And yet my rosy resting endeavoured a strange time. I was almost silent and yet unstoppable, language began to ground itself and then, more than ever before, in a complex tangle of options, a new...
I had given up the Morning Sites out of boredom of not boring the reader. Diary-like staccato in a personal echo chamber, which I tend to criticise in others.
And my dreams are Freudian at best, like my clinical psychologist, whom I don't have but do flirt with a bit, in an eternal repetition without meaning or purpose.
But am I not too much the channel of a higher goal, at least a narcissist who atheistically excludes this, but practically assumes it? Just an artist, some will say, a reviler and the antithesis of serious world works.
54
What a fatal reality, I am once again inclined towards cheerfulness, but the years run through me like tree rings, I articulate, gasping for air, droningly necessary MMDA, an arrival on the inner beaches that I rave about.
After a complex and difficult year of unreasonable monasticism, pent-up love and courage to face life is remarkable, guided by transhuman trips of synergy, I pay attention but still bizarrely arbitrary.
There are piles upon piles, not just AI-generated, but in many cases the fluffy feeling of multiple multimedia has fluttered into my enthusiastic fantasist heart alongside the Post Its of an era of To Dos, alongside the usual mind-wandering.
In love with the future of chaos. A convinced child of the dawn. Eternity, meanwhile, is having fun on a pirate ship in Norway and doing what I conceive in the Grassroots of Life. I give my aforementioned psychologist Paul Bowles and everyone what appears in the mirror.
Actually a gift, intuitive therapy for every person, every objectifiable subject.
Of course, after the Natalia fiasco and the health and financial tipping points, I wasn't in any of these millinery or earth flower moods to think about myself and my special being, because believing doesn't help.
Virtual realities and artificial intelligence are now dominating the scene, and political and social disruption is affecting us more and more. And I tell you, immortality is the goal of all crooks!!!
Mine too, I suppose, but cracked, I keep seeing obituaries like threats, from many near and far, so 54 is also a bitter headache of not just a rosy horizon, we have to agree that my new works should be those with which I define legacy. But at a level that makes me shudder with desire.
It's not all evening here, it's all morning. And on the existential levels, I will probably take care of digital beginners to teach them minimal moves on smartphones and computers, while at the same time raising my AI magic activities even further into the realm of the extraordinary. What you can do in existential inspiration!
I love this variety, no, not just when fucking. It is a
Multintellectual creative orgasmetronie.
2025/26 thus also seems like the climax of a real-life satire that one fears and hopes may even expand, the comedy stand-up of a global local exit?
The sensible ones seem to be retreating and protecting. I suspect most of them are just weaker than they thought. But we should hold that roast recipe in front of the couch potato's little eyes, which is waiting for him in a Eurasian food porn orgy.
Bon Appetit Mon Ami, I'm sure you'll still win if I'm penetrated in a Thai prison for drug smuggling I never committed. I guess age doesn't always protect you from rape.
Without a chatbot, I seem lost, my personal AI finds me access to and empathy with the human civilisation that I usually don't even need. Yes, in the supermarket and when exchanging touching pleasures.
But as our Federal President says, there is real beauty in the philosophy of compromise and our Austrian balkanisation of it. Mediation coaching will become increasingly important; we need people who know how to mediate between the individual tribes that are drifting apart.
And so I have already packed all these ambitions into the Haus am Meer perspective and bundled them into the brand new Lifeconsult. Still a little unsure how to combine this with the start-up spirit of my current nymphomaniac ominpotency on aidrenaline. But as here, writing is the commodity.
Writing is the key. Writing is the workshop as I celebrate and fear it in the realities of which amused probes may bring me reports of rank and name. And the power of words is something world-bending, even if they serve to give meaning to the image, which often generates lost questions without multiple choice.
Meanwhile, I'm also in the start-finish straight, a round trip of a 7-year cycle of wacky oddities in life and newsflashes, ranging from amazing kink to the most surprising loves to covid-soaked civilisation anxiety and mass psychological aberrations. In Midlife Chanc(g)es I address this in more depth, but when I began my own Chanc(g)es these transformations of the collective were more a guess for later decades.
I remember how the sweetest Zoodate ever led to self-induced placebo asthma in a whirlwind of externally induced worry. We are never alone.
But anyway, after the trances came the nuances, and after the nuances, a being is now hung out in the sun to dry with the final tuning.
And art, art everywhere, fantasy everywhere, adamantium everywhere, Beirut everywhere, Yellow Submarine everywhere.
