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 of everything
And nothing of what makes you today
And this also
Especially that you shouldn’t miss
Start all over again
But this time you make it right
Where you turned left you go straight
Where you went straight you stop
But don’t think like yesterday
Do think tomorrow
But don’t worry
Forget about everything
Remember the good and the ugly
The colors and the emptiness
The blood and the rainbows
Be the rainbow
And change what has to be changed
Be not arrogant
Be not egoistic
Don’t be human
Or too manlike
Love the universe
But love different
Love more truthfully
Love without limitations
Love not to be loved
In Japan some believe of you clean up every morning your toilet you will become a beautiful person, inside and outside.
Delete the rest of believes
Remove all boundaries
Keep the ying
Fuck the yang
Breath with all your orifices
Let all your hair grow
Be not human
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
Don’t work for money
Forget about money
Do all different
Delete all data
Don’t be curious
Don’t be hungry
And only that
Do not build
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.
Remove humanity.Remove the monsterous human creation humanity. The values and unleashed superiority complex. Remove its ability of self-reflection, self awareness – remove all of it, this assumptions just to separate human from nature, to justify a natural supremacy and surrender. The wrong-by-subjectivity assumption itself. And the ignorance of self creation and the arrogance of eternity.
And do understand, humanity means nothing. It’s literally not a thing. Your life means nothing, being yourself means nothing. Finding yourself only a product made of nothing. Nothing. We are nothing. Not even a substrate. What you do means nothing but anything to only others.
We all rise to ashes. We decompose. We are only a differently structured form of being fulfilling its purpose. A flower. And if we are only that, we live forever. – A way to survive your ignorance.
And I still do prefer the orderless bum gun to the fully integrated bottom idol. Visiting Japan in Winter, yes there are some pros. Just taking a seat in the early morning hours, preheated, though not knowing if there isn’t a rest of resting heat of the preoccupant, still kicks ass.
Some of the toilets might even say hello, opening their lids, taking a mouthful of your shit, that’s what I call commitment to hospitality! The remote mostly decoded in japanese, easy to understand by very indicating icons, symbolizing the pleasure of a fountain’s blessing. Press the button. Sometimes you hear the mechanic sound of the tubule lowering. A discreet intimate butt-ler. And for a second you feel this hell of a welcoming surprise, low pressured body temperatured water sprinkling your dirty anus. Like this buttler dude would first lick you ass to check if his tongue has the right temperature. To then subsequently do his job, the water whistling baroque man-child living undersewer. And that feels good, like by definition a anus whistle should be like. But maybe my area back there hasn’t develop its fully potential, I can’t tell surely enough where the man-child whistles his blessing. On spot? Or are these my balls sprinkling their half-bald head. Or is too far out to the end it valley. Where is the fucking display to shoot, a whole new game generation of an Angry Neat Freak Bird! – A shame how less I know about down there, how do I feel down there. So you start to move a bit, carefully of course, don’t wanna get the magic whistle right in your face or squirt on the back of your shirt. With a relaxed question mark in your face you slide now back and forth, the toilet seat gets hotter and hotter. After and as long as it takes, estimating in shape and consistency of your shit, you will have to check at one point if it worked out – or not. There is always of course also toilet paper, at least two dispenser, of course. With sheets thin like rice paper. Now you have this wet business and you need to check with this transparent white the coloring of your signature you not wanna leave behind visibly. And to ease you upfront, it never works so get a catalogue of it and clap a bit with your ass cheeks before to shake off, the man-child back in his hole, creaming his nozzles and preparing for the next show or a bonus pack, will appreciate it either.
And so there is on the other ass the bum gun, which might sometimes blow off your balls or give you a bit of an unfriendly douche, but you will be slick like new born asshole, remoteless and you can clean your feet as well, which is totally connectionless to the original purpose.
I love you though still, Japan.