Oh man how i hate my job. I mean it is just really full of bad taste. It is not so much the building as such, though this is where it starts. It is the music they play and it is the people who work here and the people who stay here. It is mainly the people. Not only are they ugly. They are petty. And there is NOTHING I hate more in this world than pettiness. This stupid competitiveness where there shoudl not be any. The fail to see that the only thing the win by fighting one another is the loss of another freedom, another piece of dignity and another piece of self determination. They are hating on me. Their hate fuels their ugliness and it penetrates even the sanest mind and fills my own heart with darkness and pettiness. 3 Minutes i was late and i had that little bitch on the phone. i come in to put down my backpack and she yells at me "hurry up" everybody here has such a rediculous need for stating the obvious. and the is the problem: the obvious is by definition abundandly clear to everyone here already. and to state it reveals a more sinister intention. "look at me!" is the message they scream. "validate me!" is the longing they cannot verbalize in any other way but in the form of "you did this and that wrong and fucktard customer x. complained about it".
So i am lying in my bed, stomach empty, head full of dreams of a glorious past. How strange. Where has it all gone? How far it all seems now. The truth is I lost the vision a long time ago. It all started falling apart, slowly. Never meant to last. Where did the happiness go? It lasted while there were friends and money. But it was not real or it was simply not good enough. It had always been shallow. There was always this notion of compromise attached. Of course not as big a compromise as I am making now. But one gets used to anything. Still, the glory exuberates a seductive poison. I want to be back there, in the sun with the beauty. Oh just why did I destroy it if it was so good? Just what was lacking? What was lacking was a sense of control perhaps a sense of being in charge of my own life ... like that what was lacking was a sense of authenticity and gamble and it all didn't feel very felix anymore as it started feeling more and more wynnie and more and more other people and what do they think and what do they do and how do we compare. it was then that the beauty died. a very long time ago.
The hangover lies heavy on me this morning. The hangover is not only one from a night of drinking, it is one from a night of fun and laughter and dance and pogo and vulnerability, too. and it was good. and now i do feel shit. i call them the masters of the universe, these little boys who are my age and my background and what differentiates us are the tons and years of education they have consumed and they work towards a title, that they have produced. and so they get a £5000 signup bonus when it take me 9 days to write an application cause I fell shit and I am poor and i have to do x and y and z in order to just SURVIVE. and my stress levels are rediculuos and they go out and have fun and the parties and the girls and the bodies and the wine and the food. who could have seen t his coming. ever since J moved to the uk it has been like this hands it? it has not made my life any better, quite the opposite. so what ghouls i do? i should fire the fuckign guy who holds me back with his new age esoterial bs and get someone who really challenges me and makes me DO shit that is grea,t, ainsanely great i mean and not just mediocre or anything. i want to conquer, that is my role, that is h ow i sew myself and fuck, that has n thing to do with horoscope and all to do with vulnerability and competition. the more vulnerable the better, yes
so what else but therapy am i going to write about here. i mean god, that was intense. i didn't even have time for my coffee. hell, it had a bit of child hood trauma for coffee instead. not that it doesn't wake you up. now though i really really do enjoy my bit of brewed caffeine, nicely served on a bed of warm mellow milk. fuck and it is time to got to work already. oh the busy life. but its all good, just one more day. night really. then i am free. for two days (nights, really). and its happening all at once, i quote my friend with his wise spanish saying "life is like a ketchup bottle." meaning it gives you either nothing or all at once. ands those are the waves we surf. and the surf in my ocean is a bit bigger than in most peoples. and when you get wiped out by a big 10 foot monster if you're skills are barely sufficient to play with a 6 foot wave then you know that everything has a price. and so we go on and get beaten down and our heads thrown into the sandy sea bed - if we are lucky and it isn't rocks. just to raise and laugh it off and to know that once more we survived.
the fear and always the fear. everyday. the worries. they are killing me. or are they? they are definitely making me scared and they preoccupy me. but apparently not, apparently they are not us. that means we should not identify with them, we are not the worries, they are just thoughts, made by us. do you understand. WE MAKE THEM. we MAKE them. I repeat one more time: we MAKE them. they do not exist. well, the thing is, they do exist. but they exist only when , if and because we make them. we stop making them, they stop existing. easy. very interesting. now what does that mean in practice? that when i stop worrying about not having money, that i won't have money problems anymore? it almost means that. it means something similar to that. but what exactly, i don't really know. i guess. it means that we worry like it is going to be the end for us. the end of our world, lives, the planent, relatianships and so on. of course all of that is bullshit. life always goes on. i mean until we die. but you don't die from shit like that. is the fear of financial problems therefore a fear of dying? i think so. at least emotionally. that is why we call it "existential fear". but of course we don't cease to exist just because some numbers on some screen have a plus or a minus or too many or too little zeros on there. I suppose that does not apply to gambling debts with the mafia or the inability to pay your doctor.
Ookay ein neues, tAg, new luck. mlycky my oh my this s off to a rocky start. is ninth. there is just no way i can publish this. is a though. and here is another one: yes i can! yes I can yes i motherfuckign can can can. oh my god i did not realise how weak i feel. feel to weak to do anything. so let us write abut being tired and really really explore that sensation / emotion. i feel like pushing the keyboard tabs is like pushing a heavy iron cast bicycle weighing 500 pounds up a steep hill in a paris neighbourhood full of tourists while its raining. it feels like orthography is a word that can only be spelled correctly by a n intellection of the league of leonardo da vince . it feels that every little effort is too big and impossible and bound to be futile in any case. and the weather? well it is really bad. and why does not anyone care in this wonderful city? are they so detached? are they so resilient from a life like this? are they so amazed by all the many little and big and crazy and smart and boring and enticing and uplifting and depressing projects they are working on? there is no way in hell i can bring myself to hit the publish button on this one. this is too much. so it should be done. how did they say the other day? when it's the scariest is exactly when you should jump cause otherwise you get stuck.
so let us go on then and see when we can let go of this utterly terrifyiing perfectionism. how soon and how long till it feels better. i am trying top change the emotion and that is smoothing the teachers of the art always discourage in mediation. and i see hat happens when we obsess and we critics and we go back, we disrupt the flow and we disegnage from the presence and flow is not possibly in the this state of mind because the mind is always one step behind when really we need the mind to be one step had, we need to listen to what it has to say, to what is its telling us write. what is it telling us to write? that it is a bit awkward that i always use the we form instead of the i and why is that now? i think it might be something spiritual or is it not. ? it is this connecction to the others, to the whole world via the god concept . it is also the longing for connection in a sense, that i don't want to feel alone in my shame and my fear and it is hiding from complete genuine vulnerable visibility. and god how brave it is to hit this publish butting with this journal bullshilft of very little artistic value. or so i think and i catch myself and i tell myself: thank you mind for crititzsiing one again but this is not helpful so i will let go of it and i will no longer engage in it casue it is not nearly as beautiful as the power of creation in whiche sway it gets now i am so free and insane i can even make my own grammar? and why is everyignn insane that is not totally coherent wand in line with official dogma of normal? are our minds really thinking that straight all the time i bet they are not, no it is just about shaming this idea that we all have to conform cause we don't. i read other peoples fables here and i am like: really? this is what you call free writing? free from any thoughts and corrections? i doubt it, even the words are capitalised, the punctuation is there. you see, they are trying to be artistic and i am not and that is the art.
Writing against my perfectionism is what I want to do here. Careful though! We ARE not perfectionism. We are someone else. We can think in a perfectionistic manner, we might have perfectionistic habits. But this stuff here is truly out of the depth of my mind, not for other people to read, it is a journal, not a fable. Aha! There we go, self-cesorship. Who cares what people on this website rate my fable? I do, of course. And that is why I should publish it anyways. It is not like it goes under in a flood of other fables, that is the problem, it is really exposed and lonley. To bad I think to myself, because it is an amazing idea this website and it is executed truly beautifully. And of course my bloody email address is linked to my Facebook account so I can be easily identified by just entering my email address into the Facebook search bar and up come will my name. Never go back, never censor, never correct, never hold back. that is true freedom can you feel it ? this is the dance. yes i was never good at dancing and yes i was really really really afraid of dancing alwysy i keep repeating words but now it is on , now it is truly on fire i am wiring it is flowing freedom, not coming back, not correcting just commanding the keyboard taps at the maximum speed possible and not giving a fuck this is liberation kcan you feel the geourges vulnerability.?
what has happened? we will never never know. according to my bank account i am a poor man. and by poverty i mean i cannot afford the peace of mind a man deserved. peace of what? it is more like a war of mind.
this is the existence of the entrepreneur? this is not larry lipman style now, is it. but of course focusing on the negativity like that has never helped anyone.
but who has ever helped anyone. mother theresa comes to mind and i am sure she has. helped herself to a better state of mind. peace of mind, perhaps, perhaps not.
the financial security is just also there for this absence of fear, the freedom from it? who knows.
a man getting paid £1080 and hour in this motherfucking city. it is highly problematic and has never been like that. the hope is fading my brother and i don't like it.
so what are you going to do about it? you pay the therapist and they take another £160 just to make you feel a bit less raped. raped in the ass. and unworthy. and resposible for this complete fucking mess that was nothing but a consequence of a a fucked up life full of good intentions and weak faith. what can you do. start the prayers, i suppose?
i am just going to write as much shit as i have to write until i am free i am free from the fear. that reminds me of that guy the greek from the ancient greek who was afraid of public speaking and he proceeded to stand by the beach and scream scream scream! at the sea until he found freedom that is what i need what we need a rebirth from a place of joy and shamelessness and fuck the shame so fucking much. who is to say what is beautiful and what is art and what is to exist and what is not? are you god or some other authority? are we not the only ones who can meanignfully crittisisze ourselves? when does it get the nasty taste and ugliness of insanity? and then what is wrong with ugly and insane? if it can be thought should it be cencsored? probably not. the daring will lead to beauty you will see my friend. it is on the inside. so lets ship ship it all and learn that nothing thing can stop us cause we are all the same and we are all connected and we can all access each others super powers cause it is GOD. it really and truly is an awakaning that has to be called spiritual. i should drink more and see what happens that. we need to make peace with ourselves and find the freedom in our madness and the hoy and beauty and love in our imperfections. tales of ordinary madness bukowski said. thats right we will not go on about insane chatter for ever because it will bore the mind so lets not be afraid of it either. let it all out lets go trough it. each to their own, the total total liberation.
Good evening London. this is me writing. the wine tastas sour and is full of acid. the sky is, too. i am rewriting, i am correction. i am worring about typos and spelling. i don't like my keyboard it gives me too much of a push ack. it is not quite the same as writing on my little mac . but i like the big screen so i compromise. i am not creation, i let creation crow tough me. this is so against everything i have ever done. this is real vulnerability. not even types can i correct? this is madness. this might be what i eeed. this is liberation. is it not? is it really a better keyboard i need? why not. they are fun after all. four minutes twenty is very long. but hey how would have thought. the interesting thing is that yo cannot change the time . how much is that even. i mean 4 2o. it must surely be a round number. lets see. 4 times 60 is 240 plus 20 is 2608 how weird. nothing nothing comes out of me yet that is important. i am still critiszicing. how can you create like this. the thing is yo cant. dthis is not freedom yet this is till fear there are not enough of the red lines under my words. not not enough scarcity. scarcity bad. we need abundance. freedom really. freedom from criticism. alcohol might help but it comes at a terrible price. but why the fuck now. how scared who dares to censor?