When is love exclusive, romantic, strong, deep – enough to create inherently boundaries, to be the only, the one and only, the deepest, the most precious, the love you would die for. And surrender for. Accept the tradeoffs and transgressions. To be ok, and sometimes even happy.
I am not build for happiness.
I am not build for love.
I am not build to love to be happy.
Or to be happy with what I love.
I am exhausted, tired to death to fight myself and not your loves and modesty. Which makes me less mature than a kid. But I prefer the way kids love anyway.
– How can you have to learn love?

I am tired of hurting you. I am tired of hurting myself. I am tired of this person who wants you, and not. I am revolting about this motherfucking constantly-fucking-himself fucker just for the sake of being not so easy to crack by the system, by human life, by humanity. That makes sense.
I am so tired of my high expectations, who I know are brutally ridiculous wastefull and I am dumb enough fail miserably at – the end of a revolt with no follower, no audience, not even an executive to drag me to jusice. My permament overanalyzing, just because someday I decided to appear smart. My punishment, my guilt, consequently feeling guilty of embarrassement, feeling guilty of feeling guilt, not being able to accept what is, reality or not, who the fuck cares, there is only one truth, the truth of insignificance, no pattern, no solution – right? Tired of feeling not understood, which makes me in your eyes only arrogant, which makes me only question you more, not your doubts but the doubts you don´t have. And finally feeling different like all of us, hence in a wrong way and all the other anxities in my life.

So who wants to make me happy!

I don’t need anyone – I don’t need dependance. I don’t need a home – I don’t have only one family. I neglect the concept of need. Therefore I am resistant – stubborn- when it comes to desires. I get yours. Your urge of creating relations. To feel connected, to be part of this madness, not to feel insane, not to feel like it drives you crazy, crazy like I am alone, everyone is, I am wrong, I hate all of it, the acquisition and inquisition, the errors and effortless tries, the love which is a set up, the politics, staged and a shit show, sex and other lies. All of it. The planes bringing you to the beach. Your job providing you opportunities and the money, THE money, fuck right money, what a great thing to have and to sacrifice yourself for. Luxury. Of course you want a part of, a dime slice at least, just for fun, fun, you need it, you need some fun, what else for money is. And you are born into this malicious operation, you deserve it, my friend. You yes you who can read and understand the perspective – well you don’t. Your reward, the worlds pleasure. Take it all. Take take take. Imagine there is the greatest sale ever called life and you would be the only one left with bare hands. What a cruel disaster. All others would have something and you not one single thing, only yourself, your life, your materialized life, prized and stored on a dust bowing shelf.I don’t want to mean something to anyone. I believe we are not meant to be meaningful. Meaning is based on values and values create meanings and meaning in its repetition – o how good we are in that – meaninglessness. Potentially we would care more if we don’t mean something to others or everything to ourselves. Self absorbance. A monster men installed. And most of us feel pretty pretty with it. Being here and only once a lifetime wandering on this planet justifies you, your needs first. Imagine back in the days tribes organized based on a Facebook like their survival. What a social impact that would have made on evolution. Christ and the other idiots piss in their solidarity racks for a laugh hanging on the cross doing pull-ups. – How important you think important is? How important are you? I never felt so disconnected and free in my lifetime, because I am replaceable, we all are, accept it, move on.

Me living in an ideal my world and not my world being dictated by idealism…

… save cash again to sit in 2 years time in my own studio, where I create what I want, what I need because I need. Where I can be me, without people asking me who I want to be. Where I can create my own values, my own present with no future, because it doesn’t fucking matter. And I am not talking about services to be clear on that – or if you better got some more cash on you. I am tired of wasting my talent – yes I got and I admit – for people who don’t get what it takes to be where I am. I hate you greedy capitalists. Yes we all are, we all have the color of money on our hands, dirty as fuck. But you think on top of that you deserve more just because. Fuck off. I serve you with all my sovereign contempt. I never wanted to work for you. Never. I only did and do because I had to learn to play the game to be able to manipulate. Unfortunately I realized the dice was loaded from the beginning.

… I need time. The next part of the road has to be tough otherwise it will be the wrong road. I want to be stronger, better. For myself and for other people around me. For this I need to rescue my nasty commitment for work and transform into another addiction to set me free. At the same time I need to break with other addictions, basically my whole habit of addiction. Alcohol. Weed. Love and self denial. Self denial first of all. Stop sacrificing myself for people who don’t need me or you want me but I don’t need them. Especially when it comes to creating. 

… I need brain chow. A lot more. Not love. Not your illusions. Not your dreams and visions or your self-esteem. Not knowledge necessarily. Fuck off with your assumption, believes and attempts to poke through the big question of why we are here and behave like someone would care, except us, the person next to you to impress and depress me. Not interested. People who think visual and feel downright. The rest I will need you to stay in your own eclipse.

… I need the next years to cure myself, my heart. To cut me loose from everything which is you. And this doesn’t mean you don’t mean to me the world, because you are the world I know, but it is not what I need, a world. This world made me for half a lifetime sick. I only have memories of pain and deep despair. The rise and fall of my parents. My sister, my dear fellow in misery. My friends dragging me drunk and bleeding back home. Me dragging myself trough ever mud hole I can find to punish myself for being and not being different. Not saving the world. Not changing anything. Not being Superman. Not being pure. Not being good. Not being free from good and bad. – how much I still hate to be human. This never ending anger inside of me. Don’t you feel it?! Don’t you feel anything is wrong here, it started wrong and will cross the finishing line in a loud fulmination. We kill – I say intentionally not murder – every day far beyond a natural survival strategy. Though there is nothing than nature, even us acting permanently against doesn’t make us less part of all what is. We just can’t accept that all what is not only us. How I hate our arrogance. And we even invented the concept of it. 

… and I need much much more time for myself. Alone. Solo. Me and all of it at once.

… and I am feeling pity for my father. For this great chef who never had the knives to stand up and challenge his greatness, always trapped in money as the solution for existence. I am sorry you were born in the wrong part of the world. Imagine you were born in a poor country and the only way you would have think of is up because there is no down. You would have made yourself great. I know. Because you have one of the greatest and purest hearts I never touched. But I know it is there.

… mother, I still cry.

… I am not writing this because I am turning 40 tomorrow. I write this because if I don’t change I will not be here for my forty-one. 

… I can not take the responsibility of a family. I am not grown up, I don’t feel I have something to give or to look up to. 

… I feel like I have to leave for a while to do my duty, to serve myself, my privilege of being, and being able to be better.

What does the world need. What is “world”. The world which is ours. Only. Which we create, create and shape with every choice we make. We decide. We decide who decides for us. And they established a system to structure our decisions. To streamline. To perform. Better, faster and more efficient. High higher highest productivity. The boiler is glowing. Exploitation. Permanent robbery. Consumption of the consumer. Production of consumption. Endless production lines. Masses of everything. Massive masses. “Ups, sorry I just swallowed you up.” Pockets paying heavily. Serve to protect. Protect the servants. “Yes Sir!” Frontlining. Seperating. Dividing. Manipulating. The color of money and blood are the fertilizer of this world. To evolve. To improve. To complete. To compete. With us. We doesn´t exist. The world doesn´t exist. Existence doesn´t exist. Only the singularity of self-absorption. No reality, not even close.
A screaming kid. One of hundreds, thousands. Bleeding. Its parents sticky pieces of flesh clotty in her hair. Reality. Our reality. We create. This. Prefering us, our needs, demands of happiness, joy and fulfillment. The world and its executioners promised you this, right! Human life is a promise itself. You also want to be… everything you don´t deserve. Nobody deserves anything until the last screaming kid finds solace, a peaceful embrace. We don´t deserve existence. We don´respect being. We control it, like any other partial bit of the concepts of THE world. An ongoing script, “Humans attacking – Part 2017” and its only repetition. Director dismissed after pilot. Fuck originality. Live propaganda stream. Branded world, allover. A true man show.
The show of all shows. Reality TV for real.
No, you don´t deserve anything and nothing is due to you, only the fact of life.
“Together we are a nation.” Together we are only racists. Seceders. Haters. Loosers. Scumbags. Together we are alone.
How can you feel pride? How can you feel dignity? Or success. Or freedom. How can you feel you you you looking around. You make me sad. Sick. You make me hate myself for being you. For being a scumbag. For taking not decisions. For being weak, self absorbed, disgusted by being not perfect, not being capable of saving the world, having no super powers, but only you next to me. The renewal and approval for being not wrong, for being ok. How do you possibly think you need yourself most and only the privileges of me.
I will never forget her eyes. Gummy. Glazed. Afar. Aged. Naked. Dirty. Thin hair. Her body deborn. She was maybe two years old, hard to tell. And there is a strong probability she is dead today.
The idea of THE world died within..
I spent yesterday 50$ for drinks and friends, for my pleasure and generosity. Today I don’t have the money to buy milk powder for a friends child. And I excuse my feeling of failure with my needs. My life also sucks. I also have the right to have fun. Fun. Is it fun? Do I have the right to have fun? Or does the baby have the right to be safe in our world. To make her belong to your world. What do I want to remember someday, me dancing or me smiling with all my heart.
I am typing on my iPhone7plus having a coffee at a one of these metropolitan coffee shop, enjoying the comfort of AC, watching a street kid collecting trash, looking at me, smiling.

What is wrong with you
You missed place
Buried with all your missed dreams
Of a better you
Of a different you
More pleasure
More happiness
More harmony
More of everything 
And nothing of what makes you today
Except this
Or that
And this also
Especially that you shouldn’t miss
Start all over again
But this time you make it right
More righteous 
Where you turned left you go straight 
Where you went straight you stop 
And think
But don’t think like yesterday
Do think tomorrow
But don’t worry
Stay present
Have faith
Forget about everything
Or don’t 
Remember the good and the ugly
The colors and the emptiness
The blood and the rainbows
Be the rainbow
Be good
And change what has to be changed
Be not arrogant
Be not egoistic 
Be humble
Don’t kill
Don’t exploit
Don’t hurt
Don’t dissipate 
Don’t be human
Or too manlike
Love yourself
Love being
Love beings
Love the universe
But love different
Love more truthfully
Love without limitations
Love not to be loved
But love
Love only
In Japan some believe of you clean up every morning your toilet you will become a beautiful person, inside and outside.
Keep that
Delete the rest of believes
Don’t believe 
Don’t reign
Don’t oppress
Remove all boundaries
Install freedom
Free all
Bring peace
Keep the ying
Fuck the yang
Be naked
Be porn
Breath with all your orifices 
Let all your hair grow
Be natural
Be moss
Be super
Be supernatural
Be not human
Don’t define
Let being be
Live with the flow
Fart against the wind
Spurt behind fences
Shit flowers in front of doors
Eat chicken made of tofu
Treat your cat like an animal
Treat animals like yourself
Don’t be an animal
Be consistent
Don’t work for money
Forget about money
Do all different
Delete all data
Don’t be curious 
Don’t be hungry
Don’t explore
Don’t discover
Don’t escape
And only that
Do not build
Or possess
No production
No solutions
No questions 
Just life and nature
You a part of
Embrace it and feel the universe in each of us.
All what is

You: Fuck you

It´s somewhere in between tragic and funny me having this moment of revelation, hangovered, stoned – no not a vision, I was not even close to what you call consciousness, I was closer to pass out, but I felt it, a feeling of nothing. Betrayed by disgust. Like a stone in your shoe or butterflies in your stomach, but you need to get rid of it, it´s so not healthy, so not endurable and so terribly annoying to an extend. To that moment where you can´t stand it anymore. You want to scream, flail, poke through, breath again. Because I feel disgusted with myself. Not because of the fact that I feel differently than I want to feel – it would just make things so much lighter, but because of these, my thoughts, these rumbling, bleeding, meanness-festering, cold thoughts. How can I think about her in such a surge of denial. – That´s our way to talk us out?! Again! What a shit strategy. For Christ sake, for Christs’ penance. Jesus fucking Christ. This my world is blessed, drowned and soaking in guilt and shame, greed and fame if you believe. – Deconstruction of a romance. Me and the bad guy´s feeling. Me feeling and by that being bad. Bad kid. I love you but not as strong as I should to live with you, to return what your love deserves – purity. What makes you a friend kills you finally. It´s not enough, but it is. Utterly. Get the hell out of there, it won´t get better, right? Deconstruction is brutal. You build all this flourish paradises, one for each, for the dogs, kids, cats, your garage and your two cars, your plans, you paint in colors you do actually hate, but you laugh about it, together, because you are on this trip of being stronger than ever, and more complete than ever. Forever and ever. And one day after forever and everything, this guy drops off a message. I haven´t seen the guy, only a shadow, it was on a sunny day, calm sky, blue noise, yellow fever and a stretch into each other, entangled in love. I picked up the message. Nothing. There was nothing on it, the message disappeared, it was I think never there. And it left nothing. That nothing. A monument of prophecy. And believe it or not, I do not believe, but it nailed me to the cross, stroke by stroke, slowly, the hammer resting on the head, crescendo, resting screams, engraving the distortion of pain in your face, before it winds up again. And you just want that it stops, make it stop. Stop please. But you make sure you don´t fall off again, in the arms of your consolatory torturer, your lover. Don´t forget.