I have lost my appetite. The reward of however tasty food does not justify the pain of opening my mouth. That’s okay. The pulsating and sometimes cutting sensation in my ear lets me sense my heart beats. They sound like distant waves on a beach; a pulsating hiss behind my teeth.
On a somewhat official scale from zero to 10, I define my pain as a 7 or 8. 7 is called “Very Intense”, while 8 is called “Utterly Horrible”. Fucking funny names, eh? They make me laugh. It’s a somewhat uncanny laugh, like that from a movie psychopath; my neighbors have been hearing that a lot lately since I got tired of crying.
Continue reading “Intolerable pain will make you a tolerable person”
Fucking butterflies in the stomach. What idiot invented that? How do you feel? Butterflies in my stomach. What kind of answer is that? And what if you feel it in your chest? Butterflies in my chest? To me, it does feel nothing like butterflies.
Continue reading “Mor – a new name for butterflies in the stomach”
Or: Is dystopia real?
Manipulism and the Weapon of Guilt: Collectivism Exposed is a book written by Mikkel Clair Nissen, a man I have known through Facebook for two years and whom I value as an honest person and discussion partner. I wish I could say friend, but I have not met him yet. There will be a time for that.
Mikkel’s book touches upon a topic that has had great impact on my life: narcissism and the politics that a narcissist desires, namely a welfare state.
Continue reading “Review of “Manipulism and the Weapon of Guilt””
I mentioned that I am a narcissist. That means that I am obsessed with the image other people have of me. When I say obsessed, I mean like with a drug. You can abstain from a drug for a long time and be happy; for me, that means to be alone or act in a way that will alienate people quickly. But if I am exposed to the drug, it’s hard to think clearly about it, especially if I haven’t had it in a long time.
For me, that is to get some form of admiration – or rather, being identified with a self-image I like; ironically, even being called an asshole can function that way.
How can I overcome that in order to be authentic and warmly answer an email?
Continue reading “How to respond warmly with authenticity”
Ched Evans was convicted and sentenced for rape. I am not going to discuss whether that was appropriate; I think it was not, but that is not the point of my article. Ched Evans wants to play football again. Cool for him; who cares but his friends and fans, right. A big debate arises. A petition is started by Jean Hatchet, some self-proclaimed radical feminist enduring the sufferings of Poe’s law, not to allow him to play football again. It already has some 20.000 signers. Why does she even care? Does she know him? Does she want justice? What is justice?
Continue reading “Jean Hatchet’s petition against Ched Evans is injustice”
Do you really want to have an exciting flirt with that hot girl?
Yeah, I know. Bad boys don’t flirt. They take what’s theirs. Apply it to any style you wish. Now shut up.
Do you really want to let her look into your eyes and see your soul for what it is and offer your burning desire to her as carelessly excited as if it was a replaceable bonbon? Do you want to let her go anytime if she doesn’t show interest?
Do you really want to lie on top of her and touch her, knowing that she keenly observes anything you do to her? Knowing that she might not like it?
Continue reading “Do you really want girls? And Life?”
Whom am I calling an asshole? A person who doesn’t care what I think about him. What do I mean by doesn’t care? The person is not emotionally affected by it. It’s unfair to call these great people assholes, but they can take it.
There is a special kind of comfort about being around invulnerable people that appeals especially to otherwise insecure or careful people. Like me.
Continue reading “Why assholes are greater people”
When you type “narcissist” into Google, you don’t find accounts of compassion towards people who live in hell. You find articles on how to expose, destroy and get away from these people. And that’s okay, I don’t want to whine. The stigma is hard for me to tolerate and if you can’t understand that, you probably aren’t a narcissist. Huh, lucky you. A place where the traits of narcissism are rewarded and appreciated is much more preferable, for instance the sphere of the arts.
The stigma is justified, though, since the traits of a narcissist really are hard to tolerate and even more because a narcissist doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with him. I often crave to be in a girls embrace to fill a sense of emptiness, but that’s not a wish for intimacy; it’s anything but. Intimacy exposes, but the motivation of the narcissist is to cover up. In this example, the imagined reward of love is the knowledge that I am lovable, I am a man, and a superiority compared to everyone who is not.
Continue reading “I am a covert narcissist”
Let go of bad thoughts. Let go of bad habits. Let go of bad people? Fuck, yeah, even that. Whatever hurts to let go, it runs too deep. Melt away the iron chains of the anchors that keep you from sailing adrift in feared freedom.
Lot has been said about letting go of negative influences. But what about those that we ourselves have produced. Years of tritely understood pain may have left behind a lot of creative output for some of us.
Continue reading “Destroy your art”
It’s my holiday. I have borrowed my mothers car.
I visit a place of my childhood. I am living an adventurous life, walk paths I haven’t walked before.
Then I see the cliffs across the lake. The cliffs from my childhood I always wanted to climb. They look dangerous. I remember that this holiday stands under a motto. Do the bold thing. I understand. Yes!
I climb into the car to drive around the lake. Drive around my home where accidentally my parents live. My neighbor says: Your parents miss you. I decide to say Hi. I am strong. I enter, my own man, telling of my adventures. Neither my mother nor my grandmother, my only real family, approve. Okay, as expected. I am offered christmas biscuit. With my last will power I refuse. I am shaken by their insensitivity. You fuckers never cared about my health!
Continue reading “No, mother, no, fuck you, oh god, no, please, no”