was sure it would be worth spending time and euros on it. The entire working process, which lasted several months–due to the fact that I usually had to work in kitchens or on assembly lines during the day–kept me from uncanny behavior that every second hobby-psychologist would define as manic depressions. Simply staying busy was the best I could do during my creative phase between summer 2007 (the year in which the old band "dissolved into parts") and winter 2012 (the second year of my first semester TKK studies): I wrote songs; sometimes drew pictures; did a few remunerative jobs for several companies; and kind of tried to manage my beginning language studies. I also played basketball once in a while.
In the same phase–to be precise, in the autumn of 2009–my job as a kitchen hand brought back to consciousness my interest in cooking, a hobby that has always been quite consoling to me (especially back in times when I constantly had to concern myself with death and other hurtful goodbyes). Until late spring 2012 my home kitchen was equipped with a perfectly functioning oven and a spacious stove area above. In the professional kitchen where I used to work [in the mentioned year] I could improve my cutting techniques and, as a result, it was more fun trying out new recipes at home. I did fairly well in baking pizzas, creating pastas, and baking fruit cakes,.. and minestrone.
Since my leisure time was marked by demotivating solitude, I prospected for a change in my life that would make me feel less lonesome; I didn't find the answer ever since.
Even so, I changed my life completely: First–pushed by constant arguments with the real estate agent–I gave up my fifty-square meter luxury home in which I mounted (and, logically, later demounted) my working room and instead moved in a forty years old mega-tight camping trailer where I managed my studies during what was actually supposed to be the warm season.
–Ass-kicked by misfortune, I had to deal with the coldest spring in hundred years of Austrian history (2013)–no joke–and that meant snow until May; resulting freezing feet all day all night; resulting frozen hair after somewhat zero-degree-cold showers; resulting panic attacks; a resulting weak nervous system; resulting outrageous behavior such as regular irregular shadow-boxing-sessions; and resulting spontaneous hundred-percent-necessary, desperate screaming concerts combined with loco running-in-circles. (There wasn't more order than I already put into this writing.) Of course, action taking place next to a public cemetery... I doubt that I'll ever mentally recuperate from this "historical spring". Glad that it's over now; Back to the story–
I gave up my home, moved in a trailor, and from then on tried to focus on my studies. On top of that, in the winter of 2012, I would radically change my eating habits and become a vegan. In my first vegan spring, creations would work out fairly well; and on a monthly trip to Ljubljana, Slovenia I was given the opportunity to conjure up my first pizza–free from dairy, free from meat, free from whatever animals might be able to give unwillingly.
Becoming a vegan and now actually being some kind of convinced vegan was/is by far the most challenging
personal modification for me as a recognized designer. What is most fertilizing is how different world makes sense these days.
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Before autumn 2012; stuffed turkey roulade
in soy-Feta sauce with zucchini and potatoes |
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Winter season 2012/13; seitan burgers
in portobello sauce with yeast bread |
The sad thing about what I'm telling you is that I can show you a few of my creations but unfortunately, those pics won't give you a clear idea about me as a person. What I can tell you is how I would like to be, what I think sometimes keeps me from being myself, and best–what part of my bad characteristics I don't want to give up (although these matters may not make me appear like an amiable mate).
I remember, I once was a very sociable and sanguine kind of guy who was well-integrated in society. Today matters are totally different. I barely smile and usually only laugh after a work-out in order to fill my lungs with oxygen. But I'm a desperate, misanthropic moaner for a reason: I trusted in the wrong ones for ages and now don't have the slightest idea how to integrate myself in my environment. In fact, I am still trying to shape a personal image I myself could undoubtedly accept. What's more, I usually cannot partake in group activities if my role inside of it isn't directing or to a certain degree authorative (certainly, because I had too little to compose in my own life). Since this summer of 2012 I am literally homeless and therefore cannot keep track. I am constantly afraid of losing my private space, and the fact that my budget–which I need to continue my studies–still melts away doesn't keep my composure upright. Sometimes I would like to be a little more sensitive, less consuming, more reserved, and more cooperative. But I truly struggle with the rest of the world, simply because I don't have a single loved person with whom I could share thoughts of what permanently burdens my breast. Since the split of the old Metal band I am with no one straight but me myself. That hurts and feels disgusting. I am wholeheartedly disappointed about the last seven years of my life, and I cannot find a single humanitarian aspect that could raise an honest smile. My life is real shit. That's why I'd do wrong if I didn't moan all day.
The only good thing about me as a person is that I never totally gave up myself and always found business that allured some creative and invigorating moments throughout these dark ages. In the last four years I read over hundred books (including comics of course) and now, eventually, I consequently feel like writing and expressing my view of the world, in which I appear to dwell: Ten years ago I started with an idea, the story of a helpless vagrant under a Grazian bridge. Last year I wrote the first scenes and some monologues. And in a warm and cozy Grazian nuthouse I even drew five sketches that could accompany my wordy story telling. Well, and since I do not want to pull you into my very private abyss, I instead provide you with two more pictures that may be able to give you a first fertilizing impression of my future work. It's a little queer.
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| Under the bridge |
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| In prison |
Thanks for your attention
CU in class
Michael
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