More

    Nudist Balcony Birdwatch

    Blog Endless Essays Nudist Balcony Birdwatch

    Crows are looking for sparrow ragout, my bird garden is a treat from almost nature. In the middle of the city, birds dominate the post-covid people, who oscillate between silent and dumbed down, what a utopia of love island and fair trade coffee. Only Little Istanbul opposite is loud for a thousand little throats. A long-known fraud.

    Swallows, of course, and then there are all the tits that I've been looking at in love since day one. I lie nudistically correct on the imitation leather and adore the one that works here

    Absurdity of the space-time structure 

    A sober flame of mercilessness, merciless. Fire hazard. May in a frenzy. Annual ring three.

    Google Ads are on the fly. Catch yourself, catch yourself, nerd.

    The sandbox is used by cats. Mrs. Smoker's Cough from the lower balcony allows her dog to do her business so precisely that the smell of the little bastard mixed with her smoke sometimes wafts upwards, but that is still preferable to all the chatter that one would otherwise have to endure if the halflings were more lively and partying would be going around in circles. It's a matter of flaring up, stepping up, so to speak.

    On the other side, on the other side, protected from view, my foreign language teacher often thinks on Sundays that I'm shouting into the telephone, that'll make a bigger difference, and at the other end someone is shouting back into this megaphone, the loud ones, they don't care about anything, they pollute the noise without any control over it themselves, without a sense of what and who they are. They are the empathy holes of everyday culture. Extrovert idle.

    In the trams, on social media, it sounds foolish and has never really arrived at the consensus of discreet, mild, attentive togetherness.

    Don't contradict yourself with the diss about "Nothing of importance happens", here is a kind of storage closet of life, practical for a pandemic, in better times at best inspiration for a provincial writing demonology.

    The bird(s) do it too, the observer will say, they don't care whether it's quiet or loud. Good argument, but they're just birds. Dinosaurs in Lego format. A Reason to Love.

    But we continue to expand the program

    I have three hooligans who are looking for trouble down there as a gang or Krumen, they are impressive fighters and show everyone their power. And sometimes there is one on the edge of the roof above me, ready to attack, wisdom then allows us to understand each other acceptably. Spray gun against excrement attack seems like the cold war no longer contemporary.

    And yet crumbly real. Go and fuck yourself Crow.

    But for me it was about the birds themselves, not character studies, there are so many of them that they eat away the insects, which makes a phobic person happy. No crawling stuff chases the rutting woman back into the little room, well, let the sun's rays explode on me. Tons of vitamin D. Oh, it's so nice to be totally nude.

    My little dragons. Prehistoric monsters, your cold gaze reminds us

    “You were once our meal, tree toads, a grain, and not even half as nice. “

    Locked in cages, they lose everything that defines them, so it's incredibly stupid to make them roommates. Disgusting like almost nothing in pet bullshit.

    Maybe a macaw, but it doesn't stay long anyway and flies to the next idiot as a voluntary guest, fed, that's always nice when natural animals make friends without being forced to put a leash on them and drive them out of character. Battle Cuddles.

    So, simple, southern, sarcastic, sexual, frothingly happy, this early summer Sunday drama is grumbling and delightedly planning to travel away.

    This is the May you should have ordered from Multimegaverse. Everything finally seems to be in its questionable place. Only Eternity writes too rarely.

    Uncorked by the pandemic, tumbled into the war narrow ridge, Mordornah

    and the wonderfully stupid carelessness of those who are perhaps not always loud

    Enjoy Sickciety

    of lost identities from I need this now and as quickly as possible, I also escaped this miserable event, this sad, scary spring break of Instagram longing.

    I really appreciate it for those under 25, my Generation 30/50 is the real loss. But that's hate in a lovely cuddly cloud, rainbow-colored and quite willing to be a lemming sometimes.

    I just want to note that freedom has sold out, the cheap are celebrating with the loud. By cheap I mean all those who sell their value and their self-determination to corporate poison for a few thousand euros a month until they end up in the dust. Voluntary slavery, prostitutionism. Well done man!!

    Even if it might seem mindful or humanistically correct. The humanistically fucked people then pay double prices for half the service and feel better about it 🙂

    But as long as I don't have a viable solution to offer, I'm still nice to the masses out of hollow desire. To the shopping temple drones from nowhere, who displace and dumb down in their sad campaign of golden slime.

    It starts in childhood, let's surf back to my bird garden as an example:

    Children also live here, of course, but all of the parents here who are blessed with time prefer to stay inside, so people are busy typing cards and you can always see kids from different cultures sticking to the window panes, staring into nothingness. This is not a question of having or being, I think these are more striking signs of what is.

    Let us remember the sad cries for help during the pandemic, with parents from all walks of life reporting how overwhelmed they were when they were unable to deport what they had conceived.

    And since we're already talking about the generations, you notice how rarely the older ones are visited here, even before Walking Dead, but when you think of the children at the windows you understand why they return to their messers rather discreetly when they grow up want.

    There are a lot of tricky disenchantments; in the nicer houses it just happens more cleverly. The part-time job suburban moms actually live for gossip. while the children have a pool and the hedge grows higher than the interest in the Gschropp.

    Gossip is the real world of these almost middle-class, well-heeled Tralalas. Nowhere will you find more uselessness than in rural elementary school mothers' meetings before school ends. You hear almost as much banalism as in business meetings, only that the production is reduced to lunch, usually created with the use of all life force, every robot seems better suited to raising a child. And that's how it will happen.

    Everything that is really useful and important is blamed on the robots because the masses of people can't handle it, Corona and Putin's evidence is convincing, they are only convincing in bullshit. And for the brave objectors:

    In both crises there are just 10.20 percent of always the same boys and girls who act positively, socially, future-oriented and actually. Those who clean up the mess that the masses make.

    You need a driver's license for a car and a business license for basically everything, but you can produce children like you know what you're doing.

    But what does it matter to the chroniclers, well, when it comes to the children, I would be unsuitable as a teacher; what is more important is the administration of what we are conveniently analyzing at the moment.

    And in the end it results in anti-social, everyday abuse, which we then suddenly watch in amazement as pedophile clusters pop up. Yes, why was that possible?

    Maybe because no one takes home even a little bit of character from their shopping trip? I'm just asking

    Mr. Merkwürden, professional confessional groper with gambling addiction, 66


    And it's not the evil media, the political agitators, the corruption and the disgust behind the facade that all the small-minded and characterless people create themselves every day. At the top, always and everywhere, is exactly what the people over 20 or 25 deserve.

    And don't forget the silent ones, they are what makes it possible for the loud and empty to get their satisfaction from everyone without giving back.

    Rethink what your rethinking could be.

    I distort the administration and organization of anarchy is essential as long as there are no ethics lessons. No renegotiation of what we want to be.

    The urgent need

    But liberation from the rule of religion and the oligarch aristocracy that was still too agile has created an empty room and even during their rule, many things turned out to be unworkable and sensible.

    Then science and humanism came into totalitarian governance. But something went wrong again, which probably also had something to do with capitalism and other experiments.

    Oh, and now everything is finally confused. Values ​​and beliefs rightly and wrongly stunned. What and how we can shape a new, better time out of this dilemma can only be guessed at in Change. Dreaming is not the solution. Creating an ideal has long been tried and often, even proven.  

    The perfect time to make all of this even more precise is near. The global rebellion from Siri Lanka to Washington, from the pigtail with the big heart to the anonymous hackers, it is often touchingly sad to see the brave break on through, which goes as far as self-immolation. I shudder at what we still have to fight for in these modern times. About freedom, for thousands of years?

    How can you sleep tonight in your down grave?

    What's going on here ? How can one counter the trick of existence with a better design without ending up in the fool's box of the fantastic. Or in the hamster wheel of activists who clean up the garbage that the majority farts every day?

    I remember Ai Wei Wei's breathless rage in his

    “Don’t have any illusions about me”

    was very well transformed into German.

    I also come from this way of thinking and feeling and wallow in the taboos of the non-existent compromise. This is the art that you feel when it becomes boring to measure brainwashing with brainwashing.

    Real art is not art.

    The cold heroic desire and non-negotiable standpoint of Enough. 

    Why should those generations in particular, who are partly looked after by whiners and assholes, have to wait dutifully for the old flesh to move and understand that all the greed doesn't also deserve to be rewarded, or to rot in disgrace, why shouldn't your children celebrate?

    But why should we, the failures?

    It is the job of my generation to pull the cart out of the dirt that we don't want to admit!!

    Even if we have to throw away parts of ourselves. Because our toxic could be breathtaking for the future. Literally. As a midterm human, you have no choice or, to put it better, no other right than to take a new direction in your skills and work, you have built nothing, and if you do, then only to destroy something else.

    You are only creating problems for the future generation. You are not something to be accepted. The danger is that you still see yourself as a role model and sell yourself that way, which is unfortunately common and should be discouraged.


    Where the dividing lines hurt

    Driving on sight, the tipping points and also the chance of finding solutions are very good. This is not the time to complain that we screwed up evolution.

    But it urgently needs new drive. A joint effort through generations and diversity of communities and tribes.

    If you assume that 1 or 2 percent control and own the majority of what we are desperately talking about here in circles of advice and inaction, the answer to what to do is as clear as the casually warm sun on my ass. Eat the Rich is not a hollow song.

    Endgame. Where we all began to exist in a Hollywood drama trained to build tension, the simplest insights such as emotional intelligence or cybernetic thinking and acting were simply ignored.

    Knowledge cannot do this alone. In the Corona crisis, this basis of our actions has become more visible than ever before. The war in Ukraine is the next exposure of the lying masks of our existence. Pacifists? Alice Schwarzer? I'm getting sick.

    We lag and procrastinate woefully behind our own insight into the world. Hardly more than chattering Konrad Lorenz geese.

    And here neither expertise and specialization nor excesses of decadence have been forgotten, but facts and their potential are the only answer available so far to all the nonsense that we are being fed at the moment when the best thing we have, our lives, actually begins .

    Looking at society without masks makes God, who doesn't exist, damn lonely, a hardboiled sociologist. It seems absurdly dangerous but fitting to do this in Virus and War Times. My writing adapts, my thinking explodes in endless frenzy, how the superiority of fluidity proves itself. The survival of the fluidest.

    Awareness of the futility of this creates a strange longing for your banality and Dioysian drift. The red pill.

    Our pride is the lie of having meaning, colorless, hormone-stricken, we pant after joy.


    No wonder a lot goes wrong when you give uneducated and abused egomaniacs tools from the gods, and a whole intermediate generation of BLW students is currently playing iSucking out the Planet. Nevertheless, the real moral of the story is that of the centrists.

    But that's another morning page. We are now in True Porn. The Ready Made Binary.

    And longing for peace, whole wheat cookies and your lips, my quantum physics ideal. My servant.

    Nevertheless, the drift towards the feminine, matriarchal is not just a libidinal one, it feeds from the Future is Female, because there is more potential to achieve a turnaround here. And it's only possible with new mothers as allies and, of course, even more so for those who don't want to give up yet but want to live.

    The sand snakes.

    Meanwhile, the answers of the fragile society are as contradictory as its confused norms, but there is hope that something will happen

    Being conscious and still feeling part of the whole develops between the shadows that spoil the matrix for us.


    See you in the riot, Cheshire Cat, I'll drink your blood.

    Check out our other content

    Check out other tags:

    Most Popular Articles