Imagine there were no words.
Imagine there were no words.
Every place I went, I would start out to please everybody with my behavior. Only to get bored and show my dark side with time. Isn’t it curious: Girls are like that! They are really sweet, but do something they dislike and they become monsters.
At the boarding school, I would live in a, as I was some kind of special case. I was in a room with two other guys. One I had met at my introduction day; he had taken a photograph of me and for that I had strangled him with the camera strap, destroying the camera, making him cry. We became friends. The other guy was a complete sissy, going to sleep with his teddy bear. I became his . I also made my first experiences with agonizing envy towards a guy who, at the age of 16, told me how he had fucked a hot girl. How she had wanted him. I was a fat little boy with a high-pitch voice. I would know no other action than to agonize over the injustice. I demanded the universe to serve me with fortune alike. It didn’t.
I never missed my father,.
Was brought up by my mother and grandmother; my grandfather died when I was two years old, as did my uncle, both from the mother side of the family. Not any male was left to help bring me up. My father had left to Hawaii before my birth; too cold here.
Still before I was born,must have suffered from some form of psychosis. She would have been young in the 70s, so maybe she had a that triggered a genetic disorder. Blam, just like that. Or maybe she was just crazy. . Who knows; I never learned the truth, even when I asked. Maybe she didn’t want to tell, maybe she didn’t know it herself. Writing this, I am beginning to question the ; are you really that good and innocent a person, ma?
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 .
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?
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.