ilysm

By dada

Consistency is outdated. Contradiction is inevitable.

When you stand on the final frontier of teenage angst and no road seems to be just right, trying to follow your own way may eventually put you face to face with the void. Fill it with an impos

• Language: English
• Publisher: dada
• Release date: Aug 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9788396239815

Book preview

dada

ilysm

Copyright © 2021 by dada

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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I try.

I abandoned and forgot myself,

laying my face on my Beloved;

all things ceased;

I went out from myself,

leaving my cares

forgotten among the lilies.

- St. John of the Cross

Dark Night of the Soul

fragment

Foreword

This book has found you.

Destiny is something I have never been able to accept emotionally. To see the world suffer in vain, forgotten among the indifferent and silent universe, it’s always bugged me. Cruel, wicked, unempathetic. It occurred to me a moral obligation towards humanity to rebel against this evil.

But have I chosen this path myself or am I condemned for it since year zero?

Everything that happens has no inherent essence in itself. The meaning of history, of a bird flying, of a child dying, can only be subjectively attributed in retrospect. When I was going through a dark chapter of my life, when I first started to feel the void heavily pressing on my shoulders, no words of encouragement were enough to cheer me up. But I kept going. I didn’t even know why.

Do I know now? To a very limited extent. It will make more sense in the future, I reckon.

We live in hopeless times. The light on the other side of the tunnel seems to be a train coming our way. Pain feels lonesome, but we’re all in this together. I’m not a fan of clichés, but sometimes the easiest words can convey the gist of the deepest messages: it’s always darkest before dawn.

ilysm will take you on a journey through misery, through fighting trauma, and towards finding yourself. First you must plunge deep within to discover the infinity without. It might be depressing sometimes, it might look grim and exitless, but what awaits you is a freedom whose scale no human can fully comprehend.

Don’t fight the void. Welcome it with your arms wide apart. It will sound paradoxical, hypocricital even, but the void is not doom; it is liberation.

Give yourself a try.

Just try.

Acknowledgement

I don’t remember ever reading an acknowledgements note that wouldn’t be dry, dull, or unprepossessing - or all three at once. At some point, you can’t be bothered to soar through those few paragraphs with names you don’t know and words of gratitude you don’t give a damn about.

The first person I want to thank is myself. This book wouldn’t have been written if it wasn’t for me. If you create anything, thank yourself: for the idea, for the vision, for the perseverance. So I thank me for making it happen.

Then I want to thank you. The only valuable thing you can give another person is time. It is priceless, it is unredeemable, it is a part of your life. Reading this novel will take you around 10 hours. Add the time spent walking around the bookstore until you settle on that one title you’re willing to pay for or just scrolling online, the time spent thinking what will happen in the next chapter, the time spent talking about the book to your friends - you get around, say, 24 hours. So I thank you for giving me a day of your life.

Lastly, the support. That one compliment that kept me going for months. That one song that gave me a spiritual experience and a revelation. That one place where I could sit for hours on end and write without frustration or disturbance. That one phonecall when I could ramble on about my doubts and ideas, my anxieties and dreams. That one conversation that allowed me to breathe again. That living beings who inspire me. That dozens of rejection emails that got me thinking, Hell, I don’t need y’all industry pricks, I can do it on my own. And so I did.

This book is a cry to show the world that I exist. To prove to myself that I’m a God, the main character, the creator of my own path - selfish (for the lack of a better word) beyond ego.

You’re a God too. And this is just the beginning.

I

Part One

I

My feet waded through the damp mud. The remaining snow gathered in heaps at the street curbs. The city landscape was appalling: repelling and unkind.

Gypsy beggars stretching their twig arms at me in desperation. Decaying pigeon carcasses scattered around the entire Berlin municipality. Cyclists swooshing inches from my face when I tried to cross the road. The permeating stench of madness. A thousand eyes of gentrified neighbourhoods. The general rhythm of sleepless nights, sad teenagers, and joints passing from hand to hand. Married couples on their late-afternoon stroll occupying the entire pavement, forcing me to step onto the hard shoulder. Straight into a puddle. As if my shoes were not a mess already.

Yet they were nothing compared to my head. I’d had enough of the world. The wind slipped under my leather jacket and tinkled my back. I was cold, my toes wet to the bone, and I wanted to get back home the moment I left my flat. All the forces of the universe seemed to conspire against me. And I knew it.

The studio we were renting was just five minutes from my new place. I moved from the suburbs just to spare myself the hour-long journey downtown. We started having rehearsals more often recently, and it was drudgery. It was my Golgotha, but any pain was better than stumbling down the hill, wounded and alone. I descended from the mount of olives and took up the cross. The dry wood flayed my shoulders. They offered me wine mixed with gall, gear mixed with weed, but I refused. Save yourself! they shouted at me. I thought of my peers: social media influencers, overqualified graduates, and indebted artists living on their parents’ expense. On this Via Dolorosa, I would fall three times. I walked, full of calm and resolve, thinking of today’s session.

There was something soothing about music. The feel, I called it - it was liberating. Not escaping reality, but allowing me to experience it fully. I craved no power or money; what good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? For the first time in a long time I felt committed to something, exhausting as it would get. I had a purpose. If only I could have someone to share it with.

To avoid getting even more wet, I had to manoeuvre from one side of the pavement to the other. The weight of the guitar case in my hand made me wobble. My shoulder-length chestnut hair was swinging as I jumped over a pile of dirty snow, my lean shadow stretching over the concrete valley of cigarette butts, empty bottles, and reservoirs of youthful tears. Headphones in my ears, I imagined I was in a music video. I didn’t care.

An intimidating guy passed me by. His bald head blinded me for a moment. Fag, he hissed through his teeth, sending a spear through my gut. The venom spurted all over my face but I paid no mind to it and pretended I took no notice of him. I knew I was kind of queer. Some would call it free. Was it really freedom? Why would he give a damn? I stepped up, hoping I would not see him again. I was almost there anyway.

Despite the red light, I crossed the street. You unbelieving generation, how long shall I stay with you? There were no cars in sight. To some extent I did it just because it was illegal. Rebellion is a way of living: not an idea to discuss in university lecture auditoriums but an everyday cry, "It’s up to me!"

When I entered the studio I put the guitar case on the floor. I had reached the place of the skull. The smell of dust and spilled alcohol filled my nostrils. The pink neon light attached to the ceiling shyly illuminated the dark room; it was my own aesthetic touch. It was a cosy little studio in a post-communist block’s basement on the verge of being demolished - or, as some prefer to call it, gentrified. Simultaneously, it was our go-to junkie cave, a speakeasy of sorts. It consisted of a living-room area, with a fridge as its central amenity, then the sound-isolated studio part with a small restroom. I leaned over to peek into the fridge. It was empty, though I hoped I could find a can of beer there. Even such a petty pleasure was out of reach. God seemed to hate me. And I knew it.

I stepped into the studio and saw that Lou was already there, kneeling on the floor and tampering with his drum set. He looked as if he was praying to the instrument. Maybe he was.

I greeted, You alright?

Yes, quite well. Just setting up, replied Lou without looking at me.

Been here a while?

A half hour or so.

It takes time, don’t it? The drum set.

Nevertheless, it’s worth it, Lou replied in that pompous, deadpan tone. I expected another pragmatic lecture but he didn’t say anything, not this time. I’d heard it all already anyway.

I started to unpack my instruments in silence. My mic fell on the floor and Lou gave me a judging look. The dumb sound abruptly tore him from a trance. I felt those dark brown eyes fixed on me, like a satellite, gazing. He tucked his shirt in and corrected the glasses on his nose. He was no rockstar. Rhythm and blues was bursting out of his limbs. But he was an outstanding drummer. And a straightforward guy, too. You look quite horrid today, if you ask me, he said.

A fine observation, I replied blandly and picked the microphone up. Sometimes I wondered if Lou was a real person or an AWOL prototype of an android. The way he spoke, it’s like he really tried to sound human. He didn’t know that human is not flawless. I asked, Is Matty about?

Is that a rhetorical question?

I should have known.

Lou put the bass drum in place painstakingly and hesitated. I could see he was looking for the right words. Steam was bursting out of his ears as his brain calculated on top processing speed. Actually, he finally said, I would find it quite appropriate we finally had a frank conversation with the aforementioned bandmate of ours, namely Matthias, to discuss his habitual disrespect for commonsensical and mutually-respectful punctuality.

The way he spoke. Ridiculous. I cut short, Go on. You do the talking. I already know what he’d say.

Was he not supposed to accompany you today?

He did, I explained. He helped me out with the new place. Dragging the suitcase upstairs and all. Last time I saw him he said we’d meet here.

Then I imagine it must resemble a decrepit garbage lot. Do you know that the environment you live in directly reflects the state of your mind?

Sounds about right.

And are you quite fond of this new flat of yours?

It’s not mine. I just rent it, as a matter of fact, I corrected. It’s okay. I don’t have to live with my mum anymore, is all.

I see. You could indeed do with some hands-on responsibility on your light shoulders, if you ask me, he announced and I nodded. A drop of sweat appeared on Lou’s dark skin, the colour of coffee with but a hint of milk, and he immediately wiped it off with a kerchief. Then he added, And by your feeble physical appearance I reckon your diet lacks certain nutrients. Some more sleep would do you good as well. I will send you a link to an article I’ve read today. The author seems to be quite knowledgeable on the subject of creating an effective daily schedule to ameliorate your unquestionably run-down well-being. Grooming products of higher quality would be advisable too, if you ask me.

If my own insecurities weren’t enough, Lou seemed to enjoy giving me a hard time. I ran my fingers through my hair. He was right.

I locked my eyes on the electric guitar. It smelled of rage. I stared at it for a while, admiring its shiny ebony wood. When my reflection formed on the instrument’s body, a pale moon in the dark lake waters, I looked away. Thanks, I said.

Honestly, I cannot grasp what happened to you throughout this past year.

Me neither.

Seems to me you have lost your way. Do let me know should you be in need of counsel.

Uh-huh.

It does not quite cease to boggle my mind, the change in you. You seem to have given up on the idea of a meaningful human existence, if you ask me. You seem to have become a resentful punk clad in leather and lead, drowning in some gross epicurean nihilism.

If there was something Lou hated more than vernacular, it was left-wingers. Beware the zeal of the convert, I said. His gaze started to get heavy on my face. These days you can learn a philosophy from a 15-minute video essay and change your life attitude twice a month. That’s the way it is now.

It’s not easy to stay true to yourself, indeed… Nevertheless, best of luck on your path of personal development. If one could call it development.

Sure.

Happy to help, he said with a faint hint of victory in his voice. Lou went on to screwing his cymbals to their stands. Each time he did it, the set looked immaculate, as if he had just bought it from a store. Same with his clothes. I reckon he’d die of heart palpitation were he to find a stain on the instrument.

We heard a commotion in the restroom and a dreamy voice, I am aware that I am aware.

Before we exchanged a look of confusion, the door was thrown open with a strong kick. A tsunami of curly hair flooded the room.

"Where have you guys been?!" Matty’s face was ornamented with a wide grin as he shut the door with a swing of arm. The foam did a lousy job drowning out the thud. Happy as ever, Matty gave me a sincere bearhug and patted me on the back. His baggy clothes were most likely stolen from a hippie astronaut in a parallel universe.

Lou wiped his dark-skinned face with a kerchief again and chuckled in despair, Here we go.

By now I’d already had enough of both of them. All I wanted to do was get over with the rehearsal and go home. I loved music, but these guys were draining energy out of me. Generally, people. Not all the time, but all the time sometimes.

Matty winked at Lou, pointed at his hairstyle, and said, "Fly box shade, brother."

I’ve always worn it this way.

"I know, right? It’s amazing. He turned to me, You look like shit though, angel."

Thanks.

"You haven’t seen too many butterflies lately, have you?"

Not really. It’s winter, Matty. There are no butterflies.

"They aren’t there if you don’t want to see them, angel."

Sure. Were you in the bathroom the entire time?

"Oh, no, said Matty. I was in KaDeWe just a second ago. I used teleportation. You guys should try it. Real neat."

Sounds quite appealing, sighed Lou. He turned to his cymbals again and muttered to himself, Might as well.

My mic and guitar were plugged in. Pick up your bass, I said to Matty. Each word was an effort. We’re almost ready here.

Speak for yourself, I heard a low groan from the percussion corner.

Matty was confused. He guffawed, "What bass?"

Yer g’tar, I explained as a veil of darkness sheathed my brain. Now I started mumbling. "We in a ban’. D’lir’um, r’memba?"

Another tired groan, Don’t bother with him.

"Oh, you mean my bass. Sure I have it. He nodded fervently, I left it at home."

Are you joking? Even when he’s quite on time we are involuntarily forced to wait for him!

I pointed out, Being forced is never voluntary. My voice went back to normal all of a sudden. I was annoyed but tried not to show it, "Nevermind. Just go fetch it real quick. Accelerando, Matty. I gotta go to the bathroom anyways."

A deliberate insult and lack of responsibility!

Stop worrying, angel. The smile was still there on Matty’s skinny latino face. "Everything’s gonna be fine. Trust the universe."

Stop wasting my precious time! Had it not been for this session I wouldn’t have left my apartment at all! called Lou, but Matty was already out of sight. I headed for the restroom and Lou, trying to keep his composure, said to me, Mind giving me a tour around that new place of yours after the rehearsal? I could help you organise an efficient working environment. You could really benefit from it, if you ask me.

I’m having a guest tonight, as a matter of fact. Maybe another day. I didn’t want Lou to come around at all. All he wanted to do was prove his superiority, I assumed.

No more questions. Happy to help.

From the living room we heard the fridge squeaking and a beer can opening, followed by Matty’s cheerful voice. "Is it her coming tonight?"

Hurry up, Matthias!

I intended on hiding in the restroom when Lou said, from the top of his head, I read a truly fascinating article today. With the spotless bass drum pedal in his hand he persisted, Apparently there has been quite a scientific breakthrough of substantial importance in the niche of neuroscience. It completely changes our perception on the matter, if you ask me. They have found 40,000 neurons in the human heart. Isn’t that magnificent? A second brain - right in the heart! He gasped and pointed the pedal at me. Doesn’t it clearly explain some idiomatic symbolism across cultures and generations?

My gut started twisting. I couldn’t care less. All I wanted was somebody to cuddle in at night and watch a stupid Wes Anderson’s rom-com together. Maybe these films would be less depressing if I didn’t watch them on my own. Or get our noses dirty with flour when baking with debatable results. The banana bread inedible, we would have to order take-away pizza. Or even somebody to think about when waiting for the bus to arrive and forget about the numbness. Not fill the void, but forget about it. Tonight, if only… My daydreams only brought me down.

The emotion, the mysticism of love, the gentle touch of affection, the pressing urge of lust, the exchange of fluids - now it was all neuroscience.

Under my breath, I said, Sure. I’d rather shut up than say what was playing on my mind.

Trying to get a moment for myself was futile. Matty bursted into the studio again. He exclaimed, "I almost forgot! I was looking at him disinteredly when he tried to talk over Lou’s moans about his unreliability. Here you go, angel. Matty took a tiny foil bag out of his shoulder bag and handed it to me. Three blue pills rested in the see-through sack. Enjoy your meal," he winked at me.

Fidgety, I put it in my back pocket. Thanks, I muttered.

"Don’t thank me - thank the universe."

Where did you get the beer from? I thought the fridge was empty.

He looked me dead in the eye and dead serious. "Remember: whatever we need, we already have. Matty sent me another grin and laughed, jerking his head backwards. You popping it tonight? With her?"

I think I’ll save it for tomorrow, I explained but he was already gone. We heard his laughter until the entrance door slammed loudly. Cautious, I looked at Lou to check if he had anything else to say. Seeing him preoccupied with wiping his drum sticks, I sighed in relief.

The restroom door handle was already within my grip when, in split seconds, Matty burst into the room again. Quantum mechanics, each of his particles was in two places at once until you observed it. Like a parasite, he was sucking energy out of us.

"By the way, he said. Do you guys wanna get wasted tonight?"

I have better things to do, if you ask me. Quite.

I HaVe bEtTeR tHiNgS tO Do, spoofed Matty. "Ugh, you never go out with us, angel!"

I do. If you weren’t so intoxicated all around the clock, you would quite know it.

We should stay here after the rehearsal, Matty suggested. Then he turned to me, "What about you, angel?"

I already told you. I-

"Oh, right. Take it easy, gigolo." He clapped his hands, shrieked with laughter, and bolted out of the basement.

Sitting at the set, Lou grumbled, Don’t bother with him.

I slipped into the toilet and locked the door behind me. Some peace and quiet, eventually. I sat on the floor and leaned my back against the door. Lou started warming up the very second I tried to close my eyes. Now the entire basement vibrated. No wonder we were getting so many noise complaints; though initially I had doubts whether anyone still lived in this graveyard. Sooner or later we’d get into trouble, regardless. But I couldn’t be bothered flushing any more of my savings down into sound-isolating foam, or bribing the neighbours. Already had I hit the financial rock bottom. We needed to give a gig to earn some money, and soon.

The low drumming tones stopped. I knew that Lou corrected his glasses before he called through the door, Does that perhaps ring a bell? Does it sound familiar to you, the line?

Everything sounds like something, I replied. In fact, I wasn’t listening to it at all. Try giving it a little twist.

Though I only heard an unintelligible mutter, I knew he droned, Might as well. The beat went on.

Putting all my strength together I managed to get up. I cupped my hands in the sink and washed my face, hoping it would clean the filth once and for all. Disillusioned, I looked in the mirror. If only it could lie to me.

Eyebrows asymmetrical and bushy, two crawling caterpillars. Hair greasy and wavy,