Daily Doses of Perception/67

    Daily Doses of Perception Daily Doses of Perception/67

    And Dennis everything is fine. Oh, thank you, thank you. Whenever I read effusions by Austrian authors, I find my self-confidence again, classifying my typing skills, the Gandalf factor that is lost when you sleep your way through a right-wing bourgeois proletarian, drunkard's kindergarten and boring, sleazy, merciless, no-thinking break yard, in the need to duck through as inconspicuously as possible until the next meaningful one Excursion far from roots.

    Haslauer will sort it out, I can hear myself puking as I relax and go through the second fantasy of what will happen to all these lying doll feet while I wait for Alice in her silky-soft summer dress from a dream.

    The world is hanging loosely out of my mouth like a wart, and I uncork her ass, sublimely dazed by the mild magic of her strange oaths.

    Mark me with your sperm

    she whispers lovely, everyone should have a Ukraine Girl Friend these days. And nights.

    Glimmers of hope are finalizing themselves in the sky of the heroic testicles and we might also like to be able to usefully distinguish between drive and love even in the impossibility. But the storyline isn't about dating in a blue and yellow blindfold, we'd better row on, into the rose groves of the forgotten sins of our being.

    I'll cut your beak to size, little rattling sound, life is a campaign, the Emilia Romagna mourning flower curls into climate change postcards, sweet FDP chatter, the world will die in the village, El Nino wants to celebrate, Europe is releasing blood.

    There are new levels in the Eschern shame, mirror charades amidst joy and fingering. I walk through the dark, catching lights on low dose in diamond waves.

    Meanwhile, the Turkish damnation is celebrating its success, 100 percent inflation, but the baby Trumpists are loyally singing about success and Turkish pride.

    Always these strange skinny, wasted sociopaths in male form. Why goats always think they are wolves is one of the mysteries of existence.

    Possessive egomaniacs in thin shit aspic. They then just run from their mother's place to the brothels and cry in the arms of their ginger-flavored rose harlots. Hookah spoiled.

    The honking idiots under the window choose what they can just understand, and when they articulate it, the little thinking machine starts saying that they would like to be like him, yes, like him, males who want to become males.

    But despite all the contempt, one moment and one association later, I'm crying with all the women out there who have to endure this toxic stagger for another five years. betrayed by the West and all the empty talk of its elite. And often their own mothers too.

    I think of the rooftop in Istanbul where I luxuriated with my Hummingbird, rummaging through her curly hair. Her name was like a ray of the moon for the moment when time seems to make short-term sense, for the moment everything belongs to the moment that doesn't end.

    The text is still thinking about where it wants to go, what ideas and concepts it is willing to serve.

    I invoke the playwright's right, the template you made of me. The world is a strange place when you open your eyes instead of distracting yourself.

    In Mass Effect Incompetence, events are happening rapidly, I always knew this wasn't a dating post, but it's becoming clearer and clearer to me, despite the need to explain the silence of the last few weeks, it is in a way a Daily Doses of Perception. Okay, I jumped in.

    My tendency, my tick

    Insulting celebrities and their herds of goats should not be overrated; it is neither helplessness nor linguistic weakness but pure stylistics.

    I am ready for any use of arms, for any discussion beyond provocation, but when we consider how societies destroy themselves through free or semi-free choice, how tradition as a mockery of masochistic longing for a better existence to worship leaders and queens , princes, pop stars, monsters, then the species' cynical insignificance and a barely rising IQ should be shown to the bad breath, mirror, mirror on the wall, who has the thinnest soup from here to Samarkand.

    I'm reading Saviano's Outcry at the moment, I can't stand more than one or two chapters a week, the Daily Doses, as well as parts of the provincial writing, are such outcries, such crown jewels of anger and resistance torn from the quips.

    If I translate myself, I'm neither surprised nor horrified by Erdogan's disgusting choice, I never expected more from the rural population and the average male Middle Eastern or Muslim background, if, as I said, the younger ones weren't women and children, you should just assign all these countries and subcultures to that Let yourself fall into oblivion and live your Middle Ages. Repayment instead of toleration. Boundary fences as high as their egos. With small holes through which only women and children can fit and sneak to safety.

    Then the herds can pour their testosterone into an almost smiley pharaohdom, where they march to complete the pyramids of their ruling class when there is nothing else.

    But I have to be honest, no one is an island and I like to buy illegal and sometimes pesticide-contaminated contraband fruit in your shops to launder your drug money 🙂

    It is then cleaner than the fruit

    And the beauty of the landscape is not an achievement. How I would love to love the Bosphorus again, let the sun of the East evaporate my doubts, what wonderful ancient cultures!!! And now decades of degeneration!!!

    But like in Austria, the magic of a country's beauty is pure luck. Look under the carpet before you move in. And learning to build first would be a wise step. But of course you then let the same fraudster pull up the collapsed houses. Turkish logic instead of Turkish honey.

    Which brings us into corruption, into this relationship, this plague, but I'm not sure if it should be about uncovering and naming. I also hardly think that our species will reach a mental or emotional state in the foreseeable future that could prevent the chaos that lies ahead.

    It seems to me that this opportunity was missed a few years ago, perhaps dated to around the early phase of the Internet. Everything was gambled away in the gold rush atmosphere. Once again.

    But in no case is it appropriate to always blame the right-wing or nationalists because left-wing or green dreaming leads to nothing except too little capital ownership to turn the game towards humanity.

    And focuses on romantic banalities!!! If you are too lazy to climb the key positions in the police and judiciary and capital because you prefer to indulge in illusions from your student days and sleep through everything in false hope, then it is no wonder that the backslash buzzes like a whip.

    And from Lula you can see that we are always faced with the same goat zampanos, sometimes friendly on the left, sometimes hardened and bizarrely stupid on the right, but it's the same monotony.

    Lonely Hearts

    There is not a bit of frustration here, no revealing indifference, rather the danger of feeling uneasy about getting caught up in the light and dark, good and evil dualism, carrying a torch in the storm is not exactly chilling, worth it.

    No, no need for Marxists and royalists, no need for Waldorf fanaticism and glue fetishists, no empathy for all the flaws in the system.

    Erdogan simply earned his victory more than his competitors, their appearances were colorless and fatal, their visions of what could be better are questionable. Every people gets what they deserve. However, the gap between city and country, how can we build bridges when there are no longer any common terms?

    The youth is also divided into diverse and simple, guess who chooses what or who is now more willing to flee instead of fighting. The hopes of a generation are nothing more than a tragicomedy called the last person turns out the light. A fairy tale from 6000, soon 8000 nights.

    And, btw, why should wolf greeting stuff in Favoriten, in Berlin, in Paris be understood tolerantly, but from the same perspective: What makes more sense about Kurdish separatism other than more chaos and violence?

    Perhaps, especially in the West, which is also staggering along astonished and wounded by these conflicts, it is time to unmask the concepts of all ideology and develop a new liberal centrist strategy that makes middle and compromise feel good instead of as the usual betrayal and courtly handing over of responsibility to the Fascism. Prayer brothers and those in uniform dance the Pasolini. There is only one chance left: to make a new offer.

    New dreams, visions of tomorrow that feel good for everyone, but who dares, who can, who wants more than their own little pony farm?

    Putin is not in power

    because he deceives, lies and tries to shape the world like a barbarian from a St. Petersburg backyard, for whom the highest level of cultural understanding remained in the GDR for his short time, and does so.

    I love his loneliness at the later G7/8 meetings, his insignificance among real living beings. Awkward and consumed by hate, full of inferiority complexes that remind me of Herbert. The horse fool with a tapeworm fetish. Both have a lot in common with Mr. Bean, if they were good humorists they wouldn't masturbate on power.

    Just because you publish essays on history or convince beer tent rednecks doesn't mean you understand things. It's wonderful how pointedly generative text AI is currently showing this all around the world. Even Bard is at Precht level. And the one from The Simpsons was always a level above that.

    A Whit Monday as it should be, I'm slowly coming down, grinding like a paraglider on ecstasy, knowing my lover in the High Tatras, completely washed out by all the AI ​​conversations and distorted biases that have arisen from you over the past few months.

    Where has my perception been, where will it go when the need to extract real cash from all the noise purrs. The alchemist's closed season smacks through early summer.

    Weather paralyzes and pushes, late but I'm happy to combine the climate ticket with the Germany ticket, I'm so damn strategic this year that I'm gathering dust like an attic without visitors. But off to the North Sea, I prefer seals from a distance as many visitors do up close.

    What timelessness beyond the seemingly eternal battle in the East, I'm already starting to ejaculate paragraphs, even though nothing seems to come out anymore, as the sable in the standard today says about things he doesn't understand.

    Schuster stick to football, one has to say, or really steal Einstein's brain.

    The football that I have left in recent years because it has become such an example to me of uselessly wasted time, stupidity of the masses, obvious but not eliminated corruption, emotions like decals, impressive as an empty glass of Bracke.

    Bayern are now champions like Salzburg, there is only laughter and derision for anyone who manages to remain loyal to such a sport. A Söder in sandals sodomy. Of course, the paragraph on criminal organizations would be ideally applicable to political parties and similar wading pools, Mr. Grumpy state power.

    The Paris tennis audience then goes one better and boos a Ukrainian woman who refuses to shake hands with a Belarusian woman. What more can I tell you, the world has long since told itself.

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