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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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Fighting the system – Part 3: Transit

Inoccuosly, one of the cops calmly opens the metal cell door. Have they decided to treat me with respect, after all? Then two cops in heavy armor and helmets come rushing around the corner. I lie still and let it come and happen.

One of the stormtroopers jumps right onto my chest with his knee. I let my body be limp and after a few moments, I end up lying on the floor of the cell with handcuffs behind my back.

I ask them whether they intend to carry me. Drag along, rather, one remarks.

I study the floor and their shoes. The ones who stand right next to me look like a bird shat on the dominant black leather. The pair further away looks more cared after.

You could learn a lesson from your colleague there, I remark, his shoes look much cleaner than yours.

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Fighting the system – Part 2: My cell

The car arrives at the police station. I wait for one of the cops to open the door and I stand up. One of the cops authoritatively grabs my left arm. I calmly tell him that I managed to learn to walk on my own during the course of my lifetime. I slightly stutter as I say it and the cop mocks me for it.

Who cares.

We walk into the station and eyes from the many desks meet me with habituated and empty curiosity. I stare back and study them.

They bring me towards a cell and I have to put off my shoes. One of the cops pulls the cord out of my jogging pants. Classic. Am I proposed the idea of strangling myself to death with it?

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Afraid of hurting women

I remember this one time that I almost had a girlfriend. After that one, I completely shut off my heart I think. Not that it was not my fault to a large extent, as I was damaged goods already, but it was enough to dishearten me enough, because subconsciously I must have known that the cause for me being rejected was one that would not fade away anytime soon.

Anyway, we were in cinema and I was holding her hand. And she said that it takes a lot of trust to put one’s tender hand into another. She was a violinist.

Sure, there were many components to the whole situation. But the most important one was that I seemed very afraid of touch. Afraid to touch her. Today, I see that a large part of that fear was the fear to hurt her. The fear to do one wrong move and with that move reveal something dark within myself. I was so overly careful that she rejected me the same evening literally for being bodyless.

Those articles about rape I wrote, that all men are rapists. I wanted to believe it is true. Wanted to believe that it is just me who is too afraid to kinda be one. But secretly, even if everybody approved of it, I think I would still have trouble with the whole rough sex thing.

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Is waterboarding torture?

This article has been originally published on Return Of Kings.

It’s been some time since waterboarding was in the public eye, so I’m not in the trend right now. Nevertheless, emotionalism and human rights are topics that persist like a chronic disease. Kids who drown in comfort seek escape from boredom by meaningfully protesting against something in the streets of big cities. Every week I am at least once bound to be harassed by zealots of some good cause.

My Facebook feed happened to spit out a joke about waterboarding today and I got curious. For a topic that attracts such huge amounts of verbal incontinence, few people seem to know anything about it. Fat slobs or experts who don’t seem to have much experience with pain go around telling everybody how inhumane it is, so that everybody can be part of being against something so terrible they lack the words to describe it.

But anyway, what much is there to know about waterboarding for such a deep, intellectual discussion? It’s not black magic. You need a can of water, a cloth and you need to lie down. What the hell keeps me from trying this?

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Disobey the police – Part 1: Biking without lights

In an older article, I suggested disobeying the police as an outlet for aggression and rebellious sentiments. The first times I did it, I was ashamed and felt like a little kid who is doing something stupid. The more I do it, the more I am convinced that I am perfectly right and the cops are really just stupid bullies. Here is what happened today.

I was riding the bike home from a visit in the forest.

It was night, but inside the city – Munich – the streets are very well lit, so I never use lights. Also, I ride without using my hands most of the time. Why? Simply because I can.

I pass a few coppers. There is a lot of them in the area. I leave the bikeway towards the walkway and ask a group of cops what is going on. They tell me it is a demonstration. Ah, right, thanks. I drive on. A normal human interaction.

I continue on the bikeway and pass a few groups of policemen.

Eventually, I approach a larger group and a particularly tall moron decides to stand in my way. I give him a clear look that communicates dude, you are in my way.

He keeps blocking my path and says: Biking without lights and hands, that is a no-no.

Annoyedly, I ask: Why?

He says: Because it is forbidden to drive without hands.

I say: Who says so?

He says, with his trained indifferent authority voice: I am telling you that it is.

I say, clearly and loudly and with slight anger: I do not give a damn fuck about you. There is enough light and I am a skilled biker. I am making sure not to endanger anyone and that is all I care about.

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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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How could you prove equality?

The manosphere lured me with it’s contempt for women. Yet I was lazy. That contempt stems from knowledge I didn’t have; I want to despise women in a healthy dose, but that privilege has to be earned. To surpass the pretense of contempt, the judgment has to become my own and it has to be one of conviction, not one of wishful thinking. In other words: To be confident, I need to despise the actually despicable, not those I want to despise. Reality must not be faked.

And to harden a belief, you actually have to challenge it. To strengthen conviction, you must let it go.

Are women stupid? Inferior? Different? Are gender roles social constructs? If so, what consequences does that have?

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How German speaking countries fund gay propaganda

On May 19th, Munich’s region management committee has approved of an urgent request brought forward by the German Green Union Party and Purple List fraction, thus funding the manufacturing and installation of gay traffic lights, the former allegedly costing 10.000 EUR, to accompany the festivities of the Christopher Street Day.

This proposal was inspired by the same kind of traffic lights already installed in Vienna at the cost of 60.000 EUR. The city administration in Austria even accompanied the setup with a study to find out whether these traffic lights increase street safety, rationalizing this feel-good gimmick and further spending tax payer’s money.

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Capitalism: The hope of the hopeless – Part 2: Evaluation

Alright, I had promised you self-respect and values. And what I gave you was a story that probably left you a bit sick to the stomach. Why the fuck would I propose such a behavior? Well, on another note, why exactly did Tom act the way he did?

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