A place for a


Misleading title

Tired of reading between the lines
Trying to get by among the lies
Exhausted from guessing what you mean
Lost in a world of things that aren’t what they seem

Hands scarred from building bridges of understanding and
Navigating the puzzles of communication neverendingly
Sick of the guilt that springs from my confusion
Verbal brain cells drowning in a growing contusion

Sleepless in a world full of misinterpreted dreams
Unsettled by brittle beams offering themselves to lean on
Trying to figure out the figures you’re presented
guilty of closing up to people that resent you

Abysses lingering in the streets covered up by light
Enemies trying to kill you by pretending to not want to fight
Brickwork without foundation appearing too solid
An endless game not far enough to call it

Betrayal proclaimed with words that seem honest
Malingering shadows calling you into the forest
Unconditional love with too many conditions
Uncertain guessworks spoken like premonitions

Light feeling danger from the dark
A tree’s festered core kept secret by its bark
A day too unique to be special
A priest that’s too rotten inside to confess to

Artificial ideas that claim to be nature
Experiences from the past turning to fate, yeah
Goodbyes that only last for an hour
Heartfelt promises too keen to turn sour


What is power? And the cabinet of lies.

Many people get pissed at people in “power”. And sometimes, sometimes people treat you like you are one of those in power and that means you deserve to be treated badly or be envied.

So how do you argue against that? Not necessarily to them, because they don’t care anyway, but how do you quantify it for yourself?

What is power?

Huh. Bummer. It’s kind of a tough question, isn’t it?

And when you think about it, there is actually a lot of trickery going on when it comes to the PERCEPTION of power.

When we think of power, what do we think of instantly?

Bankers. Rich people. Famous people. CEOs. People higher in the hierarchy.

But when we say “higher in the hierarchy”, what do we really mean?

Well, turns out we mean kind of an abstract intellectualized thing. Almost … not power itself, but a caricature of power. We mean this artificial hierarchy we have established in society. You know … employer, employee, etc yada.

But it only exists in our minds. It’s not the real thing.

Continue reading “What is power? And the cabinet of lies.


I wish I could feel my pain

When you just want to cry and hope let go one day, but your nervous system, even after all those years, is still on high alert, and you can’t even start to allow yourself to feel … and you realize you are lightyears away from healing … and too far away from it to even allow yourself to feel the devastation about how far away from it you are.

And you see life pass you by, seeing all the things you could have, could enjoy, could love. And you see that you cannot stop time. That you cannot take a time out until you’re fixed and then jump right back in. That you are forced to watch as life passes you by, and forced to listen to people telling you “well why don’t you go participate”, but you know that even if you did force yourself to participate, you would feel nothing. It would be as if a deaf person listened to Procol Harum [insert any other music that snobs think is great].

And not only do you see life pass you by. You sit on a lifetime of lost joy and pain that you cannot process. And it only keeps stacking up and getting worse. To the point that you do not even dare to admit that joy exists anymore, because it would drive you insane.

And just as you sit there and contemplate these things and feel the ever so slight hint of acceptance creeping into the moment, the inner watchdog shouts out loud and throws you back into unconsciousness, non-existence, into your nervous system’s routine of suppressing you and pretending you don’t exist.

And then you appear careless and aloof. As if nothing fazes you. But it’s not you who appears so, then. It’s that nervous system. Your nervous system is aloof and careless. Because the nervous system has learned that it mustn’t be anything more than that. So everything that is more than that, the nervous system denies.

And here the nervous system concludes the post with a cruel “Fuck life”, with another involuntary rejection of all that is desired, while the half-dead, half-alive self that mustn’t exist, doesn’t exist, can’t exist, silently weeps for half a second in the background, before it gets shut down and forgotten by the nervous system – like so many times before.


The Hounds of Violence

Hello darkness, my old foe
I’ve come to fuck you like a hoe
Like a vision, I will creep you out,
leave my seed on you when you pass out.
And the vision that I’ll plant in to your brain
will remain
Filled with the hounds of violence

In restless dreams I talked alone
in narrow corners full of hoes
‘Neath the halo of a street vamp
she turned me on, but she was cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon knife
That lit the plight
And touched the bounds of violence

Continue reading “The Hounds of Violence



This is a standard poem.
Something with emotions,
something wiith an image
that creates a mental mirage,
a metaphor!
It may talk of bread and wine,
talk of Jesus, it may rhyme,
be religious or political,
honest or, hypocritical.
Surely it must idolize something,
more likely someone.
A maid so fair, you had a fling with,
which is just a fancy way of sayin’
yo, I banged that hoe.
Occasionally it must break the pattern,
not use any rhymes or fixed rhythm, because
that would be too cliched.
It must copy cliched poetry while struggling to appear fresh,
for example, talk of crimson lips would be considered trash.
So, thine is mine heart,
fair maiden,
thy crimson lips I worship
with devotion that is
with meaning laden.
I must go and barf now,
for my vocal chords feel dirty,
and if I keep writing such shitty poems,
I’ll be a virgin still when thirty.


Another weird dream.

I’m on some sort of vacation with my mum. It’s some sort of, how would I say, Nordic kind of thing, sauna-like place in the mountains and shite. A giant building, very … noble almost, in a pompous and Germanic style, for lack of better words. Like a real classy big hotel with a touch of “come here to rest your soul from the toxicity of the city”. It’s a very very large hall.

There is the guy leading us through there. It all stinks like chlor, like in a swimming place, to disinfect people’s piss, cause that’s what it is for, aye. I had talked to the guy on the telephone before. He’s my age. I hate my mother who’s there with me, but who else would come. I attempt to stick to the guy and have a little male banter talk. I remark “Well that’s an impressive place. Stinks like a morgue too, not bad.” I imagine to say it with a tone of feigned disrespect, to convey to him that I find it so cool that I can’t possibly honestly tell him how cool it is, because it would be cringeworthy, so I turn it into a playful insult instead.

He, though, this asswipe. He says “Stop your pretentious arrogant boorishness already!” and puts his chin up, like one of those spiritual man-bitches who thinks that a “dirty word” will infect him somehow. One of those holier-than-thou scrawny New-Age nerds.

And I realize he feels in power, rightly so. We already payed, aye. And my mother’s gonna give me shite if I fuck up. I realize it’s now those two bitches against me, the real bitch and the man-bitch.

Continue reading “Another weird dream.


Beauty and Vanity (Or: “Look at those beautiful lips!”, or: Is beauty circular reasoning?)

I’m starting to see what they mean by vanity and narcissism.

This unbearable flood of ‘portrait photographers’ doing fancy and yet totally predictable pictures of … you guessed right, usually women. And then they pat each other on their fleshy shoulders and say ‘Wow! Beautiful!’ and blah blah. And what’s beautiful? The soft skin? That’s not even real but photoshopped ‘in just the right amount! Well done!’. But even if it was, dig deeper. What is skin? It’s not some mysterious ungraspable thing. It’s a part of an organism. It’s some weird kind of tissue that’s totally susceptible to age, decay, rot, burn, being destroyed etc.

Like wistful children these photographers get attached to and worship the ephemeral state of female fertility. How pathetic. And it’s not even fertility they cherish. It’s the superficial symptom of fertility, so called ‘beauty’.

Continue reading “Beauty and Vanity (Or: “Look at those beautiful lips!”, or: Is beauty circular reasoning?)


How the need for validation can hijack our passions

When we first had Latin at school, 7th grade or so, I absolutely loved it. I ate that shit up. All others were like Meh, but I devoured it. Latin homework was always the thing I looked forward to doing. I learned all the vocabulary and delved into the grammar. The subject was utterly fascinating to me.

Predictably, I got very good grades. I was by far the best student in Latin. I was so good that when we had a translation exam, I wrote two different, ehm, let’s call them interpretations and passed one around secretly for the others to copy, which led to a funny situation once or twice, because the interpretations I passed around were always my second choices and not the ideal translations.

Now, here’s a short overview over the grade system in Germany. We have grades ranging from 1 to 6, 1 being the best. They are titled like this:

  1. Very Good
  2. Good
  3. Satisfactory
  4. Sufficient
  5. Lacking
  6. Insufficient

You usually need at least a 4 on average to pass the school year. In Latin, I always had a stellar 1.

Now, I was generally a good student and by the end of that year, I was proposed to change to a different school that would be more challenging.

I accepted.

Continue reading “How the need for validation can hijack our passions


Roosh V banned me from Return of Kings after 2 years of commenting

Return of Kings is a great site. It has mostly good articles and I’ve been a regular commenter for about 2 years, give or take. It may have been a little less, but I can’t think of any quick way to check. After an estimated 12k of comments I left there (and about 9500 upvotes I got), I think it’s fair to call myself a regular there. I wasn’t a top dog by any means, as you can guess if you know my content. But I got to knew the other regulars there and they got to know me and I have had many interesting conversations with them, I think that’s a fair assessment. I also would say that I was mostly supportive of the general content and by no means a total troll, as I am sure most other commenters would agree.

The more disappointed was I when I got banned from commenting on ROK yesterday.

Here’s what happened.

Continue reading “Roosh V banned me from Return of Kings after 2 years of commenting


Stop intellectual objectification

Feminism claims it is for … what, equality? Humanity? Whatever. What it is not, is humane. Not humane enough, anyhow.

Feminists are bright vanilla when it comes to being non-judgmental. They think they are on to something big, but they are really just a controlled opposition of the still rampant patriarchy.

They are so vanilla that they aren’t even really vanilla. They are more like water with a homeopathic amount of vanilla flavor and their fragile mental immune systems have a tough time dealing even with that.

29cab9199591170f15873c66a441f519No, my friend. They are blind. They scream “Stop sexism! Judge me by my skills and intellect instead!”

Yes, my friend, you heard that right. They actually think it is okay to judge a human being by her skill or intellect.

Mindlessly, feminists spread extremely intellectistic memes (and more) that advocate to “choose an intelligent woman over a beautiful woman”, for instance because you can “fuck with her mind” or indeed claim that “intelligence makes true beauty”. Slightly off-topic, they sometimes say “personality makes true beauty”; I will talk about this in a separate article about personalityism.

‘Stop judging me by my body. Judge me by my brain!’, they scream.

Not only do they still hold on to patriarchial concepts like “beauty” and, in fact, “desirability”, but they openly and bluntly discriminate against dumb people. Well, dumbness is of course a social construct, as we all know, but still, absolutely unacceptable! This “intellectual girl” fetishism has to stop.

Continue reading “Stop intellectual objectification