Suchergebnisse

Wos i in 2025 ondas gmocht hed Goa nichts! Na ned nur nix, sondern goa nix. Vergiss des Wochnend, mir wird jeder Tog gleich liab sein. Das Handy bleibt die Toschnlompn. Ich hass dich du gschissns Handy, schleich dich. Ja, dich mein ich. 2025 woa a hetz, ich hab tatsächlich eine wuzikleine Sammlung von 15mb an  grottenschlechten Texten beisammen. Mit 21.Februar.2025 sind das gut vierundvierzig, ich schreibs aus zwecks Wow-Effekt, Wochen an einem Versprechen, mich zumindest einmal die Woche nur eine Stunde für etwas hinzusetzen, dass Mir Spaß macht. Mindestens vierundvierzig Stunden, wo ich nicht an meinem scheusslichen Telefon versumpert bin, ich bin so stolz!!!! Wie der liebe Snoop Dog möchte ich an erster Stelle mir selber danken. Nein, nicht mir selbst, sondern mir selber. SIX SEVEEEEEEN (mic drop) Ein großes Dankeschön an alle Kreativen, die mir mit Schrift, Musik, Essen, Liebe, und Humor mein Leben bereichert haben. Den Preis für die wildesten Vorschläge bekommt YoutubeMusic dieses Jahr. Boah und wundern brauch ich mich echt ned das ich nach dem mic drop  weiterred, halts Maaaul. Guten Rutsch!

Sir, this is the third time we have caught you taking off on unlocked bikes on the street. Even if the owner is not here, it does not give you permission to use it in their stead. Since the bike is not damaged and you admit it, we will let you off the hook with a warning. I mean, why would you wash and polish the bike that, past midnight,  you had grabbed and non-chalantly driven off the security camera angle. The owner said you pumped up the tires the next morning, why would you do that? Eww Eww. Please blow into the machine for at least five seconds, otherwise, the alcohol detection will not be reliable enough. I said you should blow into it and not suck on it. No, don’t touch it, just lean forward. Sir, step away from your bike right now, stop, hey!, we will take you to a doctor to have the alcoholisation level in your bloodstream tested. And I would like to inform you that in case of a positive result, we will have to revoke your driver’s license altogether, which you will only be allowed to use again once you have completed a psychological evaluation and attended a five-series workshop on alcohol while driving. Do you understand what I am saying? Aahhhhhhrrraa. It seems that one or the other gentlemen does not see it necessary to stay awake during the training. The breath reaches me even if the distance between us is four seat rows. I won’t have any other choice than to reject your attendance of today’s class. If you insist on completing your lessons, you can attend next weeks round. If you violate the rules, it will be the last time. Lhhhkhhhkhh.

What is it that connects people? I engage in conversations with at least a dozen people a day, some of them repeatedly, some of them irregularly. For a long time, I thought it’s pain that connects. A vulnerable look into the other person’ eyes. You don’t like them? Well, maybe you haven’t felt the same type. I wonder what even dares me to think that others connect with me through pain in the first place, it’s kind of sad if you think about it, it’s as if I was reducing myself to the pain that I have felt.   Another contender for ThatsTheReasonYouLikeMe could be acknowledgement. You thrive to do something that is YOU, and I acknowledge it and you appreciate it. A subtle choice of adjectives that go beyond the usual day-to-day vocabulary to describe how you are, or a sprinkle of sarcasm on an otherwise serious topic.   The next option, a very special sort, is finding something in me that was missing in others, I call it TheLackingPiece. You place it into your puzzle, and Eh Voila!, everything makes sense.   And the final sort, my most favorite kind of people, are the kind, TheGenerousHandouts, who spare no drop of love and affection towards you, making it seem that they are drawing it out of an ocean of energy, when they have always been at their wit’s end.   It’s just a thought. It’s 1:54 am at the moment, and I going to work tomorrow again, MONDAAYYYYY. And for a long time, I can safely say that my Monday Scaries aren’t really scary, I am jetlagged this time.   I have so much to think about it’s driving me nuts. One of the things is Brandon Sanderson. The guy baffles me. I finished his first book of the Stormlight Archive series, and towards the end (don’t worry I never spoil), I thought he will do something that he didn’t and then I got really disappointed, because I am probably the very dumb, naive, reader that he thought – or essentially he was sure – he could trick. I flick open the second book and see a full page of books and stories he wrote, which is wild considering how good the first book of the series was. It’s so inspiring to me, because Brandon probably woke up one day and said: Well, let me tell you about a completely different universe with new races and religions and ethics, and let me go ahead and explain it to you into the exact detail that your tiny brain requires to get you to understand my point.  Since it is entirely fictional, I know for a fact that I can create my very own universe as well. It probably exists inside me already, right? I learned in university about Epigenetics, a scientifically proven study that we pass on experience across generations. And it has become clear to me that if I want to engage with everything built inside me, I shall learn how to communicate it to others, just like Brandon does.   (I will walk to my vape now just a moment)  (I also took a piss beforehand)  So, what I was trying to say: Brandon wouldn’t be able to write so much if he doubted himself along the way. He probably sits comfortably on his kitchen table (not a writer’s desk with fancy gaming chair) while his children are screaming around and his wife is cooking dinner. This is entirely hypothetical, I did not look up any of his life. It’s a great metaphor to how I would like to live my own life. Accept all the noise and continue working on your world. I mean, he wrote in his acknowledgments in book 2 that his child was born in the middle and could walk by the end of writing his book – what the damn hell?? Are you telling me you twisted my thoughts and ideas about your story in a mere two years? And here I am being a scared little bitch to finish my degree, for which I only have to write my thesis.   The thing that keeps happening to me recently, and I really mean almost on a day to day basis, is that I constantly see people doing things so easily; things that I thought to be impossible. Then, I realize that it was JUST ME that made it impossible in the first place. I change my mind, do it, and realize that I was stupid for thinking I couldn’t do it. Let me give you a very cool example from my wife. She fine-tuned a Large Language Model for her Master’s thesis on her laptop, which I am supposed to do at work next year (Yes, I wrote my own budget for the first time). She was telling me about it, and the only thing I was thinking is: How the hell did she do that on a Sunday? It was so big to me and yet she decided to “finish it already today because otherwise I will not have my Monday morning for myself”. Isn’t that something!!   (I’m gonna grab a drink, hold on, btw it’s 2:19 am now to give you a sense of time it takes me to write, which I really think famous writer’s have missed out on like crazy. I would have loved to know how long it took Kafka to write his first sentence to Der Prozess  [ https://www.derstandard.at/story/3000000213681/wie-kafka-den-fall-josef-k-in-ein-menschheitsraetsel-verwandelte ]. Dammit I was supposed to grab a drink just a moment).  So, I was saying. Brandon Sanderson really surprised me with his Acknowledgements. He then says “Thanks to that dude telling me to remove things because they don’t fit into the story”. No reason to be coooooooy, Brandon! Say that you had too much  story to share. Other’s die of thirst while Brandon is drowning in Fiji water. That’s what greatness is to me. Taking the thing I thought to be impossible – explaining yourself well enough to be understood – has wiped away a large chunk of doubt I have been having about my own prospects. But yes, it must be possible, because how else would I (M, 27) fall into his imagination and stand beside him while he is narrating life. What worth would you give to your own values after reading the first book?   The thing that keeps happening to me recently is that I am wrong all the time. It’s so strange. I do something, and it’s wrong. I try something, and it’s not enough. I have absolutely no cussing cell in my body that feels comfortable with what I am doing every day. No routine. I spawn every morning with a new side quest. Yes, sir, I would like to sit next to a woman in her fifties ringing in an interview with the Gen-Z employer sitting across from her, who for God’s sake could not be older than 27. And then I am sitting there, having my coffee and muffin, and I hear this lady fighting for her life. Bloomberg here, media outlet there, millions of viewers here, economic growth there. “Great, so can you tell me more about...” is all he says.    (Oh wait, I stood up and wanted to wander around a bit in the apartment, and I forgot to say. It’s 2:34am. Brb. Wait, why did I make this so special I stretched for a minute and came back.)  So, I was saying.  Boah, now I remember another sort of connection, it’s the GiversOfHope, a people of change, of promise, of excitement.   All of the fear mongering with AI is so stupid, it really shows how retarded we are as a society. Did you know that people would spread posters [ https://museumandarchives.redcross.org.uk/objects/46927 ] shying people away from vaccinations, at a time where children were dying because of already healable diseases. And people then were so retarded and said: Oh my god, they are injecting something into you that will make you stupid and turn you obedient. Sir, you are already stupid and obedient, what difference would it make. Why would anyone be worried about AI taking over, when we are already fully emersed into our phones already. Oh my god, I cannot shut up talking about phones, can I?   (I am going to try and sleep now, 2:54 am, and THAT’S HOW YOU DON’T SPEND AN HOUR OF YOUR DAY ON YOUR STUPID FUCKING RETARDED AND BITCHASS LITTLE TINY PHONE OF YOURS BITCH)  (10:12am small edit: I removed all of the unnecessary „just“)

No future, no past, just what is now. New York, can I get hit by a bus to find out how I can afford to buy an apartment by milking the cash cow. Lafayette or H, you pick. With you I feel no age, no stick. Where I can wear whatever I want,  hair clipped. Walk until I burn off the greese off my hips. Can you make my time stop again? Just so I don’t loose track of your scent and pretend To hold my breath until I can enjoy your air again. Every brick and bump shaping a chrysalis, for those who don’t mind looking up tripping ofttimes. Your light surrounds me and warms my soul, my desires replaced by hope, that there is a place that accepts me for who I am, a place of people like my own.

1.        50 Cent 2.        Reese Witherspoon 3.        Hans Christian Anderson Meeting God would be interesting, can I add him to that list though? He is kind of the OG celeb.

Whenever I don’t write something meaningful  – the time I spend sitting in front of an empty page - I tend to think about my past and future. The bright day awaits me after a dark night. A step into the next is another weighted by the previous. In sight for a second that will be forgotten – I pinch my soul time and time again: What truth was I sure to hold on to, except the one I chose myself?

Ohhhhh, finally. Thoughts are like wine; you learn to savor their alluring nature. You can press your grapes as fast and efficiently as you would like to; it won’t make the wine taste better sooner. Regardless of the attempts to allude to your truth, striking the balance of entertaining the thought enough to not lose track of it is a dance that you can pick the music to. You engage in tango and swing.   And if you’re very patient – I'm talking homeless-beggar-level of persistence - you reap the delicious benefits and dine opulently, which I get to do now – God bless. It does take a toll on you when you get challenged by yourself and make the impossible possible. It’s here, waiting to be formed by you after months and hours of contemplation. All of a sudden, it tastes just right.   Epidurals saved my life. They kept me going. Day in and day out. When I understood that there are people walking the face of the earth who deny women epidurals, because it is “not nature’s way”, I found hope again. To build a social construct of oppression, around the only minority making up half of the world’s population, requires surgical precision. Centuries of research to empower their doubts and operate where it hurts the most.   How really, retarded.  God gave me eyes to see, and since he didn’t show me how to use them, I like to see things my way and any other way is stupid and I don’t like you for disagreeing with me when I was made after his image and not you. And you can ask my momma and papa and my teacher and all of them say the same: I am better than you. Now stop scaring the hell out of me and listen to what I have to say otherwise I will use the only thing that I have more of, bone density, to my advantage.   How retarded, really.   Let‘s ignore all of the efforts, put ourselves down and get pushed around. Pretty please, tell me how to live my life. I won‘t like it but why should I inconvenience the bigger man. I know a hundred ways to get where I want, it‘s just that the idiot doesn‘t know any. Whatever, man. I‘m going to head off. You do you and I will do you, too, why would I need to do I! What does it even mean to be tired when you have been given everything – a soulless attempt at life?  Really, how retarded.

It happened. I wanted to write something but decided not to because I am not anonymous. I am going to NYC again in the second week of December, and I would like to try out an OpenMic. The topics I would like to discuss: What everyone gets wrong about Hitler The difference between capitalism and the roman empire NYC TSA Long-term relationships I checked today on how to reserve a spot, and the following spots expect a sign-up either on the same day or the Sunday of every week: Sohoplayhouse: https://www.sohoplayhouse.com/open-mics Eastvillecomedy: https://www.eastvillecomedy.com/pages/open-mics Comediansontheloose: https://www.comediansontheloose.com/open-mics In case you would like to see me, drop me a message on my IG @theaustrianyoumet. Wish me luck!! P.S. I finished the first chapter of my „mental retardation“ story last week, you should really check it out it’s great and I love it.

you dream, day in and out until you start asking yourself what the fuck you are doing. hello, hello, sings the tiny bird on my balcony. another day that you waste on what you are not!, it laughs at my agony, may i forget and see what is being pushed into me, my face right into yours. i switch it on but it falls black again. dive through a cloud and have thunder strike me to feel my head instead. we fight with fists and red our knuckles as we bleed out on the floor. through another one and see it brake like glass.     Sunday, 9pm, and my Monday Scaries bide their time, almost make me miss them again, but life is going so well, why be worried then?    The Darkest Place I Have Ever Been (2025). 931 Reloaded (2016). Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009). Suicide Season (2008). Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind (2004). Slaughterhouse-Five, or, The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death (1969). The Castle (1926) In a Thousand Years (1852)

Is it the shift into the winter season? I am not tired, but I do feel a lack of energy. Year by year I end up in the same situation, however, with every new season I learn to deal with it better. I took some time off work, and spent my leisure time reading and gaming, mostly.   I read Freida McFADDEN’s “The Housemaid” on the train ride I took to visit my brother on Sunday. It’s mind-boggling to me how women are so invested into true crime, because Freida pushed my heartbeat higher than my yearly jogging does (I wish I was more consistent but yeah). Now I am finally brushing up my book backlog and starting with Kevin Barry’s “The heart in winter”; seems to be a story of hope; it’s written sporadically, but poetic and earnest, the enactment or rather an mise-en-scéne of emotions, a sudden turn to the reader: What do you think? is tiptoeing in your thoughts as to not agitate the known, the self, and risk loosing the unknown, the self. Fuck! SHIT! God, dammit! In the meantime, I kicked off Brandon Sanderson’s “Stormlight Archive” series and like it as well.   Gaming-wise, Battlefield 6 and Dying Light were released, which is super fun.   Today’s post is a bit meta, since I am not in the mood to write about anything. The “mental retardation” story is going great, but writing alone is boring at times.   Work is also fine, even though the increasing number of events I have visited in the last few weeks does strain me considerably, simply because I am not used to the amount of exposure.   I still haven’t worked out “consistently”; it’s been months at this point. I used to do Yoga for more than two years; I miss the days when I was flexible and back-pain free.  For anyone new to my blog, I would suggest the following posts to get a feeling about my writing:  Mental retardation  Das Schaf und der Papagei  I could never survive a terrorist attack  Is my table happy to be one

To the walking germ that has infected me with an unshakable cough: thank you. It‘s been two weeks and my dry throat made my cough morph into dinosaur screeches;  I can‘t sleep and tomorrow is Monday. „Screech“ happens to be a noun I used in my new addition to the last week‘s „mental retardation“ post. I hate pharmacists. You go and ask them for one thing, they pretend to listen, and hand you whatever pharmaceutical company paid to recommend. I just wanted pastilles to suck on, not useless tablets that dissolve on my tongue. I don‘t hate them, „hate“ is such a strong word. Does she make me question the dangers of the Great Replacement; a phrase I made up right now on my couch (it‘s Sunday and almost midnight and I can‘t sleep because I cough uncontrollably every 30 seconds) which is very much about the „mental retardation“ post I extended this week. You might be wondering why I bother you with so much text, who reads anything nowadays, that is why you should read my latest blog post! It‘s how we will all end up mentally retarded if we lean more into AI and computers and phones and apps. Using „if“ isn‘t really correct, it‘s more of a „when“.  I miss the days where I could just sleep without coughing, it‘s been ages (2 weeks). I fell right into the trap of ungratefulness; I would have never considered not-caughing as something to be thankful about. And here I am. Boredom, boredom, boredom. Random fact about me: When I was seventeen years old, I commuted 45 minutes by bus every day in winter to observe deers outdoors in a nearby forrest. Binoculars around my neck, leather gloves, and hiking boots – just before the sun would set and the wild animals would find a place to rest and sleep. My approach to deer-watching was rather unconventional. Instead of laying on the ground and not moving, I would climb up a tree and wait until they passed below me. Once I even managed to jump on one of them and ride it for some seconds. Yes, I did make up this whole story. Imagine how pitiful I am feeling wanting to waste your time reading this text. I am considering to do something very radical with my blog, which is to write every single day and post it for about a month or two, because my ideas have been fun so far and there isn‘t really anything stopping me from doing it. Another lie, I barely have time to post once a week, and quality-wise? It is safe to say that my vocabulary is tiny and my imagination limited. What is it with Sundays that I end up going to sleep so late. Do I dread work this much? It‘s my cough, I know.. A thirty-second interval reminder to stay uncomfortable and miserable, especially throughout the night. Sleep – who needs it nowadays? What would I do for a BigMac now, damn. Or a ChilliCheese. You know what, I will grab breakfast from McDonalds tomorrow. I deserved it. Several McToasts, a McMuffin, and an Iced Tea. Sounds like a plan.

Boom boom boom. Boom boom boom. Boom boom boom. NIaaaaaaaaaa NIAAaaaaaaaaaaa NIAAAaaaaaa nIAAAAAAAA.   It would be time to do it. As of me writing this, it is Sunday, 11:30 pm, but my week wasn’t too bad – was it? Complaining is something I am much better at, and there’s no room for cheerfulness. I scare, when the inevitable hasn’t presented itself to this day.     Der kleine Marienkäfer  Es war einmal ein kleiner Marienkäfer namens Johanna, der es sich zu seiner Lebensaufgabe gemacht hatte, Menschen zum Gendern zu überreden. Er sei eigentlich kein Mann, sondern heiße Johanna und würde in Zukunft gerne als Marienkäferin beschrieben werden, nur sind dem Käfer die Ideen ausgegangen. In allen Menschenbüchern hatte er gelesen, dass der Mensch sich mit roter Farbe am besten verführen lässt. Da er nun mal über keine Lippen verfügt, entschied er, sich den Rücken rot zu färben, wenn sich da nicht der Mensch wieder überlegen gefühlt hatte und aufhörte, sie ernst zu nehmen. Es brauchte nicht viel Gehänsel, bis sich das Schwarze im Marienkäfer wieder zur Oberfläche drängte und dem Menschen so eine Angst verursachte, dass sie von dem Zeitpunkt zum Thema Geschlecht immer mit dem Maskulin verwiesen wurde.   Grübelnd krabbelte Johanna raus aus der Buchenrinde, um ihren Ehekäfer Gabriel mit ihrem Trübsal nicht vom Schlaf abzuhalten. Der Anbruch des Herbstes verging so schnell, dass sie sich nur wundern konnte über den Nebel, welcher sich mit einem halben Meter Abstand vom Garten der Menschenfamilie gelegt hatte. Ihr prunkvoll ausgestattetes Gemüsebeet mit Vogelhäusern am Fenster anstatt des Baumes gehängt bat ihnen genügend Sicherheit, sich täglich auf Ausflüge und Wanderungen zu bewegen, um die Menschen aus erster Hand kennenzulernen. Jegliche Versuche, mit ihnen zu kommunizieren, sind gescheitert: sie sprechen weder dieselbe Sprache, noch ist ihr Gehör fein genug, uns zu verstehen. Mit Körperkontakt haben sie nicht viel auf sich, bis auf den geregelten Wechsel, der in ihrer Familie, ihrem Umkreis, der Stadt und dem Land erwartet wird.   Was sie als Nächstes wagen werde, habe sie Gabriel nicht zu erzählen. Er solle sich um sie nicht kümmern, da sie ihr Leben lang selbstbestimmt gehandelt hatte und nicht mit diesem Gedanken aufhören werde. Dennoch protestierte ihr Käfermagen mit viel Gebrüll und Geschwür, bis die Nervosität ihr völlig den Magen verdrehte: “Du hast Angst, Johanna, und das ist auch gut so. Du bewegst dich auf etwas zu, auf das du dich nicht vorbereiten kannst, sondern du schließt deine Augen und rennst durch.”, sprach sie sich leise zu, während sie sich langsam auf den Weg zum Menschenkinderzimmer am ersten Stock machte. In ihren jüngsten Jahren wäre sie wohl den ganzen Weg auf der Höhe der Buchenrinde ins Zimmer geflogen. Heute war sie schwach. Jedes Hoch drückte sie ins Tief. Flog sie über das Gras, standen ihr die Blumen im Weg. Mühte sie sich über das Gewächs, saß sie im Bienenverkehrsstau fest. Höher traute sie sich nie aufgrund des dichten Nebels, der den Hinflug erschwerte. Gerade noch rechtzeitig am Weg zur Menschentochter, die jetzt noch schlief, aber in wenigen Minuten sanft von ihrer Menschenmutter Hannah zum ersten Schultag in das weichste Gewand gekleidet und bunt geschmückt wird, um ihren Mitmenschen zu verdeutlichen, dass sie tun und lassen darf, was sie will.   Als Johanna auf der Fensterbank landete, sah sie Lisa fertig gekleidet am Bettrand mit dem Gesicht in beiden Handflächen sitzend schlafen. Ihr Zeitpunkt war jetzt. “Schau, Mama! Eine Marienkäferin!“, lief die geweckte Lisa ihrer Mutter Hanna mit gekrümmten Händen entgegen. “Der, es ist DER MARIENKÄFER, kleine!”, erwiderte die Mutter, während sie versuchte, ihr das kleine Ungeziefer wegzuklappen. Äußerst vorsichtig schritt Lisa zurück in ihr Zimmer, um die kleine Käferin besser in Schutz nehmen zu können. Auch nach langwieriger Streiterei war es Hanna nicht möglich, Lisa von Johanna’s dreckigen Fühlern zu befreien. Sie musste mit, sonst hätte Lisa nicht mit ihrem Geschrei aufgehört. “LASS MICH IN RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUH” buhte Lisa vehement. Lehrt sie es Lisa nicht jetzt, dann wird sich ihre schon zwanzig Minuten lange Verspätung morgen wiederholen. “Dann soll dich der Käfer von mir aus bepinkeln, ich wasch dir die Hände dann sicher nicht. Das machst du gefälligst selbst! Haben wir uns verstanden?”, platzte Hannah aus dem Mund. “Das ist eine MarienkäFERIN, Mama. Bist du blind?”   Johanna konnte sich vor Glück nicht fassen und entließ vor lauter Freude stampfend den Schweiß vom Körper. “Oh nein!”, mahnte sie zu sich selbst, ihr Tempo bei so viel Freude nicht zu hochzuschrauben – egal wie leicht sich schnell anfühlt. Langsam fällt leider sofort auf, wenn nur auf Schnell geschaut wird.   Yes, I am posting the whole thing. And no, I did not think I would end today’s post this way after starting it with a bim bum bap pow. Language can be really limiting sometimes, do I flag it as Sunday Scaries? This is boring. I envy rock stars. People pay money to get screamed at, and they cash it all in.