I spent the morning uploading some videos to my TikTok, because it helps — it helps to talk about this utter lunatic I met, that I just wasn’t able to identify. Of course, right? I came from this totally crazy story, and I’m not trying to compare myself to the Epstein girls. I only want to point out that your background, where you come from, can make you vulnerable to predators. Or, vulnerable to threats. They might look different, but they are real.
And people ask me sometimes, “what do you mean, you had to start over?”
And I keep coming back to this idea of turning this time into a script, of some kind, just picturing me cycling around Central Park, like one of these seagulls on the ferry in Istanbul. I was just naturally happy to be alive. And I’ve found it challenging at times to return to that state because that story really knocked me down, and it kept knocking me down. So I received a blow that took me time to recover from. My closest friend even turned against me. I don’t even want to talk to my cousins anymore.
It was a big departure. Not that I’m running away. I chose to leave for good reason. My brother, so supposed brother, told me he was in love with me in the most disgusting — I mean, I’m getting married, hee hee, hoo hoo, but you’re in my way? He then tells me he was giving AIDS to people for ten years? Family was just so crazy.
So I left, yeah. Finally.
This screenwriter, he hurt me beyond, as some “hotshot” with special powers… and you see, his arrogance, his pathological arrogance, only looks like a boy, with too much money, as I couldn’t even interpret him in any other way, like he was playing sci-fi games with this brother, which is fine, but you shouldn’t preach. You shouldn’t pass controversial logic around. So it helps to air out, because, like any of these situations, you can feel scared, like, am I wrong? No, in this case, I’m not wrong.
I just found redemption in picturing these scenes between me and this “sexual trauma specialist” that I had to consult…
“Are you joking?”
I had to unprogram myself.
“He psycho analyzed you over a lost I TANYA DVD?”
And you see, with this relationship, it only makes me want to tell the entire world. Like I’m reading Chinese, Japanese, Turkish, then Swahili, Russian. I’m going across the world to tell them about this screenwriter. “Listen to this!” I don’t know what to say, because I keep seeing the comedy stage as some beckon of light, I just feel like I’ve had to process a lot of real feelings…
In order to get there. So we’ll see. I was put on a stage, specialized over this story by people who would just appear somewhat ignorant. And now, I don’t know quite how to turn. Do I want to be an actor? I’ll go to acting class, and that helped me see the use in these relationships, dynamics, and personality profiles — so I’ll take that as it comes. And I’m putting myself in a driver’s seat and trying to steer from here.
Anyway, the idea that this guy doesn’t see himself, makes me want to swing harder. I am Neapolitan. That’s the thing. It’s like, you gotta THINK before you get manipulative WHO you’re messing with. A Neapolitan is a Neapolitan. If they make it through the dark night, over someone like this, they are going to want to revolt, rally other Neapolitans with bats, go to town square, give speeches, smash government windows with demands. The Neapolitans are hilarious — they will want to attack. I can’t help that. I’m hoping this might be funny. A Neapolitan will do whatever it takes to rise in the ranks of entertainment just to get to this guy. And their cousins are coming. We’re damaging public property AND singing songs, AND eating street food.
We’re “the siren people.”
It’s an intense mythical creature to align one’s origins to — the siren that put Odysseus in a state of turmoil, he was thrashing about. This is just a conversation in Naples, Odysseus. We were fine. That’s music to us. Sure, music can grip you, but relax. We were a little commune back then. She invented a ricotta cake. We gave HER gifts, and she was a true artist, so she whipped up a mindblowing cake. Parthenope. Like, if you really think about it, if I say, “he killed a siren,” does that make sense to you? No. You don’t kill sirens. Think of the word: sirens. This was a learnèd person.
But, she, too, died, right? Tragically. And her story was going to get manipulated so that she appears as if she’s some evil seductress! When this is not the case. And I intend to clear both our names. So I had to come to an end, and start again, and hopefully, I was reading about how Europeans, but specifically, Italians, live so long — because of their genes. And it so happens that the ICE AGE impacted that population so severely, that they were required to evolved. And their genes changed. As a result, even thousands of years later, which attests to what a terrible time the Ice Ages were, modern Italians live past a hundred years, more so than other populations. So I’m hoping for a similar effect, in my lifetime, and that’s all I can do.