I am getting slowly emotional about leaving my family and friends.
I mean, I am so happy to come back, to my lady. And Samnang. And the house, Siem Reap and leave this misanthropic state of home, which was never my home. Which makes me sick. I am so excited to return to my home, to an home I fought for and I will fight for every day, because it makes me feel me, when I am with me there.
But leaving my parents, my sister, my nieces and my friends, which are not less family, sucks. And I have the best family you can have. They care. I can count on them. They will never leave me and I never want them to leave me, my heart, my past, my life. They are smart, open minded, loving and so different from each other. But they all have something in common, I truly love them. But I have to leave them. And not that it does make me sad, but it makes me realise how good they are and what a lucky person I am.

Maybe I was my whole life preparing my break out, which I consider personally as a break through.
9 am, I am sitting right in front of an advertisement at the subway station Max-Weber-Platz, Munich, right next to Rechts der Isar, an, my hospital. The smell of blood, excretions and disinfectants is winding up my nose – like a mean fart after lifting the planket in bed, from the inside of my half-dressed jacket, kept together by an arm sling. I was rashly dismissed early morning from the hospital. And being dismissed from an hospital means, you don´t ask, you just leave, walk as straight and far as you can. Now on my way back to my friend´s home, waiting for the train. Around 5 degrees, I practice to find a comfortable position with the arm sling, protecting my left collarbone from further damages, challenging the fact, that three weeks earlier, after the removal at the same hospital of the second titanum plate, which was my companion for nearly two years, this stupid bone refractured. Collateral damage or bad luck. I go for collateral damage as this stay inside of fortress Europe, was not worth to extend but feels like a military mission. I felt imprisoned and was planning constantly my break out the last weeks, being trapped in a racist and misanthropic madhouse.
There are incidents hitting our lives, we feel attracted to escape into superstition, the institution of self protection, of a radical self, which is finally a coincidental procession of bad luck or fate, like a funeral of an unloved friend. Germany is my place of worshipping this bad luck. From the first day on there was an intense feeling of displacement, that I don’t belong here, finally and for good not anymore. Not because of the social cold and the capitalist, commercial, industrial, consuming culture of waste, waste of energy, waste of being. A culture of hypocrisy and depression, a record of a fail of enlightenment. I knew what monster was waiting here, showing it’s true FRATZE in these days surrounded by refugee crisis, a never overcome racism and fascism and leadership itself. But we survived to this certain weekend quite well even though the soldier of death was already marching with his heavy muddy pace on our chests, we were taking breath carefully. And then after removing the plate on my collarbone, the reason why we came here to the doorsteps of my personal hell, it refractured, without any reason. But it did, because things happen like this even there is no explanation. Because reasons are good enough to create art, like menkind and it´s apocalypse, but not to explain the mistake of finding reasons, of discovering a truth. – It just did, like bombs are falling on this world or leaves are dropped by summer. Natural. This world makes me puke.
And I am really broke the first time in my life, at a point where I would need every cent to fullfill my creation, I am working on since I am alive. A plan of a healthy and strong life, to share my creativity, my humanity, to do good, with my wonderful lady on my side.
You will not change the world, but the world changes you, because it is not made for your survival, but to feed its determination.
Germany broke me in many ways and maybe cleared up my mind. Since a long time, a lifetime, I feel like erasing my consciousness, ending this life, my life and with it the existence of this world, which is created not to be and not to feel right, always to be wrong, in one or the other way, because you are always part of the failure, in good and bad. You are always one of us, who suffer, because the world is bleeding and with it us, the ones, who feel, who want to feel, knowing at the same time, that you only feel, how you have to, to survive. It drives me insane or closer to sanity to be this product, named human and sold by this machine called system. And we all feed the system and the system feeds us, with fear. I am scared to live. Germany, Europe, the western culture, all kinds of culture, belief or concepts of power and oppression frightens me to death as it spreads the seeds of death. I am white. I am privileged. I will never be poor, if I don´t want to. But I am a misfit. I am between. And I have an idea again how you feel if you are not welcome as a being. The last years I was away, making a living outside of boxes and borders, I neer felt so alive. I never loved myself for always having fought for being different to what I am told to be and what the dictator – the summary of all what power wants us to be, as a part of itself, to sustain, inside of me orders me. I was at places, where I was. And nothing else. I cried, because I was. I cried, because the purity of life seeps through me – and for this short moment I also forgot to question this feeling, as this is also a result of a manipulative dictator, the true imperialism is the history and culture of men.
And at this point I want to embrace from the bottom of my heart my oldest friend, who is closer to me than he knows, who is the candle of my criticism, who is always in my mind, who cried hours after the terror in Paris, just for a moment, interrupting his speach of condolence. A deep cry. A cry of unforgiving and eternal sadness. In this moment he was there, inside of me. This is how I felt for a lifetime and now I am back and I need to leave, I need to escape, I need to be as you, all of you, who don´t see me, are eating me alive, again and again.

So I am sitting in front of this advertisement. Of a gym. Promoting the non-perfection of your body. And that you don´t have to endure the fact YOU ARE NOT PERFECT! Because you can, NOW! You only have to do it. Consume. And you don´t even have to think about how or question your consumption at all, the beginning of a new period in your life, a period of sucess, of power, of sex. Because they have the concept, they discovered your personal paradise. And this is how you could look like. This is the goal. This is the new I, the idol, your star cut of success. – And people seriously don´t feel attacked. Gazing at this, as an advertisement designer, makes me puke into my inside. I feel disgusted by me, by me as the designer, but more by me as a human. That I have to endure this cheeky but insolent attack on my consciousness and further. It makes me literally sick to defend and resist and not isolate myself from the outside, which just leads right into it, IT, the thing, right into the throat of it.
In western society, in human society it is not popular to be contented with yourself or the conclusion of humbleness or anything, but everything is passivily temporarily. E-v-e-r-y thing is telling you constantly you are not as good as you are, you are not 100%, of course on a very shallow but smart level, because basically the world is fucked up as we are, so far from 100%. But you could be, with this creme, the sunglasses over there, these shoes, another training and food program, with this certificate and that car. And with this fence, this opinion and that therapy you are as bleached as a soul. – So first they tell you, you are not perfect, which would be a direction, maybe a bit hammering, but still. But then, well then you should start to think.
Every anything is outside. Inside is created by outside. You are a creature of creation, build by the values of systematic manipulation. Instead of discovering the silence of gleichfoermigkeit in your practice to gain worthlessness as an industrial value and awareness as a negotion of fear.
Siem Reap is not different from Munich or Paris or other places on this planet. It´s just at a different state of development. I can buy there a Nike underwear with a Tommy Hilfiger stick inside. I can buy only the model the have in my size. And finally you don´t care a all, why should you, WHY the hell should anyone care! But I guess it´s too late. Looking at this world forces you to feel hope, but in a hopeless way, turning your back on and taking care of your own, isolate your empathy, reducing the suffering to a fancy but not nonselfish, reasonable perception. Nobody believes in a change anymore, not the ones who hope, not the ones who believe in another kind of super paradise if they just survive this in good manners. And this is the main problem. The ignorance of every single human being on this planet. Because nobody wants to suffer and suffering leads to ignorance, even if it´s just for protection. But what is left to protect. Honestly.

It´s 9.15 on a saturday morning in Munich. I am gazing on a perfect shaped body of a man. My body is weak. I am in pain and on painkillers. But I am grateful to be here. I am healthy, I can walk, my senses are craving. My desires are rising. A storm of light is looming. I shaped myself in the last months, years, since I am away on my roads. I cut. I carved. I opened my arms. I embraced. And I will stand someday on a vulcano, in the depths of a jungle, at the ocean again and I will feel my existence, my stand, my strength, my being. Because as long as I am I can.

One more identiy check on the train.
“A bit more courtesy is too much to expect?”
“I only provide what you are asking for [you racist numskull]. If you would have expected me to face you with respect, I suppose you didn´t make a check on me. So let´s do all our jobs and despise each other for its execution.”
Police men scratching heads.


Don´t party couple of days before, especially if you have the best friends and family, saying goodbye rowdily, stomping from one heart the other, doesn´t make it more easy.
Avoid surpises, like my parents did by showing up, turning your world upside-down.
Don´t stay with friends the night, drinking and loving, sharing moments of grandness, fucking you up emotionally, messing with mercilessness, pointing again at ideas of fortune, luck, destiny. Adverse fate. Looping chosen life plans. Wrong side of rightness. Right to be sided with wrong.
Don´t party at all. Don´t hug, don´t get hugged, don´t get touched, just stay, never leave the airports.
Don´t tell anyone what you are doing, what you gonna do or what you intend to do, just do it. Don´t make people wait. You gonna wait longer.
This is me, leaving in two days.
This is you, making it brutally tough-hearted to leave.
This is you, leaving me.
You selfish home.
Keep distance.
Don´t answer, keep your mouth shut. Don´t try to revise. Couch changes, what a stupid effort. Stick on backhanded compliments.
Don´t forget, discovering kept secrets doesn´t enlighten, it feels like covered your head by a plastic bag, full of moths, scratching at your bawling eyes.
Thank you for the disaster, home.

7 days

In one week, it will be friday already. I will wake up in about one hour, jump on my motorbike, carefully, drive to the market, enjoy some great cambodian breakfast and start my search for a fair appartment in Siem Reap to share the best times of my life.
Fuckin love that perspective.


Minds of an old habit. One of my strongest feelings. Sex is nothing in comparison, even drugs is only a pimp, but can´t catch my heart. It is an attack. A spiritual mastership, crushing straight into the operational headquarter, impacts my sanity and lust. I DON`T WANNA LIVE WITHOUT BEING CALLED TO BE SOMETHING! The choosen one. The nailed one. The burned one. The flattering ashes igniting eternity. The one who´s name isn´t important, nore what he did, more what he felt like. Like there must be something else instead of this, this, treating, dealing boredom and meaninglessness. I remember, riding my habit, with a cross up my ass, I always call myself ignostic. Can I? Still? Or do I hide behind, far beyond a cruel blindess reigning terror and blessing peace. A moral constitution, theological and in theory nothing more than a shiftlessness to accept human nature, being a mistake, a bug, a system and the bug, a system in a bug. I don´t wanna be, like a this. Like something, which can´t be that. Live with people can´t be, this or that. Look around. All that streets, buildings, forms and structures, colors and lines, settings and frames. The sky, blue, grey, white or dark, pierced with lights from an idea, which relates on the ground we stand, sleep, eat and pee. No, I am not hungry for a fall-back, I don´t wanna live in a bamboo hut or be a scrotum eating nerd in a modern stone aged apocalypse. I wanna mean something, not only talk, write or shit between screens, into the offcut. Keep me functional for. Eating. Drinking. Don´t forget to enjoy this. And that, never enjoyed something that much. The taste of fading. Relabeled. Renewed. Redone. A taste of Re-ism. I wanna solve. “What you wanna solve?” asks satisfaction. As if there is just only faith left. Find a solution. How it feels like. How feeling feels, in a mindless way. How I think a feeling. I wanna stand on the top of the world and don´t feel the desire to look down, nor up. Dazed by a vision never existed. Gazing ahead. An ahead with no horizon. Distracted from the error. Fooling. And to know, this is it. I can´t do even more. This is it, not the end or the fucking beginning. Who cares. This is it! I am, I know. And I know this is the error, the error itself is wrong, always was and never will be again, because I know now – and this is the end. – Peng. Do you wanna live like everyone? No one does. This is why the world keeps on crawling, in its tailored fetishism, face down in the muddy abysmal impaired consciousness. Turn. Again and again. Re and re again. Keep the shit on turning. Feeling so intellectual writing bullshit on the endless paper of obscurity. Today all this will preserved, saved and stored by a raven digital jaw. Generations after the possibility is quite high someone will read this lines. Generations before, paper had to be protected from rotting, vanishing into the atomsphere. So sitting here, drinking coffee, listening to music surfing on the rattling washing machine. Multicannonaded. Sweating alien slippers. Waiting. Unhorsed. Kicked the habit. Again. Re-kicked. Washing program is finished.
I am bored like a Jesus.
No, I don´t wanna do something useful, like helping poor kids, starving, dying from the world. Or other victims of society, Jesus or Buddha or toher sodomites and enriching with dynamite suckers, taking advantage of a repeating stultification. I WANNA CHANGE. What a stupid habit.
You know what? Just love yourself. Love is all that matters. Without love there would be no hate. Yin Yang shit. So love each other and hate yourself now and then, for being such a mattress. You holy mattress. I love to watch this, feeding my anger, how dare fucking blind this red-eyed horse stamps down the cadavers of narcissism. I love myself for being such a dick.
Hell! I am bored.
– I wanna fuck. Myself is boring.


“You will, mate, you are stronger than you think, in a couple of years you will look back and all this bullshit, you have to suffer from today, will be only a small dirty spot on your sunglasses.”


“Good old days when we were young. But I am glad we lived it. Beautiful memories we share.”
Aged underclass ladies taking a trip down memory lane.


The next person who tells me,
Asia is dirty,
all the temples are only tourist attractions,
they all just wanna rip you off,
gets some black balls in person.
No, it is not like on your postcard in your limited mind.
You don´t like to travel in Asia? Fine! So stay out of it. You don´t have to. Asia is not the doormat of your disapointed epic voyager, your blue ego, having not received the toys becoming the star at your regulars’ table, the sandbox of your infantile and naive stupidity of a breakout, doing something different, something illuminating, something extreme, earning exceptional advantages, like being the crazy guy in your hometown.
Where has all the spirit gone? Where are the hidden temples? Where is my machete and my serving guide, who is of course the most authentic, rural but so smart guy, humble he has to be, otherwise he will discover the enlightenment first.
Dirt. Cultural movement. Social mutation. Is all this maybe connected with your appearance, your agency-booked splendiferous roadtrip into the exotic enigma of the unforgotten world? Into the wild? On my way to my Inner self. Returning as a newborn, reborn, ego 2.0 version of a temporary shiny atom model.
Got some news for you, Dude. You traveled in the Third-World. You traveled in a capitalist country. You dumbass denied to do some research, feeling so connected to this spiritual world, seen on TV, in your esoteric magazines or heard from someone who knows someone, who discovered is luck and freedom, peace and independence there. Now you went there, where you expected to find yourself by angering people with your sufficient brainpower and the covering musty moss, keeping the maggots inside.
Churches, Castles, palaces, historical sights, buildings, spots, where beggars handing their trembling hands… why are there no knights anymore, no kings and queens, no authentic masters and mystics? Where all this people left to? You wanna complain about the loss or change of society and culture? Visit Castle Neuschwanstein and ask where the king is.


23 days more.
In 24 days I will unpack my road again. Like a map of desires, dreams and amorphous regions, black spots, waiting for my mind, my heart and my abjection to discover.
Two more tattoo sessions to survive.
A vernissage. Hopefully not puking on my pictures, like I feel, now, edgy.
Visiting my family again.
Saying goodbye to all my loved. To all the people who made this unforeseen move on the road, on my map, worth to live and to love.
23 days more.
I am the luckiest guy on this earth.
Wandering in between.
Save the lost – fuck the planet!


“We need an appointment for one of our patients to run a test for epilepsy.” Phone call of a receptionist at a neurological practice in Munich. “Yes. No. He is deaf-mute.”


5 weeks later. Germany still is cold, not cold as usual, as it should be around this season, in winter. The weather is more a provocation to joke about the climate change. Who is discussing nowadays about that topic? In some areas the weather was never like that, since men measures and keeps record. Imagine you are a fashion designer and you have to guess what temperature you have to cover with your pen and stitches. Horrible. I am sitting in a cafe in the most relaxing quarter of Munich called Westend. Listening to wedding plans, building-a-house problems and what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about terrorizing lusty speech bubbles. Randomly a pair of eyes of these air sucking and blowing sunday dressed-up upright zombies hooking in, surprisingly loosing their dummy smile, returning to their stock and lost ground floors, securing their fears and unpredictability. It is raining outside. My head is bombing my awareness. German cold. I escaped the birthday bash of my goddaughter, unfortunately.
I visited a couple of days ago my oldest friends on the countryside, my province of birth. They bought a house and scrambled their rebellious youth. I admire them in a way. Life is not about being rebellious or fighting against your desires, because you have to, because you would feel like betraying your ideas, the ideas of a 16 years old kid, the dreams of an unborn self-being. Rebelion is a part time job. Revolution doesn´t exist. An insurrection in favour. Accepting changes, call it surrender. Or finalizing a revolutionary idea. Or giving a shit about what rules a childish fool. I expected nothing. I even didn´t expect a feeling of escaping, in the choke-hold of an ended horizon. I enjoyed sitting in the train, distracting visions, visions of distraction, leaving nothing in front, just behind, being on the road… grand memories, grand life! So I arrvied in this small village called Irsee. A kind of elitist island. Wealthy. Green. Native. A famous abbey. Deserted streets. Darkened windows. Ruins of a forgotten oppressed world between modern architecture, reminding the rural exodus. I felt in love with the silence. Eventhough I am missing movement. But I can imagine how this hilly spot looks like in summer, when the villagers are gardening, kids rolling down the streets on whatever kind of vehicles. Easy evenings on the narrow shores of quarry ponds. When all gets more narrow, in the fresh breeze of a german summer heat. A narrow I miss. I am pretty sure that I would get pissed now and then, more than here and there. Imagine life here, my life, is not anymore a splatter movie like it was before, before leaving. Just the costs. You spend less than half of your money, you have to earn just half of the money you need in a city like Munich. For more space, a healthy environment and curious neighbours. You never get everything, but I wouldn´t accept everything anymore to stay in a boring, trend-looping village with not a spark of a metropolitan character but similar living costs like Munich. And the best part, sharing the disadvantages of living on the countryside with oldest friends isn´t that bad, in particular if you share the same sarcasm. They suprised me with their taste of designing their homes, in a discreet warm-heated way. I started to plan my future, after my first future, meaning my homeless road. Owning a small house, siting on my bench, enjoying dawn, smoking my pipe, telling my loved kids, from other parents, stories about exploring and exploiting yourself. I like that picture. I love my friends for and not only for that picture, pushing my ideas – again, like they often did in the past, in another direction, going straight forward. You kicked it!
The wedding planners are leaving. My intention was to write about my goddaughter, her parents and their boundless loyality and depth in the face of my love for them. They never questioned, except in a way friends have to, if you feel like your loved is freaking out its egocentric counterpart. They never doubt, they push me to doubt. They never force me, they hug me. They let me be a part of the family, without branding me a patsy. Today in the morning Nika, my goddaughter, entered my room, the living room to be exactly, crawled up on the mattress and giving me a kiss, repeating my name she created by her efforts learning to speak. I felt like being embraced by the world.
Like all of my friends in this world and around embrace me, everyone in their special way. I feel so blessed, sometimes, like now, lost in search of finding words of wisdom – google sucks.