Minds of an old habit. One of my strongest feelings. Sex is nothing in comparison, even drugs is only a pimp, but can´t catch my heart. It is an attack. A spiritual mastership, crushing straight into the operational headquarter, impacts my sanity and lust. I DON`T WANNA LIVE WITHOUT BEING CALLED TO BE SOMETHING! The choosen one. The nailed one. The burned one. The flattering ashes igniting eternity. The one who´s name isn´t important, nore what he did, more what he felt like. Like there must be something else instead of this, this, treating, dealing boredom and meaninglessness. I remember, riding my habit, with a cross up my ass, I always call myself ignostic. Can I? Still? Or do I hide behind, far beyond a cruel blindess reigning terror and blessing peace. A moral constitution, theological and in theory nothing more than a shiftlessness to accept human nature, being a mistake, a bug, a system and the bug, a system in a bug. I don´t wanna be, like a this. Like something, which can´t be that. Live with people can´t be, this or that. Look around. All that streets, buildings, forms and structures, colors and lines, settings and frames. The sky, blue, grey, white or dark, pierced with lights from an idea, which relates on the ground we stand, sleep, eat and pee. No, I am not hungry for a fall-back, I don´t wanna live in a bamboo hut or be a scrotum eating nerd in a modern stone aged apocalypse. I wanna mean something, not only talk, write or shit between screens, into the offcut. Keep me functional for. Eating. Drinking. Don´t forget to enjoy this. And that, never enjoyed something that much. The taste of fading. Relabeled. Renewed. Redone. A taste of Re-ism. I wanna solve. “What you wanna solve?” asks satisfaction. As if there is just only faith left. Find a solution. How it feels like. How feeling feels, in a mindless way. How I think a feeling. I wanna stand on the top of the world and don´t feel the desire to look down, nor up. Dazed by a vision never existed. Gazing ahead. An ahead with no horizon. Distracted from the error. Fooling. And to know, this is it. I can´t do even more. This is it, not the end or the fucking beginning. Who cares. This is it! I am, I know. And I know this is the error, the error itself is wrong, always was and never will be again, because I know now – and this is the end. – Peng. Do you wanna live like everyone? No one does. This is why the world keeps on crawling, in its tailored fetishism, face down in the muddy abysmal impaired consciousness. Turn. Again and again. Re and re again. Keep the shit on turning. Feeling so intellectual writing bullshit on the endless paper of obscurity. Today all this will preserved, saved and stored by a raven digital jaw. Generations after the possibility is quite high someone will read this lines. Generations before, paper had to be protected from rotting, vanishing into the atomsphere. So sitting here, drinking coffee, listening to music surfing on the rattling washing machine. Multicannonaded. Sweating alien slippers. Waiting. Unhorsed. Kicked the habit. Again. Re-kicked. Washing program is finished.
I am bored like a Jesus.
No, I don´t wanna do something useful, like helping poor kids, starving, dying from the world. Or other victims of society, Jesus or Buddha or toher sodomites and enriching with dynamite suckers, taking advantage of a repeating stultification. I WANNA CHANGE. What a stupid habit.
You know what? Just love yourself. Love is all that matters. Without love there would be no hate. Yin Yang shit. So love each other and hate yourself now and then, for being such a mattress. You holy mattress. I love to watch this, feeding my anger, how dare fucking blind this red-eyed horse stamps down the cadavers of narcissism. I love myself for being such a dick.
Hell! I am bored.
– I wanna fuck. Myself is boring.
