what are you trying to do less of for 2024? more of?january | it's strange and vulnerable to let go. as an artist, you want to hold and protect your art from criticisms. i have a possessive instinct that comes from being a nurturer. the urge to tell others they don't understand stays with me from the beginning. don't look but also look because these are our very real, authentic voices and there's no pain greater than going unheard when others should be listening. | own my mind ○ gossip ○ timezone ○ bla bla bla ○ baby said ○ gasoline ○ feel ○ don't wanna sleep ○ kool kids ○ if not for you ○ read your diary ○ mark chapman ○ la fine ○ il dono della vita ○ mammamia ○ supermodel ○ the loneliest ○   |
 | february |   | mental prep: top three songs of feb '23 ○ il bene nel male madame ○ bloody future kilo kish ○ real love song nothing but thieves |
 | march | i give pieces of myself, opening my body every night but just enough so that I never lose my wholeness. part of this dance is learning where your willingness ends. what's appropriate? and what can i do for you without sacrificing myself? in some sense, performing is a solitary romance, but it's one that has a clear end. when the music stops, i move on. | brussels berlin cologne paris casalecchio di reno florence rome naples |
 | april |  | reminders: ○ ○ don't clean the cat hair from your suitcase ○ stop letting others interrupt grandpa time ○ control your face better ○ silence is bliss |
 | may | i find myself adoring the pain of love. if i'm honest with myself, i haven't been happy for a while, but there's a comfort in what and who you know. six years, my entire adult life, and all i have to show for it is badly dyed hair and photographs at the bottom of a box. we wish each other well. it's a shaky peace. | healing isn't a straight line, but that doesn't make this any less annoying. |
 | june |    | mid-year resolutions: ○ stop reading and reacting to negative opinions ○ worry about yourself more, others less ○ spend more time petting stray cats |
july |          |
august | it didn't occur to me how overtired i was until we had a lull. what's normal on tour draws concern in the real world. you can inhale a bunch of cigarettes for breakfast but it might make your loved ones eye the fuck out of you. | it didn't occur to me how little i healed until we had a lull. trying to separate this damiano from this identity of belonging, as being part of something, couldn't happen until i was in the right space. among family and friends, i could feel a small part of my heart remend itself. |
 | september |   | habits of september: ○ pinching every centimeter of skin ○ endlessly expressing my gratitude ○ choosing coffee over tea for once in my godless life ○ eye masks to be less of a walking jump scare |
| "mi pareva di vivere sotto una campana di vetro eppure sentivo di essere vicino a qualcosa di essenziale." | october | thoughts & words: allergy chic. cause of death: dolly parton compliments. texas is hotter than hell, how do people live here? how do they not permanently live underground? brasil, i love you and your bundas - how are you so insane? one day, i'll own every football jersey i can find and make a palace out of them. bogotà, te amoco. i could get squished by a car and feel only overwhelming joy. |
november | i take an almost unintentional leave from social media this month, it's healthier that way. i fluctuate between periods of being a public menace and keeping to myself. we weren't born with the ability to handle constant connection, so i break away from time to time. turn off notifications, delete my apps, and no ritual is complete without immediately forgetting my passwords. | every day i learn to love the person i'm becoming more and more. |
december |          |