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Short story: Altropia

May 9th, 2124 – The United Science Foundation of Altropia celebrates a critical breakthrough in space-time research.

June 15th, 2130 – The United Science Foundation of Altropia develops the first functioning prototype of the time machine.

January 1st, 2135 – The government of Altropia decides to travel back in time and bring a citizen from the 20th century back into the future, to grant him the great privilege of witnessing the society of Altropia – the first successful society consequently based on the altruistic principle.

February 2nd, 2135 – Jack Sober wakes up in a luxurious apartment in the Redwood District of Altropia’s capital, Veritruismo, after falling into a drunken delirium in the gutter of 1950’s New York City, U.S.A.. Jack thinks he must be the happiest bum on earth to have such a marvelous dream.

March 2nd, 2135 – Jack has been in Altropia for one month. Now follows the description of his day in the past tense.

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Trust no one – You fucking arseholes!

The bell rings. The police is here. Three proud men proclaiming they have come to search my place. I stare them down, but the guy who is one head taller than me holds eye contact supremely well. I annoyedly let them in.

This time, I will not pretend to like it. I will not pretend to be Mr. Nice Boy who reacts in the correct way. Fuck you.

They tell me I have a right to calmly read the whole piece of paper that allows them to search my flat. Right? Allows? What the fuck? So if it is allowed, I can stay calm? Fuck you.

I take my time reading it. All those official words in there and paragraphs with numbers, giving it importance, because I am conditioned to feel awe when I see a paragraph with a number. Cause it means big buildings, prisons, court rooms, blah blah.

I do not notice that the crime I am charged of is two days ahead – fucking idiots.

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What are values?

I want her and I don’t give a fuck what this means for your relationship. If you can’t take that she flirts with me, grow some balls. It upsets me that she flirts with you because she shouldn’t need that. If you honestly want to be with her, have her; to me, you sounded just like one of the hundreds of guys who want to fuck her. But if you break her heart, I will break your bones. No, I don’t want to be with her; I want to fuck her, I am one of the hundred guys. Okay, so you’re going after a girl whom you know to be in a relationship; apparently, you don’t even have values. I take back my blessings; do not contact me again.

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Growing up without a father – Part 3: Back home

After everything, there was my chance to get back home. A light at the end of the tunnel.

I convinced my mother by acting super nice for two weeks. I would so fucking make her wish for it that she would disregard all advice from the group supervisors and take me back. I was free. In a way.

Curiously, I have never been bullied. As I have failed to see the encouraging aspects of my interactions with women, maybe in the same way I have failed to even notice anyones attempt to bully me. Maybe I just wasn’t important enough. Maybe I was lucky not to be the weakest one. Maybe my classmates were simply … more mature. Maybe they knew I would have kicked their teeth in, or tried to. But I think I wouldn’t have, if they would have been stronger and in the majority. I was a bully sometimes, but that also makes me a coward – to a stronger person, I seldom hold my ground.

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How much of a man do you need to be?

Three acquaintances of mine were or are seeing a psychotherapist. One of them is becoming a good friend and I can see that he is making great steps to become the person he wants to be. He often asks me if I am going to consider psychotherapy.

Another friend joined Scientology. From what I see on his Facebook wall, he’s meeting lots of people and engaging in many social activities. He looks happy on his pictures. He is certain that Scientology’s pursuit of a free mind is quite the thing I would like.

Just two of many examples of people who live a life I don’t. People who surpass me in social skills, courage, confidence, strength, intellect, spirituality.

I see their flourishing personalities and feel a deep desire to be on par. Yet apart from the guilt of not being good enough, I don’t really wish to do anything about most of it.

How much of a man do I need to be?

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Growing up without a father – Part 2: Away from home

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 smaller group secluded from the main building, 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 bully. 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.

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Growing up without a father – Part 1: Childhood, early school

I never missed my father, not until recently.

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, my mother must have suffered from some form of psychosis. She would have been young in the 70s, so maybe she had a bad trip that triggered a genetic disorder. Blam, just like that. Or maybe she was just crazy. Just like that. 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 truth of everything she ever told me; are you really that good and innocent a person, ma?

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Why assholes are greater people

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.

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