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Masturbating in rainbowing dreams.
A young asian and handsome rainbow.
Cleaning myself.
Sugar. I need sugar.
And one more White Russian.
Lying stretched like a rotten slice of life.
A walk on the balcony.
And one last hot rasping shot.
Rain-pierced wakefulness.
Forgotten present.
I fucking love that!
Instead of…
I could fuck him now.
I could drink with friends or never-lasting friends.
I could have a pleasant conversation.
I could have an enlightening conversation.
Or I could just read a book.
And I could spend time more useful than meaningless.
Time, this dirty piece of a rag.
Surviving itself in itself. That must smell.
Perceptions are nothing, not more worth than a mind, neither a change nor a stay.
I could meet friends. Talk about Cambodia, the corruption, the sadness, the traumas, Siem Reap and it´s folks, embracing the gossip, which is a warm and cunning current – but watch the waterfalls. Wandering drunken from bar to bar, cooling my forehead on dim tiles, fucking the next day my sweet eve´s fortune.
It is not important what you do, but how you do it.
It is important why you do it, not how.
It is important, that it is important what you do, how you do it and why you never want to do it again.
Forgotten present.
Perceptions are nothing, not more worth than a mind.
Yesterday I saved a boy´s tear at the orphanage. He hit his toe badly, cut on the top, below the nail, which stamped back into the flesh. A blood-framed and painful hit. The little brave boy was squeezing the toe with his hand sobbing in his dirty shirt. I took a ride to the next pharmacy – if you know where a school is, pharmacy is not far from, and to a shop, to buy him a coke as a reward for his bravery. Cleaned the wound and bandaging thick his toe so he maybe jumps not in the first mud hole. After the big incident, the boy was attending the lesson, hyperactive, not because of the coke, he will enjoy this one later, secret, or share it with his siblings. Or sell it. What the – I don´t have an idea. He was hyperactive and I was in the mood to step on the white clump he had on his right foot. – No I didn´t. I mean I was not in the mood to. Good boy. Brave boy. Banja, the youngest one at Happy Sunshine, showed me a scar on his foot, which I suppose is caused by long baths in muddy holes. And I am sure he cried, but survived bravely, like only kids do. And me, instead of jumping in the mud hole, I try to imagine that I sink. That the mud is gobbling me. I lost the ability to play, to sense life as a game. If you play, you choose, you decide, you experience, you try, you loose, you win, you fight, desperate, confident, loosing, in fury, by heart – or the Meaning Machine, to play again, to receive the return of the eternal defeat. The game was never about winning, was it? Who wins?
As an alien nation, if I would have to conquer the earth, I would create in my super-special creation machine a bunch of hot girls, as men want them to be, and set them on the power of this world: man. Maybe it has already happened and we will have lost anyway.

I am writing about the ignorance of people, in an act of being ignorant. Today I greeted and chatted with three handicaped book-sellers. They all asking for money, silently, if you know each other. I chatted with a girl, telling me her life story, that she is selling books to tourists to afford school and clothing, presenting me her dress, which was donated by tourists, asking me, if I don´t wanna buy a book, I could buy her new sport shoes, she has a pair already, but when it´s wet, she would have change. It´s hard to say what parts of the stories a true or a script. Slaved whispers, serving a cruel master´s mind, hiding dingy in the close background. Or they just survive and telling the truth. Finally it matters that they are forced to work under this conditions. Even though it is for them a possiblity, unfortunately not often enough to break the vicious circle of poverty. So why I don´t write about them. Instead, heavy brain-diarrhoea. Capturing minds can be rough if the world is spinning like a whore´s nipples, whipping your temples, left and right, in turn, coloured abscence of perception. Your mind is asking you again and again, why it has to think this way. But for what is DOING useful, if you are not aware of the consequences? At least a try? Die tryin´? Die failing. Everything has to be useful. We are able, trained and allowed to question, to claim everything. We can create everything. Without consequences. In our mind. We carry this as a burden, long way down to the holy earth. We adore it, our dream, our hope, our soul and spirit, we need it, it´s mother´s milk! We share our milk, we love our milk, we fuck our milk, this beautiful holy blasting milk. We all live in this milky world. Never forget that.
Thank you for your attention.