S Pink Premium Pointer Bio-Tagebuch (nur 3% Fantasie): Fun and Miscellaneous
People used to remind me that "not everything's either black or white", but that doesn't mean they don't exist.
Because, where is all that grey coming from?

Fun and Miscellaneous

Sonntag, 06. Oktober 2013, 08:13 Uhr.
Durch´s offene Fenster höre ich, dass gerade zum Frühschoppen aufgespielt wird.

(Auszug aus einem Notenblatt der Musikkapelle der Freiwilligen Feuerwehr Hinterarschhofen, Hausnummer 69, 0815 Leckingen a.d. Feucht)

Auf jeden Fall um´s Tausendfache angenehmer als Schlager.
Gegen echte ehrliche Volksmusik habe ich nichts. Unbedingt brauche ich sie auch nicht, aber das kann man wenigstens Musik nennen. Zu einer Musikkapelle gehören immerhin Leute mit gewissen Fähigkeiten. Fähigkeiten, wie ein Instrument spielen zu können, zum Beispiel. Die einzige Fähigkeit von Schlagersängern und -produzenten, nämlich ihre eigene Scheiße ertragen zu können, erkenne ich nicht an.
Schlager ist wie eine Geschlechtskrankheit: jeder kennt´s, keiner will´s haben oder versucht´s zumindest im nüchternen Zustand zu vermeiden, aber manchmal kommt man nicht drum herum.
Samstag, 12. Oktober 2013, 14:11 Uhr
Musste mich einfach an eine Klingeltonversion von KoRn´s "Freak on a Leash" machen. Kam grade wieder drauf, dass das ja der erste Song war, den ich damals von der Band gehört habe. Ende der 90er, als Mtv noch wirklich für “Music Television“ stand, weil auch tatsächlich Musik gespielt wurde. Wofür steht das M eigentlich heute? “Mental“?
Durch das gekippte Fenster dringt schon seit Stunden das moslimische Samstags-Kulturprogramm der Nachbarn, oder whatever that is, das durch das Fenster deren Wohnung in die enge Gasse neben dem Haus schallt und dadurch noch verstärkt wird. Als wär´s nicht auch so schon laut genug. Dass die Ansammlung von Gebeten und Liedern allesamt so klingen, als würde jemand mit Migräne, Zahnschmerzen und einem Hexenschuss auf dem Klo mit seiner Verstopfung kämpfen, lasse ich jetzt mal weg.
Angenehm ist anders, aber unsere Volksmusik und Kirchenlieder klingen für die sicher auch nicht viel anders und für mich oft auch nicht. Aber muss es so lange so laut sein?
Wednesday, October 23rd, 2013, 5,35pm
Weird. As I was trying to sleep, my mind was spinning around some thoughts again. Suddenly I woke up. I couldn´t remember to have slept. It felt like I still had the same thoughts in my mind, but I couldn´t trace them back to what I was thinking before that. I lay in my bed exactly as I was before. Only difference being that it was already getting dark outside.
No getting tired, no falling asleep, no dreams, no waking up slowly, just *snap* eight hours later.
A form of resting that I truly cannot recommend. It makes you feel like a battery operated device which gets switched off while executing a task and turns back on fully recharged, still operating the same task, but something is missing. Strange, and not comforting at all. It makes you distrust your own mind. What else is there that you´re not telling me, brain?
Friday, October 25th, 2013, 2.31am
Has been a rather quiet night until now. But I´m not feeling well, physically. Something´s wrong. Maybe I should try not to blow it out of proportion, but I am experiencing “bullet time” right now, in an on-off mode. Everything seems to slow down for a few seconds and moves back to normal again, then the cycle repeats itself. Even music. I´m feeling dizzy, with a firm pressure in my left chest, and my left arm is going slightly numb. I don´t like it at all. Heart stuff? Don´t they say that you taste copper moments before it gets serious? Also, there´d be a much more pain. Anyway, I really don´t like it at all.
I´m asking myself if I´m becoming hypochondric, since I have nothing else to concentrate on than myself. On the other hand, there simply is no way around that the excessive consumation of coffee and cigarettes, the eating disorder, and practically no physical exercise whatsoever over the past one-and-a-half years are going to take their toll more sooner than later. I should really go and get myself checked.
Monday, November 4th, 2013, 11.19pm
Twelve hours to my apointment at the bank. Waiting.
Always the same after I just woke up. My mind is practically on standby mode for the first two hours of the day. My systems surely take their time to start up one by one, and they use up pretty much every ounce of CPU power to do so. No resources left. So whatever you do, DON´T ask me anything for as long as I´m not up and running. Questions do not compute during booting sequence. You won´t get any suitable answers from me, and the ones you get will be delivered with one hell of a get-outta-my-face attitude. Usually it takes about one coffee, one or two cigarettes, and some damn loud high powered music to get me started and lose the grumpiness. Soup déjour: In Flames, Crawl Through Knives.
I really love that part. As if flames were the single most awesome thing in the world. Well, they kind of are. Aren´t they? Oh yeah, that gets me goin´.
Friday, November 15th, 2013, 6.41am
Been to the doctor.
Left some urine and blood samples there. We'll discuss the results on November 27th.
That's when he's going to tell me that I'm immortal, and that my blood can be used as a basis to produce a vaccine against H.I.V. and most types of cancer. As soon as they´ve fully analized it's components and are able to synthesize them, we're going to give it away for free. There'll be more than enough sponsors to come up for production costs and distribution. It's THE product of the century, damnit! A slighty modified, less powerful formula will replace Taurin and Guarana in energy drinks. Red Bull will fall on its knees, beg for mercy and ask us to reduce our output, so we won't kick its sorry little ass off the market by the sole power of our sales figures. Actually, I think a colaboration would be a better plan.
Anyway, I'm gonna get knighted and I guess there's some kind of Nobel Prize in it for me, too. Good times. On the downside, a hand full of religious cults will form. Some will praise me as their leader and god; others just want my devine blood to use it in a dark ceremony to awaken their own god. But until then I'll already have been presented with the Vatican as a gift to me by the Pope himself, including all of its bodyguards, spies and assassins … which I'll fire and then “hire” Anonymous instead. So, no worries on the safety front.
And when I race my 1967 Shelby Cobra GT500 through the halls of my new summer residence in the heart of Italy, and spend a lot of time with my girlfriend (officially) bringing shame and sin to each and every bedroom within the soon-to-be not-so-holy-anymore walls, I will know that my path to become the King of the World is near its completion.
Space will be next.
Sunday, November 17th, 2013, 1.15am
Holy fucking shit. There's nothing more pathetic than a guy with a broken heart.
Thing is, that it's almost equally touching and inspiring, too. And it wouldn't be so damn fucking understandable, if love would be something that you can choose whether to do it or not. Unfortunately, you “get chosen”, completely random. Sometimes you can make it work. And sometimes love turns into the metaphorical shit that hits the fan.
Oh yes, taking a dump is a perfect euphemism for love, like it or not. You just have to, you can't prevent it. The more you try to hold it back, the more it hurts as it forces its way through your system. When it's finally out you may think that "although it's not much, it's still yours." Then, suddenly it gets schredded into pieces, sprays all over the place and you have no idea where to begin with cleaning up the mess it left behind.
Doesn't even have to be a big one to fuck up your interior for quite some time.
But soon enough you'll be here again, on life´s toilet, pushing, hoping that you'll get lucky this time and everything goes smoothly. Because, let's be honest, you like it here.
Nevertheless, brace yourself: love don't come easy. Sooner or later there will be blood. Also, be sure to bring reading material - good things take their time.
Luckily, with time comes experience. And with enough experience you just might get to tell beforehand if it's worth a f-word … the effort or if you should just get it over with ASAP.
Yup, luv is da shit.
… makes even the strongest men cry.
Fuck, the similarities just won't end. I better stop it now.

Witch Mela called again.
We've been on the phone for nearly two hours again. She's all about witchcraft, Tarot cards, Numerology and stuff like that. No, not like those annoying sharlathans on TV or in the news papers. For her it's a hobby she enjoys very much, and essentially she does it for free.
I gave her my full name and my numbers two days ago, and today she called and presented me with a “short” review of the results. I'm still skeptic, but I can't deny that it's pretty damn accurate what she told me. And I'm talking about details here. Things where you don't have much room for a free interpretation. In other words, facts. She didn't enlighten me with anything new about myself, but that wasn't the point anyway. I only wanted to check what you can find out about a person simply by applying some basic mathematics.
Conclusion: I'm not amazed, but I respect witches a little more now.
(Watch out! Don't leave your numbers unattended. They can be used against you. ;) )
I wonder why I don't like Astrology people, though.
Guess it's just because I'm more of a numbers guy. I like that the better part of my personal numbers which Mela told me are odd and also some prime numbers. I'm not much of a mathematician, I just like numbers. At least way more than star signs and all this. Yes, there is something to it. Still, numbers are fixed, they don't move with thousands of km/h, they don't lie … and they can't be blown outta the sky by a comet or a meteor any second now.
Suddenly I have to think about lucky stars.
Do you have a lucky star? Ever thought of the possibility that the light you see could in fact be the last dying ray that was sent from a star which is long gone? “Your” star could already be dead quite some time now. Maybe your luck ran out centuries ago. I don't want to destroy your hopes and dreams, but … no. You know what? Whatever makes you happy. 
*POW* ULTRA SUBTLE SUBJECT CHANGE OF ENDLESS AWESOME – RELOA … ugh, let's leave The Matrix outta this. There's already too much “reloading” going on anyway since ten years or so … D'd!!!
Oh, talkin'bout “the D”: Mela also mentioned that my numbers implicate that I'm tasteless and “erotically confused” … whatever the hell that means.
I don't think of any of my sexual interests to be alltoo extraordinary. For the rest goes, I like what I like. So what? Sue me. HA! You can't! 'Cause it's all legal … somewhere.
Menopause and a sweaty Bruce Willis in a tank top ("Last Boyscout") even get the old woman to watch almost a whole movie in one go. Yes, that is remarkable, considering that her attention span only exceeds 1 hour when she's on the phone.
I, on the other hand, get another reason to question the policies of the Austrian broadcasting services, especially the ridiculously high and completely unjustified monthly fee you have to pay.
(In Austria, as soon as there's a radio and/or a TV set in your household, you have to get it registered. Then it's €30.- a month, technically just to be allowed to use it. Cable and internet access sold seperately. “Viel geliebtes Österreich,” my ass!) 
Thirty bucks a month for two (2) TV channels with afternoons full of sports broadcasts (Ski races in winter, tennis in summer, with the occasional soccer inbetween. Back when I was in my teens, they often canceled two or three episodes of "Sailor Moon" in a row for this shit. And no, they didn't pick up where they left off! Can't imagine that they've changed something about that since then.) and spending evenings with twenty-year-old movies which you can grab for €2.- a piece out of the already-seen-it-a-thousand-times-but-sure-why-not DVD crate right next to the cash register at your local super market.
Additionally you have to deal with commercial breaks which can be easily compared to any kind of STD: you don't want'em, they're annoying, they're not pleasant to look at, they keep coming anyway at the most inappropriate time and much too often, and once they're here they sure take their sweet time until they fuck off again. You know what? Forget about STDs. It's more like relatives coming to visit you.
Yeah, let's go with relatives. I already wrote a similar STD thing about Schlager music a while back and I don't want to seem overly obsessed with this crap - neither STDs nor Schlager music. But just for the record, I'd prefer catching a STD over listening to Schlager any day.
Back to TV. Thing is, why should people pay €30.- a month to the state for a hand full of radio stations and TV channels when they can get it practically for free or at least for just a fraction of the cost via cable/satelite/internet? Stateside organized broadcasting services are obsolete in my opinion. Not just because they're way too expensive for what they provide you with, even though you don't even need to actually watch it to have to pay for it. And not just because they struggle to keep up with modern trends and technology, even though they get paid by their commercial partners, the state and its citizens, so that one could think that it should be a quite easy job to stay on edge, at least from a financial point of view. But also because most of them, despite their hypocritical pledges to independence, are owned and/or lead by political parties which, of course, take a close look on everything that's about to be broadcasted. Meaning: bad luck for the stuff that's incompatible with their agenda. What the fuck?! Bugger all this.
I'm not saying that everything should get privatized. That would be just as wrong. I'd only like the state to re-think its business model. For thirty bucks a month everyone can get high speed internet access. Now that's what I call a great deal, compared to what the state is trying to sell forcing you to buy. Because, in case you didn't know, internet is a non-stationary place where you can watch what you want, whenever you want it, and as much of it as you can possibly take.
And I break it off right here before I encourage you, dear politicians (*cough* asswipes *snort*), any further to declare China your role model and therefore try to make the internet your bitch, too.
Not that you wouldn't have been trying all along.
Hint: won't work, not gonna happen. Don't fight it. You need the web more than it needs you. Just as you need the people more than they need you.
Tuesday, November 19th , 2013, 9.57pm
You may have noticed by now, but I swear a lot.
That's another thing that's just in me, yet a thing that I don't really want to change. I need it. Some things simply can't be said nicely. I'm capable of beating around the bush, too, when I think it's inappropriate to “shit piss fuck cunt”, but mostly I spare myself the effort. Cursing is in a lot of ways more straight to the point, especially when it comes to expressing negative feelings.
And if you don't like the swearing
That motherfucker forced from me
You reckon it shows moral
Or intellectual paucity
Then fuck you motherfucker
This is language one employs
When one's a little bit cross
At motherfuckers fuckin' boys
- Tim Minchin, The Pope Song -
What's the point in holding back? Why waste this very special kind of many wonderful words by not applying them every once in a while? They've been carefully grown and stuffed with ambiguity for a reason. Not just since yesterday, but for centuries, if not thousands of years. So why not praise the words of our ancestors by putting them to a good use every now and then?
Also, a straight up,FfffUCK! Sunnova...BITCH, is undoubtedly more satisfying than, Oh, how unfortunate! Yes, indeed, I have to admit that it enrages me quite a bit, because it was rather unpleasant to watch that other player stab me in the back and walk off with my dog tag. Nevertheless, jolly good game, Sir. Cheers. - despite its entertainment value.
Don't believe me? Just give it a try. RELEASE THE RAGE!!! You'll see.
To all the others: you know what I mean. Sometimes there just has to be blood, even if it's only verbaly.
But yes, there is a line. I mean, if everything you're able to spell right is your own name, and 50% of what you're communicating to others are cuss words then you definitely have to work on your language skills. I'm not just talking about those obnoxious, emotionally disturbed, A.D.D. ridden, n-bomb dropping, half-of-the-world-wants-to-stuff-them-in-a-bag-and-drown-them ten-year-olds on XBL or PSN. It goes for everyone. You've got to learn how to walk before you can learn how to fucking run, you goddamn, dickless, illiterate piece of shit.
Btw: I think this would be a great idea for a t-shirt:

Do I have any more wisdom to share today?
Wednesday, November 20th, 2013, 5.55pm
I don't now what a fly's business is in my room in late November. Shouldn't it already be sleeping for the winter? And why the fuck did it just attempt to drown itself in my coffee? Must be some kind of genetic code which is implemented in those animals. The will to live is not very strong in any of them.
She was still alive and swimming for her life. I fished her out and put her on a napkin so she can dry herself. Must be #23 this year.
As soon as I'm online again, I think I'll change my gamertag, again. Maybe into something like “BL00DY B4574RD”. I like the sound of it.
Fly is flying again. A bit louder than before and her steering is a bit off, but still.
We've bonded quite well. She trusts me now. I can put my hand right next to her and all I get is a quick look before she just carries on with brushing her legs together and cleaning her wings.
Friday, November 22nd, 2013, 7.11am

Milka has got some stupid, dumbfuck incentive going on. They keep one piece of every chocolate bar to themselves. You have to get yourself registered on their website to get it back or send it to someone you like. Who came up with this crap?! Now I can't even have chocolate while having no internet access?! Seriously?!?!?!
What's next?
Books where you have to get yourself registered to unlock the part between the plot twist and the climax?!
Commercial breaks in movie theaters, which only stop after everyone in the audience has visited a certain website?!
Oh, I'm sorry, sir. But you have to be signed in to our online services before we build in the windows of your car.
Congratulations, it's a girl. Before I can let you hold her, please go to www. … .
I just want to eat my fuckin' chocolate that I already bought in the store! Is that too much to ask for, you shits?! Go easy on the meth next time, Milka. Doesn't matter what the responsible persons are “earning” in a month just to get you more clicks, it's TOO FUCKIN' MUCH anyway!
Hand me my whip! 10 lashes for every piece that's not in stores now - that's what those people would deserve. I hope everyone sends their missing pieces to you and you choke on it, you dumbass sons and daughters of a purple cow!
Himi Jendrichsson, the Icelandic Jimi Hendrix. Just a thought. XD
~16,400 words. Will soon be finished with the second book.
I really like my handwriting. A bit girly sometimes, maybe, but that's exactly why I like it. It looks nice. Well, most of the time … when I'm sober. And it depends on which pen I'm using and if I've been drinking whiskey or beer. (Yes, that makes a difference, too.) Also, it keeps amazing me a little how I manage to keep writing in a straight line on non-ruled paper. My brain is doing the same thing that it's doing with my thoughts when I'm intoxicated – trying to keep everything leveled out. There're countless little corrections being made every second, at every word. I don't consciously think of all of them permanently, of course. But sometimes I can feel them as if I'd look through a window into my mind to see the production lines rushing by.
Saturday, November 23rd, 2013, 01.37am
Done with book #2.
~18,600 words.
~70 pages.
Together with the first one it adds up to a total of ~39,000 words and ~130 pages.
Someone is going to read this some time and still won't have a clue what's going on inside me. They're just going to think what a complete idiot I am.
Didn't expect that someone to be me. HAHA!
Just wrote the list of things that I made regarding the stuff I like/don't like, which is in the back of my second diary. I like everything somehow, and I don't like just as much. Typical libra, I guess.
I should get my teeth fixed.
It unsettles me more and more not to be able to just eat something, because I have to be careful not to hurt myself. No, actually it doesn't hurt anymore. That ship has sailed. It's more that I try to be careful not to break off another piece of another tooth, so that I can keep eating stuff. But even that is over now, more or less. I'm barely able to really chew something. I could live with that, somehow, but what bugs me the most is that my fucked up teeth disable me to speak properly. I begin to sound like some generic bum from the streets of wherever-the-booze-guids-me ville. Worse, I begin to sound like my Mom when she's drunk.
Have to get my eyes checked, too.
No particular problem there, but it doesn't hurt to prevent my sight from getting worse. I had glasses until twelve years ago, then I was “called for duty” by the Bundesheer, the Austrian army. Glasses off, gas mask on, gas mask off, glasses on, repeat - that got annoying pretty fast during the basic training sessions. But because of the occasional tear gas, and because I was living in a room with seven other guys, I was practically forced to get rid of the glasses rather than the gas mask. Honestly, I wouldn't have traded the gas mask for my life, which were basically the same thing. Seriously, not even handling the assault rifle properly was as important as the knowledge of how and when to apply the “Gummizutz”. Also, because people weren't able to identify you when they saw you getting away after you pulled some crap in another group's room or anywhere else in the facility.
Anyway, since then I've never used my spectacles again. Even haven't been to an opti … opto … eye doctor. My sight on the right has always been excellent. On the left it's not that bad either, but it also ain't really good. Most importantly to me, I want to wear glasses again. They suit me. :p
My short ReEditII of Muse's Supermassive Black Hole is a freakin' monster. Seven cuts (counting the ones to achieve the loop) and a slow cross-fade within fifty-seven seconds, and it almost sounds like it was never supposed to be different. Me likey.
Also did another version of Dimmu Borgir's Kings of the Carnival Creation which kicks in right at the part that Claudia likes so much.
I put all my journal entries of November into one text document and found out that I've written ~15,000 words this month. Together with the transcription of my old diaries I'm far beyond 50,000 words. Holy moly, never wrote that much within just a few weeks.
Nope. Just checked. Even in August I had “only” ~43,000 words. Too bad that it's mostly in German. Do German texts count by the official regulations of NanoWriMo?
Monday, November 25th, 2012, 2:21am
Gosh, I love my handwriting in the parts where I was sober. :D
Where I kept drinking while writing that stuff you can actually watch it degenerate more and more. ^^
~8,600 words.
One more writing session with about the half of it and then I'll be done with it and can focus on something else again.
Should try to rest a little. Got an apointment with the (un-)employment monkeys at 9:30am.
You got a job by now?


You been lookin' for a job.



Alright, then. Picture this if you will …
Been to the city.
Day = made³!
First of all, because I finally bought myself a dictionary. During the train ride home I already looked up some of the vocabularies that I wasn't sure of if I got them right in some of my past entries. Long story short, I'm even better than I'd have thought. It's just a little disaPPointing that I didn't know how to spell “miSguided” right. ;) But as long as I can spell “illiterate”, I think I have a good excuse for a few spelling errors which, hopefully, will be far less from now on. Oh, just think of the possibilities, all those “new” words I can throw in from now on. MUAHAHA!
On a sidenote, some urban slang is not listed in the dictionary, e.g. “going commando”, “going postal” and “cunt”. … Why isn't “cunt” in there? It's quite essential. Is it not?
Secondly, the friendly monkey at the department for us unemployed folks told me that they're willing to pay me further education to get the fork-lift licence. I don't know why that should be possible all of a sudden (been trying to get it for almost ten years now), but I'm gonna take it before they change their mind again.
Thirdly, I spotted a plush toy of Pinky Pie (My Little Pony) in a store today. It's not too expensive, so I put it on my wish list for Christmas (it's the only thing on it so far). Looks like we'll spend Christmas Eve at my brother's this year. I can already feel the looks of my brother, his wife and my three nephews on me, when I freak out after opening the present. So what?! Fuck'em! And FUCK YOU if you're laughing at me, too. As if you wouldn't have any guilty pleasures that you don't feel guilty about. :p
Of course the day had some “negative” sides, too. I listened in on a conversation between a store clerk and some old geezer who wanted to buy something to read for his grand daughter - emphasis on “something”. He didn't have the slightest clue what to buy as a Christmas present for a seven-year-old girl. At the same time I was clutching Pinky Pie just three meters across the room from him, condemning myself for not having enough money to buy it NOW.
Additionally, the city is flooded with cute girls, hot girls, and anything-inbetween girls. It's like an open all-you-can-eat buffet. Always was, always will be. It would be a rather easy task just to tell what you would choose “to eat”.
I take half of them, with a side of the other half. Second course will be the other way around.
Thing is, I don't want to choose anymore. I'm sure I mentioned it already somwhere in my past entries, but I'll repeat it once more, 'cause nothing changed since then. If you choose yourself there's too much that could go wrong, especially with someone you don't know at all. You have absolutely no idea what you're gettin' in…
Well, actually, you know what? Forget that. As it turns out, I can speak from experience that there's also plenty that could go wrong with someone “you know”. You know, people that you used to call friends until …
Anyway, now I prefer to get chosen. That is unless it's absolutely undeniable, a proven fact that someone is interested in me. Then I just might jump over my shadow and take a shot, probably. But it takes me quite a while to get “proof”. Aw, come on, let's be honest. There is no way to be a hundred percent sure until your significant other makes the first move.
There's only one other occasion at which I could imagine myself to approach a girl on my own behalf – when she's one of those “unbeatables”. I mean, one of those who just leave you standing open-mouthed, because you're incapable of comprehending what goddess-like creature you just had the privilege to be a witness of. One of those where you wouldn't care to drop dead after she spoke even just a single word to you, because she enabled you to leave this cruel world with a seemingly deranged smile on your face. But, on the other hand, I can imagine a lot. I bet 10:1 that I would be just as intimidated by such an appearance as any other reasonably decent guy. I mean “decent” as in “not just lookin' for the next blowjob”, even though I know that we all kinda are. So I guess I'll have to put the emphasis on “not just”.
Suddenly I'd like to hear some Mongolian throat-singing and have nothing even remotely similiar on my harddrive. Curses!
Aaaand I already “hate” my dictionary. It encourages you to get lazy. Instead of trying to come up with a particular word on your own, or work your way around it if necessary, you just look it up. Yes, you learned something, even if it's just to facepalm slightly above your nose in order to not hurt yourself (when the word that's listed in the dictionary is exactly the same that you had in mind all along), but still. Then again, it's kind of an ego boost when you get re-assurance that you got 99% of all the shit right.
Tuesday, November 26th, 2013, 12.03pm
In the back of that Langenscheidt's dictionary I have, they've got an extra section where they list up movie and book titles to show which words to write with a capital letter. The choice they made is particularly funny to me, because they only listed only two titles: The Catcher in the Rye, and Die Hard.
Since I read it I wonder even more than before about what's so special about The Catcher in the Rye. It's been an inspiration for countless works of art since its first release (I think late 1940s/early 50s). Other books, movies, games – you name it. It's even connected to the murder of John Lennon. Maybe it's just that after macabre Rock (Alice Cooper), anarchic Punk (Sex Pistols), troubled Grunge (Nirvana, Pearl Jam) and everything that came after it, it just doesn't seem so extraordinary anymore when someone writes/sings/talks openly about his difficulties to get along in a conservative society and its conventions.
Die Hard … enough said. ^^
I'd love to learn Russian and Spanish. It'd be rather bad ass to speak four languages fluently a few years from now. I'd be like a non-nazi Hans Landa.
Friday, November 29th, 2013, 4.31am
Spent half of the night with my Les Paul. Changed the strings and used the opportunity to finally switch the golden mechanics with the chrome ones from my SG. Don't know why that idea came to me just a few days back. I never liked the gold. It looks so overly decadent. Also it doesn't last very long since it's just a veeery thin layer. Go at it with the wrong tools or simply play a lot, and it's coming off pretty fast. I only bought the LP Custom, because the LP Standard didn't have the white binding five years ago. It was one of those little details that I just couldn't let go. I had to have it. Anyway, the LP is now a black patchwork-beauty with chrome hardware, a white binding, golden pickups (wasn't able to change them now due to a lack of tools), brand new shiny strings, and I covered the black pick guard with white duct tape to give the whole guitar a higher contrast. It's cheaper than buying a new one, and I like contrast. There just has to be at least a couple of things that really stand out. Oh, now that I think of it, maybe I can ask my brother to custom build me a metal pick guard that fits to the chrome hardware.
Couldn't stop practicing for hours. The new strings sound amazing and are much more finger friendly. It's hard to stop sliding all over the neck, even if it's just for the feel of it. Now my back hurts. A new look makes it more easy on the eye but not an ounce lighter.
Left the SG disassembled for now. Maybe she's gonna get a new paint job. I'm thinking of black and violet like the Gibson Goddess series. … No, that doesn't go with the golden hardware. White and pink? … Better. We'll see.
What else?
Well, I'm waiting, again. Going to take the bus to the Wifi later and then get the paperwork to the AMS (Arbeitsmarktservice, the unemployment monkeys).
This might be worth mentioning: orgasms come and go a lot easier lately. The former standard is still far from reset, but still.
Wifi + AMS = Done. Fork-lift driver's ed is starting next Friday.
Weekend! Meh. :/
Two-and-a-half days, waiting to be filled with … something time consuming.
I was already a bit tired before I got to the bus. Chilly weather and cold wind outside. Got off the bus in the city and felt demotivation spreading inside me. Thankfully, the lady at the Wifi customer service desk was friendly, fast and efficient. Wanted to save some money, so I took a walk from the Wifi to the AMS, which basically lead me through half of St. Pölten. St.P. ain't Tulln. In Tulln you can get from anywhere practically everywhere by foot in about ten to twenty minutes. In St.P., pretty much everything's at least a thirty-minute walk apart. More demotivation. Thought myself onto Claudi's couch. Thought of “nerding off” with her about whatever comes to mind. I had to smile. Some people who came my way started smiling, too. 
Smile, and the world smiles with you.
Weep, and you weep alone. 
 Disregarding that something's definitely wrong with this world, I was happy all the way to the AMS.
She doesn't even have the slightest idea what she means to me.
On my way home, four fifths of the train were reserved for and therefor besieged by a legion of old folks who were on their way to Mariazell. It's popular city, mostly reknown for schnapps and religious pilgrimage, for which you have to be under 10 or over 50 years of age to enjoy the trip. Or you happen to bring your own, preferably destilled type of entertainment.
The train had just set in motion when the first bottle of “Obstler” (highly percented schnapps; mostly made of plums, pears or peaches) started to get passed around … at 10.30am. They didn't bother offering me any of it. Nevertheless, when I got off the train, the bottle was almost empty. It lasted roughly twenty minutes and only for half of the people in the wagon I was in. Their trip to Mariazell takes'em at least another three hours. I seriously doubt that any of those guys will be able to actually see something when they “go” sightseeing later on.
Heimat bist du großer Säufer.(“You are home to great drunkards.”), must have been a scratched out line in a lost draft of the Austrian national hymn.
I hate my dictionary. I get too lazy.
Argh, what's the word?

Just look it up.

No need. It's right there. I see it before my mind's eye. I know what it looks like, I just can't read it.

Look it up, please?

It's similar that other one … and that one … but more straight to the point.

Look! It! Up!

Almost got it. It's on the tip of my tongue! It's … I … lost it.

L-O-O-K …

ALRIGHT! Shut up!
In moments like this I imagine my mind as one of those bored-with-life, fallen-from-all-joy-and-hope office workers who is disgusted by your mere presence, and sighs reluctantly every time you ask him to do something for you, because he was told that he is soon to be replaced by a self-service computer terminal.
Tuesday, December 3rd, 2013, 10.21pm
The m.o.m. came home at noon and brought Pinky Pie as an early Christmas present.
Almost can't remember a time when falling asleep was as easy as today.
Not without tears, though, but still. Somehow crying your broken little soul out to a cute pink plush pony is quite a relief. Didn't even have to think on anything particular this time. No Claudia, no other girls. I just closed my eyes and drifted away. Can't deny that it feels a bit odd being a thirty-year-old guy hugging a 10-inch soft toy from a children's cartoon, but not because of me. It's not because I think this this way, only because of the things you know others will think of you. A lot of them are going to call you childish at least, if not pathetic even. So what? Fuck'em! Set'em on fire and piss out the flames. There, manly enough? They're not you. They don't know how you feel and what you've been through. A lot of them have never experienced anything like it and are therefore oblivious to the fact of how grateful they should be for it. Some are just being deliberately ignorant. And others are too simple minded to realize how fucked up they are themselves. Not to forget the people who are just mocking others in order to make themselves feel better. The rest, “my people” will understand.
On the downside, half of my bed is now glistening. Pinky Pie must have spent some time near something what was drowned in glitter. Don't get me wrong, I like sparkly stuff. You kinda have to, or at least have learned how to deal with it when you grew up in a room with a wallpaper that is full of it. It's just that it takes half of an eternity to get rid of that stuff again. Once you've touched something with glitter on it, you're gonna find it everywhere for months. It's on you, it's with you, always, and there's nothing you can do about it. You just have to wait until it spread itself to an extent where the amount of glitter per square foot has thinned out and decreased into being unnoticeable. After a while you even start enjoying it again when you happen to find tiny sparkles somewhere around you, on your clothes, your hair and/or your pe … well, you get the idea.
I think I just invented the Portal Turret Toaster and the Super Mario Coin Block Toaster.
A turret shaped toaster where you put up to four slices of toast (two on each side) into the upper side of the machine guns. It starts toasting them as soon as you slide it close into egg form. When it's finished it pops open into “attack mode” again. Wouldn't be complete without the voice and the soundeffects. Also you could combine it with a tilt sensor, so that it freaks out when you tip it over just like in the game. The bread could be branded with the Aperture Science logo.
The coin block toaster pretty much speaks for itself. Shaped like a coin block in the Super Mario games it makes the significant *Baling* sound when the toast is ready and pops out on the top. And yes, of course there's a coin from the game branded on the bread.
Most entertaining toasters ever, PERIOD.
[originally handwritten; copied on Dec.7th, 2.53pm]
“Installing Update 2/42”
Nice day.
I needed just that, a nice day. Tomorrow is gonna be a CrapFest5000, so I gathered some stuff for a mind and soul vacation. Been to Fischi's and we talked about writing, movies, games, TV shows from 8.30am until just an hour ago. That's the longest time we spent together since our childhood. I enjoyed it, also because of INTERNET (!!!), bitches. I put a few of my texts on Tumblr and received a warm welcome from witch Mela, the Wolf and Varis on Twitter. Thanks a lot girls. :)
Damn, I miss Twitter. Didn't even try to catch up on the six months of YouTube, Reddit and Imgur that I “missed”. BUT I paid the bay a visit and stocked up on season three of Game of Thrones, season seven of Doctor Who INCLUDING the 50th anniversary special (harhar), and the first two episodes of Breaking Bad's finale. PLUS I borrowed Darksiders II (HELL YEAH!), Tetris Evolution (always wanted to give it a try) and Max Payne 3 (Why not?) for the good ol' Xbox360. So whatever tomorrow brings (or not), I have enough fictional realities to seek refuge for a while.
Fischi showed me Battlefield 4 on the PlayStation 4. I'm not blown away. I've only played the first story mission, but I do think that it won't get any better once I play it with an Xbox controller and my own surround sound system in a quiet environment. I like the sound, I like the graphics, but there's something about it that prevents me from getting hooked at first try. Even the 80s soundtrack doesn't help. Maybe it's the thought of it being just another wannabe Call of Duty with better graphics and sound instead of a real Battlefield game. Still, I can't judge. Have to play it for a few more hours.
The console itself is very … 80s. Looks even less futuristic than the first PlayStation from 1995/96. Actually the PS4 looks like the Psone's predecessor. Don't get me wrong, I like it. It's just that I find it a rather odd design for a 2013 console.
I'm writing by hand, because my netbook is currently “installing update 8 of 42 (4.11pm). This is gonna take while. Damn you, 1GB RAM!
I'm tired anyway. Think I'll grab Pinky and try to catch an eye full of sleep. But with all those new episodes waiting to be watched, it feels like it's Christmas already.
Thursday, December 5th, 2013, 6.27am
Now, let's see what awaits me in Tulln. :/
Even after twenty years my good ol' Denon stereo amplifier has more than enough power to shake the neighbour from the apartments above and around off the toilet. On volume setting 8, that is. … It goes to 40. I bet 12 cracks the porcelain itself, and 16 destroys it for good. 18 might be too much for the walls, if the speakers don't blow out first. It's got a lot of potential. I never heard it turned all the way up. I don't think that's even possible. The last thing you'd hear would be *BOMMveeeeeeeeee* for a second before your brain gets sprayed on the walls and your heart explodes. ^^
The whole getting-my-stuff-back thing went a whole lot smoother than expected. Got there, got the stuff from the basement into the van, and fucked off again within an hour. It's all here now and, except for the layers of dust, in the exact same condition that I left it in, even the toilet paper. But HELL am I thankful to have that behind me now.
Tulln was nice. Strange somehow, but it felt good being there again, especially on a rainy day.
Next up: fork-lift lessons start tomorrow at 2pm and AMS-money should arrive on my bank account. Gotta get that old phone bill paid. I think I won't get a new contract for as long as that's not settled.
Just made a screenshot of my desktop again. The background pics alternate every fifteen minutes (Breaking Bad, House M.D., Game of Thrones, Doctor Who), but I had to show off my Pinky Pie pic. Calm down, it's the only one I have … for now. I love my inner child. It's a girl, don't you think? :D At least my netbooks not pink. But I admit that it's only because they didn't have pink HP or Toshiba netbooks on stock when I bought mine.
Friday, December 27th, 2013, 5.03am
It surprises me more and more how many tears the human body can produce. They just keep coming. There are certainly many people who don't cry in a lifetime what I wept in the last two-and-a-half years. And there's no end in sight.
Spent a lot of time with guitar practice during the last couple of days. So there's at least one thing in which I'm making any progress. Rocksmith helps a lot.
I still really like darkness. Physical darkness, not the mental one. That's the best thing about winter, the long nights.
The world grows more silent by the hour until it's absolutely quiet, and dark. You don't have to look at it. It doesn't shove itself in your face just because. All of its trivial, uninteresting, pointless motions, the constantly moving bigger picture and its ever-same cycles either change direction, get reduced to a minimum or come to a complete halt. What's left is but a mere skeleton of what it was during the day - toned down, calm, comforting. For me, darkness means safety.
People get more daring, less cautious, they let down their guard, their masks come off. They feel safe, too, are getting careles and pay no mind to a very special feature that the dark brings along - the little that happens gets mangnified. All you see is details. You might have missed them in the chaos of daylight, or you might have chosen not to look, but now they're the only thing there is. Darkness can serve a s lame excuse for not being able to see, yet in fact it leaves you no other choice but to take a closer look, because everything matters what happens in the dark. You get to see who or what the people really are. Regardless if what you see is good or not, it's good to see it. For me, darkness means honesty.
I sleep through the light and all the noise that comes with it. Then I'm awake dusk 'til dawn. I'm a night person. Not even by choice, actually. I don't even have to want it. My body adjusts its rhythm by itself, but I like it and wouldn't want to have it any other way.
Watching some random House M.D. episodes again. Rediscovered another favorite woman/girl of the show. Martha Masters, the child prodigy in House's team in season 7. A cute redhead, smart, showing off a nice variation of skirts and shoes. The only thing that bothers me a little about her is that she wears the skirts pulled up way above her waiste line, often in combination with a wide belt. It nutures the illusion that she's got no stomache. It makes it look like someone cut out the middle part. From top to bottom there's just head, neck, shoulders, chest, hips/ass, legs. Awkward. I like her, but as a character she doesn't really add anything new or different to she show. She's basically a younger, more naïve version of Cameron, and facing pretty much the same moral dilemmas which are now stuffed into only a few episodes instead of three seasons. That makes her one of the best expamples for the show's desperate fight against the very obvious lack of fresh ideas they were facing during the making of season 7 & 8.
Woke up to a strange thought today.
I suddenly realized that rock and related music genres weren't even invented a hundred years ago. Don't really know why I find this particularly interesting, but it is. Isn't it? Think about it. Practically every song you know was initially written and performed within the past sixty to seventy years, especially the ones which make use of electric instruments. That's a whole fucking lot, made up from thin air in almost no time. Maybe you have someone in your family who was born before the invention of the electric guitar, before blues started to get louder and faster to eventually become Led Zeppelin & co.. Electronic music has even lived a much shorter life.
Which leaves me with the question how all that music that is still to come will be called a hundred years from now. I mean, within a few deacades we've been grooming a flurry of sub-categories, and the count is still growning exponentially. It seems to me that everything that has a certain BPM rate and/or uses a slightly different effect for the bassline has to have its own name. Doesn't even really matter if it's actually distinguishable from something else or not. How long until we run out of words to describe what musical branch we're hearing, while also considering the stem it spreaded from? Rock, blues rock, hard rock, punk rock, folk rock psychedelic, progressive, metal, heavy metal, thrash metal, glam metal, black metal, industrial, speed metal, nu rock, gore, grindcore … synth, electro, techno, rave, trance, drum'n'bass, jungle, industrial, ambient, trip hop, noise, dubstep (and that other … thing … whatever it's called that Skrillex does) … and these are just the tip of the iceberg. See? You can already fill an encyclopedia just with the names and definitions of the musical genres of the last 25 to 30 years, and some of them aren't even old enough to spell alcohol, let alone buy some. And a lot won't get that old, hopefully.
I wonder what the “timeless sound that lasts for ages” of the years 2010-2020 will be, when all the exceeding crap slipped into the abyss of oblivion, got washed away by time until only some mainstream smash hits and the occasional underground cult hits remain. Except maybe for dubstep, or what passes for dubstep in public, I can't really think of any other wannabe ground breaking, pseudo paradigm shifting recent “evolution” of music. Everything seems to be just an alternate version of what's been done before, plus the optional dubstep. (I just keep calling it dubstep, though it's possibly wrong. But it's easier that way, because you know what I mean, regardless if it's wrong or not.)
When I'm at my brother's, we sit in his garage most of the time, because it's the only place where I can smoke without having to leave the house. He's got a radio there which is set on Austria's second most awful radio station, Kronehit Radio. I don't know if I'm just getting older or if radio stations, the music they play and the people who listen to it are actually getting stupider and more undemanding by the day. Every fucking song sounds exactly the same to me. We sat, talked, time passed, but the music didn't seem to change. It's like they kept playing the same song for hours. Ok, I know that it's kind of a Kronehit specialty to have a playlist which only consists of five different songs, but now they all sound alike. If it wasn't for the news, commercial breaks and some announcements, I wouldn't have been able to tell when one song ended and another one began. Unexciting female voices; equally interchangeable male-like voice...thingies, tripple-squeezed through Autotune beyond recognition to make it somewhat sound as if they could almost sing, while actually sounding like a homophobic robot during what it thinks a prostate exam should feel like; mixed with an unfilthy, childproof mainstream version of generic dubstep light. After just a little over three years or something like that, dubstep's circle of life is apparently soon to be completed, i.e. at it's inevitable end. Pop music picked up on it and lets it slide into a slow and agonizing death by playing it in a loop on the radio for several months. Meaning: Even people without internet access are soon going to have had their fill of it, so it has to get replaced by something else in near future.
Question is: By what?
If history is any indication, then the successor to today's music is already lurking in the shadows waiting for its time to prevail. I'd wish for something more back-to-the-roots style, handcrafted, and not just another computer program which simply adds a little fuzz here and wub wub there with even less effort than its predecessor. Nevertheless (I really like this word ^^), chances are high that it won't survive more than three to five years as well, before another “new sound” claims the throne for itself, gets ripped of by everone, and will get repeated until it's considered torture to have to listen to it - business as usual. (Hasn't it always been like this?) And if what happened to dubstep is any indication, then we will hope and pray for it's time in the spotlight to be over rather sooner than later. Like always.
Meanwhile, rock released an album (true fans will always say it's the best);
did a tour;
got addicted to drugs;
put out another album (critically acclaimed, his international breakthrough);
got married;
survived a couple of heart attacks;
went to rehab;
released yet another album (“He's back with his most sophisticated work so far.”);
got divorced;
went on tour again;
was shortly presumed dead (some say it was an overdose, others claim it was a self inflicted gunshot wound);
fathered a child or two;
quit drug abuse for good;
married again;
got divorced again;
started drinking;
brought out an album once more (which got rejected by fans and critics alike, because he was trying out a new style and they couldn't get used to it);
married again;
got one more child;
went to rehab again;
quit drinking, and is now working on his new and probably most honest album which is going to be some sort of musical autobiography (as it happens, critics and fans can hardly wait to see their hero rise again), while he's trying to get used to his fifth set of teeth and is taking more medication to treat side effects than against his actual problems (that's why there's gonna be only a small national tour).
[not particularly in that order]
Yeah, he may be 70 at heart, yet he's still looks like 27. And he will continue to send out his sons to honor his legacy by doing it all over again to ensure that rock doesn't change, rock doesn't get old or boring, and that rock won't ever die.
It's quite a similar thing with rap music. Like rock, it's already as good as it gets. There isn't really anything left that one could do differently or even better. I think that's why it doesn't bother anyone that it still sounds almost the same as it did twenty years ago. Yes, there are different styles, it got more elaborated over time, and every once in a while it also needs a little kick to get away from the typical “it's all just about macho/gangster lifestyle” cliché and to show that it's as versatile as any other art form. But these kicks don't change the game itself, they simply revive it by stretching the rules a bit.
You can create rock with forty year-old equipment, but it's gonna kick ass, now as well as forty years from now.
Rap: same thing
… although, or maybe because nothing's ever really changed the recipe of how it's done properly.
It's different, not so easy with electronic music, though. It's constantly shifting, transforming, evolving, almost like it hasn't quite found its sound yet, because it's depending on the technical devices and the software that was available at the time the music was created. There's practically no need to focus on a particular sound over a longer period of time, because you know that the next big thing is right around the corner. Today's high-end tech is rendered obsolete by tomorrow, and so is its sound, and if it's just because someone presses a different button which adds more depth to the bass, more wub to the wob, or makes it wobble smoother and at a higher bitrate.
I don't really know why I get so easily fed up with electronic music … no, wait, it's actually just dubstep. I can't hear it anymore. Every fucking track sounds exactly the same. Its dullness could be considered as some type of art for itself. The few tracks that I like make me hate the other ones all the more. WHY WON'T YOU DIE?!
NO! WAIT! Kill Schlager first, then die.
Monday, December 30th, 2013, 2.01am
Have you ever tried to put together a playlist for sex? I mean, intentionally. Like, putting an actual decision behind each and every song whether to let it stay or throw it out.
It's pretty hard once you try and put your mind to it.
Alright, that last sentence sounded like a blowjob.
So, to avoid ambiguity: It's more difficult than it sounds.
Just found that out. Not because I think that I'm gonna have sex soon, and also not because I thought it necessary to make such a playlist. I was just trying to waste some time.
There is a variation of parameters to consider. Assigning the songs to categories is the easiest part.
We have:
- neither romantic nor sexual just-to-fill-the-background-silence noise;
- sad/bitter/sweet “I think I'm gonna start crying” romantic songs, but not sexual at all;
- mood setting romantic and slightly sexual “let's get comfortable” sound;
- equally romantic and sexual “please don't stop” music;
- “you're definitely NOT gettin' away” sexual and slightly romantic tunes;
- and pure, “Romance? Get the fuck outta here, wimp!”, heavy-duty humping soundtrack.
All of which can be divided into multiple subcategories. Especially speed and distinctive mood are key elements by which the songs can be seperated. This is where it gets tricky.
… and where I decided not to put any more thought into it. Because, WHO CARES, damnit?! I don't want to start overthinking sex too. Yes, it's not only about the body, it's a mind game as well. And I like to put a lot of mind to it in order to deliver an overall pleasuring performance to the girls (because, let's be honest, it's anything but difficult for myself to draw some pleasure from it), but most of it is learning by doing. So …
Conclusion: Leaving aside the insufficie … non-existent supply of test subjects (which doesn't allow me to perform any practical experiments on the matter of “appropriate additional audible sexual stimulation that doesn't originate from player 2”), brooding over rather insignificant details that are way off the female body is either way … well, a waste of time. So I guess I got what I wanted.
Who listens to music during sex anyway?
Samstag, 22. Februar 2014, 3:53 Uhr
Kommt mir das nur so vor oder habe ich schon länger nichts witziges und/oder sonst irgendwie erbauliches geschrieben?
Da fällt mir ein, was ich letztens in der Stadt gesehen habe. Kategorie: „Unwissenheit ist ein Segen“.
Da lief ein Typ rum, Arbeiterklasse, mit einer dieser üblichen dünnen Polyester-Herbstjacken, wie sie oft von diversen Firmen verwendet werden. Die kleinere Aufschrift, bezüglich dem Arbeitsbereich seiner Firma, konnte ich aus der Entfernung nicht lesen. War auch zu sehr von diesem riesigen Firmenlogo abgelenkt, das quer über das Rückenteil der Jacke gedruckt war. Und ich meine: RIESIG. Ich hoffe für die Angestellten und Arbeiter, dass die Firma nicht sehr viele internationale Aufträge bearbeitet. Besonders nicht in Ländern, in denen Englisch weit verbreitet ist. Denn wenn man sich mit „FAG“ abkürzt und es auch noch übergroß auf die Arbeitskleidung druckt, ist einem der Spott und das Gewitzel hinter vorgehaltener Hand so gut wie sicher. Äußerst suboptimal. Fällt das sonst keinem auf?
No, we have nothing to do with that. They outsourced the job to the FAGs from Austria.”, dürfte dann nichteinmal negativ aufgefasst werden.
Absolut nichts gegen Homosexuelle, die mit solcher Kleidung vielleicht ihr Coming Out unterstreichen wollen. Als Modelabel für Befürworter der gleichgeschlechtlichen Liebe fände ich es auch keine schlechte Idee. „Fag“ hätte immerhin eine gewisse Aussagekraft (man wüsste, woran man wäre), von der Tätigung eines kraftvollen persönlichen Statements ganz zu schweigen. Alleine schon deswegen stelle ich es mir ästhetischer vor, als beispielsweise dieses unsägliche, nicht enden wollende optische Flächenbombardement von „D&G“-, „BillaBong“- und „Jack Wolfskin“-Aufdrucken, mit dem man unweigerlich konfrontiert wird, sobald man sich in die Nähe von Menschen begibt. (Wer zieht sich sowas freiwillig an, verdammt?! Nur Ed Hardy war schlimmer. Das schreit doch förmlich: „Hallo! Ich leide an Geschmacksverwirrung, Farbenblindheit, einer Identitätskrise aufgrund eines schwachen Egos, und zuviel Geld, das ich bevorzugt für überteuerte, grässlich designte Markenscheiße ausgebe, da mich sonst in meinem sozialen Umfeld niemand ernst nimmt.“ … Naja, andererseits weiß man da dann immerhin auch, woran man ist. Praktischer Nutzen als Erkennungsmerkmal bestimmter Randgruppen, ja. Aber an jeglicher Form einer möglichen Ästhetik einer solchen Aussage zweifle ich stark.) Das wäre alles eine ganz andere Geschichte. Doch im Kontext der Firmenbekleidung für einen „ganz normalen“ Handwerks- bzw. Dienstleistungsbetrieb wirkt's eher unfreiwillig komisch.
“Break's over. Back to work, FAG.”

Keine Kommentare:

Kommentar veröffentlichen

Irgendwelche Gedanken, Meinungen, Wünsche, Anregungen?
Any Thoughts, opinions, wishes, suggestions?