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Friends, foes and other; I am still travelling.
My internet access is sporadic at best, available but inconceivably fucked at worst, some of you have had the peasure of experiencing my futile attempts at communicating. God! *screams and rips out hair at the memory*
My New York - San Fransico - New York update will follow, and trust me....it. Will. Be. Worth. It.
You know me, you know what you can look forward too. There was a luxurious amount of sex, alcohol, not enough rock'n'roll, but an almost unflatteringly shameful amount of decadence... there are airplane incidents, fancy dinners, nights on floors and nights in posh hotel beds, trashed (or should I say 'styled'...?) hotel rooms, a lot of porn-talk and importance, hardcore shows and art openings, gutterpunks, bums, hippies and art-people, bars, backpacks and photoshoots, fashion, an unnerving interest in my panties more than once, but bizarrely different, also The Story How Temper Became Friendly, and the best part of the whole trip:
My ferrets are now in the San Fransisco MoMA.
Let that sink in. How cool is that?? I'm serious.
So storytime once again, I know how I've kept you waiting in despair...
* TO EVERYONE THAT HAS ASKED ABOUT CLOTHES: You are on my mind and internet is there again. So please send me a message with precise information, or any questions you might have!
*
My internet access is sporadic at best, available but inconceivably fucked at worst, some of you have had the peasure of experiencing my futile attempts at communicating. God! *screams and rips out hair at the memory*
My New York - San Fransico - New York update will follow, and trust me....it. Will. Be. Worth. It.
You know me, you know what you can look forward too. There was a luxurious amount of sex, alcohol, not enough rock'n'roll, but an almost unflatteringly shameful amount of decadence... there are airplane incidents, fancy dinners, nights on floors and nights in posh hotel beds, trashed (or should I say 'styled'...?) hotel rooms, a lot of porn-talk and importance, hardcore shows and art openings, gutterpunks, bums, hippies and art-people, bars, backpacks and photoshoots, fashion, an unnerving interest in my panties more than once, but bizarrely different, also The Story How Temper Became Friendly, and the best part of the whole trip:
My ferrets are now in the San Fransisco MoMA.
Let that sink in. How cool is that?? I'm serious.
So storytime once again, I know how I've kept you waiting in despair...
* TO EVERYONE THAT HAS ASKED ABOUT CLOTHES: You are on my mind and internet is there again. So please send me a message with precise information, or any questions you might have!
*
This is where I'm going tomorrow night.
It's my very first going-somewhere in...I can't remember. I'll get all dressed up, I will drink myself out of my little mind, see those that I vaguely remember as 'friends', ("Stu...is that you?") yell along to all the songs since I know them by heart after months of the whole production-process, behave like a drunken slob, I'll fuck, perhaps I'll fight, and at some point fall into a coma. God, I love being 13...
Until those numinous moments, I guess I'll just continue laboring over this goddamm screwed up monkey turd of a catalog. For which, by the way, I'm using the following pictures:
(Man, I am the queen of segways. I can't believe how smooth that was...now I'm wondering how the hell do you spell 'segway'. And now I'm wondering, if I don't know, then most of you will probably also not know. Not being mean, just statistics. There's a lot I can't do, but my spelling is fine. And above average. So unless SG has an explosive ratio of perfect spellers, my spelling is better than most of you who read this. I suck at math though.
But, if YOU are the genius who knows how to correctly write out this perhaps simple, perhaps bizarre word, do enlighten me.)
On to pretty things.
Yes, that's neon.
By the way, my friend N. who helped at the shooting and I were laughing uncontrollably at the make-up. We couldn't decide whether it looked more like a wrestling- or a ferret-mask.
I'm knocking myself out on the catalog layout. I have roughly 8 gazillion obscure pictures that go into the background and cover pages. I'm photoschopping my heart out.
I know, nevertheless, no matter how brilliant I believe it to be once it's done (or getting there), I know I'll convince myself its unadulterated crap like the night before I fly to San Fransisco. And maybe it will be, you never know since your perception is warped by staring at the material for months without a break.
We'll see.
* We only wake up 3 more times!
It's my very first going-somewhere in...I can't remember. I'll get all dressed up, I will drink myself out of my little mind, see those that I vaguely remember as 'friends', ("Stu...is that you?") yell along to all the songs since I know them by heart after months of the whole production-process, behave like a drunken slob, I'll fuck, perhaps I'll fight, and at some point fall into a coma. God, I love being 13...
Until those numinous moments, I guess I'll just continue laboring over this goddamm screwed up monkey turd of a catalog. For which, by the way, I'm using the following pictures:
(Man, I am the queen of segways. I can't believe how smooth that was...now I'm wondering how the hell do you spell 'segway'. And now I'm wondering, if I don't know, then most of you will probably also not know. Not being mean, just statistics. There's a lot I can't do, but my spelling is fine. And above average. So unless SG has an explosive ratio of perfect spellers, my spelling is better than most of you who read this. I suck at math though.
But, if YOU are the genius who knows how to correctly write out this perhaps simple, perhaps bizarre word, do enlighten me.)
On to pretty things.
Yes, that's neon.
By the way, my friend N. who helped at the shooting and I were laughing uncontrollably at the make-up. We couldn't decide whether it looked more like a wrestling- or a ferret-mask.
I'm knocking myself out on the catalog layout. I have roughly 8 gazillion obscure pictures that go into the background and cover pages. I'm photoschopping my heart out.
I know, nevertheless, no matter how brilliant I believe it to be once it's done (or getting there), I know I'll convince myself its unadulterated crap like the night before I fly to San Fransisco. And maybe it will be, you never know since your perception is warped by staring at the material for months without a break.
We'll see.
* We only wake up 3 more times!
Catalog shoot's over - I was dead.
I'm not... as pleased as I could've been. Several reasons:
1. The weather was foul so we had to do a studio shooting. Which is alright, at least there's mirrors and a toilet and coffee, but I had wanted it to look very urban, not tidy. For this purpose, we had two amazing locations - a certain grey, spray painted wall, and the huge illuminated window of a brothel - that we had to toss aside since things just have to get done. I had no time to wait.
2. Even though the fotographer is a friendly aquaintance of mine, I've never shot with him. It turned out that we weren't on the same wavelength. It wasn't horrible, not at all, but... different style. (Example: He'd wait and tuck and pull until the pose was perfect, then shoot ONE picture. I hate that. I like to move, have him snap away, and then pick the best one.)
This made it difficult for me to find a pose, or develop any athmosphere.
3. I had been awake for almost 30 hours desperately trying to finish everything, and you can tell. I was ok in the beginning, but after the 2nd hour or so I just started drooping.
Oh well. It's only a catalog, it's supposed to be functional, not beautiful.
But anyhow, I'm being apocalyptic, there's some cute pictures - to behold in the upcoming journal entry!
Until then, I'll leave you with my favorite, most flattering shot! Beware...
sorry it's fuzzy, I'm shit at downsizing.
OKAAYYYY....WHAT ELSE?
* Actually, that first comment down there reminded me of something. It's April, happy birthday, darlings...6 and 8.
* DISCLAIMER: The following is really, really lame, and only there as an illustration of what boggles the mind when in an overworked, socially excluded state. View at own risk.
I'm the passenger, and I ride and I ride through town, and on my way I notice how the people in charge of advertising products are apparently kept in a dark wet dungeon and forbidden any contact to the ouside world. I can't find any other explanation for the countless derailments slapping me in the face everywhere I go. They aren't even funny.
For example, look. They're selling hipsters.
And only 5€... yeah, be sure to get one while they're still available.
Or this guy. The 'cool cheese dj'....would you book this person??
Naturally, the pringles-commercial. It's the same in german, except that to 'pop' just means to fuck. It's like the second most common synonym after 'ficken'.... but maybe that was intended...
AAARRGH! I need my life back!! Please, give me some input, complex ideas to mull over, ask me questions, any questions, throw some key word my way and I'll tell the first story that comes to mind, we can play Ich-packe-meinen-Koffer...
*shakes head*
Really...cheese dj's, bela b... It's not good to have a job that keeps you inside for longish periods of time. You get so whimsical and peculiar.
In just a couple years, I'll be the cat lady down the road.
And I'll have house-slaves, like this:
Enough of this, it's rediculous. If you've read this far I congratulate you. Sincerely.
* Ohhhh, here's something less senseless: I fucked my first psychobilly! *grins* Ah, the trophies, the milestones. The first of any subculture are always special...*sighs*
He'd apparently been crushing on me for a while, but has never really spoken to me. I don't know why, I'm a nice girl...
He was a pervert though. The good kind.
Have you ever needed to fuck someone because he was ugly? Me neither, until now. This man had features that should've made him hideous - like he was wolverine with a face full of hereditary damage. His nose was crooked, his cheekbones were slant, his mouth too large, his entire appearance generally off.
But he was all styled and had a shiny flat, and he looked at me with a grin that was truly diabolic. I'm certain he practiced that in a mirror, but I didn't mind. It worked right then. What an exterior. I was intruiged.
So I went home with him, into his shabby bachelor place that was dirty as hell, where he tried to convince me that 'Pshaw - I'm not punkrock at all!' even though his walls were spray painted and all he had there was stolen furniture, malfunctioning instruments, alcohol and tabacco. This pretty much resembles my natural habitat.
So I pounced on him and we fucked. I could melt and die for the alternation between soft and vicious. Or rather the perfect mixture of them. It makes me be not bored.
I enjoyed.
One thing I fail to understand though is this: When I have sex with a boy, I tend to do whatever's necessary to myself so that I come. That makes perfect sense, right? Now why is it, that half the time, the boys tell me afterwards that wasn't they're best performance, and they could be so much better the next time, when they haven't had any alcohol / they know me better / their dog isn't in the room / their adopted chinese grandmother didn't just have surgery on her ear?
Can I link these two ideas? Are guys intimidated because they feel I shouldn't need to be doing anything?
Or is it that they just want to assure me that there's a reason for repetition? Because thats something I make pretty clear early on - most probably, it'll only be this one time. Most probably, I won't be coming back.
Or is it that they worry about not being hard every single second of the multi-hour fucking spree? Guys, I don't care - it's just your cock, get the fuck over yourself! If you have fingers and a tounge, use them - it's not rocket science.
So he was fun, and asked to see me again but I had to decline... ah, those bittersweet moments, I adore them so.
* One last remark. If you were my friend once, and now you're not anymore and thinking "Why, god, why?", then read my previous journal. And quit whining.
I'm not... as pleased as I could've been. Several reasons:
1. The weather was foul so we had to do a studio shooting. Which is alright, at least there's mirrors and a toilet and coffee, but I had wanted it to look very urban, not tidy. For this purpose, we had two amazing locations - a certain grey, spray painted wall, and the huge illuminated window of a brothel - that we had to toss aside since things just have to get done. I had no time to wait.
2. Even though the fotographer is a friendly aquaintance of mine, I've never shot with him. It turned out that we weren't on the same wavelength. It wasn't horrible, not at all, but... different style. (Example: He'd wait and tuck and pull until the pose was perfect, then shoot ONE picture. I hate that. I like to move, have him snap away, and then pick the best one.)
This made it difficult for me to find a pose, or develop any athmosphere.
3. I had been awake for almost 30 hours desperately trying to finish everything, and you can tell. I was ok in the beginning, but after the 2nd hour or so I just started drooping.
Oh well. It's only a catalog, it's supposed to be functional, not beautiful.
But anyhow, I'm being apocalyptic, there's some cute pictures - to behold in the upcoming journal entry!
Until then, I'll leave you with my favorite, most flattering shot! Beware...
sorry it's fuzzy, I'm shit at downsizing.
OKAAYYYY....WHAT ELSE?
* Actually, that first comment down there reminded me of something. It's April, happy birthday, darlings...6 and 8.
* DISCLAIMER: The following is really, really lame, and only there as an illustration of what boggles the mind when in an overworked, socially excluded state. View at own risk.
I'm the passenger, and I ride and I ride through town, and on my way I notice how the people in charge of advertising products are apparently kept in a dark wet dungeon and forbidden any contact to the ouside world. I can't find any other explanation for the countless derailments slapping me in the face everywhere I go. They aren't even funny.
For example, look. They're selling hipsters.
And only 5€... yeah, be sure to get one while they're still available.
Or this guy. The 'cool cheese dj'....would you book this person??
Naturally, the pringles-commercial. It's the same in german, except that to 'pop' just means to fuck. It's like the second most common synonym after 'ficken'.... but maybe that was intended...
AAARRGH! I need my life back!! Please, give me some input, complex ideas to mull over, ask me questions, any questions, throw some key word my way and I'll tell the first story that comes to mind, we can play Ich-packe-meinen-Koffer...
*shakes head*
Really...cheese dj's, bela b... It's not good to have a job that keeps you inside for longish periods of time. You get so whimsical and peculiar.
In just a couple years, I'll be the cat lady down the road.
And I'll have house-slaves, like this:
Enough of this, it's rediculous. If you've read this far I congratulate you. Sincerely.
* Ohhhh, here's something less senseless: I fucked my first psychobilly! *grins* Ah, the trophies, the milestones. The first of any subculture are always special...*sighs*
He'd apparently been crushing on me for a while, but has never really spoken to me. I don't know why, I'm a nice girl...
He was a pervert though. The good kind.
Have you ever needed to fuck someone because he was ugly? Me neither, until now. This man had features that should've made him hideous - like he was wolverine with a face full of hereditary damage. His nose was crooked, his cheekbones were slant, his mouth too large, his entire appearance generally off.
But he was all styled and had a shiny flat, and he looked at me with a grin that was truly diabolic. I'm certain he practiced that in a mirror, but I didn't mind. It worked right then. What an exterior. I was intruiged.
So I went home with him, into his shabby bachelor place that was dirty as hell, where he tried to convince me that 'Pshaw - I'm not punkrock at all!' even though his walls were spray painted and all he had there was stolen furniture, malfunctioning instruments, alcohol and tabacco. This pretty much resembles my natural habitat.
So I pounced on him and we fucked. I could melt and die for the alternation between soft and vicious. Or rather the perfect mixture of them. It makes me be not bored.
I enjoyed.
One thing I fail to understand though is this: When I have sex with a boy, I tend to do whatever's necessary to myself so that I come. That makes perfect sense, right? Now why is it, that half the time, the boys tell me afterwards that wasn't they're best performance, and they could be so much better the next time, when they haven't had any alcohol / they know me better / their dog isn't in the room / their adopted chinese grandmother didn't just have surgery on her ear?
Can I link these two ideas? Are guys intimidated because they feel I shouldn't need to be doing anything?
Or is it that they just want to assure me that there's a reason for repetition? Because thats something I make pretty clear early on - most probably, it'll only be this one time. Most probably, I won't be coming back.
Or is it that they worry about not being hard every single second of the multi-hour fucking spree? Guys, I don't care - it's just your cock, get the fuck over yourself! If you have fingers and a tounge, use them - it's not rocket science.
So he was fun, and asked to see me again but I had to decline... ah, those bittersweet moments, I adore them so.
* One last remark. If you were my friend once, and now you're not anymore and thinking "Why, god, why?", then read my previous journal. And quit whining.
Now that everyone was notified about the grandness of my colorful nipples, it's time to move on. Let us leave yet another mark in the universe of essential information exchange and people that gratefully indulge in whatever you feed them.
My life is a monotonous hell.
The shoot for my next catalog is on monday, and I am thrashing around with my sewing machine to get everything done till then, and of course now on the last bit of the track, every single detail that could, in worst case scenario, go wrong, cheerfully does go wrong.
The dress that fit perfectly in every previous fitting now throws nonsensical wrinkles.
The shirt that I'd shortened now needs to be longer again - but longer than it was before I took that inch away.
*sighs and massages forehead*
So since my social life is nonexistant and I live in complete seclusion and I'm a hermit while working (I suppose saying it three times should illustrate my point) my mind wanders and I spend all day thinking happy thoughts. My favorite pastime is striking up conversations with people and following those for hours. Normal huh? I think so too, disregarding the fact that these people are not actually there.
MORE USELESS BITS OF INFORMATION:
* I have a crush on Bela B.
Germans will know why this is mildly embarrasing.
But still, Bela, you live in Berlin and I'm sure you're a perverse Sau enough to be a member here - do send me a message. *blink blink*
* One night when we were little, we were all on our way from one show to the next and stopped at a gas station to get supplies in nicotine and liquid form, when my best friend stuffed a sixpack of beer under his jacket and tiptoed outside with it. Now it could've, technically, worked, but first of all he was so damn obvious about it that even a blind on a crutch would've noticed, and besides, he was so skinny back then that it made the most insane bulge.
So the gas guy saw. Whistling in an inconspicuous fashion, we had all followed the thief outside and were just about to split the loot, when we noticed one of us was missing...
She was standing behind the glass entrance door, the gas guy next to her, dangling his keys. Smart move. He had trapped her inside, and now slowly bent down over his little speaker-thing and snarled the memorable words: "Give me back my beer or the woman stays here!"
I personally know what I would've done. Merrily walked away. Good riddance. I cannot stand this girl since she's a self-righteous, judgemental bitch and we have clashed since day one. The guys of course are so soft and moral that they returned the beer, but I still sit and reminisce sometimes, about the time when I could've traded this ulcer in for six bottles of alcohol...
* In two weeks, I'll be seeing Albertine again, and Charlie and Luci (and ZakSmith, who cried because I didn't mention him ) plus a bunch of other people, and that makes me so happy. Besides the fact that I get out of Berlin again right after I finish working on all this shit. 
* Lookit her, isn't she beautiful?
This incredibly smart and aware woman is one of my very bestest buddies malignko, and the 'psychotic friends' in my profile is a direct reference to her. She's busy as hell making lingerie so her journal is still quite naked, but you should go tell her how much you appreciate her presence, or I'll get mad at you. Also, you may want to be nice to her now, because when she's a suicide girl, she might not have time for you anymore.
* Oh, I almost forgot. Since I'm in arrogant bitchy mode, I'll bring something up that has been a nuisance. This is for phantom members:
We all like to have friends, right? Exactly. But when your friends list is overpopulated by people that never ever comment - not in my journal nor anyplace else - then it isn't so nice anymore. I'm tired of wading through my bookmarks or lists until I find whoever I'm looking for, so I'm starting to weed.
If you don't leave a comment to this entry, you're deleted.
Unless you are a suicide girl, in wich case I wouldn't ever delete you, or I like you for being smart and funny, or if I find you incredibly hot. But don't count on it. If you think I'n an asshole now and don't want to be my friend anymore that makes it easier on me, and you a wimp.
By the way, to make matters worse, I demand quality. "I commented" doesn't count, and neither does "U R HAWT"
My life is a monotonous hell.
The shoot for my next catalog is on monday, and I am thrashing around with my sewing machine to get everything done till then, and of course now on the last bit of the track, every single detail that could, in worst case scenario, go wrong, cheerfully does go wrong.
The dress that fit perfectly in every previous fitting now throws nonsensical wrinkles.
The shirt that I'd shortened now needs to be longer again - but longer than it was before I took that inch away.
*sighs and massages forehead*
So since my social life is nonexistant and I live in complete seclusion and I'm a hermit while working (I suppose saying it three times should illustrate my point) my mind wanders and I spend all day thinking happy thoughts. My favorite pastime is striking up conversations with people and following those for hours. Normal huh? I think so too, disregarding the fact that these people are not actually there.
MORE USELESS BITS OF INFORMATION:
* I have a crush on Bela B.
Germans will know why this is mildly embarrasing.
But still, Bela, you live in Berlin and I'm sure you're a perverse Sau enough to be a member here - do send me a message. *blink blink*
* One night when we were little, we were all on our way from one show to the next and stopped at a gas station to get supplies in nicotine and liquid form, when my best friend stuffed a sixpack of beer under his jacket and tiptoed outside with it. Now it could've, technically, worked, but first of all he was so damn obvious about it that even a blind on a crutch would've noticed, and besides, he was so skinny back then that it made the most insane bulge.
So the gas guy saw. Whistling in an inconspicuous fashion, we had all followed the thief outside and were just about to split the loot, when we noticed one of us was missing...
She was standing behind the glass entrance door, the gas guy next to her, dangling his keys. Smart move. He had trapped her inside, and now slowly bent down over his little speaker-thing and snarled the memorable words: "Give me back my beer or the woman stays here!"
I personally know what I would've done. Merrily walked away. Good riddance. I cannot stand this girl since she's a self-righteous, judgemental bitch and we have clashed since day one. The guys of course are so soft and moral that they returned the beer, but I still sit and reminisce sometimes, about the time when I could've traded this ulcer in for six bottles of alcohol...
* In two weeks, I'll be seeing Albertine again, and Charlie and Luci (and ZakSmith, who cried because I didn't mention him
) plus a bunch of other people, and that makes me so happy. Besides the fact that I get out of Berlin again right after I finish working on all this shit. * Lookit her, isn't she beautiful?
This incredibly smart and aware woman is one of my very bestest buddies malignko, and the 'psychotic friends' in my profile is a direct reference to her. She's busy as hell making lingerie so her journal is still quite naked, but you should go tell her how much you appreciate her presence, or I'll get mad at you. Also, you may want to be nice to her now, because when she's a suicide girl, she might not have time for you anymore.
* Oh, I almost forgot. Since I'm in arrogant bitchy mode, I'll bring something up that has been a nuisance. This is for phantom members:
We all like to have friends, right? Exactly. But when your friends list is overpopulated by people that never ever comment - not in my journal nor anyplace else - then it isn't so nice anymore. I'm tired of wading through my bookmarks or lists until I find whoever I'm looking for, so I'm starting to weed.
If you don't leave a comment to this entry, you're deleted.
Unless you are a suicide girl, in wich case I wouldn't ever delete you, or I like you for being smart and funny, or if I find you incredibly hot. But don't count on it. If you think I'n an asshole now and don't want to be my friend anymore that makes it easier on me, and you a wimp.
By the way, to make matters worse, I demand quality. "I commented" doesn't count, and neither does "U R HAWT"
What good is sitting alone in your room?
Ah, devine - go masturbate.
So has anyone noticed that my nipples are actually bi-colored?
Ah, devine - go masturbate.
So has anyone noticed that my nipples are actually bi-colored?
I will have to dissapoint you guys.
I am working on new clothes, which means my life is an unremarkable heap of sewing patterns, crudely drawn designs (since I don't have to impress anyone with them anymore - or make anyone else understand what the hell I mean) miles and miles of thread, broken needles, pins up my ferrets' asses, a plethora of materials wildly strewn around, and no time for trivial, utterly superficial things like food or sleep.
And serious brain damage.
My mood alternates alarmingly between "I'll never get this right! I hate my life and I fail at everything I attempt to do! Nothing's ever good enough!" and "This *blubber* this makes no sense...*sobs as she does the cloth-equivalent of putting the round peg in the square hole*...I...I just...what was I thinking?" and then, in a second of sparkly relief: "Ohmygod - YES! Oh, yes, yes, THAT'S IT! I hear angels go aaaahhhh this is so good!"
Yeah...
While you're wondering whether or not that last part really does make me feel the way it sounds - sort of, sadly. And if you're wondering whether or not I really make noises like that on other occasions, possibly involving something in or around my Mu - I'm not telling.
You can guess.
Go on. Guess.
FROM NOW ON - RANDOMNESS:
it makes no sense at a-all...things aren't what they seem...
* Well, I was pondering and reflecting, and I think that the most fun thing I did these last days was me peeing into a bucket underneath the staircase of the Fabric wholesale place.
I had to go, ok?
It's like a half hour train ride to get there, and by the time I did, my bladder was a seperate entity that in no way belonged on my body anymore. I swear it was moving by itself, I was walking like a pregnant woman. A fat pregnant woman. So basically, all that happened was I went into the hall and for the first time, noticed the dark little corner underneath the first flight of stairs that was beckoning to me to please, please come over here and do whatever you want to do...and I followed. And not only was it a perfectly dark secluded place, it was also, I learned, the place they keep the cleaning utensils - mops, brooms, sponges, buckets...
Like it was made for me.
I was interrupted though. Just as I had positioned myself and...gah! I'm not giving you ALL the details! This is rediculous. I was peeing and this woman walks in, up the steps and over my head, and No, she did not find me cos I'm very proficient at halting the stream. And being silent.
I also had thoughts of being the invisible friend.
Was I drunk? Not a bit. Do they have toilets there? I'm assuming so, in retrospect. Was I going to wobble up two flights of stairs to find out? Then wait for some employee to find the time to acknowledge my presence and then deny my desperate plea? Or, possibly worse, direct me to the very back of the vastly large place and watch me leave a trail of piss all the way there? And make me pay for all the cloth I soiled? Apparently not.
Although I will confess, I did not think that far as I made my decision. All I thought was Must. Pee.
There. Is. Place.
* Has anyone else ever noticed how insanely huge my ear seems on my profile picture? And how it looks as if I was a hunchback, and that there's a curtain in front of my face? It makes me want to blow air out of my mouth to swoosh it away.
* In 1980, West Berlin had over 400 squats. Can you believe it? Naturally, those days are over but you know...it's ghost still refuses to leave.
* My best friend has a new girlfriend. Finally. She's smart and cute, and she's also the 16 year old daughter of my ex-therapist.
Suddenly, he's spending time at my ex-therapist' house. He is speaking of 'Tienchen' as my ex-therapist. I will be seeing her at gatherings and stuff, shows he plays.
To make matters more obscure, his little brother (his baby brother - I've known them so long!) also has a new girlfriend, and guess what. She's not only 3 days older than my best friend's, but they coincidentally go to the same school, and since my friends girl stayed back a year, his brother's girlfriend is in 11th grade while she is in tenth.
10th grade! I can't even remember 10th grade...
* Hm, what else...I look funny when I'm home alone all day and frown because then, I have no eyebrows.
God...my life sucks.
* No wait - here's something good! Look at her!!
She's all mine! *claps hands in glee*
Yes, I'm being a girl.
Yes, the pic's crappy.
Yes, she's pink now get off my case.
She's fabulous. But I'll be all trashy about it and spraypaint her black. Then, when the color chips off, she'll look so beat up but pink underneath and I'll be all "Yeah, I've had this baby for three days, man...I know, it feels like forever too."
Seriously though, the last show we played we had to sit around for hours and hours waiting and my best friend just got the guitar and stuck it onto my belly and said: "Here. Play this." And I did.
I could tell you a huge sob story now about why that wasn't as mundane and insignificant as it sounds, but I'd bore myself.
So now I'm practicing, and it'll give me an excuse to not jump around with arms flailing to entertain a crowd, which I just don't do.
And no, I'm not even that bad...Really.
And my neighbours adore me.
* It's all about the moments.
I was at work at the bar, and this guy comes in. (Somehow it seems half the stories I tell begin with those words...)
Anyway, he didn't even catch my eye at first, he was cute and skinny but not oustanding in that gulp-I-must-have-him-search-and-destroy sort of way. I see him now and then, but his friend gets the drinks so whatever, evening moves on. Until I turn around because someones trying to get my attention and here is where it hit me like a wrecking ball how beautiful this boy was. I believe he had just about the perfect face, but I can't even remember clearly, since I was peculiarly drawn to his mouth. I cannot recall ever having needed to fuck a guy because of that part of his anatomy, singled out.
And the way I feel about pierced faces is also, well, indifferent. Of course I tend to like it, but usually, people are so erratic about the parts they choose to get pierced that they make the wrong choices, or there's just no...no system, somehow, aesthetically. Christmas tree. Display in a hardware store.
But this boy had made all the exactly right choices. For a guy, he had an exquisitely shaped mouth, and quite a bit of metal in it. And every single piece was perfectly placed in symmetry and purpose.
I was infatuated.
It was so unexpected! Although it may sound so, it wasn't even like I was falling in love or some shit, it was clearly, and purely, a moment of intense craving, that diminishes every outside influence. This point of fixation was the total distraction of anything from an outside world, for a moment. And it was moving by itself, communicating with me, it was incomprehensibly bizarre. I had such an urge to just take it because it was supposed to be mine.
Moments. My adoration never lasts, so I have to indulge. I need those moments, the ones that feel like a punch in the face, they're what makes my life worthwhile. On some occasions, an actual punch in the face will also suffice. But I really do prefer this kind.
So I gave him a certain look and I saw he caught the bait and I gave him another and he was just lost and struck up an alibi-conversation and I just continued looking and everything was settled.
I am working on new clothes, which means my life is an unremarkable heap of sewing patterns, crudely drawn designs (since I don't have to impress anyone with them anymore - or make anyone else understand what the hell I mean) miles and miles of thread, broken needles, pins up my ferrets' asses, a plethora of materials wildly strewn around, and no time for trivial, utterly superficial things like food or sleep.
And serious brain damage.
My mood alternates alarmingly between "I'll never get this right! I hate my life and I fail at everything I attempt to do! Nothing's ever good enough!" and "This *blubber* this makes no sense...*sobs as she does the cloth-equivalent of putting the round peg in the square hole*...I...I just...what was I thinking?" and then, in a second of sparkly relief: "Ohmygod - YES! Oh, yes, yes, THAT'S IT! I hear angels go aaaahhhh this is so good!"
Yeah...
While you're wondering whether or not that last part really does make me feel the way it sounds - sort of, sadly. And if you're wondering whether or not I really make noises like that on other occasions, possibly involving something in or around my Mu - I'm not telling.
You can guess.
Go on. Guess.
FROM NOW ON - RANDOMNESS:
it makes no sense at a-all...things aren't what they seem...
* Well, I was pondering and reflecting, and I think that the most fun thing I did these last days was me peeing into a bucket underneath the staircase of the Fabric wholesale place.
I had to go, ok?
It's like a half hour train ride to get there, and by the time I did, my bladder was a seperate entity that in no way belonged on my body anymore. I swear it was moving by itself, I was walking like a pregnant woman. A fat pregnant woman. So basically, all that happened was I went into the hall and for the first time, noticed the dark little corner underneath the first flight of stairs that was beckoning to me to please, please come over here and do whatever you want to do...and I followed. And not only was it a perfectly dark secluded place, it was also, I learned, the place they keep the cleaning utensils - mops, brooms, sponges, buckets...
Like it was made for me.
I was interrupted though. Just as I had positioned myself and...gah! I'm not giving you ALL the details! This is rediculous. I was peeing and this woman walks in, up the steps and over my head, and No, she did not find me cos I'm very proficient at halting the stream. And being silent.
I also had thoughts of being the invisible friend.
Was I drunk? Not a bit. Do they have toilets there? I'm assuming so, in retrospect. Was I going to wobble up two flights of stairs to find out? Then wait for some employee to find the time to acknowledge my presence and then deny my desperate plea? Or, possibly worse, direct me to the very back of the vastly large place and watch me leave a trail of piss all the way there? And make me pay for all the cloth I soiled? Apparently not.
Although I will confess, I did not think that far as I made my decision. All I thought was Must. Pee.
There. Is. Place.
* Has anyone else ever noticed how insanely huge my ear seems on my profile picture? And how it looks as if I was a hunchback, and that there's a curtain in front of my face? It makes me want to blow air out of my mouth to swoosh it away.
* In 1980, West Berlin had over 400 squats. Can you believe it? Naturally, those days are over but you know...it's ghost still refuses to leave.
* My best friend has a new girlfriend. Finally. She's smart and cute, and she's also the 16 year old daughter of my ex-therapist.
Suddenly, he's spending time at my ex-therapist' house. He is speaking of 'Tienchen' as my ex-therapist. I will be seeing her at gatherings and stuff, shows he plays.
To make matters more obscure, his little brother (his baby brother - I've known them so long!) also has a new girlfriend, and guess what. She's not only 3 days older than my best friend's, but they coincidentally go to the same school, and since my friends girl stayed back a year, his brother's girlfriend is in 11th grade while she is in tenth.
10th grade! I can't even remember 10th grade...
* Hm, what else...I look funny when I'm home alone all day and frown because then, I have no eyebrows.
God...my life sucks.
* No wait - here's something good! Look at her!!
She's all mine! *claps hands in glee*
Yes, I'm being a girl.
Yes, the pic's crappy.
Yes, she's pink now get off my case.
She's fabulous. But I'll be all trashy about it and spraypaint her black. Then, when the color chips off, she'll look so beat up but pink underneath and I'll be all "Yeah, I've had this baby for three days, man...I know, it feels like forever too."
Seriously though, the last show we played we had to sit around for hours and hours waiting and my best friend just got the guitar and stuck it onto my belly and said: "Here. Play this." And I did.
I could tell you a huge sob story now about why that wasn't as mundane and insignificant as it sounds, but I'd bore myself.
So now I'm practicing, and it'll give me an excuse to not jump around with arms flailing to entertain a crowd, which I just don't do.
And no, I'm not even that bad...Really.
And my neighbours adore me.
* It's all about the moments.
I was at work at the bar, and this guy comes in. (Somehow it seems half the stories I tell begin with those words...)
Anyway, he didn't even catch my eye at first, he was cute and skinny but not oustanding in that gulp-I-must-have-him-search-and-destroy sort of way. I see him now and then, but his friend gets the drinks so whatever, evening moves on. Until I turn around because someones trying to get my attention and here is where it hit me like a wrecking ball how beautiful this boy was. I believe he had just about the perfect face, but I can't even remember clearly, since I was peculiarly drawn to his mouth. I cannot recall ever having needed to fuck a guy because of that part of his anatomy, singled out.
And the way I feel about pierced faces is also, well, indifferent. Of course I tend to like it, but usually, people are so erratic about the parts they choose to get pierced that they make the wrong choices, or there's just no...no system, somehow, aesthetically. Christmas tree. Display in a hardware store.
But this boy had made all the exactly right choices. For a guy, he had an exquisitely shaped mouth, and quite a bit of metal in it. And every single piece was perfectly placed in symmetry and purpose.
I was infatuated.
It was so unexpected! Although it may sound so, it wasn't even like I was falling in love or some shit, it was clearly, and purely, a moment of intense craving, that diminishes every outside influence. This point of fixation was the total distraction of anything from an outside world, for a moment. And it was moving by itself, communicating with me, it was incomprehensibly bizarre. I had such an urge to just take it because it was supposed to be mine.
Moments. My adoration never lasts, so I have to indulge. I need those moments, the ones that feel like a punch in the face, they're what makes my life worthwhile. On some occasions, an actual punch in the face will also suffice. But I really do prefer this kind.
So I gave him a certain look and I saw he caught the bait and I gave him another and he was just lost and struck up an alibi-conversation and I just continued looking and everything was settled.
Ladies and Gentlemen! Only here, and for a limited amount of time...:
The In credible Bunch Of Bile!
Before viewing, I will bring to your attention that certain people haven't been a prominent part of my life for quite a while, and this makes me smile. I usually don't have anything to say to my father, and when he speaks to me, I respond in monosyllables. The most I can summon regarding him is mild distaste (you know, the kind like when you find something moldy in someone elses fridge - thats gross but you don't have to clean it up) and a mild sorryness that he's forced to deal with himself on a daily basis. So keep in mind that when I saw this, I burst out laughing and clapped my hands, for I had to grant him that hey, its quite daring to lean out of a window that far!
Oh and by the way, certain details are omitted or changed for discretion.
Observe.
Prelude:
I only see him sporadically when he hangs around, uninvited, in my mothers cafe. So this was sparked by the following conversation.
him: "So how long have you been smoking?"
(that question is quite illustrative on how long we haven't had a thing to do with one another, eh?)
me: "You've asked me that before. Is it really important?"
him: "Asshole. The problem is that you've never had any dicipline!"
I thought that was it and continued my interrupted conversation, but then, a couple hours later, I find this in my emails:
-----------------
subject: your an emabarassment.
I hate to say it but your spiritually bankrupt, who the Fuck are you, you piece of ungrateful shit. your mother left you hanging when it came to pay your school, she let u down by not paying your stupid school ! asshole, I was told I had to pay up or you would have to drop out! FUCK YOU a Million times, you dim wit.
if you had been able to contol your corrupted ego u could have , should have ,gone to a real univercity! Remmember I got [your sister] a good Scholorship but YOU , your so "special" [Temper] ! so fucking special, all you do is wave your illness around like a flag .
I keep hopeing you will realize some things about who really cares about you, but you so stupid , you bite the hand that feeds you.
watch your mouth , or you will have pain.
-------------------------------------------------------
Hey, not bad, huh? Usually, I let these things slide cos they're so old I can't even bother. but then again, this is the most he's said in a long time, so I thought I'd acknowledge and responded:
---------------
And you are hilarious.
Look who's talking, I think its the very weak, very old man who looks back on a life of nothing but failure. You haven't succeeded at anything, you ruined all your potential and aspiration and no one in the circle of what could be called 'family' cares whether you live or die. Except maybe [my sister], who likes the role of the mediator.
And the funny thing is: It's entirely your own fault.
Maybe you should've set your priorities straight 20something years ago, maybe you shouldn't have taken your daughters money to buy drugs, maybe you shouldn't have resolved to physical and mental violence towards people you were supposed to have taken care of, maybe you shouldn't have tried with every measure to degrade the women in your life to make your retarded frail ego shine and fake some purpose in your life, and maybe, if you had paid a single penny in the 20 years prior to my school, [my mother] would've had the money to pay for it. And you can't even spell.
And you act as if you break your back working for the money you get. [My mother] works 24 hours a day and she has far less than whats shoved up your ass. I work every day of the week and I know that that will pay off sooner or later.
I never asked for a thing, and you know it.
I'm also not quite sure what illness-flag-waving you are referring to - I don't feel ill, and I don't recall ever relying on my supposed illness to get me anything.
I have the most clear perception imaginable about who cares for me, but more essential, I have a clear perception on who is good for me. I surround myself with those people.
I stopped caring about the things you say or do to me about 10 years ago. I just can't summon the energy or emotions. Your threats are idle, there's nothing you can do that would hurt me.
Don't be surprised by this message, I am responding to YOUR tone. I am very content with letting all the ugliness stay settled, but if you need to stir things up then I have no problem with it, although it does get tedious after a while.
What goes around comes around, 'daddy'.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
And I get this back:
----------------
I figured you would come up with this kind of shit. 1st, Your Mother Divorced ME for [her then boyfriend], so who is the idiot there.! hummm, Second, your Mom, divorceing me , pulled my ability to work here independently which means I had NO fast alternative other then the social office. Three I paid your mother retroactive a bBig amount of money when I finally had it, how about that asshole ! Bet [she] never told yoou that, because she´s the one with the frail ego, you liitle twit.
And what the fuck are you talking about , " taking your money for drugs, WTF, who is filling you full of shit,,,oh sorry I fogot , you were born that way. I have not touched drugs or Alcohol. for 15 years. But you do not understand what strenghtof charecter is, you still are impressed by retro punk haircuts, ha,ha,ha.
I have my life organized, what you do not realize is this... I have had nothing that I do not deserve and all of you includeing my asshole sister and your Mother are jeleous. Your Mom works so much because she has to She is not clever [....]..... is that succseesful.
Sucssess is this, understandinfg yourself. which I do , How can u say Faliure to me, ha,ha,ha, every thing I do I do well and I have gotten thru my life in my ay. now Realizeing that your aslo working your ass off, well good luck , because that goes on the next 40 years freak. If getting my thing together in an alternative way so that am not burdened by that is not a bad thing at all or ?
To tell u true, I am worried you will kill yourself, i would not surprise me. its only a question of when.
also, your mother , silly shit , decided she was going to have children, thats was a burden to me!
I am happy to be rid of you, your a wasted investment. you and your mom are so rigid, inflexable and not at all clever or original. But your so up your own ass you can not see that. Your in this position because you have a corrupted ego. you jerk, you have been a problem since you were born.
so, your Trust fund is at this moment no longer yours, ! how about that, I will change the benificery now, ha,ha,ha . you lose.
asshole.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Needless to say, the 'facts' he is stating are warped, and the argumentation silly or just plain lies. Basically nothing of it is true, but its pointless going into all that with him. My response:
---------------
Yeah, whatever. Its always amazing to see people bend the truth into whatever suits them best, especially in retrospect.
So much of what you said has no relevance whatsoever. All you do is throw emotionalized argumentation my way, spiced with insults.
To tell u true, I am worried you will kill yourself, i would not
surprise me. its only a question of when.
Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you. I have never in my life thougth about suicide, although I do remember you mentioning it. Could there be some projection going on on your part?
I don't care about the trust fund, I was filing under 'rumor' anyway. I was never expecting to see any of it. I'm sorry that taking away something I don't want from you, and wasn't expecting, is the worst consequence you can draw of your rediculous threat.
I don't wish you anything bad, I understand how you are and where you're coming from, contrary to what you think. That just doesn't change the fact that I really don't care, and I'm mildly sorry for your sake that I can't be one of those people that you press into the inferior role anymore, like you did when I was little. Thats been over for years and years and years. I know it was a lot more satisfying that way for you. Don't be sad.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
To which I get this keen and perceptive gem:
---------------------
ah, so thats it you were oppressed as a child.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
My eyes have rolled, I wrote the following.
----------------------------
Look, I know we could go on forever with this amusing business but its really boring and wasting my time. Also, theres no point. So this is the last mail I'm sending.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
To which I got the last thing, short and sweet:
--------------------------
the last mail I wanted to send, A- hole, Clad to be rid of you.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
I would be ecstatic if he was true to his word. Sadly, this has never really been the case....
And now to something completely different:
* My best friend and I were sitting in his room which consists basically of one huge bed with a plethora of items for daily use scattered around it, as we do practically every day. Depending on the time, either with beer or coffee in our hands, life is good. And he asked me a question that is pretty mundane, but surprisingly led to an hour long discussion: "If you had the choice, to which three eras in the last century would you time-travel?"
I answered right away, the Weimar Republik in Berlin, 1945 and the couple years following, also in Berlin, to witness the Trümmerfrauen and make millions of deutschmark on the black market and buy like, a loaf of bread, I'd see how everything was improvised and built up from scratch. Also, this time is one of the three main influences in the new clothes I am making at present. And third, the time of my own birth. I'd be all grown up in 1982 and see what made life rock back then and maybe understand why anyone would want to conceive moi, and also be part of the early years of punkrock and see how that all evolved.
Where would you go?
* Once again, we were all sitting around in Neukölln and one of us started flipping through a thesaurus, and of course, after like 30 seconds, he was looking up everybodys name. (we're deep thinkers like that.) And everybodys name was normal, you know, like 'short version of blablabla' and 'derived from blablabla' or 'meaning something meaningful' but mine... my name is a perfectly reasonable, very average pretty name, and theres like 3 things to say about it, but what that book said was: ...brace yourself....it called me: 'the short form of Eugene!"
Isn't that godawful?
Its a male name, and an embarrassing one!
I was everyones joke...."Haha! Yeah, wipe that tear away, Eugene!"
* Well, I had a couple of enchanting earworms again today, and once again, I fail at knowing who the fuck sings them and why the hell they got stuck in my head. Except for two of them.
One was, for example, "Imaybetotallywrong but I'm a DAAANCING-foo-oo-oo-ool, I'ma DAAANCING-foo-oo-" ok, you know how it goes. Then, the sensitive, heart-warming "If you don't know me by now.... I can't even bring myself to type that out. What stupid lyrics.
But also, I had something light-hearted and modern, went something like this "dumdumdum Well I guess that you look good on the dance. Floor. Don't know if you're looking for romance or. Don't know what you're looking for. I SAID I BET THAT YOU LOOK GOOD ON THE DANCE! FLOOR! walk like a robot from nineteeneighty. Fooouur.
I could stop here, but I won't.
Cos the last one was Billy Corgan, rest his soul, nasally informing me that: You don't know what its li-ike...Baybee you don't know WHAT it's like...to love someboday...tolovesomeboday....The wa-ay I love you!"
I'm sorry, Bill.
Ok, this is the last part of my world-moving journal entry. To appreciate it, it is very necessary to regress into the mental state when you thought 'penis' was a funny word. Done that? Ok.
Its something that occured in 8th grade, in biology with Dr. Humphries. Dr. Humphries had a mustache like a broom and glasses and plaid pants.
And he was teaching us about dna and our genes, explaining how everything in your life is predetermined by them. Of course you could argue about that, but every thought was nipped in the bud when was done with his rambling:
"...like dark hair! Why do you have dark hair? Its in your genes! Or obesity! Why are you overweight? Obesity is in your genes! Or diarrhea!..." - you can see where this is going, right? - "Why do you have diarrhea? Because diarrhea is in your genes!"
Imagine, just imagine what happened after he said those memorable words to a bunch of 8th graders. Priceless. Teaching class was not possible for like the rest of the year. I still chuckle when I think about it, and its been about 10 years....but that tells you a lot about my fecal humor.
Just in case...if you didn't get it and are scratching your head: Say it out loud. If you still don't get it, you humor is more underdeveloped than a 13 year old's and are thus a retard. Too bad for you.
The In credible Bunch Of Bile!
Before viewing, I will bring to your attention that certain people haven't been a prominent part of my life for quite a while, and this makes me smile. I usually don't have anything to say to my father, and when he speaks to me, I respond in monosyllables. The most I can summon regarding him is mild distaste (you know, the kind like when you find something moldy in someone elses fridge - thats gross but you don't have to clean it up) and a mild sorryness that he's forced to deal with himself on a daily basis. So keep in mind that when I saw this, I burst out laughing and clapped my hands, for I had to grant him that hey, its quite daring to lean out of a window that far!
Oh and by the way, certain details are omitted or changed for discretion.
Observe.
Prelude:
I only see him sporadically when he hangs around, uninvited, in my mothers cafe. So this was sparked by the following conversation.
him: "So how long have you been smoking?"
(that question is quite illustrative on how long we haven't had a thing to do with one another, eh?)
me: "You've asked me that before. Is it really important?"
him: "Asshole. The problem is that you've never had any dicipline!"
I thought that was it and continued my interrupted conversation, but then, a couple hours later, I find this in my emails:
-----------------
subject: your an emabarassment.
I hate to say it but your spiritually bankrupt, who the Fuck are you, you piece of ungrateful shit. your mother left you hanging when it came to pay your school, she let u down by not paying your stupid school ! asshole, I was told I had to pay up or you would have to drop out! FUCK YOU a Million times, you dim wit.
if you had been able to contol your corrupted ego u could have , should have ,gone to a real univercity! Remmember I got [your sister] a good Scholorship but YOU , your so "special" [Temper] ! so fucking special, all you do is wave your illness around like a flag .
I keep hopeing you will realize some things about who really cares about you, but you so stupid , you bite the hand that feeds you.
watch your mouth , or you will have pain.
-------------------------------------------------------
Hey, not bad, huh? Usually, I let these things slide cos they're so old I can't even bother. but then again, this is the most he's said in a long time, so I thought I'd acknowledge and responded:
---------------
And you are hilarious.
Look who's talking, I think its the very weak, very old man who looks back on a life of nothing but failure. You haven't succeeded at anything, you ruined all your potential and aspiration and no one in the circle of what could be called 'family' cares whether you live or die. Except maybe [my sister], who likes the role of the mediator.
And the funny thing is: It's entirely your own fault.
Maybe you should've set your priorities straight 20something years ago, maybe you shouldn't have taken your daughters money to buy drugs, maybe you shouldn't have resolved to physical and mental violence towards people you were supposed to have taken care of, maybe you shouldn't have tried with every measure to degrade the women in your life to make your retarded frail ego shine and fake some purpose in your life, and maybe, if you had paid a single penny in the 20 years prior to my school, [my mother] would've had the money to pay for it. And you can't even spell.
And you act as if you break your back working for the money you get. [My mother] works 24 hours a day and she has far less than whats shoved up your ass. I work every day of the week and I know that that will pay off sooner or later.
I never asked for a thing, and you know it.
I'm also not quite sure what illness-flag-waving you are referring to - I don't feel ill, and I don't recall ever relying on my supposed illness to get me anything.
I have the most clear perception imaginable about who cares for me, but more essential, I have a clear perception on who is good for me. I surround myself with those people.
I stopped caring about the things you say or do to me about 10 years ago. I just can't summon the energy or emotions. Your threats are idle, there's nothing you can do that would hurt me.
Don't be surprised by this message, I am responding to YOUR tone. I am very content with letting all the ugliness stay settled, but if you need to stir things up then I have no problem with it, although it does get tedious after a while.
What goes around comes around, 'daddy'.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
And I get this back:
----------------
I figured you would come up with this kind of shit. 1st, Your Mother Divorced ME for [her then boyfriend], so who is the idiot there.! hummm, Second, your Mom, divorceing me , pulled my ability to work here independently which means I had NO fast alternative other then the social office. Three I paid your mother retroactive a bBig amount of money when I finally had it, how about that asshole ! Bet [she] never told yoou that, because she´s the one with the frail ego, you liitle twit.
And what the fuck are you talking about , " taking your money for drugs, WTF, who is filling you full of shit,,,oh sorry I fogot , you were born that way. I have not touched drugs or Alcohol. for 15 years. But you do not understand what strenghtof charecter is, you still are impressed by retro punk haircuts, ha,ha,ha.
I have my life organized, what you do not realize is this... I have had nothing that I do not deserve and all of you includeing my asshole sister and your Mother are jeleous. Your Mom works so much because she has to She is not clever [....]..... is that succseesful.
Sucssess is this, understandinfg yourself. which I do , How can u say Faliure to me, ha,ha,ha, every thing I do I do well and I have gotten thru my life in my ay. now Realizeing that your aslo working your ass off, well good luck , because that goes on the next 40 years freak. If getting my thing together in an alternative way so that am not burdened by that is not a bad thing at all or ?
To tell u true, I am worried you will kill yourself, i would not surprise me. its only a question of when.
also, your mother , silly shit , decided she was going to have children, thats was a burden to me!
I am happy to be rid of you, your a wasted investment. you and your mom are so rigid, inflexable and not at all clever or original. But your so up your own ass you can not see that. Your in this position because you have a corrupted ego. you jerk, you have been a problem since you were born.
so, your Trust fund is at this moment no longer yours, ! how about that, I will change the benificery now, ha,ha,ha . you lose.
asshole.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Needless to say, the 'facts' he is stating are warped, and the argumentation silly or just plain lies. Basically nothing of it is true, but its pointless going into all that with him. My response:
---------------
Yeah, whatever. Its always amazing to see people bend the truth into whatever suits them best, especially in retrospect.
So much of what you said has no relevance whatsoever. All you do is throw emotionalized argumentation my way, spiced with insults.
To tell u true, I am worried you will kill yourself, i would not
surprise me. its only a question of when.
Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you. I have never in my life thougth about suicide, although I do remember you mentioning it. Could there be some projection going on on your part?
I don't care about the trust fund, I was filing under 'rumor' anyway. I was never expecting to see any of it. I'm sorry that taking away something I don't want from you, and wasn't expecting, is the worst consequence you can draw of your rediculous threat.
I don't wish you anything bad, I understand how you are and where you're coming from, contrary to what you think. That just doesn't change the fact that I really don't care, and I'm mildly sorry for your sake that I can't be one of those people that you press into the inferior role anymore, like you did when I was little. Thats been over for years and years and years. I know it was a lot more satisfying that way for you. Don't be sad.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
To which I get this keen and perceptive gem:
---------------------
ah, so thats it you were oppressed as a child.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
My eyes have rolled, I wrote the following.
----------------------------
Look, I know we could go on forever with this amusing business but its really boring and wasting my time. Also, theres no point. So this is the last mail I'm sending.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
To which I got the last thing, short and sweet:
--------------------------
the last mail I wanted to send, A- hole, Clad to be rid of you.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
I would be ecstatic if he was true to his word. Sadly, this has never really been the case....
And now to something completely different:
* My best friend and I were sitting in his room which consists basically of one huge bed with a plethora of items for daily use scattered around it, as we do practically every day. Depending on the time, either with beer or coffee in our hands, life is good. And he asked me a question that is pretty mundane, but surprisingly led to an hour long discussion: "If you had the choice, to which three eras in the last century would you time-travel?"
I answered right away, the Weimar Republik in Berlin, 1945 and the couple years following, also in Berlin, to witness the Trümmerfrauen and make millions of deutschmark on the black market and buy like, a loaf of bread, I'd see how everything was improvised and built up from scratch. Also, this time is one of the three main influences in the new clothes I am making at present. And third, the time of my own birth. I'd be all grown up in 1982 and see what made life rock back then and maybe understand why anyone would want to conceive moi, and also be part of the early years of punkrock and see how that all evolved.
Where would you go?
* Once again, we were all sitting around in Neukölln and one of us started flipping through a thesaurus, and of course, after like 30 seconds, he was looking up everybodys name. (we're deep thinkers like that.) And everybodys name was normal, you know, like 'short version of blablabla' and 'derived from blablabla' or 'meaning something meaningful' but mine... my name is a perfectly reasonable, very average pretty name, and theres like 3 things to say about it, but what that book said was: ...brace yourself....it called me: 'the short form of Eugene!"
Isn't that godawful?
Its a male name, and an embarrassing one!
I was everyones joke...."Haha! Yeah, wipe that tear away, Eugene!"
* Well, I had a couple of enchanting earworms again today, and once again, I fail at knowing who the fuck sings them and why the hell they got stuck in my head. Except for two of them.
One was, for example, "Imaybetotallywrong but I'm a DAAANCING-foo-oo-oo-ool, I'ma DAAANCING-foo-oo-" ok, you know how it goes. Then, the sensitive, heart-warming "If you don't know me by now.... I can't even bring myself to type that out. What stupid lyrics.
But also, I had something light-hearted and modern, went something like this "dumdumdum Well I guess that you look good on the dance. Floor. Don't know if you're looking for romance or. Don't know what you're looking for. I SAID I BET THAT YOU LOOK GOOD ON THE DANCE! FLOOR! walk like a robot from nineteeneighty. Fooouur.
I could stop here, but I won't.
Cos the last one was Billy Corgan, rest his soul, nasally informing me that: You don't know what its li-ike...Baybee you don't know WHAT it's like...to love someboday...tolovesomeboday....The wa-ay I love you!"
I'm sorry, Bill.
Ok, this is the last part of my world-moving journal entry. To appreciate it, it is very necessary to regress into the mental state when you thought 'penis' was a funny word. Done that? Ok.
Its something that occured in 8th grade, in biology with Dr. Humphries. Dr. Humphries had a mustache like a broom and glasses and plaid pants.
And he was teaching us about dna and our genes, explaining how everything in your life is predetermined by them. Of course you could argue about that, but every thought was nipped in the bud when was done with his rambling:
"...like dark hair! Why do you have dark hair? Its in your genes! Or obesity! Why are you overweight? Obesity is in your genes! Or diarrhea!..." - you can see where this is going, right? - "Why do you have diarrhea? Because diarrhea is in your genes!"
Imagine, just imagine what happened after he said those memorable words to a bunch of 8th graders. Priceless. Teaching class was not possible for like the rest of the year. I still chuckle when I think about it, and its been about 10 years....but that tells you a lot about my fecal humor.
Just in case...if you didn't get it and are scratching your head: Say it out loud. If you still don't get it, you humor is more underdeveloped than a 13 year old's and are thus a retard. Too bad for you.
Ladies and Gentlemen! Only here, and for a limited amount of time...:
The In credible Bunch Of Bile!
Before viewing, I will bring to your attention that certain people haven't been a prominent part of my life for quite a while, and this makes me smile. I usually don't have anything to say to my father, and when he speaks to me, I respond in monosyllables. The most I can summon regarding him is mild distaste (you know, the kind like when you find something moldy in someone elses fridge - thats gross but you don't have to clean it up) and a mild sorryness that he's forced to deal with himself on a daily basis. So keep in mind that when I saw this, I burst out laughing and clapped my hands, for I had to grant him that hey, its quite daring to lean out of a window that far!
Oh and by the way, certain details are omitted or changed for discretion.
Observe.
Prelude:
I only see him sporadically when he hangs around, uninvited, in my mothers cafe. So this was sparked by the following conversation.
him: "So how long have you been smoking?"
(that question is quite illustrative on how long we haven't had a thing to do with one another, eh?)
me: "You've asked me that before. Is it really important?"
him: "Asshole. The problem is that you've never had any dicipline!"
I thought that was it and continued my interrupted conversation, but then, a couple hours later, I find this in my emails:
-----------------
subject: your an emabarassment.
I hate to say it but your spiritually bankrupt, who the Fuck are you, you piece of ungrateful shit. your mother left you hanging when it came to pay your school, she let u down by not paying your stupid school ! asshole, I was told I had to pay up or you would have to drop out! FUCK YOU a Million times, you dim wit.
if you had been able to contol your corrupted ego u could have , should have ,gone to a real univercity! Remmember I got [your sister] a good Scholorship but YOU , your so "special" [Temper] ! so fucking special, all you do is wave your illness around like a flag .
I keep hopeing you will realize some things about who really cares about you, but you so stupid , you bite the hand that feeds you.
watch your mouth , or you will have pain.
-------------------------------------------------------
Hey, not bad, huh? Usually, I let these things slide cos they're so old I can't even bother. but then again, this is the most he's said in a long time, so I thought I'd acknowledge and responded:
---------------
And you are hilarious.
Look who's talking, I think its the very weak, very old man who looks back on a life of nothing but failure. You haven't succeeded at anything, you ruined all your potential and aspiration and no one in the circle of what could be called 'family' cares whether you live or die. Except maybe [my sister], who likes the role of the mediator.
And the funny thing is: It's entirely your own fault.
Maybe you should've set your priorities straight 20something years ago, maybe you shouldn't have taken your daughters money to buy drugs, maybe you shouldn't have resolved to physical and mental violence towards people you were supposed to have taken care of, maybe you shouldn't have tried with every measure to degrade the women in your life to make your retarded frail ego shine and fake some purpose in your life, and maybe, if you had paid a single penny in the 20 years prior to my school, [my mother] would've had the money to pay for it. And you can't even spell.
And you act as if you break your back working for the money you get. [My mother] works 24 hours a day and she has far less than whats shoved up your ass. I work every day of the week and I know that that will pay off sooner or later.
I never asked for a thing, and you know it.
I'm also not quite sure what illness-flag-waving you are referring to - I don't feel ill, and I don't recall ever relying on my supposed illness to get me anything.
I have the most clear perception imaginable about who cares for me, but more essential, I have a clear perception on who is good for me. I surround myself with those people.
I stopped caring about the things you say or do to me about 10 years ago. I just can't summon the energy or emotions. Your threats are idle, there's nothing you can do that would hurt me.
Don't be surprised by this message, I am responding to YOUR tone. I am very content with letting all the ugliness stay settled, but if you need to stir things up then I have no problem with it, although it does get tedious after a while.
What goes around comes around, 'daddy'.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
And I get this back:
----------------
I figured you would come up with this kind of shit. 1st, Your Mother Divorced ME for [her then boyfriend], so who is the idiot there.! hummm, Second, your Mom, divorceing me , pulled my ability to work here independently which means I had NO fast alternative other then the social office. Three I paid your mother retroactive a bBig amount of money when I finally had it, how about that asshole ! Bet [she] never told yoou that, because she´s the one with the frail ego, you liitle twit.
And what the fuck are you talking about , " taking your money for drugs, WTF, who is filling you full of shit,,,oh sorry I fogot , you were born that way. I have not touched drugs or Alcohol. for 15 years. But you do not understand what strenghtof charecter is, you still are impressed by retro punk haircuts, ha,ha,ha.
I have my life organized, what you do not realize is this... I have had nothing that I do not deserve and all of you includeing my asshole sister and your Mother are jeleous. Your Mom works so much because she has to She is not clever [....]..... is that succseesful.
Sucssess is this, understandinfg yourself. which I do , How can u say Faliure to me, ha,ha,ha, every thing I do I do well and I have gotten thru my life in my ay. now Realizeing that your aslo working your ass off, well good luck , because that goes on the next 40 years freak. If getting my thing together in an alternative way so that am not burdened by that is not a bad thing at all or ?
To tell u true, I am worried you will kill yourself, i would not surprise me. its only a question of when.
also, your mother , silly shit , decided she was going to have children, thats was a burden to me!
I am happy to be rid of you, your a wasted investment. you and your mom are so rigid, inflexable and not at all clever or original. But your so up your own ass you can not see that. Your in this position because you have a corrupted ego. you jerk, you have been a problem since you were born.
so, your Trust fund is at this moment no longer yours, ! how about that, I will change the benificery now, ha,ha,ha . you lose.
asshole.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Needless to say, the 'facts' he is stating are warped, and the argumentation silly or just plain lies. Basically nothing of it is true, but its pointless going into all that with him. My response:
---------------
Yeah, whatever. Its always amazing to see people bend the truth into whatever suits them best, especially in retrospect.
So much of what you said has no relevance whatsoever. All you do is throw emotionalized argumentation my way, spiced with insults.
To tell u true, I am worried you will kill yourself, i would not
surprise me. its only a question of when.
Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you. I have never in my life thougth about suicide, although I do remember you mentioning it. Could there be some projection going on on your part?
I don't care about the trust fund, I was filing under 'rumor' anyway. I was never expecting to see any of it. I'm sorry that taking away something I don't want from you, and wasn't expecting, is the worst consequence you can draw of your rediculous threat.
I don't wish you anything bad, I understand how you are and where you're coming from, contrary to what you think. That just doesn't change the fact that I really don't care, and I'm mildly sorry for your sake that I can't be one of those people that you press into the inferior role anymore, like you did when I was little. Thats been over for years and years and years. I know it was a lot more satisfying that way for you. Don't be sad.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
To which I get this keen and perceptive gem:
---------------------
ah, so thats it you were oppressed as a child.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
My eyes have rolled, I wrote the following.
----------------------------
Look, I know we could go on forever with this amusing business but its really boring and wasting my time. Also, theres no point. So this is the last mail I'm sending.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
To which I got the last thing, short and sweet:
--------------------------
the last mail I wanted to send, A- hole, Clad to be rid of you.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
I would be ecstatic if he was true to his word. Sadly, this has never really been the case....
And now to something completely different:
* My best friend and I were sitting in his room which consists basically of one huge bed with a plethora of items for daily use scattered around it, as we do practically every day. Depending on the time, either with beer or coffee in our hands, life is good. And he asked me a question that is pretty mundane, but surprisingly led to an hour long discussion: "If you had the choice, to which three eras in the last century would you time-travel?"
I answered right away, the Weimar Republik in Berlin, 1945 and the couple years following, also in Berlin, to witness the Trümmerfrauen and make millions of deutschmark on the black market and buy like, a loaf of bread, I'd see how everything was improvised and built up from scratch. Also, this time is one of the three main influences in the new clothes I am making at present. And third, the time of my own birth. I'd be all grown up in 1982 and see what made life rock back then and maybe understand why anyone would want to conceive moi, and also be part of the early years of punkrock and see how that all evolved.
Where would you go?
* Once again, we were all sitting around in Neukölln and one of us started flipping through a thesaurus, and of course, after like 30 seconds, he was looking up everybodys name. (we're deep thinkers like that.) And everybodys name was normal, you know, like 'short version of blablabla' and 'derived from blablabla' or 'meaning something meaningful' but mine... my name is a perfectly reasonable, very average pretty name, and theres like 3 things to say about it, but what that book said was: ...brace yourself....it called me: 'the short form of Eugene!"
Isn't that godawful?
Its a male name, and an embarrassing one!
I was everyones joke...."Haha! Yeah, wipe that tear away, Eugene!"
* Well, I had a couple of enchanting earworms again today, and once again, I fail at knowing who the fuck sings them and why the hell they got stuck in my head. Except for two of them.
One was, for example, "Imaybetotallywrong but I'm a DAAANCING-foo-oo-oo-ool, I'ma DAAANCING-foo-oo-" ok, you know how it goes. Then, the sensitive, heart-warming "If you don't know me by now.... I can't even bring myself to type that out. What stupid lyrics.
But also, I had something light-hearted and modern, went something like this "dumdumdum Well I guess that you look good on the dance. Floor. Don't know if you're looking for romance or. Don't know what you're looking for. I SAID I BET THAT YOU LOOK GOOD ON THE DANCE! FLOOR! walk like a robot from nineteeneighty. Fooouur.
I could stop here, but I won't.
Cos the last one was Billy Corgan, rest his soul, nasally informing me that: You don't know what its li-ike...Baybee you don't know WHAT it's like...to love someboday...tolovesomeboday....The wa-ay I love you!"
I'm sorry, Bill.
Ok, this is the last part of my world-moving journal entry. To appreciate it, it is very necessary to regress into the mental state when you thought 'penis' was a funny word. Done that? Ok.
Its something that occured in 8th grade, in biology with Dr. Humphries. Dr. Humphries had a mustache like a broom and glasses and plaid pants.
And he was teaching us about dna and our genes, explaining how everything in your life is predetermined by them. Of course you could argue about that, but every thought was nipped in the bud when was done with his rambling:
"...like dark hair! Why do you have dark hair? Its in your genes! Or obesity! Why are you overweight? Obesity is in your genes! Or diarrhea!..." - you can see where this is going, right? - "Why do you have diarrhea? Because diarrhea is in your genes!"
Imagine, just imagine what happened after he said those memorable words to a bunch of 8th graders. Priceless. Teaching class was not possible for like the rest of the year. I still chuckle when I think about it, and its been about 10 years....but that tells you a lot about my fecal humor.
Just in case...if you didn't get it and are scratching your head: Say it out loud. If you still don't get it, you humor is more underdeveloped than a 13 year old's and are thus a retard. Too bad for you.
The In credible Bunch Of Bile!
Before viewing, I will bring to your attention that certain people haven't been a prominent part of my life for quite a while, and this makes me smile. I usually don't have anything to say to my father, and when he speaks to me, I respond in monosyllables. The most I can summon regarding him is mild distaste (you know, the kind like when you find something moldy in someone elses fridge - thats gross but you don't have to clean it up) and a mild sorryness that he's forced to deal with himself on a daily basis. So keep in mind that when I saw this, I burst out laughing and clapped my hands, for I had to grant him that hey, its quite daring to lean out of a window that far!
Oh and by the way, certain details are omitted or changed for discretion.
Observe.
Prelude:
I only see him sporadically when he hangs around, uninvited, in my mothers cafe. So this was sparked by the following conversation.
him: "So how long have you been smoking?"
(that question is quite illustrative on how long we haven't had a thing to do with one another, eh?)
me: "You've asked me that before. Is it really important?"
him: "Asshole. The problem is that you've never had any dicipline!"
I thought that was it and continued my interrupted conversation, but then, a couple hours later, I find this in my emails:
-----------------
subject: your an emabarassment.
I hate to say it but your spiritually bankrupt, who the Fuck are you, you piece of ungrateful shit. your mother left you hanging when it came to pay your school, she let u down by not paying your stupid school ! asshole, I was told I had to pay up or you would have to drop out! FUCK YOU a Million times, you dim wit.
if you had been able to contol your corrupted ego u could have , should have ,gone to a real univercity! Remmember I got [your sister] a good Scholorship but YOU , your so "special" [Temper] ! so fucking special, all you do is wave your illness around like a flag .
I keep hopeing you will realize some things about who really cares about you, but you so stupid , you bite the hand that feeds you.
watch your mouth , or you will have pain.
-------------------------------------------------------
Hey, not bad, huh? Usually, I let these things slide cos they're so old I can't even bother. but then again, this is the most he's said in a long time, so I thought I'd acknowledge and responded:
---------------
And you are hilarious.
Look who's talking, I think its the very weak, very old man who looks back on a life of nothing but failure. You haven't succeeded at anything, you ruined all your potential and aspiration and no one in the circle of what could be called 'family' cares whether you live or die. Except maybe [my sister], who likes the role of the mediator.
And the funny thing is: It's entirely your own fault.
Maybe you should've set your priorities straight 20something years ago, maybe you shouldn't have taken your daughters money to buy drugs, maybe you shouldn't have resolved to physical and mental violence towards people you were supposed to have taken care of, maybe you shouldn't have tried with every measure to degrade the women in your life to make your retarded frail ego shine and fake some purpose in your life, and maybe, if you had paid a single penny in the 20 years prior to my school, [my mother] would've had the money to pay for it. And you can't even spell.
And you act as if you break your back working for the money you get. [My mother] works 24 hours a day and she has far less than whats shoved up your ass. I work every day of the week and I know that that will pay off sooner or later.
I never asked for a thing, and you know it.
I'm also not quite sure what illness-flag-waving you are referring to - I don't feel ill, and I don't recall ever relying on my supposed illness to get me anything.
I have the most clear perception imaginable about who cares for me, but more essential, I have a clear perception on who is good for me. I surround myself with those people.
I stopped caring about the things you say or do to me about 10 years ago. I just can't summon the energy or emotions. Your threats are idle, there's nothing you can do that would hurt me.
Don't be surprised by this message, I am responding to YOUR tone. I am very content with letting all the ugliness stay settled, but if you need to stir things up then I have no problem with it, although it does get tedious after a while.
What goes around comes around, 'daddy'.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
And I get this back:
----------------
I figured you would come up with this kind of shit. 1st, Your Mother Divorced ME for [her then boyfriend], so who is the idiot there.! hummm, Second, your Mom, divorceing me , pulled my ability to work here independently which means I had NO fast alternative other then the social office. Three I paid your mother retroactive a bBig amount of money when I finally had it, how about that asshole ! Bet [she] never told yoou that, because she´s the one with the frail ego, you liitle twit.
And what the fuck are you talking about , " taking your money for drugs, WTF, who is filling you full of shit,,,oh sorry I fogot , you were born that way. I have not touched drugs or Alcohol. for 15 years. But you do not understand what strenghtof charecter is, you still are impressed by retro punk haircuts, ha,ha,ha.
I have my life organized, what you do not realize is this... I have had nothing that I do not deserve and all of you includeing my asshole sister and your Mother are jeleous. Your Mom works so much because she has to She is not clever [....]..... is that succseesful.
Sucssess is this, understandinfg yourself. which I do , How can u say Faliure to me, ha,ha,ha, every thing I do I do well and I have gotten thru my life in my ay. now Realizeing that your aslo working your ass off, well good luck , because that goes on the next 40 years freak. If getting my thing together in an alternative way so that am not burdened by that is not a bad thing at all or ?
To tell u true, I am worried you will kill yourself, i would not surprise me. its only a question of when.
also, your mother , silly shit , decided she was going to have children, thats was a burden to me!
I am happy to be rid of you, your a wasted investment. you and your mom are so rigid, inflexable and not at all clever or original. But your so up your own ass you can not see that. Your in this position because you have a corrupted ego. you jerk, you have been a problem since you were born.
so, your Trust fund is at this moment no longer yours, ! how about that, I will change the benificery now, ha,ha,ha . you lose.
asshole.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Needless to say, the 'facts' he is stating are warped, and the argumentation silly or just plain lies. Basically nothing of it is true, but its pointless going into all that with him. My response:
---------------
Yeah, whatever. Its always amazing to see people bend the truth into whatever suits them best, especially in retrospect.
So much of what you said has no relevance whatsoever. All you do is throw emotionalized argumentation my way, spiced with insults.
To tell u true, I am worried you will kill yourself, i would not
surprise me. its only a question of when.
Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you. I have never in my life thougth about suicide, although I do remember you mentioning it. Could there be some projection going on on your part?
I don't care about the trust fund, I was filing under 'rumor' anyway. I was never expecting to see any of it. I'm sorry that taking away something I don't want from you, and wasn't expecting, is the worst consequence you can draw of your rediculous threat.
I don't wish you anything bad, I understand how you are and where you're coming from, contrary to what you think. That just doesn't change the fact that I really don't care, and I'm mildly sorry for your sake that I can't be one of those people that you press into the inferior role anymore, like you did when I was little. Thats been over for years and years and years. I know it was a lot more satisfying that way for you. Don't be sad.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
To which I get this keen and perceptive gem:
---------------------
ah, so thats it you were oppressed as a child.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
My eyes have rolled, I wrote the following.
----------------------------
Look, I know we could go on forever with this amusing business but its really boring and wasting my time. Also, theres no point. So this is the last mail I'm sending.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
To which I got the last thing, short and sweet:
--------------------------
the last mail I wanted to send, A- hole, Clad to be rid of you.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
I would be ecstatic if he was true to his word. Sadly, this has never really been the case....
And now to something completely different:
* My best friend and I were sitting in his room which consists basically of one huge bed with a plethora of items for daily use scattered around it, as we do practically every day. Depending on the time, either with beer or coffee in our hands, life is good. And he asked me a question that is pretty mundane, but surprisingly led to an hour long discussion: "If you had the choice, to which three eras in the last century would you time-travel?"
I answered right away, the Weimar Republik in Berlin, 1945 and the couple years following, also in Berlin, to witness the Trümmerfrauen and make millions of deutschmark on the black market and buy like, a loaf of bread, I'd see how everything was improvised and built up from scratch. Also, this time is one of the three main influences in the new clothes I am making at present. And third, the time of my own birth. I'd be all grown up in 1982 and see what made life rock back then and maybe understand why anyone would want to conceive moi, and also be part of the early years of punkrock and see how that all evolved.
Where would you go?
* Once again, we were all sitting around in Neukölln and one of us started flipping through a thesaurus, and of course, after like 30 seconds, he was looking up everybodys name. (we're deep thinkers like that.) And everybodys name was normal, you know, like 'short version of blablabla' and 'derived from blablabla' or 'meaning something meaningful' but mine... my name is a perfectly reasonable, very average pretty name, and theres like 3 things to say about it, but what that book said was: ...brace yourself....it called me: 'the short form of Eugene!"
Isn't that godawful?
Its a male name, and an embarrassing one!
I was everyones joke...."Haha! Yeah, wipe that tear away, Eugene!"
* Well, I had a couple of enchanting earworms again today, and once again, I fail at knowing who the fuck sings them and why the hell they got stuck in my head. Except for two of them.
One was, for example, "Imaybetotallywrong but I'm a DAAANCING-foo-oo-oo-ool, I'ma DAAANCING-foo-oo-" ok, you know how it goes. Then, the sensitive, heart-warming "If you don't know me by now.... I can't even bring myself to type that out. What stupid lyrics.
But also, I had something light-hearted and modern, went something like this "dumdumdum Well I guess that you look good on the dance. Floor. Don't know if you're looking for romance or. Don't know what you're looking for. I SAID I BET THAT YOU LOOK GOOD ON THE DANCE! FLOOR! walk like a robot from nineteeneighty. Fooouur.
I could stop here, but I won't.
Cos the last one was Billy Corgan, rest his soul, nasally informing me that: You don't know what its li-ike...Baybee you don't know WHAT it's like...to love someboday...tolovesomeboday....The wa-ay I love you!"
I'm sorry, Bill.
Ok, this is the last part of my world-moving journal entry. To appreciate it, it is very necessary to regress into the mental state when you thought 'penis' was a funny word. Done that? Ok.
Its something that occured in 8th grade, in biology with Dr. Humphries. Dr. Humphries had a mustache like a broom and glasses and plaid pants.
And he was teaching us about dna and our genes, explaining how everything in your life is predetermined by them. Of course you could argue about that, but every thought was nipped in the bud when was done with his rambling:
"...like dark hair! Why do you have dark hair? Its in your genes! Or obesity! Why are you overweight? Obesity is in your genes! Or diarrhea!..." - you can see where this is going, right? - "Why do you have diarrhea? Because diarrhea is in your genes!"
Imagine, just imagine what happened after he said those memorable words to a bunch of 8th graders. Priceless. Teaching class was not possible for like the rest of the year. I still chuckle when I think about it, and its been about 10 years....but that tells you a lot about my fecal humor.
Just in case...if you didn't get it and are scratching your head: Say it out loud. If you still don't get it, you humor is more underdeveloped than a 13 year old's and are thus a retard. Too bad for you.
To everyone that has responded to my last entry: Thank you.
Seriously, I would've never ever thought that the echo I got would be there so fast, and be so amazing. Every single one of the prints was sold, and they are sent out! (to the two people that asked me to hold on to them: I still have you in mind, I'll ship them the minute you're ready.)
Yesterday, I came home to find the ominous note in my door, the Gerichtsvollzieher was there. Thats the bastard who comes to check whether or not you have anything of value.
And takes it away.
Not that she would've found anything...ha. Please, here's my cd-player from 1994 where the lid doesn't close. Or the tv from 1978 that my grandfather threw out and crackles every time the picture on the screen gets to white. Or the kitchen table that doesn't even exist. Be my guest.
Upon recieving that, I scraped together every penny I had, and actually got together enough to pay one of the three rents! So I'm sure I warded that one off for the time being, and yes, that was defenitaly due to you guys.
So a bullshitless thank you to those that have bought a print, or done other random acts of bizarreness...I mean, kindness!
Otsu, bloodspider, punknitemike, captainchaos, Darqkloud, _chris_, pinkparadebabe, amberlie, BrightRedScream and Schnatzy.
I posted your names so that everyone sees you're sweet people at heart and let you squirm in embarrasment. Hehe. Hehehehe.
And here's the promised reward:
THE SHITBAG
This very true story happened to a girl I know who lives with friends of mine. The subtle horror of it lies in the fact that it could happen to every one of us! Like a plane crash.
This girl doesn't really go out that often, and is also not the type to get laid every day. She's pretty and nice and bla, just not the party queen and it took her a while to get over her ex and just decided that now's the time to get on with her life and perhaps try and find someone new. She's kinda shy and 'funny if you get to know her', the kind that need 'mutual understanding and affection' and is always unhappily in love. Just to give you an impression.
So one night, she summons the courage, gets all dressed up and goes out dancing. And by some wink of fate, she meets this fabulous boy and he's so handsome and funny and smart and charming. They dance all night and everythings so thrillingly wonderful she does something she's never done before: She goes home with this guy and fucks him.
Oh, sorry: Sleeps with him. They make love or something. Everything is beautiful, significant and a little insinuating, her worls is fuzzy around the edges and she falls asleep on his manly chest.
The next morning, he wakes her up to say that he has some errands to take care of, but he'll be back soon and she can stay and sleep as long as she fancies. Just one thing:
"Don't take a shower because the water is turned off."
M-hm, she nods and drifts back into sleepy-land.
A little while later, she wakes up again and you know how it is, it's morning and theres bodily functions. She vaguely recalls his warning and feels mildly proud that she remembered, and chuckles to herself...of course she wouldn't take a shower!
Instead, she goes to the bathroom and takes a shit.
Yes.
She was wild and crazy all night, complete with one of many inevitable results; the intense, piled-up-in-your-bowels, alcohol-reeking turd where defecation leaves you with a sense of accomplishment.
Accompishment until she pulls up her panties and attemts to flush, and all the toilet does is make noises like pfftttsch!
Pfffttsch!
Pfffttsch! again, and again, until the realization sinks in: I have just done something utterly, and lethaly, stupid.
What can she do? She brainstorms her options (run now? Leave it and act surprised later?) and settles for the one that seems like it contains at least a bit of hope. Running through the entire apartment in a frenzy, she looks for something remotely fluid to wash down the horror the left in the toilet. Juice, beer, drain-cleaner, anything - and can't find it. Not enough. All she gets is leftover spit-rest in forgottten cups and glasses and those only make things worse. She's building a little sewer right in his apartment. It just makes her about to cry, the guy could even come home any minute, and she just can't find anything to help her wipe that corpus delicti out of the face of this planet!
But then she spots her rescue: Yes. Relief, a plastic bag!
Perfect, she can just pull it over her arm and scoop the mess out of there, then think of a way to get rid of it! And thus she proceeds, gets it all, lumps and marks, into the bag and ties a great big knot in it. Success.
Of course, she has to dispose of it, she can't just lie in bed when he comes home being seductive and then say: "Oh that? That's just the turd I had to fish out of your toilet because the water wasn't running and I had to think of something." or better yet: "Oh that? That's just the turd I pooped into the plastic bag because the water wasn't running and I had to think of something."
So she gets dressed and takes all her stuff and leaves. She's pretty happy with herself and the clever way she dealt with the situation, and as the door falls shut, she realizes...she forgot something. Indeed, she sure as hell forgot something important.
Oh please....
And not only did she leave it in the apartment, but: On. The. Kitchen. Table.
On the kitchen table. God.
Now what message do you suppose he got?
This is the moment where you just scream because you feel so sorry for her. She actually really, really liked this guy. And as tragic fate would have it, could never, ever see him again... The End.
Seriously, I would've never ever thought that the echo I got would be there so fast, and be so amazing. Every single one of the prints was sold, and they are sent out!
(to the two people that asked me to hold on to them: I still have you in mind, I'll ship them the minute you're ready.) Yesterday, I came home to find the ominous note in my door, the Gerichtsvollzieher was there. Thats the bastard who comes to check whether or not you have anything of value.
And takes it away.
Not that she would've found anything...ha. Please, here's my cd-player from 1994 where the lid doesn't close. Or the tv from 1978 that my grandfather threw out and crackles every time the picture on the screen gets to white. Or the kitchen table that doesn't even exist. Be my guest.
Upon recieving that, I scraped together every penny I had, and actually got together enough to pay one of the three rents! So I'm sure I warded that one off for the time being, and yes, that was defenitaly due to you guys.
So a bullshitless thank you to those that have bought a print, or done other random acts of bizarreness...I mean, kindness!
Otsu, bloodspider, punknitemike, captainchaos, Darqkloud, _chris_, pinkparadebabe, amberlie, BrightRedScream and Schnatzy.
I posted your names so that everyone sees you're sweet people at heart and let you squirm in embarrasment. Hehe. Hehehehe.
And here's the promised reward:
THE SHITBAG
This very true story happened to a girl I know who lives with friends of mine. The subtle horror of it lies in the fact that it could happen to every one of us! Like a plane crash.
This girl doesn't really go out that often, and is also not the type to get laid every day. She's pretty and nice and bla, just not the party queen and it took her a while to get over her ex and just decided that now's the time to get on with her life and perhaps try and find someone new. She's kinda shy and 'funny if you get to know her', the kind that need 'mutual understanding and affection' and is always unhappily in love. Just to give you an impression.
So one night, she summons the courage, gets all dressed up and goes out dancing. And by some wink of fate, she meets this fabulous boy and he's so handsome and funny and smart and charming. They dance all night and everythings so thrillingly wonderful she does something she's never done before: She goes home with this guy and fucks him.
Oh, sorry: Sleeps with him. They make love or something. Everything is beautiful, significant and a little insinuating, her worls is fuzzy around the edges and she falls asleep on his manly chest.
The next morning, he wakes her up to say that he has some errands to take care of, but he'll be back soon and she can stay and sleep as long as she fancies. Just one thing:
"Don't take a shower because the water is turned off."
M-hm, she nods and drifts back into sleepy-land.
A little while later, she wakes up again and you know how it is, it's morning and theres bodily functions. She vaguely recalls his warning and feels mildly proud that she remembered, and chuckles to herself...of course she wouldn't take a shower!
Instead, she goes to the bathroom and takes a shit.
Yes.
She was wild and crazy all night, complete with one of many inevitable results; the intense, piled-up-in-your-bowels, alcohol-reeking turd where defecation leaves you with a sense of accomplishment.
Accompishment until she pulls up her panties and attemts to flush, and all the toilet does is make noises like pfftttsch!
Pfffttsch!
Pfffttsch! again, and again, until the realization sinks in: I have just done something utterly, and lethaly, stupid.
What can she do? She brainstorms her options (run now? Leave it and act surprised later?) and settles for the one that seems like it contains at least a bit of hope. Running through the entire apartment in a frenzy, she looks for something remotely fluid to wash down the horror the left in the toilet. Juice, beer, drain-cleaner, anything - and can't find it. Not enough. All she gets is leftover spit-rest in forgottten cups and glasses and those only make things worse. She's building a little sewer right in his apartment. It just makes her about to cry, the guy could even come home any minute, and she just can't find anything to help her wipe that corpus delicti out of the face of this planet!
But then she spots her rescue: Yes. Relief, a plastic bag!
Perfect, she can just pull it over her arm and scoop the mess out of there, then think of a way to get rid of it! And thus she proceeds, gets it all, lumps and marks, into the bag and ties a great big knot in it. Success.
Of course, she has to dispose of it, she can't just lie in bed when he comes home being seductive and then say: "Oh that? That's just the turd I had to fish out of your toilet because the water wasn't running and I had to think of something." or better yet: "Oh that? That's just the turd I pooped into the plastic bag because the water wasn't running and I had to think of something."
So she gets dressed and takes all her stuff and leaves. She's pretty happy with herself and the clever way she dealt with the situation, and as the door falls shut, she realizes...she forgot something. Indeed, she sure as hell forgot something important.
Oh please....
And not only did she leave it in the apartment, but: On. The. Kitchen. Table.
On the kitchen table. God.
Now what message do you suppose he got?
This is the moment where you just scream because you feel so sorry for her. She actually really, really liked this guy. And as tragic fate would have it, could never, ever see him again... The End.
