It's not supposed to hurt. Part 7: When your sexy working colleague starts being honest

 Good afternoon everybody,

it's the 30th of May 2024 and my friends and family spend the Christian holiday of Corpus Christi doing things without me...

The last couple of months I didn't have that kinda situation cuz I've been around great people almost every week throughout the week. Today I come to be reminiscent of the last 15 years where every day off, whether it was a weekend or a holiday, I had to stay alone and then quite frequently had to endure loneliness. But I'll come back to that shit later in the story. Let's do the fun part first...

 

Chapters in this series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

When your sexy working colleague starts being honest

The story I'm about to tell you happened a long time ago. I used to work in an air-conditioned cozy office that I could reach from my flat in a twenty-minutes train ride. I came in late once in two years working there. Stress was an issue but not the reason why I had to leave that office. In fact, there were a few reasons why I liked that club much, but first and foremost the girls were the reason why I would enjoy the work in the first place.

When I started the job, my bosses put me in a large office with about ten girls, each of them hot in their own way. Unfortunately, since I couldn't hide the desperate expression on my face that tells everyone that I'm single, each of the girls started talking about their lovers and boyfriends the moment they thought I wanted to date them. But just to put that in perspective, every girl does that to me. I don't have to ask them about private stuff. Asking them for a cigarette might be cue enough for an unnecessary, boring boyfriend story. I probably wear that warning expression on my face all the time. So I tried everything in my power in order not to appear lost and horny. I even once quickly jerked off in the men's toilet and then ran down to the open-air smoking area for a conversation with a lady I haven't talked to yet: "Hello, my name is Michael. We haven't met yet."--immediate boyfriend story; they always know it. I should have asked each and everyone of them if they thought that having sex with their boyfriends might be as great as having sex with me. But I had neither that idea nor the balls to do that at the time. Now, many years later, that I'm finally good with rejection of all sorts I'm contemplating to one day give that nasty response a try; the outcome can't be worse than a slap in the face.

Anyway, in my department, which never counted more than four employees in sum, workers would come and go. I mean, three of us would stay all the time and the fourth girl or guy to first fill the empty fourth seat would leave the office for whatever reason within a couple of weeks. The jobs we did in the office were not everyone's business. Lots of kind guys tried but eventually gave in. And so one day a chubby girl from the balkan came in and took the seat next to me. I don't remember much from the first encounter since I was busy typewriting, covered in work. A few hours later when she left to pee for the first time, my colleague on the opposite side of the table provocatively asked: "You like her, do you?", and I thought, "Good question. I should have a look at her when she comes back." A few minutes later she came back into the office and I took my time to let the perv in me do the observation: She had long dark brown hair and a round chubby but perfect face that she combined with an astonishing subtle smile. Her boobs weren't tremendous but I could imagine hiding my face in there since they appeared soft and luscious. I couldn't look at her ass yet since she didn't walk in backwards. But since the proportions of her body made clear that she liked cake and chocolate I came to the conclusion that she's quite a sexy elephant. Later that day I glimpsed at her round ass to get the whole picture and realized that many men would kill just to have sex with that woman. Optically, she was one of a kind and in her way good-looking.

Unfortunately, she obviously got hurt when she fell from the sky; and I had to find that out the hard way. In our first week together the four of us office workers had plenty of time for some chit chat and it felt as if we were a good team. Even in shady moments, a cigarette break and a cup of coffee once in a while would break the ice in case we got frustrated by doing our monotonous office work. So, everything appeared to be fine and I would sooner or later get the chance to find out more about our new girl if I just gave it some time. I found out that she loves to keep her life simple, that she's a wine drinker, that she's contemplating an IVF, that she doesn't want to marry again; lots of personal stuff that first made me think that she's accessible in private. But then I stepped on a minefield...

One morning, I came in a few minutes later than usually but still in time, not noticing anything special. I was the last to enter the office. I went to my table, switched on the computer and sat down, helloing everyone. The computer warmed up and I looked around me, then kinda shocked asked the new girl: "Oh dear, you look horrible. Are you sick?" And she quickly responded: "No, I'm fine. I overslept and therefore don't wear make-up". My colleague on the opposite of the table couldn't help but laughing, adding to his roar "Michael, now you're full of shit. You know nothing about women!" and the girl might have come to the same conclusion. Cuz the next couple of weeks, she would permanently preach what she thought I got wrong about life. During her calm moments, she would softly explain to me "You're nice. That's a quality. But women don't look for nice guys; they want assholes as lovers". In an open conversation, for instance, when I mentioned heartaches during my vacations, she would emphasize on her asshole theory. And when I couldn't leave my depressions at home, therefore keeping a sad face and being calm, she would explain: "You're horrible to look at. With that sad expression on your face, you're pulling everyone around you down. That's why no one is fucking you!"...

My depressive phase that I had at the time might really have pulled her down. She really couldn't handle such days of mine and it might be one of the reasons why she eventually quit the comfy office job. She definitely had problems sitting next to me every work day of the week, not seeing what she wanted. But just to address the elephant in the room, that was her being insensitive and her being closed towards me.

However, when she let it all out before she tromped out of the office for the last time, she took one shot that slightly got me. I don't remember in what context she said it and what kinda story I told her. I only got the gist. It was something like this: "Your problem with women is that you show weakness. You show that you're needy. You show that you make your happiness depend on whether you're with a woman or not. And you want to be saved. No woman wants that."... and these words, I assume, are always true when my mind fucks me from behind*. Cuz everything I've told you so far about my approach when dealing with lonetime might make you think that this is not something that tortures my soul. But it sometimes does and I'm alone more often than any other person I can think of. Loneliness makes me suffer sometimes. On the other hand, solitude is something I need and I have my ways to turn loneliness into solitude creatively. But more and more I can't get rid of the need to find my soulmate; a person that makes me feel complete, balanced, understood and loved, not only fucked (in case you got that wrong by emphasizing on my my perv content).

I will continue pondering about that needy mindset of mine and that's why I'm kinda thankful for that girls open thoughts. But everything else she said, she could have kept for herself. Cuz first, there's no point in telling a man what he may have to change about himself if the reward for that change isn't being saved by particularly that woman who demands that change; cuz we're all different and need different things to mitigate hardship in life. And second, better lose while being yourself cuz you can't win while being someone else. Just so much.

I told you in the instruction of that post that I'm suffering loneliness these days. But I'm also telling you that this suffering won't kill me. Otherwise I would have been dead already. It's a void and it hurts and it's a pain I don't get used to. But when I'm with a girl I'm in love with... that pain is gone. That is nothing individual about me. Everyone gets that. And the only thing that distinguishes me from most of the other guys is that they found a girl who saved them.

Okay, it's not getting any better today. While I wrote that shit I just ruined my best option for a happy ending. Have to start from scratch...

I'll call it a day and lick my wounds
Be kind 🐘
Hopefully see you soon

Kulla 👹🐺

* Borrowed plumes in this writing:

Daniel Wirtz - Weil ich so bin 

 

Click here for Part 8:
The love I had to give up

My so far fruitless endeavors trying to convert the ravers into metalheads

Allright. Let's see where we're standing. We have the 15th of May, five o'clock in the morning and I got up earlier to get some stuff done. As promised, no serious content this time--provided you scroll down to the main story. Cuz as usual I'll start the writing with a brief diary entry in which I blab about things that momentarily bug me, so I get them off my chest; it simply helps me to focus on the ideas of the main writing once it's out. So, let's do that quickly...

As I've mentioned in past posts, I let go of all drugs and I'm more or less free from my addictions. But that's not entirely true. Alcohol, nicotine and anal porn are still on my shopping list, so I'd lie to myself if I alleged that I'm totally free at the moment.

Now, alcohol is not an issue for me personally. Actually, most alcoholic drinks I hate. There are only a few drinks that I swallow once in a blue moon: tasteful Scotch whisky or Irish whiskey and a few bottles of beer when I meet with friends. I'd recommend those drinks to anyone and I pray to the universe that Allah may soon release a sequel to the Quran including that recommendation so that even devout, sweet-tempered, good-natured muslims out there no longer feel blasphemous when having a delicious Austrian beer. I hate getting drunk, I hate hangovers, and seeing how real alcoholics crawl through their private hells is warning enough for me to never have too much booze. In a nutshell, alcohol is not my problem.

I also don't consider my porn addiction a problem. In fact, I'm quite grateful that, despite of all my unhealthy life choices the last couple of years, I'm randy all day; and going vegan again will keep everything happy down there, I assume. What's more, at the moment I can't afford any services of our local sexworkers and no one else is fucking me. So, why shouldn't I watch messy movies at night when my favorite toy down there wants to vomit all day. There is just one thing I changed about that habit of mine since I saw the movie Pleasure --a  Cannes-awarded Swedish movie about the contemporary porn industry in the US, pictured from a feminist angle. The movie tells a story about a cute, blonde, skinny Swedish girl that wants to be a porn star in the US. A few decent and famous male characters from the real contemporary porn industry serve as actors and play their sexist counterparts in a movie that portrays an industry that in sum--up to this day--is sexist, violent, racist and inhumane; definitely worth the watch. However, having seen that movie, I decided to pick only such movies where the girls aren't portrayed in a condescending way and obviously enjoy every part of the rite. For instance, I canceled deepthroats from my watchlist cuz I can't imagine that she would truly like that stuff, even if she smiles happily after spitting out cum. Anyway, porn is not my problem either.

My real problem that I can't get rid of so far is nicotine. The moment I write down these lines I'm smoking and the three packages a day I mentioned in an earlier post are now at least four packages daily. I sit here and do all kind of office stuff, writing, designing and reading, but while I'm doing that I permanently burn the fags down to the filter. I usually leave the house every third hour to buy a new pack of Chesterfield at the gas station on the opposite of the street and then continue feeding the little demons in my head*. I know that it would take me ridiculous three weeks of not smoking until these little bastards would eventually lack the energy to constantly yell for the drug, but at the moment that knowledge doesn't help; no ever so well-thought-out mindset can currently keep me from being stupid--and everyone everywhere who is currently smoking cigarettes is just that--stupid; no exception. Cuz face it: you hear it from others, you read it everywhere and you constantly experience it yourself... that smoking cigarettes is useless and unhealthy; and that nicotine is the most addictive drug of all.

Okay, before I'll start with the main story, I'll preach [to you and myself] a few lines from a book that helped me quit smoking for 12 years in the past (I put a link below). Maybe that'll help. Scroll down to the main story if you're non-smoker; you know all that.

1. It costs you the dear--and the profit of these permanently rising direct taxes you pay when you buy that pack of cancer... those profits are very likely to be distributed to the governments and industries that brought that shit in the first place.
2. It doesn't even taste good. In fact, it doesn't taste at all: The taste buds in our tongue makes us perceive five different tastes: sweet, salty, bitter, sour and umami. None of these describe the taste of a cigarette puff. You wouldn't be able to write a wine review about your favorite cigarette label since there's no taste. What your tongue perceives is merely disgust. Observe it yourself the next time you smoke if you think I'm bullshitting you. You're best smoking that one in front of the mirror just to let you know what your face looks like when you "enjoy the taste". Spoiler alert: You'll look as if you just ate shit.
3. You won't get high. You may live as foolish as I do, meaning you're stupid enough to try every drug at least once in order to make up your own mind about what it's like. My big exception in that view is heroin. I've read, seen and heard enough to be fully convinced that once you try heroin, your life is over, you'll live a few more years for the drug and you'll soon end your then miserable life when you finally find a dealer who sells you the overdose. The reality about heroin is that harsh. It is that addictive, that dangerous, that hopeless; and whenever I see someone preparing a needle not far from me, I turn around, run as fast as I can until my feet bleed, just to make sure that this drug won't get me too. Anyway, the reason why people sometimes even take heroin voluntarily is cuz of an amazing high that makes you feel like you're in heaven; and that's what even heroin has in common with all the other drugs, nicotine beeing the great exception: In the beginning, it is useful cuz it helps you escape the harsh reality you can't handle at the time since it brings you an incomparable high, a temporary feeling of ecstasy, light-weight and joy that you won't feel without taking drugs. But I'm being licentious now. My point is, if you smoke a cigarette, you don't even have that. You have only the addiction. You only raise those little demons in your head that loudly yell "Gimme more" into your ear. Let them starve and they'll calm down.
4. You smell and taste disgusting all the time. One cigarette is enough to smell like ashtray. You yourself will never notice it, friends who don't smoke might tolerate it, and maybe a few honest dudes may mention it politely once in a while. But minutes after you light up your first cigarette in the morning after your morning shower, you'll smell worse than a homeless dude who didn't have a shower for weeks. What is more, your non-smoking girlfriend/boyfriend doesn't enjoy French kisses as much as you do since she has to lick up the entire ashtray every tim his/her tongue touches yours.
5. The sooner you quit, the higher the chances you won't die from it. Everything you just read in the last two paragraphs I got from a guy who spent his lifetime on convincing people that quitting nicotine is easy and only takes three weeks. When I read his book I stopped smoking for seven years, then smoked another three months; and remembering his well-thought-out mindset helped me stop smoking for another twelve years. Today, I'm counting about three years since I started smoking again; and every time, after years without cigarettes, I fall for the drug and smoke much more than I smoked before. The writer I told you about--formerly a heavy smoker--preached his ideas for about thirty years without consuming any cigarette. A few years ago--passive smoking among smokers might not have done him a favor--he died on lung cancer...

Okay, I think I'm done. Let's get to the funny part. Hope you enjoy.

My so far desperate endeavors
trying to convert the ravers into metalheads

Those of you who know me personally may have noticed that I cherish solitude and barely leave the house. (That's a bit paradoxical, by the way: On the one hand loneliness makes me suffer; on the other hand I need plenty of time for myself, Anyway...) I pretty much spent a coma at home the last decade, probably due to my mental disease that I've written about fairly little so far. That's cuz--as I've told you--I'll teach madness gently. Just so much for a start, I need a safe haven I can escape to when paranoid episodes are on the rise. However, lately my mental health improved considerably and I continued hanging out in the city with my best friends again. Years have gone by since I enjoyed life in the real world out there; and when I eventually crawled out of my cave, not dissolving into dust when sunlight touched my skin, I realized that METAL IS DEAD.

Fortunately, I kept and defiled a few cadavers in my cave (--you know them as YouTube-Videos) while it happened and I'm about to dig out some holes and put up some tombstones so that you as a compassionate friend can help me mourn adequately. Luckily, my cave has always been a tiny, cozy temple for metal culture and as it turns out, it is now what the Vatican is for the Roman Catholic Church; and when I tell you stories from the HeavyMetal fairyland, I'm usually telling you about what is left of a once worldwide empire.

Many things in this cave may arouse you. For instance, as a matter of fact, I do have little fairies in there. I smuggled a handful of them from Ireland and keep them in little cages cuz they usually bite cock-blocking visitors when I let them fly around. They feast on Death Metal blast-beats and bark, scream and moan to choruses of my At The Gates lullabies at night, when I turn off the light. Strange thing about fairies, they die if the don't have that proper diet and meditation setting. If you wonder why there are only few fairies left and people even come to this naive conclusion that they don't exist – that's why: Because people stopped nourishing them. In Styria, Austria's largest federal state, we already knew about the ongoing fairy extinction back in the day and we had the necessary resources to produce Metal within the region. In order to keep stocks high we produced on a regular basis and to keep breeding fairy mother's healthy, we invested in quality over quantity. But cock-blockers and tit-hiders from the conservative political spectrum did everything to wipe out the fairy population. And the few concerts were metalheads catered for fairy satisfaction were regularly corrupted by those envy people. They found out that by only turning down the volume of a Metal live performance fairies don't feel the groove they emotionally need in order to bang their heads ecstatically; and they found out that every time you turn off a Metal song a fairy dies. Cruel bastards.

Today fairy research is scientifically neglected and what people think to know about fairies nowadays may stem from foul stories people tell about them. I realized that when I visited my first Drum and Base concert about a year ago in a former post office garage. (Spoiler alert: there were no drums.) When I asked for the ticket prices they said "15 bucks each". I was a bit suspicious then, because at a time when I myself catered for the environment, we would charge about 5 bucks per visitor. So I asked the cutie at the box office what kind of music they usually play in this garage. She said "We play absolutely everything, except Metal." Perplexed by her answer I got goose bumps and started shivering. I might have been about to enter an institution that in their very nature was cock-blocking, tit-hiding or even speciecist. Whether my assumption was right or too far-fetched I had to figure out personally. So I decided to spy on the local industry to find out more about rave culture. To give you an idea, I'll first compare Metal with Rave.

We already found out that the ravers don't have drums, so they can't produce blast-beats. But, by the way, metalheads don't necessarily need or like blast-beats either. It's an element that we usually have in uncompromising Death-Metal and Black-Metal, not so much in Metalcore, T[h]rash Metal, hardly ever in Power Metal, True Metal and New Metal, and never in Progressive Metal, Gothic Metal, Techno Metal, Hardrock or Scandinavian Schlager. By the way, you can light a candle upon a single tombstone by clicking one of the links. If you listen, for instance, to an entire Black Metal song from the beginning to the end, ancient evil, mostly satanic creatures from the past may be unleashed but you may also attract starving fairies in the neighborhood.

Anyway, ravers, unlike metalheads don't sing. There are usually a few motivation coaches on stage who pretend to be rappers, but the music usually comes from two instruments: the mixer and the turntables. Whereas you sometimes have entire orchestras to perform live in Metal, in rave music, Techno and DnB only a few guys put all sophistication into these two (or a combination of both in one device) and maybe a personal computer.

WORK IN PROGRESS

  

* Borrowed plumes in this writing:

Allen Carr'S Easy Way to Stop Smoking

Endlich Nichtraucher – Allen Carr

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Temporary post: New stuff rising. DJ workshop in Graz CANCELED

 

Hi guys,

once more I'll use a temporary post for stories that are more relevant to the present. I just wanted you to know that I finished this blog's first main chapter "It's not supposed to hurt" with the concluding eighth post "The love I had to give up". It's not my best post but a necessary one I had to write for myself. Anyway, I am about to rearrange the entire written chapter for a brief audiobook version that might fully differ from what you can read in this blog. In the listenable version I'll count on other content and design elements to make ideas perceivable. If you're interested in reading the mentioned chapter, make sure to check out the English-speaking hyperlink below. And if you wanna get an idea of what my audio stuff will be and sound like, stick around. I'll put a link to the teaser I'm about to record in the first post of my upcoming series "The bullshit in our skulls", once it's done.

Final post of season 1:

It's not supposed to hurt. Part 8: The love I had to give up

For those of you living in Austria, feel free to read my latest post of my German blog:

Zur Nationalratswahl 2024

 

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Werbung für euch in Wien und Graz

Upcoming DJ workshops in Graz and Vienna cancelled

Zuletzt hab ich euch über meine temporäre Werbung von einen kleinen Verein erzählt, der sich zum Ziel macht, leistbare Kunst und Kultur u.a. für marginalisierte Gruppen unserer Gesellschaft zu schaffen. Der Verein bekam für ein paar kleinere Projekte Förderungen der Stadt Graz zugesagt, wie etwa für einen DJ Workshop in Graz, der für diesen Herbst angedacht war. Laut meinem Ansprechpartner hat der Verein derzeit mit gravierenden rechtlichen Problemen aufgrund vergangener Ereignisse zu kämpfen. Die Projekte für die ich mich gern stark gemacht hätte – wie eben dieser DJ Workshop – sind daher leider auf Eis gelegt. Mir tut es leid, diesbezüglich keine positiven Nachrichten zu haben.

Yours,

Michi Kulla 🐢

Upcoming posts:

The bullshit in our skulls. Part 1: Two prayers in advance 

In the first "season" of this blog I started telling you about my ongoing journey with heterosexual women, finally concluding that the few women I couldn't get out of my head won't define what I'll think about women in the future. In this second chapter, season or whatever, I'll talk religion and other collectivisms that kept me from being happy and self-determined. I'll start with a belief-independent prayer that you can even preach and pray together before performing a Satanic orgy...

The bullshit in our skulls. Part _: Kisses are more precious than sex

A brief story about a nice but tortured soul who reminded me of the little gifts that mitigate the pain and spend love for the moment. Definitely a sad story, but also including hope.

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