MUSICIAN, luca frisbey

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[b]KIDA MASAOMI[/b] - luca frisbey

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There's something wrong when disenchantment drives you so far up the wall that not even dad's money or the pharmacy under your bed does much of anything. It's hard to tack on exactly when it started, but it was probably somewhere around being fucked over (literally and figuratively) by your boyfriend a year ago and the end of the more recent short-lived pretentiousness of being signed somewhere, anywhere.

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Homogeneous with having a first cigarette, your years have been a repetitive cycle of experiencing repulsive, sweet, and withdrawal-like symptoms of addiction. Drugs were for the John and Jane Does. Why didn't extensive, crippling pleasure-seeking have a support group? Hi, my name is Luca, and I'm a hedonist.

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In that sense, anyone would have assumed that the music helped. Therapeutic, or something romantic like that. Instead it brought a bloated ego that led to spitting up nervousness into a toilet bowl. It was and is a vicious cycle.

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And the harsh reality is that there's nothing romantic about it. It's not like the movies say, becoming a pariah among your own people and dedicating yourself to your studio, your music. Because it's not healthy — Go outside, take a walk, shower, even. Live a little. — but god dammit, it's yours. It's yours and yours and yours. Tattoo the whole thing on your body, because hell would freeze over before you gave it up.

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Who cares if it's good or not? It's yours. Yours.

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