A place for a


Should you go on a rampage? – Part 4: Alternatives

For me personally, going on a rampage is not a real option at the moment. I just do not want to die. And I want to eventually fuck all these problems in the ass and then get some. But anyway, what are some alternatives to starting to run around killing people?

Your background and preferences may be completely different to mine. I do not know. Frankly, I have not considered it. Maybe you read my first article and think I am a loser who can tell you nothing. Well, I can understand that. No offense taken.

Anyway, here are some ideas for alternative ways to deal with the rage. If that is your motivation. Which I assume, because – as mentioned in the first part – this is not an article for psychopaths who do it for fun. Which I can intellectually understand, but it is not who I am. If that is who you are, my thoughts are meaningless to you.

Some of the following tips are based on my own experiences, others are based on hearsay and speculation.

Continue reading “Should you go on a rampage? – Part 4: Alternatives


Should you go on a rampage? – Part 3: Possible outcomes

Now we have had them all in the pictures. The militaristic freak, the gangster and now the office monkey. I guess I left out the goth and the nazi and probably a lot more. Well, you can not have it all in live, assholes.

So, I wrote about myself and my life, about motivations and societal hypocrisy. But what could be the actual outcomes of a rampage? What could you get out of it for yourself? What do you hope to get out of it.

The answer seems really simple: Release. Catharsis.

Finally, the things that needed to be said are being said. It just feels right, necessary, unavoidable. But once you cross that line, where will you actually find yourself? Do you want to go there?

Continue reading “Should you go on a rampage? – Part 3: Possible outcomes


Should you go on a rampage? – Part 2: Motivation & Hypocrisy

What need is it that you seek to fulfill by going on a rampage? I think, it is just one fucking big scream of something that needs to be heard. Something that is never said, never acknowledged.

You may talk to an acquaintance and tell him that you have weird thoughts. He will give you some superficial tips and say I hope it will be alright! You will feel obliged to say Yeah, thanks. And there it was, your little window of opportunity to open up. And you did so, meekly. You only hinted at what you are really thinking. And then the conversation is over and you are supposed to work.

These thoughts, they are dangerous to society. People do not want you to have them. Ironically, by keeping them in, they only grow.

Let us have a few honest words.

Continue reading “Should you go on a rampage? – Part 2: Motivation & Hypocrisy


Final letter to my mother

In the course of trying to become more honest, I figured I would send messages to all people I ever knew, telling them what I really thought of them. Guilt and shame overwhelmed me during the course of that endeavor. I insulted girls who had hurt me, making the bill even. I told my false friends that I despised them. I got into trouble for it. It was freeing.

And yet I could not stop. The satisfaction was temporary. And that made one thing obvious to me: It was not those girls I really had a beef with. It was the one woman I saw in all those girls, the one woman I was fighting through the proxy of other girls. The one woman to whom I was really pretending. The one woman whom I really feared to know me.

I showed my true self to all the women who had hurt me. But I realized that there is only one woman who has to know me. Realized that all the other women do not matter. Realized that there is one woman to whom I never dared to show my true self. Never dared to speak up to earnestly. That woman is my mother.

The thought of writing all these important and disgusting things filled me with shame and guilt and fear. It took me three weeks to finally sit down and write this letter. Now, the letter is on its way. Now, my mother must know me, whether she wants to or not.

Now that my mother will know who I am, there is no one I must ever feel ashamed of myself towards again. The next time somebody accuses me of being an asshole, pathetic, not nice or impolite, my mother will not be watching over my shoulder.

I will say: Yes, that is me. And shrug.

The voices in my head always and mercilessly competed, because I had not yet spoken up to the one big source of voices in my head. Had assigned mystical powers to it. To her. My failure to speak my mind robbed me of the courage to think my thoughts. Now I have spoken my mind.

Next time, the mother in my mind will have been put in her place, her looming expectations of me finally fought off with the courage to put myself first, no matter how miserable that self.

Maybe this is too optimistic. Who knows. But I know one thing: I hope to never see her again.

Continue reading “Final letter to my mother


Should you go on a rampage? – Part 1: My story

I wrote quite a lot about stuff I am no expert in. I began my blog as a copycat of others. But that is okay, I am finding my voice. Today I want to write about something that I can really relate to. About a question that you can ask nobody because you would meet only shame and rejection.

Should you go on a rampage?

And yet it is a profound personal decision that many before you asked. But they could not ask, could they? So they had only themselves to talk to, only the confines of their own mind to reach a silent answer.

Society does not understand your rage and finds superficial answers that satisfy the symbolic mind: Video games, pornography. Ted Bundy even makes fun of that unsophisticated reasoning by using it as an explanation for his own behavior. Very funny to watch.

Of course, Ted Bundy was a psychopath – from my limited knowledge – and his words can mean little to you. A person who does not feel shame or guilt can hardly understand what you are going through.

On the other hand, if you are a psychopath, this article is not for you. I can only superficially relate to you then and thus offer no usable advice.

Continue reading “Should you go on a rampage? – Part 1: My story


Fear of rejection: No, fear of guilt and shame

I never felt like I really feared rejection, the idea seemed pointless to me; thus I refused to believe that I am motivated by fear when I fail to approach girls. Whenever I did, I usually did not feel very bad about being rejected. Especially the beautiful girls that I preferred to approach often had extremely positive attitudes and the rejection felt painless.

But when I look closer, there is a pattern of rejections that irrationally terrified me to the bone. One of those was when the girl that rejected me was of the rather unhappy kind. It left me feeling grossly inadequate. The other, even more painful kind of situation ensued when I felt that the display of my desire made the girl uncomfortable or downright clam up. I felt like hell hath me. It was unbearable to the point where I would have done almost anything to stop the sensation.

My intent was, of course, only to make her dank at the twat, but intent is not everything.

Continue reading “Fear of rejection: No, fear of guilt and shame


Why I hate my mother

For a long time, I had wondered about the difference between me and more confident boys and now men. From somewhere, maybe it was intuition, I had the feeling that I could be just like them if I – how to say – find a way to let go and be myself.

But there is no letting go. There is a past of adventure, conflict and childhood struggle that shaped them. There were tests of fire that burned away their fears and insecurities. They had fathers that hardened them and friends and enemies who fought them. Men who guided them early through stages of life in which I am stuck. And it was the time that did it.

What can I do today? I can learn to imitate. I can walk straight, hold eye contact, bump into people in the streets so that everybody fears me. That feels good. But it is mechanic, there is no play to it. I can grin at another man and it will look like we have something in common. But while he thinks back of times of raising hell, it is an empty gesture for me, there to be exposed for the lie it is.

Continue reading “Why I hate my mother


Misogyny: Why you should hate single mothers of boys

First of all, let me tell you something about hatred. You think that hatred is equal with calling a woman a silly bitch? No, that is just banter, with a cup of grains of truth. It is humorous. Well, friend, hatred is nothing like that.

Hatred is poison. Do you know how death feels? Have you ever experienced sheer terror while running for your life and sanity? Have you ever caught a big moth with your bare hand and squeezed the life out of it? Did you ever take a walk through a museum of modern art and open yourself up to the works of the most miserable losers of life?

Have you taken your time to study the underbelly of human life, confronted darkness with nobody at your side?

Have you suffered quite enough, I wonder, to understand the deep and intense nature of hatred?

Continue reading “Misogyny: Why you should hate single mothers of boys


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?

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