How do I climb a mountain when the surface seems unpromisingly the same? Unlike nature, something that is not changing, it holds the same scars as caves. 

Has the same sharp edges, unbothered by eruption, and stays uninterested in change. A PA that stays silent for half of the set is a loss of control. 

I was never interested in climbing a mountain; I almost feel it is against my nature. I think about the mountain as a spectacle, but it becomes meaningless once you have reached it, and it is only when you have finally reached the top that you want to go higher next time. I have a problem believing people who like to climb mountains. I would go so far as to assume we won’t share the same understanding and will have very different perceptions of the world. Funnily, I had to encounter a mountain on my journey twice. My first was a desert in Lausanne, called Mont Blanc. The excitement inside me, which it caused, was felt wholeheartedly, not to elaborate too much on how brilliant it tasted. Could it have released the same adrenaline as climbing, from not knowing what to expect? The second experience was actually walking up the hill to Notre-Dame de Fourvière in Lyon. I did it right after soundcheck, having just a few minutes to myself. As I entered, the holy mess was just about to finish, and I stood there by myself crying. The inside of it was too beautiful, too much, to hold just for myself. To know that this memory is not being shared with someone. I contemplated whether taking any photo even makes sense, as this response to the place came from somewhere deeper. Journeying by myself, I never know what moods I will encounter, and even less so, when I eventually climb a mountain. 

Mountains. I leave with this poem I also shared last night in Lyon 

Headbanging Dreamcasting

Saw you in these tight pants

Panting to witness

What the colors of your eyes are saying

What’s the language that we’re in

Headbanging Dreamcasting

I find myself astounded, smiling 

Helpless in that rigorous whim 

Swimming closer 

To see my future staring right at me 

Headbanging Dreamcasting 

Feel my solitude is mourning 

Like salt stains on asphalt 

Slow to disappear 

This might be a dance for two 

Headbanging Dreamcasting 

Headbanging Dreamcasting 

For a performance scheduled before my concert last week, I sampled my album again and wrote this 37-minute piece. Some of you may know that this performance never happened. This experience was an inner struggle, a struggle to connect with trust instead of hatred. But in the end, somebody exploited this trust, and so was the work—mental and musical—that had to pay for it. Therefore, I've decided to upload this piece and make it available to anyone who might enjoy it.
Unleash the piece from its exploitation.

listen here 

To walk until trust ends
Something decided on trust
To dismantle the ego
To walk until trust ends
When the ego of the opponent
Becomes untruthful

I am in therapy because my ex-boyfriend held the opinion that I am autistic. 

I am writing it down today because I have heard this from a few women by now, and because I very recently watched the movie ‚Die My Love “.

After watching, my mind constructed this scheme of society in which we yet again try to control women by diagnosing them, which, in some cases, is, of course, important for a person with such a diagnosis to use the knowledge about it as a tool to navigate life. 

So watching ‚Die My Love ‘, I had no trouble understanding why the main character Grace, starring Jennifer Lawrence, who is really brilliant in her performance, with all the reasons going mentally ill or well insane.

If giving birth were simply less of a natural, considerate function of the female body and more regarded as the most significant labour and hormonal rollercoaster, would that change the perception also of something labeled as postnatal depression? 

My thoughts are not that it doesn’t exist, but is it the postnatal or is it the lazy ass husband drinking beer, that makes you want to tear down the wallpaper? 

And more overall, is it the diagnosis or the circumstances, or are the circumstances not the diagnosis?

Another friend of mine was also suffering after giving birth, and at the same time, didn't have the most supportive partner one might need. 

Does the diagnosis sometimes make it easier not for the diagnosed but for those around them, freeing them from their responsibilities and lack of engagement?

How come we don't explore the post- if the present state of, let's say, being pregnant, is not thoroughly reflected on in all its phases and possible emotional impact. 

Watching the movie, I found Jennifer Lawrence's character screaming for life, for her desires, while caring for many other people at the same time. 

And this scream, the decision to leave took such a toll on her body, her health. 

I found that movie very real, very important, as a direction of a relationship pattern relating to inherited trauma within the Millennial generation. 

Another aspect of that is the delusion, stemming from a creative couple who moved to the city and then moved back to the countryside. 

Not every countryside has to mean a clash, but values are different many times; they are more conservative, per se, and it takes much more energy to sustain their influence. 

As cities become more expensive and people are eventually forced to move there, what will that change? 

That is some other thought now. 

I will leave it with those four lines from On the Road, on the train in Berlin. 

What’s the rule when rules recognize the circles 

The spin springs out of the womb

Giving birth to potencies 

Trying hard to be the fool 

If you open the portal of a feeling like ecstasy, there is no return.

Your body and mind won’t forget the state it was in, and might want to return to it.

When the perception of the real and the understanding of time slip, I tend to see things through metaphors or signs.

The other day, I received permission for my US visa. I was so nervous because of it for months.

To the interview, I was unconsciously wearing a white vest, and the night before, I was gifted an Advent calendar —a rope with tiny bags full of surprises—the least thing to take with you to an appointment for the visa. 

I noticed that my attention was always leaving reality, I spied fostered clothes on the street everywhere and tended to construct narratives around them; entire stories. Because it is easier to script a story, when you struggle to deal with the actual ongoings?

There is the infinite in imagining; everything possible to be imagined exists somewhere.

Brutal somehow.

Today is the first day my feet find soil, my mind is allocated, and I am also ready to face the first concert I am giving with my album.

This album hasn’t been real to me, really.

And it will become my life next year, and that is enormously exciting.

Budapest is cold, grey, and withered. I recognise that the backsides of houses display all kinds of window shapes. In their variety, they all try to fit into the concrete wall.

I leave this journal with two word combinations I picked up—Beautypest and Budabath —and have finally unlocked Budapest's rich bath culture with the magnificent Andrea.

Also, I recorded a brand-new episode of Total Care, now available to stream on SoundCloud.

https://soundcloud.com/hkcrlive/total-care-with-rosa-anschuetz-04122025-1

And throwing in a little poem from on the road

I committed the crime

To call you my evergreen

Eyelid lashes cried

Colourful yet silent

When you stopped brushing my cheeks

Grinding teeth

The therapist decides

What secrets can you bear to keep

When I put water in your mouth

You pour yourself

Evergreen eyelid forever green

The riflewoman

My withdrawal from yesterday's Halloween was caused by the uproar of the same eye, which had been infected now three times since summer.
Pinned down like my sequins to the styrofoam, I watched the newer movies of Halloween and straight after Texas Chainsaw Massacre while working on my Bird sequin pieces.
This also falls in line with the recent announcement of the American West Coast tour, supporting Cold Cave. 
The movies brought to my attention how much the struggle for American identity was a part of both, which mainly focused on the defense of justice in a self-righteous manner. 
In Halloween, performed by Jamie Lee Curtis, and in Texas Chainsaw, by Olwen Fouéré, this character was the restless, revenge-seeking villain.
Both characters had spent a life in fear, in deep tension that could only be unleashed with the killing. They geared up like soldiers and improved their skills as riflewomen.
It brings this idea of justice into a seemingly justified and classic narrative, one that justifies justice through violence.
At the same time, these two women are labelled as crazy; they live remotely and shut off until that day of redemption, the return of the evil they want to fight is approaching.
It’s on the same day that a friend of mine sent me a therapeutic tainted video yesterday.

The video's message is that forgiveness will make you a stronger person, as it allows you to heal from injustice, violence, or similar experiences. 
I want to think about stillness in these two examples.
One that comes from condensing life to this idea, possession of revenge, and the other that comes from finding forgiveness and not locking the other person inside of you.

To cherish the fruits of someone’s labour 

I came across a recurring thought today, by asking myself how the sensitive and probably mentally ill person, or also an artist, is to survive this world and for how long.

There has been such an increase in sharing your personal life for sheer reasons of marketing, a certain profile that is easy to connect to and therefore becomes a valuable body of advertising.

Whether the writing about personal life is for others merely a work on their issues, trauma, and a way to actually open this process for others, in the hope of making a positive change. 

This exploitation of the personal has become one of the last capitalistic tools I feel.

So what is left to the artist, that had always used their work as a form of self-expression, and how much do we value them to share their feelings.

A thing that shocked me was the breakdown of the British artist Lola Young, who had just released an album and was about to get on tour. She apologised in a text to her fans for cancelling the tour and begged the haters to give her a moment of peace, a break.

In the apology is a feeling of guilt, the mirror, that her work is in the interest of her market. That her music, the lyrics that she writes, have become a value that others profit from. 

That is the nature of any market, any participatory market, but for the person that has expressed something artistically, because they can’t do it differently, it becomes a building up pressure of duties, favours for other people.

Another example that brought me to this thought of the fragility was the answer to a comment underneath a post of a FKA twigs collaboration with Spotify, of a befriended musician.

She agreed with another stranger that, despite the great albums of the musician, her collaborations with H&M and Spotify give her the ick. I have no idea how protected FKA twigs might be since so much of her personal life has been dragged into mainstream media from reading such comments.

Still, there remains a weighing of in that comment, her work on the one side and her decisions with whom she is collaborating, on the other.

I am sure this artist has far greater expenses than we can imagine, while supporting a Trans and general queer influenced community by including them in her work.

The labour this artist must have carried for the pure visibility of her work, and the artistry of the people she is working with, which we are therefore able to see, should be cherished.

So yes, I guess she also needs the money, and is not a great supporter of H&M. She might not even be behind the decision for this collaboration herself and might have been pushed by a manager to do so….

To cherish the fruits of someone’s labour of artists who paved so many ways for other artists even to get the courage to believe in art as a possible expression of themselves.

Because when we doubt, become fearful, there is silence.

I already fear, that the fragile, the open artists will disappear if we moralise them, create a persona and dehumanise them even if we admire their work.

In the heart of capitalism, there is no true emotional value; it is just power.

And if I look around, it looks conservative, far right, sexist, and we are swimming in extremes of all the isms that have attached themselves to it.

Cherish the fruits of someone’s labour.

I wish people wouldn’t dissociate in the online realm and wouldn’t use different words than they would actually dare to speak infront of the actual person. 

On another note. 

I admire the track Blue Velvet by Princess Nokia these days; the lyrics are so fierce and the Album by french artist Trypheme 

Counting 23 days until the Album release. Sabbatical ventured out for a trip for the first time in full last night at my old home in Vienna, where I lived for five years. A charged night for many reasons, as places with memory are always a mirror of the past and present. It was positive, though I remained highly critical about the performance afterwards. It was the first time, and turning your own criticism into motivation to improve is sometimes a bigger challenge. I also took a bass with me, which I had bought in 2017 in Tokyo, and I heavily used it during the tracks' production, which was also something new. Well, in the end, I only get to learn, and I am so looking forward to having Kevin, the drummer of the record, with me on stage for the next show at Rough Trade Neukoelln on the day of the album's Release, which will bring another energy with it again.

Overall, I got my full circle moments in Vienna, visiting the ice cream parlour at Schwedenplatz, where I used to spend hours, reading and nibbling on my ice, until they would make gestures of throwing me out, and I almost stepped into this occultist bookshop next to the old St Stephen's Cathedral. The owner sometimes gives an uncertain character to him, so I questioned whether it was the right thing to do before a show. But I saw the inside of the Cathedral, thinking that churches and places of worship, if accessible, should be used by everyone to simply sit and rest. Not feeling religious myself, I make use of these places just to step out of the noise and sit. Sitting in silence changes and softens once you step out of it and into the next encounter, I believe.

Now I am travelling forth, listening to Kyla Vejas ! and their Album Niaukias Dangus. I saw them live at Popkultur Festival last Saturday in Berlin and they made me dance, joy so joyful. I feel they make use of these small melodic elements, which get me extremely hooked. Oh, and also, I saw Kevin Kuhn drumming for the first time, so much power and brilliantly performed, and I'm charmed to have him on my record. Yay

Next showtime is happening with the Dragqueen Dolorosa this week, a three-day-long opening slot for the Riviera Festival in Offenbach. We will need to rehearse and dress up! The music is a bit disco, maybe House? Whatever, it was a lot of fun to record it and script together.

My best 

https://kyla-vejas.bandcamp.com/album/niaukias-dangus-2