It is in such a conceptual crisis that your esteemed middle man and protagonist finds himself in this somewhat absurd theatre piece of a decade of strangeness. I certainly don't need to explain the above title and its implications to an enlightened, well-educated European like you, as it would most probably be useless to measure my personal school dropout's inability to learn and lack of experience in almost everything against your highly developed psychologically free ethical and civically balanced intelligence.
This one can only fail, and in this sense this blog collapses lonely and immorally irradiated before itself, even if it is sometimes honoured by sweet-tasting hope in the shape of a woman, but also then at the first signs of dissatisfaction with the offered range of services of the hope-disappointing but not lover exchanged or also perceived as in need of repair to continue to maintain its thing in cosy
Hundred-acre forest apathy
It is good and right to tap the servant quietly and humbly. You, lonely, silent, love-addicted, meaningless existence, who are you going to tell what the thing is that you don't belong to? That would not be Zen and not hacking, that would be the unimaginative fail of a welfare recipient. A sad sea of tears of the unwanted.
Where do we comb hair, Chief Schütter? A silverfish catcher on caffeine. That's all that's left of you after Isabella.
That you still dare to give your madness a face, to present your kind of brood not only to a posterity that never knew about you, that you care that the revolutions not only pop up, but greedily click their tongues in their entropic flickering frostiness, perhaps you should be credited for this when it comes to the compound interest of the new era, before civilisation takes its last breath, and the influencer called Peinlichbin gives humanity the literary walking knowledge that would be necessary to think clearly before taking pictures or speaking.
Copying no longer helps, my de-googled consumer idiot sperm, the functional uselessness of your dopamine-driven soon to be indistinguishable from your own requires the ability of empathic authenticity.
You are the product of a Rome, an Apple Planet, an empty lie of what can never be. In a last gasp and lashing out of dysfunctional cavemen and tribal morality, your unjustified smile and shameless denial of solidarity is your unique selling point in a universe of reciprocity, of dancing with each other.
Begging for the asteroid that teaches and restarts all this, the author's art is just a saan hit on what you think you can touch, the human flaw we so love to blame, the imperfection of the excuse, but I digress.
The discourse here is how to integrate millinery into a society that neither understands nor accepts it without losing any integrity itself.
The main characteristic of modern man is his spineless servile banality.
What you are as a human being resembles a beastly stunted, fruiting body sprouting on characterless brown. And you prefer to lie to yourself when the time comes to curse those above for your sloppy familial sufficiency no matter how others are doing. You've been given something really great, you have more potential than anything around you and your response to this glimmer of beauty is endless horror and its endless lying to yourself acceptance.
And it's the mothers who bring us up to do this, think about it. If the man is blamed, which he undoubtedly is.
A frying pan over-rounded after the good night fuck, made of wrought iron. You could always have solved it, since the beginning of time.
The frying pan revolt
Think of it like a computer game. Super Maria. Boing Mr President. Poing dear Iman. But also in the small, fine bourgeoisie's willy trauma. Back to the matriarchy.
Three boings for the big arsehole, two and then waking up tied up for the average monkey. One boing for the one who still has hope as a lesson.
And for the next few years after this article, I'll always fall asleep alone or after my guests.
However, the tender criticism of mothers' guilt remains, they snip at the clitoris, they veil their daughters and dumb down their sons, they turn people into servants because they set an example and tell them it is their nature. They pay homage to a placido over champagne instead of throwing it in his face, a groper is no accident, he is also brought up by a mother, is fondled by mothers and marvelled at moistly.
You also forgive very lovingly and offer home, that may be, but you are destroying the future of your children, more than anyone else you are to blame for what we have become. The damnation this world holds in store for its inhabitants.
The shittiest tyrant was usually in loving arms, was nursed by someone like you, seriously ask yourself what and why and how long you intend to pay homage to your patriarchal tormentor.
And then they struck, one began, more cases were reported every day, a smile came over me, how easy it can be.
And basically, frying pan articulation is simply a new form of civil resistance, though rat poison in hookahs is also supposed to be useful. Thanks to the morphongenetic field and the amazing human instinct for imitation, it's a no-brainer, two three brave frying pan girls and an article in the New York Times and a report on Rtl and the show will go on.
It's like the lorries and other senile bommerlunders that have recently been driving into(!) crowds of people with increasing frequency, not out of terrorism, but because they really are as stupid as people have always assumed. Men in the best age of all classes and believe me, nothing tops the shame of being one.
The kitchen is your friend, woman, so is the utility room with the cleaning chemicals. I'm never sure which book to write best represents what I find meaningful, just let me know if you want me to follow this thread.
There are variations to start the revolution before total control by means of AI, drones and robots could become realisable. Frying pans and Master Propper are still completely sufficient. Women have everything in their hands and not only there.
Well, enough babbling, I like this state of inspired piety. What it comes down to is rather a kind of mild episcopal forgiveness, they marvel, since I endeavour to be earthy, existence splatters in all directions. In Lebanon they still misjudge the situation a little, they only suspect that nothing will change if only the heads of a hydra roll. You should visit the businessmen in their villas. Politicians are either stooges or despots, sometimes both at the same time. And then, of course, there are the potential off-the-peg frying pan victims, system-preserving, 20-60, male. Pretending to be human.
Everything falls into place.
The day you live without excuses
Nevertheless, we continue to strive for positive solutions and loving transformation. This does not contradict the fact that current rebellion in Western Europe would be pointless or even nonsensical. Here again the finger points to countries that need it even more. Meanwhile, the difficult discourse of how much and what to do if you are a citizen of the Union or the Kingdom or the States remains open to us.
Before we develop our fabulous illusory freedom into real freedom, we should devote ourselves to the duty of saving the children, the enslaved, the skinned and decapitated human beings outhere. Then you can go back to taking photos of the King's Lake or getting your glory, you last-class, disgusting maggots in bacon.
The thing with path dependency, this treading of the strange and feeling more and more uncomfortable, but succumbing to the impression that it has to be and happen this way, alternating with the heartfelt self-forgetful enjoyment of what one can have egomaniacally, no matter what it costs others, this deceitful patting each other on the back in renunciation.
This theft of the slaves just thrown into the sea, do your crabs and tuna still taste good, monsters in Zaraverkommenheit ? This theft from women with no right to education, this theft from reprogrammed Uyghurs whose hair fame in your decadent whore life wig funny trendy, your cobalt and lithium needs fresh little legs oh how is that nice smartphone zombie bitch and butch in the E-SUV.
The disgusting ones and their plastic surgeons should be the first to meet.
To tell this nobody likes to hear mirror on the wall of unvarnished things, it's time to show you your face man, all this is nothing you will be spared if you don't pull the emergency brake by yourself. It won't be the eco-lies, the Enough will overrun you and I already love this day so much.
But you are also still in one of these last chances, for yourself and me, for all of us, and we are already talking about years and decades of the final battle.
We create ourselves, and of course I do here on these pages too, we create a tunnel reality that knows how to block out everything that is unwanted or disturbing. To do this, we use highly precise and interesting psychological and neurological mechanisms, which we are neither completely helplessly at the mercy of nor which release us from responsibility for ourselves and everything that exists.
In terms of millinery, it's only temporarily important, I can hardly escape the role of alien and observer outside the box, even when trying to be practical and grounded. It's an art thing. And at the art performance level, it's still just about okay.
I'm too progressive for the progressives and too conservative for the conservatives, too serious for the funny ones and too funny for the serious ones and the artists hate me because I unmask their jester mentality. Not just once, on a worthwhile evening with a stupid award ceremony. No, every moment, every hypocritical second of their bootlicker existence.
And I also disdain the classic follower, because I can hardly satisfy their simplicity beyond sex reflexes.
If you have disciples, fans, then you're doing something wrong.
I'm facing this chicken and egg problem myself, like all of us.
Whereby the path dependency seems to be the hen and the bias the egg. So should we renounce decisions and communitisation in order to avoid the problem, as hermits have always suggested? Wanderer.
The lonely wanderer and storyteller. Wanderer and storyteller.
From planet to planet, city to city, idea to idea. Apart from a little abuse and exploited love, which leads to less trust in others, I hardly got a social and psychological mindfuck, later only allowed to a limited extent in moments of passionate connection with someone or something.
Relatively speaking, this makes me reasonably fluid and relaxed, even if there is some fear in me that can manifest itself in uncertain shyness.
Lately, funnily enough since Corona has been raging, I like to leave the light on in the hallway when I go to sleep. As if that would keep something out.
However, I think I can reverse this spiral of thought, we have reached the turning point of a space/time situation that could become a drama, a comedy or a success story. There are exactly two things that are essential to get a grip on. Path dependency and conformation bias must be recognised and mitigated or limited. If all else fails, the frying pan should be used.
I regret not having taken some paths when it would have made sense and been splendid in terms of timing. Like the transition. As a 50-year-old, I find it more than absurd and aesthetically highly atrocious.
I'm hoping more for brain transplantation in a few decades.
Our richest under 30,40s all know that they don't have to die if they save themselves through this century.
The coming miracles are to be made available to everyone. But that is a personal decision and immediately makes me path-dependent again.
Human society and history is the attempt to monopolise and control the decisions and the path as well as all confirmation events.
The only reason why the 3 pressure or solar energy for all is not available to everyone for free and for a long time is because it means independence and freedom.
We have long been ready to be self-sufficient individual angels and demons. The story of the gods is ours. In Belarus, on the border with the EU, an attempt is being made to kill another Hydra.
We are not even helping our neighbours effectively. Our media are sending fewer reporters because they will have problems entering Russia.
What judgement is appropriate to this cowardice, indifference and emptiness of character? What do you suggest for all of us, Maat?
Perhaps a comedian will also come to power there next. Actors have ruled superpowers before. We thought nothing of it, just as we think nothing of having kings in so-called free democracies.
But it's meaningless to deal with all this if you don't learn to be a storytelling hiker with a frying pan.
For several years and decades now, we as human beings have actually reached our goal and are in a position to live it. The whole strategy of politics, religion, business and some other more familiar interest groups is to prevent us from realising and experiencing this life.
The REVOLUTION OF HUMANITY is not complete, slavery is omnipresent, with or without trade unions
The illusory world that can perhaps rightly be associated with the matrix, into which we have understood how to define it since Buddha, is subordinated to this purpose of control and deception down to the ironically idiotic detail of money. As a path dependency, because of course only a few of those in control still know what they are really getting.
First aid can be provided in
Sex, Drugs and Rockn Roll
be found. But as you can see from the Stones, this is not the solution, but merely a key.
Of course, I also nibble on the conformation bias here (and there). How do I organise news and articles or other types of publication and storytelling so that I don't fall into the trap of what I'm describing here?
It's easier said than done to want to act beyond the filter bubbles if every time you do so you offend someone who would actually be interested or disappoint someone because you see through them.
Truth is not wanted. The messengers are usually hanged.
Another mindfuck of the matrix. Like the postmodern simplification that there are many truths, which we can sense how dishonest they are as soon as they are spoken.
Whereby we should of course understand the word truth in other spheres. We are treading on very fragile philosophical ice. Appearance, being, reality, it's time to discuss the dictionary, to revise the definition of what our language means and forms us into.
This, too, cannot be left to any language or currently accepted media policy alone.
The perceived misfortune of having remained a single blogger here, of not having found harmonious partnerships with people with similar interests or even multipliers, as close as they sometimes seemed, is perhaps a significant disenchantment. Something solid has grown out of it, something of which man-woman can be proud.
Path-independent Schrödinger trolley writing
Today a Nazi, tomorrow a god, always aware that he doesn't exist, or it or she, yesterday the role that was given to me or bought. And since Covid, finally more interested in saving elephants or sea turtles than standing up for human interests. And kissing Asian sweethearts. All hail globalisation, but now it's all right.
Last but not least, I would like to remind you of the concept of mindfulness. I want to steal it from Kabbat like I steal Wellbeeing from Chopra. Or NLP from nobody who could own it anyway.
The mindful and HONEST shaping of our future in a free and relaxed coexistence is possibly the most useful good and goal we could pursue. There is also no alternative to this if we are hedonists. The current conception will not last a newborn's lifespan. The pandemic has made this very bitterly but also wonderfully clear.
Being path-free and bias-free means watching all of this from above with a bottle of craft beer as if sitting on a triumphal arch. Sit with me. I must, however, postpone what might sound like a definitive answer or advice.
This year, some contingents have become too uncertain.
The world is more unravelled than ever before thanks to a few clever minds (a few seen over the masses of people over time). In addition, all information is now available in an incredibly sexy way. For almost anyone who dares to perceive it.
Learning to deal with it, to report on it, continues to feel well-formed to me. Let's baptise today with hope. And all the days and nights that follow.
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