Sooooo some confusion over snack time and neuro-banal coding celebrations later, the flaneur with his Armed Forces of Inner Discussions is strolling down the Sunset street of the Honey Thrush, I don't feel like fitting in, but it's just as worrying to miss the last few miles of unfolding as a speared newly hatched butterfly.
The cabbage and turnips of word management discover the playful curlicues and snorkeling in existence. Longing preaches from the pulpit, the travel brain patched up in the summer wants this forever and more often.
Design instead of therapy
The Mulzer Practitioner from 2020, his evening trances that he actually bought, all of that still keeps me very busy, it splits me in impatience between theory and practice through the New Year's mania that can be so relaxed. It is still different from the fanboi-like touch a few years ago. And at best in a row with the Sims or the enthusiasm for easy cheating on Buzzsumo.
The neurological delight and good feeling frenzy only contains part of the truth. The sexualization and socialization are already wired in blood. I find Jeffrey Dahmer on Netflix to be a good complementary reflection.
And this rediscovered joy of digital gaming. The board can also be moved from your head to the table for fun.
My muscles relax like my tongue after strong beer, everything wants to express itself more deeply and fantastically than would be possible in this Blog.
Good options have already been found for this and a new one to bring together with the Anything in a Nutshell concept is coming soon. How I've missed this since reducing hat making to the Tribe idea!
I still like to dawdle. And another coffee. And another live ticker.
And I can't even fully wrap up the cluster of worries and fears; doughy and hopeless, it mourns missed opportunities and bad starting positions, only to roar in the same breath to encourage the freedom of the bon vivant and unattached magician, to invite the Siddharta in me onto the stage. Where there is a lot of light, there is also a lot of shadow, says the state of things and trots off with the golden caged bird.
Who bent my timeline into a panty-devil's horns split? Can't that also be interpreted as Loki's helmet? Eternity feeds me grass as I walk past academically, everything is a little nicer. But that too is a worrying roundabout. Traceable back to the prehistoric times between Jessica, Nikita and co.
Of course, I am an awkwardly formed sentence loser, the Rimbaud out of competition, a poetry slammer before there was such a thing. But if you take a closer look, everything here is a single sentence.
Despite generalizations, I call it poet's slime.
I remain a weather-sensitive, transient possibility, a quantum effect without a stable deep structure, it's like being exposed anew every day and there isn't even a marmot to pet. A clown with painted champagne tears.
And only when the fog of fantasy begins to clear and the awakening becomes real, only then can you explore the horizon, pin and tag your vision of the future. And I'm definitely triggered and horny for that. Life is that easy thing that an entire unkissed Sleeping Beauty book tells of.
The wonderland in power and splendor hovers right in front of me, all the people who dared to enter and stay there beckon, entice, teach. My Hatter's Home is built right on the border, it is somehow really this wake-up connected to the Rabbit Hole Tunnel, which I originally began to follow in love when midlife came knocking.
Every prepared booklet, Blog label, every inner radio cast, all influencer templates start to feel like a prophecy, even as pseudonyms they become more and more useful and intense. I'm also managing the rest of the Austrian plot. Naughty nightmare sequences as if I were still the same 16-year-old on the run. The light in the anteroom is constantly on, I'm swapping my cozy city apartment for an artist's shared flat.
Upgrade
wherever you look. Storage capacity, speed, human capital. Global aspects. I am aware that I should create a new quality of life for myself, because the quality I love so much has become clouded and restricted in masturbation and is only partially lovable.
All the perfectly coordinated illusion of having things under control is at best a winter farce and will soon have to give way to spring awakening. I'll probably get a company concept approved without actually wanting it.
Every inspiring minimundus between Chrome browser window, 4K stream or playful warezfun is a ten-finger pointer of what should be animated and trendy. The pain of being slowed down on the gyno chair of history has long since been squandered into the appropriate bailiff of idiocy.
But far from being a lament, the confusion in the Class 3 recovery room is hardly a dissonance worth mentioning when you look around, hear and feel. Suffering wrapped up in billions of cries for help makes me angry and brave in a way that only art and kink can create in me.
But actually it finds its purpose in movement, in travel mode. I just want to say that I have not returned to moaning and complaining in my convoluted riddle language.
Blog and Personal Page are doubt-farting burn lines in the crust of my world. And Aimagick is on his way. So on. So fucking on.
I'm giving samples and tricks here, pointing out what's necessary. I'm getting naked but I'm pointing out smart projects, the basic systems of my thought cities and fantasy worlds. The analogy to Philip K. Dick is important here. Yes, gentle madness is always in the room when you fly your drones over other people's cuckoo nests to let your voyeur run free.
But 5-year plans were not a good idea even in the Soviet Union, and every dream is also its own prison, constantly recognizing and reinventing itself as a trap. Lives like mine, one click away from being deleted, should be included in the species protection program.
The forgotten mendicant monk on the side of the road, this silent person and all his longings, anxiously cowering from the limelight of lies, all the masquerades remain intact and make multiple sense. I want to correct the unbearable glory of non-existence around Kundera. My Terese calls herself Shakti.
A Russian woman was just about to set off with me in this sense, no, my dear, everything deserves a bit more grounding. And the fugitive becomes a refugee, becomes a ghost faster than I can start Telegram. But I know this insignificance of the sparkle of love from my own behavior, my senses continue to savour at the same moment, if I were Russian, I would also be constantly sailing away without a destination. As an Austrian, Central European with alien genetics with you at least in the Gandalf preposition extensively explained elsewhere
And yet, Making Love in Dangerous Times is not just about this gypsy dance in the middle of nowhere; I am well aware that the universe is thanking me for my regained attention with a constant stream of fun. A Witcher with a stomachache is still a Witcher.
The dream as a creative masterpiece, as a polyphonic concert of projects and publications, as an orgy of Dionysian glory, the great effortless release, the eternal carnival, and then again this ant thing, this bowing of heads, human existence in its early historical phases will probably devour several thousand years more.
Where is my Mind?
In this orchestra of scandal, this apparent reality that believes it can recognize itself, the top priority is to stay on deck. Out there in the sea, Neptune's mood rages and rages, the life jacket is tied tightly, but the steadfastness is questionable.
Pirates enjoy the gentle winds. This thoughtless measuring with the eye of the storm makes no sense, we prefer to glide through Caribbean waters from island to island, ports and bays, friendly gendered mermaids wave us onto land.
The rum is going around, the songs are getting louder. I am this Garp or how he saw the world in its purest form, a Photoshop charade under copy paste palm trees. Maybe I should have taken over the coven to Athena, mated with the horse mistress before someone else did.
Instead of walking along the Mur with an invisible black dog and turning up your head at the lack of events and the obvious repeat offenses of the Styrian Kahr province.
Being Neo doesn't help if you don't figure out what you're willing to load into the white space.
My alienation is a parable. Only a few people follow this dream. I see hardly anything revolutionary, everything is focused on the small things in the immediate vicinity. It is enthusiastic about getting used to things. The favorite excuse is to strive for improvement in the smallest of steps.
The unconsciousness or the remembered repetition of the average dream and the hedonistic lust of a lucid person all fail to provide an answer. Creativity may help, the playful, but ultimately the English meaning of creativity is more useful, we must become engineers of being again without rotting in the narrow-mindedness of subjectivity.
The almost psychedelic naivety of the start-up culture, freed from the mocking ropes, could be an answer, this California that is actually common to many sunny beach metropolitan regions, but we all know how hard the interaction with the environment hits, cracks the whip, so choose your home base carefully. Like your dream companion.
My Loas encourage me. The reader who has been teased up to this point will probably venture a little further in sympathy, rightly considering that freedom proves to me that it is not the only solution and that happiness should be given a certain meaning.
Well, it's true, I mention luck too rarely.
It comes in fate and in bliss. In wishes and in my search for meaning. But in pondering and in the sauna I began to forget it completely.
The dream of happiness
can't be pushed off to MMDA. Too unreliable a bride. Like Prada.
But while freedom proves to be an ally that at least ensures that one is free, happiness is harder to charm. It is a contentment in lies and not at all as stable as it is made out to be, and I know all about trickery.
As someone who is searching for the superstructure and is disappointed by what has been offered so far, who has at best found a partial answer in science and a glimpse in art, the breaded schnitzel from the tree of knowledge is a little tough.
My cobra chef is grinning like a madman,
“Love is the law, love under will.”
But is that really so?
Careful, careful, be still as a stone, fragrant as a flower. Enjoy your life. Be helpful and useful.
The dreamer sits at a notebook that needs cleaning, gets emails from Daddy, you're not my Daddy and has an idea of what he wants to organize in the future.
Smart Weather Gray has always been a cocaine nose of willingness to change. I dig deep into my trick boxes in the storage room, even the ones marked Failed.
In an emergency, I tell Eternity, in an emergency I will travel as a Madhatter from tourist hotspot to tourist hotspot, Ozora to Ozora, and am available to the crowds in pantomime for exposure, and I am sure an Alice will not be far away from traveling with me, a Cheshire Cat or whatever else would like to expand the colorful crowd.
“Why in an emergency?”
she whispers back lightheartedly. There is also flippant cheerfulness, right up to the obsessions and the Milkyway Today story, or you can leave it as it is. You can always do that. Make silent films with Sims actors.
The time of migratory birds has arrived, I can understand the young wild fairies and elves, mermaids and unicorns all too well, even cold deserves beauty, weather is selectable, boundaries exist only in our brains.
Meanwhile, my poly shamans are already in Andalusia doing the right thing, and I'm sitting here discussing the modus operandi of transformation with you.
