Preview to a scientific chapter: Specisism in the King James Bible

 Hey guys,

so far all my readers realized that I paused my publishing posts, and you might have gotten an invitation on Social Media to read new and eventually completed writings. I had to do work on promotion material and company software for my profession as a translator and community interpreter that consumed most of my time recently. That's an ongoing work that I mustn't neglect; I nevertheless will get back to blogging and continue publishing posts of chapter 2 the months to come. The chapter on LaVey Satanism needs finishing, but I'll put forward the chapter about Bible ideology and currently run the numbers of biblical reception of animals, which is quite a challenge, since--according to the resources at hand--there are in sum 2258 notes about animals in the entire God fantasy story. Running with up-to-date AI models is far from being reliable for the factual analysis that I have in mind, so I'll have to read and evaluate all 2258 verses relevant to my research, with the Leviticus, for instance, counting 168 verses mentioning animals. Present day AI Open Source models are fully unreliable instruments for this endeavor of mine, but fortunately, scientific work can be performed much quicker than creative writing, provided you schedule that work religiously; so, work will be done soon. Once I'm ready, got the result, and made my conclusions, you'll find the link to the scientific paper in here, at the HeavyMetal Fairyland. 
 

So stick around and hopefully see you soon.
Yours,

🐢 Mike 🐌

A brief comment on the school shooting in Graz

Dear friends,
Dear families,
and all the affected workers who now have a shitload of fairly sensitive work ahead,

I am the wrong person to help most of the people who are suddenly overwhelmed with what happened yesterday in Graz, Eggenberg--since my approach on handling "fresh" death isn't quite usual or accepted. However, I care for the living and I hope each and everyone of you finds a way to carefully comfort the bereaved and to help the officials do their works the weeks to come. By the way, only help the officials if they ask for it. I assume, everyone is trying to "do" her, its or his part--but we probably can't, as much as we certainly would love to.

I hope none of you guys gets as euphoric about the shooting as mainstream media does.
Watch the news once in a while to see how things unfold, but don't get too involved, so it won't drag you down.

I think, now that shit happens, there are two issues we should focus on:

1. Develop an awareness that the list of bereaved citizens is huge and needs financial support from the government. There are families, school colleagues, frightened teachers, friends from other places,.... far too many people who now can't make sense of the world for quite some time and who need stability within their communities.
2. Let's discuss gun control in a country without a constitutional amendment that promotes owning a gun as a private person. Maybe we as Austrians get things done that Americans hardly ever will.

 

 

As a scholar of English-speaking cultures I am familiar with school shootings in America, how they occur and what kinda measurements are discussed nowadays. I'll maybe add a post to my German-speaking blog Probleme unserer Welt.. to give you an idea what we're currently dealing with; maybe. But guys, most of you I'd love to tell: Just breathe in and be thankful that you're not affected. For all of us life will go on and we have each other.

Peace
🐍Michael🐌 

 

By the way, compassionate words do not have to be mine. Listen to the following instead:

 

  

 

The bullshit in our skulls: Part 2 - Hail Satan,.. for a start

Hey guys,

I woke up before midnight the other day, kept lying in bed for some time. About two hours later I got up and thought about the plan I had that made me start working on "Struggling with time...". That one I assume won't be finished in the time scheduled cuz I'm quite clueless these days. Even when I go out to run my own errands, the light is on and nobody's home. "Struggling with time..." will transfigure completely until I deem it done.

Since I don't get much or no feedback at all about my writings, I always have to pause, let thoughts settle and maybe even months later continue what I started. I'd actually like to finish each and every post that got a "Work in progress" icon; but work without decent feedback pretty much sucks after a few paragraphs. Very often I start certain works and after a few hours feel mentally paralyzed. Then I procrastinate a lot until I find my way back on track. The "Struggling with time..."-post is supposed, first, to structure my mind for the months to come and, second, to create something everyone else but me can laugh about once it's finished. But that's a different kettle of fish.

The post you're about to read briefly outlines to what extend Howard LaVeys "The Satanic Bible" is speciecist material. It's Sunday, the 18th of May, about two hours before midnight and I feel confident to publish the first paragraphs. But before you call the officials, be assured; this post is quite harmless. So don't feel frightened or shocked by the title. Just take your time and read it carefully without expecting shiver, tirades filled with hate or illicit Satanic propaganda, and the like. No, nothing of that sort; it's still a blog for lazy readers and I'll keep everything simple and understandable for whoever actually reads me. So, enjoy and be informed.

 

Hail Satan,..
for a start

When we find orientation and safety in a belief system, our own religions are always the right one; yes. But they are also always the good ones opposed to at least one other bad one. Most people in my environment – in case they have a religion – are Christians. That usually means God is all good and Heaven is the perfect place to dwell in for eternity. Then Satan is all evil and Hell for eternity is what you'd have to fight against throughout lifetime in order to not get there in the end. When you read LaVeys "The Satanic Bible" you wouldn't come to conclude that Satan was evil; and LaVey also mentions that the word "evil" is used to manipulate and control others (which, in my opinion, is absolutely correct. We always should keep in mind every time we think we have the right to judge). If you understand certain aspects of LaVey's ideology, you'd feel invited to become a Satanist in the LaVey-ian sense. The reading, however, doesn't fully promote the belief in something evil but in mankind as one species among all the others in the world we're living in (unlike the Torah/Pentateuch, which--per definition--is speciecist propaganda).

In his writing LaVey is having a struggle with Christianity, the Catholic Church being the questionable counter institution of his own church. That's why I'm with him in many ways, at least when it comes to animal rights, even if  his fundamental ideology has other flaws that make it outdated in our contemporary Western world. I'll put the scope of this post on animal rights and, that way, leave the rest of the reading to yourself, so that my opinion about it isn't that thought-consuming.

Like the Jewish community and the Christian bastards have ethical sentences such as the ten commandments, LaVey Satanism is based on the Eleven Rules of the Earth and The Nine Satanic Statements that shall provide orientation within the belief system. I'll go step by step and outline those ethical sentences of the Satanic Bible that put animal life in the equation and/or are relevant sentences for the work of animal rights activists. So, I'll stop being unnecessarily wordy and keep my comments in italic letters. The post is pretty much designed like a written version of those YouTube reaction videos in which HipHop afficcionados comment on songs of genres they've never listened to before. Seems to be the best option to keep an overview. So, enough introduction--let's go:

 

The Eleven Rules of the Earth
in the eye of the animal rights activist

 1. Do not give opinions or advice unless you are asked.

If you've ever been engaged in animal rights activism you've already found out that you make not the slightest step forward for the animals when you're not eager to fight [in the metaphorical way, of course] and step on some speciecists feet. You sometimes have to be pushy and you lose all of your battles most of the time if you don't start them yourself; cuz speciecists tend to throw around self-indulgent allegations and utterances that promote ignorance when they talk themselves into believing that they were right. For instance, they tell you why they "think" it's okay to regularly consume meat or dairy.
So, #1 of the rules is not quite helpful and feels pretty much as if your priest simply tells you to shut the fuck up. So, my advice no one ever asked for is that you should make sure your voice gets heard; and for that you definitely need the right setting and the right medial representation. That, by the way, is the only reason why I'm presently pausing my being an animal rights activist on the streets; it can be quite exhausting. In the past year, I permanently saw long-time animal activists being sad and maybe even frustrated when they feel they're not making a difference....

2. Do not tell your troubles to others unless you are sure they want to hear them.

That's right. I had the experience that you're better off finding good friends for such occasions and not shrinks you have to pay for. The same sort of people--yes, friends--are necessary for animal rights activism; don't pay too much people to help you achieve your goals. Find idealists who can actually give something of their precious time. Not everyone is always having much resources to support your case, even if they wanted. Search less for money, ask for more time, if you want success as an activist. You're not asking for my opinion? Well, bad luck, I'll tell you anyway; you won't get that fixed. #1 is still dog poop :D

5. Do not make sexual advances unless you are given the mating signal.

Yeah, fair point. Guys, if you want to fuck your animal like so-called dog moms might do, be assured that what you think are signals--are definitely signals. As animal rights activist we always encounter the problem that animals can't talk and it needs experts who did proper research on animal behavior to not get things wrong. I personally only popped my parrot once cuz he repeatedly said "I wanna do you so bad, you little fucker". After our intercourse he went back to the cookie sentence and never asked for sex again. That made me think.

8. Do not kill non-human animals unless you are attacked or for food.

Well,.. If you haven't read The Satanic Bible you wouldn't fully grasp that LaVey Satanism would be the ideal religion if each and everyone of us would live in cages or lairs, as LaVey usually calls his residence. Since I'm back on track with my vegan lifestyle I myself count on bringing back certain elements of the Stone Age--when it was on its peak thousands of years ago. But rule #8 is fully outdated when we take into account that we're living in a completely transfigured world where most people never meet threatening animals--not even in our woods. Of course your best beating the shit out of an attacking kangaroo when you roam around in the AUstralian bushes; and of course, it's you and not the animal whom you'd want to survive in a winter with only few resources of food. But hey, on the other hand, the LaVey Satanist tells us that we have to respect life and that we should be true and honest at least to ourselves. Now, take into account that everyone actually knows how animals are treated before they get slaughtered. Take into account that we surely know that in sum their lives aren't necessarily treated with respect or dignity in the world we're living in today. Take into account that in the Western world we do not live in the bushes where we would have to hunt in order to survive. So it can only be a sign of ignorance, hypocrisy and falsehood combined if we trade the hitman's business to our butchers and in the end buy our meat in the supermarket. (You get that one:) Then the informed contemporary Satanist [--if she ever respected life the way LaVey wants us to,... if she was ever true and honest to herself,... Then the sophisticated modern Satanist--] is vegan.

11. When walking in open territory, bother no one. If someone bothers you, ask him to stop. If he does not stop, destroy him.

Yeah, the first sentence of this rule could have been an excerpt from an animal rights activist's book: Most animals would live in peace and quiet if humans hadn't given themselves the rights to manipulate nature for their own ends. Bother no one, guys. The world was never ours to control. We made up every single one of our own rights and fully forgot that non-human animals can't do that for themselves. The first line of #11 is quite helpful. Forget the rest, by the way: Everyone can be annoying and we bother each other every single day. We call such phenomena discussions, having issues, having fights, and the like. Socializing is never easy but most of the time worth a little quarrel. The least helpful attitude in LaVeys Satanism is his controversial straight-forwardness combined with ignorance. If you follow LaVeys eleven rules blindfolded, you end up driving your Mercedes against a wall cuz you don't know any better... 

I'm presently working on a few posts simultaneously; and the hardest one to manage currently is a post in which I outline how I intend to reobtain quality time with a friend that felt [and in some ways still feels] like my last remaining soulmate...
I might have done many things wrong in the past that led that person to stay away from me; and it might have been my own ego that was constantly driven by a diabolically motivated, brutal and straight-forward approach that eventually kept her away from me. So, what I'd like to add here is that I might have ruined a great deal of my life by myself, when I yelled at the wrong people or when I "destroyed" the wrong fellows I was dealing with in the past. On top of that, I misinterpreted LaVey when I concluded that his teachings promoted honesty when he was actually just playing it straight. In other words, the Satanic Bible is definitely an open book; and I might simply have turned into a living copy of it when I played with an open hand every time I thought I could gain trust among fellows of more or less the same belief system. It is not that easy, I figured; and up to this day I'm still the worst liar I can think of--which is hardly ever beneficial for myself. Eventually I have to conclude that honesty shouldn't be mixed up with naivity; and that LaVeys Satanism provides only a few good ideas that are worth sharing; it's definitely not the best or at least not the only guide to walk through life. But let's have a look at the other ethical sentences and then get back to the speciecist questions. Shall we? Yes? Great.

 

The Nine Satanic Statements
in the eye of the animal rights activist

1. Satan represents indulgence instead of abstinence!

You're not helping, Satan; not helping at all! That particular message people got far too often. There is no point in emphazising on that one: There are millions of fat people in this world, losers that watch five porn movies each day for decades, rich people that drive around their loud, environment-polluting cars just for fun each and every day. Abstinence once in a while can be quite virtuous, sis.
#1 of the Statements is in so far noteworthy in the case for anti-speciecism cuz people really can't get enough of their daily pleasures and a counter movement of slight asceticism might come in handy for all of us, sometimes,.. I think: We do not only eat meat, we definitely still eat too much of it, telling ourselves meals such as a Wienerschnitzel, a BigMac or chicken wings are worth the mass-killing; horrible... The most detrimental animal torture humans create through mass-producing meat. "Producing meat" is harsh enough to utter since it implies that we all treat animals as commodities and, thereby, exclude almost all of other species from lives that could otherwise be full of dignity, balance and harmony. A well-balanced minimal lifestyle is the answer--not indulgence, suckers, at least not the way your friend Howard puts it.

2. Satan represents vital existence instead of spiritual pipe dreams.

Yes, Satan. That's the one. I'd be your whore for lifetime if that was the only thing you'd conduct. Let's come to grips with reality and don't tell people fantasy stories that make them believe that snakes are evil creatures when in fact they are simply aggressive and appear cruel when they are hungry as hell and definitely need to eat. Be a scientist, Satan; I love that one.

 3. Satan represents undefiled wisdom instead of hypocritical self-deceit.

Again, yes Satan, Hell yeah; you're driving home the point.

 

 

WORK IN PROGRESS

 

 

 

The bullshit in our skulls: Part 1 - Providing vulnerability via egalitarian localisation determination

There is no god?....
There is no hope?....
Yeah, ... that's my conviction; but still--who am I to judge?
As if I ever knew..., as if I hadn't given up every conviction sooner or later.
As if I hadn't once thought that mere belief could be good enough for myself and later found out it's all useless.

Of course, it's not that easy...

The approach of a scientist

To start with, I count on science and rigorously draw a fat line between religion and science to outline the difference. But as a scientist, my view can only be an agnostic one, never a religious view, never a view of an atheist--since we have neither evidence of the presence of supernatural beings nor evidence of its/her/his//their absence. You can even put science next to religion, arguing that everything bases on belief; and you'd start your argument, for instance, by mentioning the fact that the Big Bang Theory is only a theory--and you'd be right. Then the scientist's arrogance stems from the regular "miracles" that give her, it or him reason to believe. The last prophecy that made me a believer of science is when the little men in my TV could tell me precisely that one day amid a summer day the sky will turn dark for fife minutes: Once you saw an eclipse you have an easy time believing what they told you in school.

Well... Flat Earthers who have heard of CGI have a different struggle going on. If NASA are the bad ones and no man has ever been to the moon, we're all fucked and the Flat Earthers will be our future scientists. I still deem the comeback of Your lord Jesus Christ more plausible...

But, you know, scientists are not afraid of doing away with all once-precious theories if they show too many flaws when data points in a different direction. And that means our knowledge is never absolute or law-binding. Our opinions and conclusions quite often count as much as everyone else's opinion – at best. However, we may be more resourceful and more convincing. You remain best informed if you stay critical.

The approach of a philosopher

The vague philosophical access that I try to playfully put into my writings do have a different purpose. When I put philosophical content in the mix, I usually want to give you a decent change of perspective, so that you don't get stuck in bad habits and old-fashioned narratives that may have paralyzed your mind in the ubiquity of mainstream society. Philosophy can serve in three ways:

Above science – as a measurement that is supposed to provide an overview

On one level with sciences – as one little brotherly scholarship next to the arts and humanities, science and maybe even theology

And below – as a servant to the sciences. In this position, the tools of philosophy shall help the sciences develop "consciously" and well-thought-outly.

The approach of an artist? Hopefully not!

I personally am definitely not like most people, and I do not look and present myself like "normal" people. Some people, therefore, might think that I take it as a compliment when they call me an artist. But that means something totally different to me cuz if I am an artist, then being an artist is a curse. It means that I'm excluded from society; that I have to stay alone; that I'm permanently defined by the interpretations of others and that I, therefore, have to be misunderstood to serve a purpose that keeps me highly frustrated--albeit wishing to determine my role in this world by myself.

...and then, yes, it also means that I regularly do things "ordinary" folks wouldn't dare to do and, therefore, enjoy life for certain moments more than others. Then, yes, it also means that I sometimes get the best drugs and--high on such drugs--create pieces of art that appear out-of-the-box thought-provoking. But, you know,... life is useless since art ruined my life; and it pretty much feels as if that is what curators and other creepy advocates of art want to convey. The most impressive artists usually kill themselves; and I now understand why.

Everyone who's called an artist is doing the wrong guys in this hypocritical world a favor if she or he ends her or his life earlier than necessary. Make sure they never call you an artist. Never in a thousand years should you come up with the thought, "Hey, I want to be an artist." You wouldn't want that if you knew what that means. That profession is polluted with narratives you couldn't handle once you got the image of an artist. Tell yourself, "I want to be a drug dealer, I want to be a rapist, I want to be a pedophile, I want to be a nazi, I want to be serial killer, I want to be a crack whore, I want to be a child molester, I want to be a flat earther, I want to be a piss porn actor, I want to be a corpse fucker". Whatever else may sound pleasant to you, just never think about becoming an artist. Otherwise, you'll lose your girl, your friends, your happiness; you'll lose everyone whose company used to make you happy. I will definitely keep the approach of an artist out of the equation whenever I can...just to give purpose to that tiny piece of self-respect I conjured up lately in a lonesome hour. Maybe it helps to stay a little longer.

 

 

In part 2 I'll type down a few thoughts about an easy reading that I put into mind an estimated twenty years ago. Most of the book's content got stuck in my mind since I read it in English and in German within a few months. Since there weren't many other books I swallowed back then it had quite an impact on me. However, just like most religious books I wouldn't fancy reading it again; cuz it's not that good, not that much of a wisdom creator and doesn't fully display how the belief in evil can guide the way we walk thru life... at least not in the long run.....

Aktuelles über diesen Blog

Guten Tag,

Sie erreichen diesen Blog im Idealfall über den Google-Account einer als volljährig registrierten Person. Achten Sie selbst so gut als möglich darauf, dass Minderjährigen Inhalte speziell dieses Blogs nicht zugänglich gemacht werden. Sie selbst sind auf diesen Blog gestoßen, weil Ihnen aus dem Bekanntenkreis des Authors zumindest einzelne Texte weitergeleitet wurden. Viel anders sollten auch Jugendliche, die sich als volljährig ausgeben nicht auf diesen Blog stoßen, da er mittels Suchmaschinen-Suche nicht gefunden werden kann.

Unabhängig davon wie Sie auf diesen Blog gestoßen sind, können Sie mir gerne mitteilen, wenn Sie Löschungen oder Umformulierungen einzelner Textpassagen wünschen. Es würde mich wundern, wenn ich auf Ihre Wünsche nicht eingehen kann.

Zu zukünftigen Texten, die Sie (sicher nicht bald) in Kapitel 2 lesen können, muss ich Sie enttäuschen, falls Sie gezielte Islamkritik erwarten. Für die Ideen, die ich in diesem Kapitel vermitteln möchte, reichen mir lediglich die dutzenden guten Ideen aus, die der Koran vermittelt. Diese Einseitigkeit dient nicht nur meinem Selbstschutz.
Fühlen Sie sich nicht bei Kritik zu christlichen Institutionen angesprochen, sollten Sie in irgendeiner Form für die österreichische Caritas arbeiten. Selbst wenn Ihre Arbeit bei der Caritas bislang Kritik verdient, wird jene nicht von mir kommen; das stünde mir sicher nicht zu. Allerdings werde ich auch die Caritas in Zukunft nicht mehr mit meinen Dienstleistungen unterstützen u.a. deswegen

• weil meine Arbeit von einigen wenigen nicht ausreichend gewürdigt wurde,
• weil die Caritas Teil der Katholschen Kirche ist und damit den Bettelstaat in Österreich unterstützt
•  weil selbst der Arzt, dem ich jahrelang aufgrund seiner vorbildlichen medizinischen Expertise blindlings vertraut habe, mir das Gefühl vermittelt hat mich zum Affen halten zu müssen.
• weil anstatt etwa eines gemalten Kinderbilds von Jesus – der als herausragender Prophet ʿĪsā (عِيسَى) auch eine beduetende Rolle im Islam zugeschrieben bekommt – noch immer lateinische Kreuze an den ärztlichen Ordinationen der österreichsichen Caritas angebracht werden, obwohl vorwiegend Menschen des muslimen Glaubens jene Einrichtungen in Städten wie Wien, Graz [Stand 1.1.2025] und Linz aufsuchen und in Notsituationen um medizinische Hilfe bitten müssen.

Ein solcher Konservartivismus wie der letztgenannte kann nur als Konvertierungszweck verstanden werden; und mit Konvertieren bin ich am Ende:
Zu Zeiten meiner schulischen Ausbildung – E-Mails waren in unserer Welt noch neu – meldeten mich Schulkollegen per Mail als Priester bei Howard LaVeys Satanic Church an. Um meiner damaligen Kirche gerecht zu werden, konvertierte ich vorwiegend Katholiken und wurde dabei immer frustriert, weil die Idioten auch nach erfolgreicher Umschulung ihre Orgien immer erst dann begannen, wenn der Pfaff den Laden verlassen hatte :P

Some things never change..

Wenngleich die Mitwirkenden der Caritas glauben als Einzelne nichts gegen die Misststände des eigenen Pfaffenvereins ändern zu können, tun sie mir auch nicht mehr Leid, weil ich als lebenslang unfreiwilliger Einzelgänger nur zu gut weiß,  wie es ist, wenn gefordert wird, Dinge nicht persönlich zu nehmen.

Meine Zinseszinsen gegenüber der Katholischen Kirche werden sich nicht finanziell negativ auf den Pfaffenverein auswirken, allerdings stelle ich mit 17.März 2025 meine freiwilligen Geldspenden für Obdachlose und Bettler gänzlich ein. Wenn Ihr altes Obst bei der Caritas esst, ist das eure eigene Schuld. Ihr wisst genau was Ihr tut, wenn Ihr Scheinheiligkeit und Idiotie unterstützt. Ich friss meine Birnen auf jeden Fall frisch, um mir ausreichend Selbstwert und Vitamine zu verabreichen und denk mittlerweile nicht mal im Traum daran noch länger so zu tun als müsst ich an der Show einer gesellschaftlichen Lebenslüge meinen Part spielen. Nichts anderes kommunizieren die furchtbar armen Katholiken aber nach außen, so als würden sie den Himmel auf Erden schaffen. Das tun sie nicht.

Gegen das organisierte Verbrechen und das Blindhalten der Gesellschaft das mit dem politischen Katholizismus und auch jenem Protestantismus, der Luthers Opium-für's-Volk-Ideologie auf ewig vermitteln wollen,.... gegenüber jenem religionspolitischem Kontsrukt in Österreich, das mehr Probleme bereitet als tatsächlich löst, bleib ich hingegen machtlos:
Das griechische Kreuz, das ich dem lateinischen Kreuz der Jesusfreaks gegenünber stelle, mag zwar auf den ersten Blick als unmenschlich verstanden werden, es sollte aber mit ein wenig eigenständigem Denken verständlich seinund bedeutet letztendlich fast nur, das in meinen Kopf nur Bleikugeln und Drogen Schaden anrichten können – deswegen die Vorsicht in meiner Wortwahl :D.

[Insert Greek cross here]

Mein Zugang zur Welt ist mittlerweile kein satanischer, sondern ein nihilistischer, der durch Phasen des Glaubens an das Gute im Menschen und regelmäßigen Bestätigungen des Bösen der selben lebbar bleibt. Der Glaube an das Böse im Menschen bleibt aber etwas, dass nur allzuselten von mir getrennt wird, wenn ich sehe wie peinlich schwach der Feminismus hierzulande gelebt wird:
Leute, wenn Ihr irgendwas von Feminismus verstanden haben müsst, sind das folgende Punkte:

1. Eine Frau spricht für sich selbst und ist keiner Gehirnwäsche unterzogen.
2. Wenn sie es noch nicht kann, liegt es selten an ihrer Einzelmeinung oder ihrem Sprachtalent, sondern ihrem Ego.
3. Wenn eine Frau kein gesundes Ego hat, zeigt sie oft Schwäche und wirkt damit nicht vorbildlich für die Bewegung.
4. Wenn das geschwächte Ego angstbedingt ist, gebt ihr ihr Selbstvertrauen und trainiert sie dauerhaft in Selbstverteidigung.
5. Weglaufen müsst ihr aber nicht trainieren; das weiß ich aus Erfahrung als l.u.E.
6. Bewahrt ihr die gute Idee vom Sex; es hätte eigentlich Spaß machen sollen.
   

Verabschiedet euch von allen archaisch systematisierten, christlichen Institutionen, wenn Ihr jemals ein selbstbestimmtes Leben führen wollt und vergesst nicht – wenn Ihr das tut – dass in einem säkularen Rechtsstaat wie Österreich auch ein Kirchenbeitrag nicht ohne amtlichen Exekutionstitel exekutiert werden darf. Der Austritt ist also, wenn alles mit rechten Dingen zugeht, immer kostenlos. By the way:

Kirchenaustrittserklärungen

Links zu den Online-Formularen der größeren östlich gelegenen Städte:

Wien
Graz Stadt+Formular
Oberösterreich Onlieformular (amtliche Austrittserklärung in OÖ gebührenpflichtig !!!!!!)
Wels
......bei Problemen mit "Stadt Steyr"
Salzburg Stadt

Soviel mal einleitend.

Es informiert euch
der kleine [sterbliche] Kulla

PS: Ihr könnt mich alle mal am Arsch lecken.
 .............in other words, ich kann auch anders.

____________________________

 Jetzt zum ernsthaften Teil!

Als mich Leute noch wie Arsch und Idiot auf einmal behandelten, sagte mal einer der Jungs: "M'Kulla ham's Wiarscht um an Hols g'hängt, damit wenigstens die Hund mit eam spüh'n." Ich konnte nicht lachen, doch gute Witze an der Person selbst beinhalten sehr oft die Kritik, die man braucht, um die Person geistig weiterzuentwickeln. Der Spruch blieb mir immer im Hinterkopf, u.a deswegen weil ich Hunde mag und mich nicht so leicht angegriffen fühle; Glückssache.

Für einen eigenen Hund hatte ich nie Raum und Zeit, um dem Tier ein glückliches Leben zu garantieren. Daher waren es auch, als ich noch als Kind ausreichend in eine Familie integriert war, meist Katzen, die – anders als Hunde – nach völlig willkürlichem Ermessen zu ihren Futterspendern kommen um Streicheleinheiten zu kassieren. Katzen nehmen eben weit weniger Zeit des von Arbeit und auferlegter Wirtschaftspflicht geschädigten Menschen in Anspruch und leben womöglich, soweit ich das als Mensch bewerten kann, als extreme Einzelgänger; und vielleicht geben sie sich damit zufrieden.

Ob Tiere mit ihren Leben glücklich und zufrieden sind, können wir als Menschen oder selbst ernannte, sterbliche Götter nicht völlig herausfinden, weil Katz und Hund nicht mit uns sprechen. Wir können meist nur mutmaßen oder anhand ihrer Mimik und Gestik, Ihren Lauten und ihrem dauerhaften Verhalten interpretieren was sie uns mitteilen wollen. Was das betrifft, sind wir als Tierschützer allerdings schon sehr weit. Daher wissen wir heute mit dem uns zur Verfügung stehenden Mitteln der Interpretation, dass das größte Tierleid in der kontemporären Welt, die wir mit den Menschen teilen, menschengemacht ist. Hunde und Katzen sind beinahe die einzigen Tiere, die als Haustiere geeignet sind, weil die meisten anderen Tiere in der Natur, abseits der großen von Menschen gestalteten Welt, am würdigsten Leben erfahren und genießen können. Als andauerndes Verbrechen der Menschheit können heute Zucht und Lebensmittelproduktion verstanden werden, die dem Menschen in seiner Scheinheiligkeit, Ignoranz und Verschlossenheit gegenüber den weniger mächtigen Tieren als Luxusbranchen unserer Wirtschaft dienen. 

Der Begriff für das strikte Trennen von Menschen und anderen Tieren, der seit Urzeiten vor allem in der westlichen Welt kaum propagiert wird ist Speziesismus. Dieser Begriff und dieser Zugang zur Welt wird im zweiten Kapitel dieses Blogs vorrangig behandelt. Hicthen's Standpunkt zu Religion wurde von Seiten des Historikers beleuchtet, Dawkins' Standpunkt von Seiten des Biologen. Meine Aufsätze beleuchten Religionen vom Standpunkt des informierten Tierschützers. Dabei werd ich anfänglich noch altes satanisches Material aufgreifen, das ideal in den Themenblock passt. Anschließend möchte ich einen längeren Beitrag posten, der sich mit Mitteln der Wissenschaft – im Detail einer quantitativen Messung einzelner populärer religiöser Schriften – der Frage stellt, inwieweit Religionen tierfeindlich und daher bis dato speziesistisch handeln. Der Arbeitstitel für diesen Aufsatz lautet "Lamm Gottes, du nimmst hinweg die Sünde der Welt – Speziesizismus in etablierten religiösen Schriften". Der Artikel wird nach Fertigstellung auch auf meinen ResearchGate-Kanal als Open Source bereitgestellt.

Soviel zu Kapitel 2 dieses Blogs. Ich werd nach kurzer Überarbeitung meinen Blogger-Content vielleicht wieder für Minderjährige und Leser ohne Google-Account zugänglich machen und womöglich auch den Google-Search aktivieren. Das dürfte allerdings dauern. Die Inhalte halt ich aber nach reichlicher Überlegung nicht mehr für so bedenklich wie zuvor. Außerdem lernen Jugendliche, die sich tatsächlich für meinen Content interessieren zumindest ein paar coole Wörter und Phrasen kennen, die sie sonst womöglich nicht verwendet bzw. gelernt hätten. Nach eigenem Ermessen empfind ich, dass einzelne Aufsätze meiner Blogs mittlerweile schon was wert sind. Ich seh allerdings keine Möglichkeit meine besseren Aufsätze vor Missbrauch zu schützen, falls sie in Zukunft mehr Resonanz erfahren. Deswegen überleg ich noch in welchem Ausmaß ich die Texte verstreu.

That's pretty much it, for now.

Stick around

Yours,

Little Kulla

[Update and review on the 15th of April 2025, 5:45 A.M.]

The bullshit in our skulls. Part 0: Prayers in advance

Welcome back to my blog 🥳

Guys, I'm currently in a little fix, which is why I havern't written much lately. But I try to get back on track and be prolific. If there is a noteworthy demand,  I'll record an audio version of my first blogpost collection (It's not supposed to hurt)

[ILink to audio version will be put here--if demanded frequently]

But whatever I'll create these days, here is what I'd like to type down: I found out that none of you guys would ever tell me that my writings sometimes suck. I have no idea why you think that honestly telling me such things would be bad....
I also don't blame my bestie for being not precise or overly caerful when doing the peer review for me. He as a teacher who usually corrects writings of fourteen-year-olds. So, his regularly readings might affect his own use of English in the long run; which is why he doesn't see most of my hardly ever reviewed content. Nevertheless, I would not have been mad at you guys if you had told me 😅. 

I counted an estimated 20 Germanisms, dozens of wrong prepositions, spelling errors and one word that doesn't even exist in the English language... all that in the first post I reviewed myself. Maybe I should not have published that shit in my cannabis-influenced midlife crisis😆. Nonetheless,  I'm just hoping the other seven posts are not that infested with "Austrish" expressions. For future events, I simply shouldn't tell anyone that this is the blog of an alleged English translator😜

Also, I need to thank all of you for forwarding the link of the penultimate post of the "It's not supposed to hurt"-series to other people...

Today's post is kinda the beginning of a new blogging season. What I'll do and haven't done in the first season is put two mindsets in the mix that I'd love to keep in my mental emergency kit. One is against pressure during psychotic episodes, the other is so that I won't kiss the front of a driving train; no joke, by the way; I'm far from fine these days. I added an iambic poem to this first post; and I still don't kmow it by heart yet. There'll be an audio version of this poem. The link will be put below the poem, in case you want to hear it with an emotional component in addition.

Important information in advance:

If you want to serve these words below to definitely vulnerable folks who may need it, make sure you rearrange the verses 61, 62 and 63 as put here:

61: There is our god/There are our gods; and there is hope
62: And all your wounds might mend
63: And.. instead of But
64: Your or My instead of the original article (which [I think] is The);

The lines of the original version are definitely pernicious for  many, which is why you have to be careful when sharing this prayer. I'll nonetheless never sue you for sharing particularly this poem. But I assume sticky, informed others will bring about troubles and might even drag you into a hell comparable to mine if you make money with it or if you put something in the mix that changes its positive and maybe even lifesaving effect. That, by the way, is the only purpose these lines have. I'm the only one who knows that; because I wrote it myself.

 

That clarified, let us all creep down to the floor in modest adoration to the empirical sciences, that up to this day still can't tell us what to do, only what we can, and maybe what we want.* Let us all pray to our certainly creator-less universe while we still question everything we say:

Sacra convictio hominis sui ipsius cogitantis

I am convinced

that each and every child born into this world is in its very nature good, innocent and pure

but through negative imprint of all sorts gets bullshit shat into its skull

I want to believe from the bottom of my once tender, now sick and darkened heart

that once bullshit got into our skulls

there is a way to get it out of there again

and from what is accessible to the human mind

I think that once we got it out of there

there is no point in shittin' in there again

Amen

 

That little prayer is not half as funny as the first person I showed it thought it would be. If there is no conviction that I can keep, the most dominant today is that my own life could have evolved better and faster if people – good or bad, if we ever knew the difference – hadn't stuck to bullshitting kids and then continued bullshitting adults.

Let's start soft:
When I try to convince people of all ages as an animal rights activist today about the advantages of a vegan lifestyle I usually don't reach new fellows easily. I'm still struggling staying polite and reserved every time guys step in front of me and just then feel the urge to tell me that they like the taste of meat. My so far least frustrating response to that helpless utterance is "Yah, everyone says that. Why is it important when YOU say it?" But I can't bring that one any longer. It's an unfair thing to say to everyone who doesn't have much self-confidence or wasn't in for a serious but mud-infested debate. Making others  shut up with logic, provocation or doubt doesn't help any suffering pig in the slaughter houses; I'd say such things only for myself; only to feel righteous and untouchable in the moment without ever making a difference.

However, I myself do like the taste of meat. If  meat wasn't murder to me, it would be bacon every day. Changing your diet, managing a vegan diet in the long run helps a  lot if you want less animals to suffer, if you want less animals to die.

You'd stick to your vegan diet, because it can be done easily without having yourself suffer instead of other animals, without yourself living unhealthy, but with yourself feeling better and healthier. On top of that, you even can't frustrate the egomaniac in you; you could act altruistically unknowingly.

But no one who isn't already just as crazy vegan as I am, would get all that. If I ever thought, people come to the same conclusions as I do, when they get the same spoon feeding, I would no longer think that. Throw following irrevocably accessible thoughts at a convinced omnivore to realize that facts don't work:

- I also do like the taste of meat.
- I don't need meat to be healthy or to become or stay strong.
- We wouldn't have problems with nutrition if we didn't eat meat, dairy or eggs.
- There are a thousand other things just as available as meat that taste great, are cheap, are healthier than every kind of meat, dairy product or egg.
- If you ate two halves of chicken last week and haven't eaten a bite of chicken this week, one chicken less got killed this week and you'd safe 52 each week if you figured that out solely for one year.
- The libido recuperates if you stick to healthy vegan choices.
- Cholesterol is a problem of the past.
- Most of the animal products you habitually use are not healthy options and can easily be replaced with healthier products.
- You also ignore and deny human feelings when you turn a blind eye to those who "produce meat" for you.
- Never in my life have I ever thought "Oh my goodness, this steak was worth the kill. Eating meat is an irreplaceable source for my inner peace. It's essential soul food that tells me that life is good; I couldn't live without it. My own existence is in danger if I don't have schnitzel every week. That is what I fear; I'm dead-serious. "

After wasting your energy by carefully putting such arguments on the table, you'd then release your provoked listener with the emancipating words: "This is all that I can tell you. Now decide for yourself". Whoever tried to listen won't give a goddamn fuck.

If you really want such arguments count, if you ever want people to give up unrefelected traditions, you'd sooner or later try to inculcate your lies to nullify the established ones that got stuck. But Sancho Pansa shot Rosinante last time I desperately fought dragons; and if I don't want another horse get killed,  I have to take a windmill for what it is. And that means: Don't approach an established collective conservatism with a far-fetched individual liberalism. If people kept telling each other that there is a bearded man in the sky for five thousand years, you'd have a hard time telling them three thousand years later that sins are forgiven when you eat that old fag's lamb. Six hundred years later many would be fairly suspicious about everything alleged in the past, still thinking it was wise to let a cow bleed out cuz it might keep a devout man from meeting a supernatural goat who lives below the earth's surface.

We are not much smarter fourteen hundred years later. Most people don't make a fuss of that mindblowing past and sanguinically share much more than fantasy stories with an open-hearted world, not knowing that those words will be burned beyond recognition by the next stupid megacrowd that will kill and torture to make their way of life count exclusively. That's a given if we don't learn from history.

Since I'm with vegan activists, I try not to turn away from the hatred and ignorance animals have to endure each day. We observe the killing and the torture daily, no matter whom or what we're looking at; and we tell those psychopaths surrounding us that we accept their attitudes, their opinions, their murders. Fortunately, our vegan serenity automatically kicks in before we exhaust our own patience with the world. Fortunately, exclusive collectivisms always bring about advantages for those included. As a result, most Austrian specicists are extremely friendly and kind; they pet us like puppies with their own kindness, so much they would have left.

I would love to exclude myself from society for this chapter. I'm not good being alone until it's done, but why would I count votes when precisely that is s what's making freaks like me shut up helplessly. That, however, isn't solely me being a vegan. No. I just felt like expressing my contempt. I just picked  political content twelve-years-old kids understand, hoping to make my point clear.

I get very little of how others think cuz days are gone when people talk thoughtfully to me. Feeling lost and helpless, not feeling understood, not finding answers to questions I keep asking only myself, envisaging and anticipating true friendship and love without any sign of plausibility...
it's just fucking dark in here; and music helps best to enlighten the mood. I usually have my iphone and earpods fully charged cuz great songs sooth most; and of course, my own songs would never do the trick. But if you'd love to tell yourself something prayer-like that you could inhale by heart in a dark hour, here's what I thought might work when everything appears lost (even if you're always better off calling a friend or loved one instead:). You'd have to repeat it some day when you're good so you'll know it by heart once you're fucked. Note the last line first, whatever else you wanted to do next.

 

Di sisco in dubiosum

You're waiting for the morning train,
    don‘t really want to move
That life was more than mental pain
    You cannot fully prove
Cuz loneliness is drowning all
    the thoughts that make you smile
and why you shouldn't end it all
    You're asking for a while
Cuz every time you see the range
    of life you realize,
when there is nothing you can change,
    it all ends in despise.
Then they would tell that pain was just
    a source to understand
You know that's shit--no need to trust;
    just face the world at hand.
The suff'ring [then] you're going through
    is useless and absurd,
the shit they preach not turning true
    just cuz that's all you've heard

So, life's like hell, you might conclude
    you better hit that train
You're helpless, dumb, practically nude
    You wish to end the pain

But here is what you didn't know
    You're dead and here's the end.
All over , done, before you thought
    You don't need to pretend
And when you say "That's what I thought"
    but haven't thought at all.
Then this is where you end up caught:
    You scream before you fall.
If ever anything was clear
    it's that you're feeling lost
and feelings might just disappear
    they don't come with a cost.
So, here's the way, here's where you go
    Here's what life is/was about:
What's going on no one would know,
    you'd want to find that out

 So, quick, give in
    but do not mourn for things you haven't done
Count thousand girls/friends you haven't met
    when all you want is one
You had a plan before you cried
    Right now you shouldn't care
Of thousand things you've never tried
    Pick one you now would dare
Cuz once you thought, you can't do that
    Well, now you really can
Give it a try, without regret
    And try it once again.

The jump's the end, we got that far
    Now have a decent walk
Make sure you get to role a splith
    and find a girl/mate/pal/friend to talk
Just never pray these lines again
    still thinking we were smart
We simply fucked ourselves this time
     said [that] life was never hard.
Still, there's no god, there is no hope
    and you will not ascend
But everything can happen
if this is not the end.

Okay, I owe the following lines those of you who reacted panickly lately. For those of you who forgot what I'm like without pharmaceuticals: crying is one of the good signs; the loud voice stays, running up and down stays, yes I talk now, but you'll get used to it.
Other than that, I wanted to finish the prayer above to make you feel okay. I'm safe and I'm not bored. I just took my time with something that is hard to digest; I just hope I didn't shy away anyone of you in the meantime. Don't ask me where the hell my newly discovered will to live coomes from. After crying for a week, I woke up yesterday telling myself: "Bro, you're old as fuck, but you can still manage to do each and every thing you had planned for your life; all within reach; nothing lost. You're getting there..."
...and now I feel stupid thinking I was ever lost. This anti-suicide poem kept me occupied for months since I thought I'd sooner or later actually need those words... usually when I get to the point when I stop talking to people and then realize when suiciadal ideas specify. I first thought that I'd not do that, but in the aftermath I felt surprised as usual what deep thoughts can trick me in a moment one day that appear stupid, joke-like andridiulous in a  future moment the other day.. Which is why I want to tell  that I'm currently very happy with my life, always have been and always will be. I'm nevertheless, so much more alone than anyone of you and I don't expect you to understand  that this is all you need to know. I really wouldn't tell you if I ever killed myself but it would be okay if I did; and that is not a harsh or unbelievable thing to write. I don't see it coming soon; right now I'd be stupid to put it in perspective; but I've been there, knowing that a mix of courage, desperation, and the accompanied, pressing thought of paranoia (that easily put my thoughts next to myself) make me do things I can't necessarily control; and then it's good to know that it affects no fucking one else but myself. Before all that might ever happen, chances are high, I first get inadvertently shot molesting widows in the park. Then I died doing what I loved or doing whom I thought would have liked it. In other words, don't forget that I'm nuts all the time.

 

Remarks to "Di sisco in dubiosum"

I wouldn't recommend praying this poem word by word. I'd rather you found your own words that keep you from doing stupid things. The prayer, when understood emotionally, shall function as a reset button,... a turning point before you start from scratch. First, you end your old life, then you accept that you're already dead; and then you check the sources you have for your new life.

Considering how easy it was today adding the rest of the lines, I want to conclude that the worst is over when in fact I have no idea what my metabolically fucked-up body will let me go through next month. It has been, I dunno, seven or eight months since I had to stop taking medication. Of course, the bastard thoughts reappear. Of course, my thoughts are no longer orderly explained. Of course, I'm back stammering, Of course, I'm back running around frantically, running away from friends who trigger me mentally. But that's okay. It's all okay. You wouldn't understand if I didn't tell you, but I'm feeling healthier with every day. I remember regularly feeling subdued and shut-off the last ten years,  when I took my daily medication. But I wouldn't have noticed the difference between now and then if the pills hadn't brought about the crippling side effects that made me stop swalowong them.

I know that people now turn even more away when they can't cope with me. I would nonetheless no longer be open for therapy that implies pharmaceuticals--not because it was bad categorically; because in retrospective it pretty much felt like waking up from a coma and getting more and more of my life back with every day abscent of pills. The illness is now evident and visible, never dangerous for others.

About chapter 2

I thought a lot about what I could write this season, thinking that girl stories are an easy thing for me but an unpleasant thing for women who cherish their privacy. Friends who might have liked a decent reading last season should not have felt shot at when they read with whom I may have been in cahoots with fifteen years ago. But they certainly felt that way without ever telling me. I definitely missed feedback and blame my past topic choice. But I really wanted to get that old girl stuff off my chest and am happy having taught myself how to deal with sometimes critical content. But privacy won't be an issue in chapter 2 either.

There are too many things I can't articulate about the prophet  Muhammed since I don't intend to mince my words with fear of people who could get my words wrong. I'll rest in the green with discussions about stereotypes and don't dig deep when I mention the Quran or Islam. Otherwise I'd design a bloodbath of allegations. Instead, I'll tell pathetic Jesus Christ jokes, ridicule Howard LaVeys Satanic Bible from the perspective of an animal rights activist, and vividly explain why Buddhism is not a mere world view but a religion that lazily uses marketing to attract hippies. But the Buddhists will get away easily simply because Pamela Anderson is an outstanding Buddhist vegan I'd love to meet one day.

I deem it useful to share a few thougths and express a few ideas about a topic that used to consume me. However, I'm pretty much done with religion, gave it far too much importance in the past, far too much value to estimate friends who couldn't care less, and I fooled myself for ages thinking I could ever fall for religious doctrine. But just like I was obsessed with the girls I wrote about in chapter one, I was obsessed with religion for quite some time after ending with my metal band. I assume, chapter two will tell you about my brainwashed youth in a conservative and seemingly fascist Roman Catholic "family", a long-year interest phase marked by writings of Judaism, the Quran, and stories of Siddharta.

As a trustworthy scientist I would have to reflect belief, faith and religion from an uncompromisingly agnostic angle due to the fact that there is no scientific "evidence" for or against the existence of supernatural beings.

I'm outlining my case as a liberal, an atheist and an animal rights activist. I want this chapter to be good but barely expect readers this time. For a reason: The topic is always controversial, which is precisely why I picked it, knowing that I'd write carefully informed about content that far too many feel afraid to write about. No idea however, who--except me--will want to read that...

Allright.

love you guys.

Michael 🐢

* Objektität sozialwissenschaftlicher und sozialpolitischer Erkenntnis – Max Weber

* eventuell auch erwähnt in der Kritik der praktischen Vernunft – Immanuel Kant (Quelle: ChatGPT)

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

Hooooh, eventually I made it and picked up the keyboard again. So let's binge-write excessively 😅...

Hi guys,

If this is the first post of mine you're about to read, I just let you know that I usually start with a written exercise of mindfulness before telling the actual story. If that's nothing for you, just scroll down to the title in bold letters...

Anyway... Guys, I've been through a lot lately and I'm still trying to find inner peace, at least for a while. When I started the draft of this post I read the 14th of July and it was about 9 o'clock in the evening. The finals of the European soccer championship just started and I thought I'm concentrated enough to get at least one noteworthy story off my chest. But I was still far from being concentrated and focused; I still couldn't write. So I opened the window, listened to the rain washing down outside and let a breeze of cool, sprinkly air touch my skin. I lit a tealight and put it on my night desk, watched it burn down, hoping to find some rest. I fell asleep only a few moments later...

My idea was to sleep, let my unconscious order some thoughts and wake up the next morning with a clear head that I can keep up; thoughts ordered and problems that turned out to be ridiculous then already forgotten... That trick used to work most of the time when I was a kid; and my father, back then when he was still alive, knew about that magic. Every time I sobbingly ran to him in order to tell him about my fears and worries, he always came up with stories including comparable experiences and frightening feelings he himself had when he was a boy. Then (as a father, from outside my mind), knowing how to cope with such experiences and feelings, he would conclude by telling me "Tomorrow will be a better day"--and usually it was. In fact, it always was; and the problems were and appeared just as ridiculous as he promised they were when we sat on the breakfast table the next morning.
My father was a fucking magician. I'm sure if I had him around today, he'd still invent a few tricks I'd fall for...

When I woke up this morning, today, on the 15th of July, I just thought the old trick would work properly. So I soon leaped up from the couch, poured some coffee down my throat, went out to grab some vegetables for breakfast and let the day start perfectly balanced. However, I feel a bit edgy and still confused from the thousands of experiences I had the last couple of weeks... ...and balance is not the word to describe what I'm presently perceiving from inside. I'm shaky, nervous, puzzled; in a nutshell, overwhelmed by the feelings that currently flood my head. But now that I'm realizing all this, I'm pretty sure those are good feelings that I just can't name, categorize or control. They might stem from my own courage, from myself going out of my comfort zone, from leaving the cage in order to enter harsh reality and let chaos in this absurd world bring about those unforgettable moments that can mend even my sick black heart. Diverted from the pointlessness of life, I can once again be warm and comfy until I wither again. And how that works, by the way, I figured out for myself lately. Spoiler alert: it's not magic.

I'll shortly tell you what I actually did right the last couple of months hoping that that might even help some of you guys. Then we can plunge into the main story. So, here we go:

First, what you might need to know about me personally is that I am someone who, after years that sooner or later feel like boredom, monotonia, hopelessness and frustration... I'm someone who in his tendencies longs for measurable, sensible big changes in life at least once a decade. Such big changes I need to feel and live consciously. Usually I get that kick by jumping from one extreme into the other..., in many ways by doing exactly the opposite of what I used to do the last couple of years. I don't say such big changes always help--since different doesn't necessarily always mean better--but this time it feels hellishly right what I'm doing. Performing such a 180-mutegrab just can be quite exhausting and up to this day I can't remember having managed to land that jump safely. At the moment I'm just up in the sky, hoping for the best this time.

However, as I wrote, the change must be conscious and therefore planned, maybe even scheduled. You may have read my last posts, #6 and #7 of the "It's not supposed to hurt"-series, right...
In post #6 I told you that going vegan back in the day wasn't a mistake and that during that time I was true to myself. Just by writing it down and outlining what went awry back then and the like I automatically came to decide that I'd go vegan again. I'd do all the things I did wrong the first time right the second time. Doing away with all the bloody steaks, burgers, schnitzel, milk-infested meat-sauces and whatever else indirectly rapes and kills animals,... Doing away with such things not only appeared logical and reasonable but also made it quite easy to re-integrate veganism in my everyday life. So the first box on my life-changing checklist I confidently ticked with ease.
In post #7 I told you that smoking tobacco is stupid and that all logical arguments against smoking tobacco wouldn't keep me away from the drug; I'd permanently fall for it. But by typing down why it's useless and stupid I helped myself out by putting the valuable thoughts back into the center of my mind; and today I count about four or five weeks without touching a cigarette, always strong enough to say no if I simply don't want that shit. Funny--but that is how the mind works... I'm pretty sure I made it again and I can postpone lung cancer. Just so much additionally: If the busses or cars won't roll me flat when I share the road with them, then I'll have a few more years to find out what life can be and maybe hasn't been so far.
In all the other posts in which I blab about...how to put it... the modest amount of women that actually reached me emotionally,... In these posts I try to conclude what I make of past experiences in times when I was trying to find soothing love and true, enduring, easy-to-foster friendship. By time-traveling back to these days as good as I can, I take from these unforgettable moments everything I can to convince myself that sometimes there are girls out there stupid enough to love me, provided I'm stupid enough to love them. I'll keep that in mind, so I'll not easily lose hope in future events.
If I'm on the right path then it just takes regular bits of courage and heart to get that creeping feeling of loneliness out of my system; and maybe just patience and calm are key in order to not appear needy and desperate when I go out, trying to meet girls...

Allrighty, I think we're good.

 

 

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

The love I had to give up

You may have guessed, I'll tell you another girl story. I won't give you a year or period or epoch. I'm just telling you that it happened during the first couple of years when I used to perform with my main Metal band in the 2000s. It was a period of my life that I didn't really forget, but, how to put it... knowing that puberty, alcohol, weed and magic mushrooms were in the mix should pretty much explain why it took me an entire week to tell you that story orderly and logically 😂

Technically, well ...and factually, I was still a teenager and I haven't lost my virginity yet. But that was a status of mine soon to change cuz being frontman of a renowned Metal band, as I may have mentioned in past posts, helped a lot to attract women who, when they were young, were in for the experience--to put it mildly. Anyway, those days were great and unforgettable for many reasons. One of these reasons was a girl that--just like me--lived and flourished in the Metal and Gothic subculture that used to be vivid, social and perceivable back in the day. That cute red-haired moonskin--to anticipate briefly--was into things such as dragons and Celts. So, let's call her Gwendolin.

I met Gwendolin for the first time when I bought my favorite Death-Metal album "Slaughter of The Soul" in a music store a few hundred meters away from the nuthouse where they'd two decades later drug me into quietness. I bought the album from her, not even realizing that I bought it from her. Cuz in order to get my attention she first had to say something like "blablabla 16 bucks; and you've got a great voice, by the way". Just then, buffled by the comment, I held up my head, noticed her cute freckle-covered face smiling and responded "Sorry, what do you mean?"... and she was like "I saw your band the other day and I liked your performance"...
I can't really remember the rest of that first conversation with her. But the reason why I remember it at all might be that up to this day no woman in my entire life caught me emotionally as much as she did. So, just to give you an idea how the conversation continued: It must have been me stuttering, stummering and stammering and in between blubbering about bandstuff, trying to impress her, or something, I assume. Whatever it was that kept her patient that cloudy afternoon, I just remember her showing me a photograph with her posing next to Cradle of Filth when they came to visit her shop in order to promote their album. And then she might have given me her number or asked for mine, I dunno. But that is how we met. Not that I ever had the balls to call her, but since we lived both in the same cozy city, we would sooner or later meet again anyway. Lucky me, cuz my low ego and shyness back then kept me from getting to know girls like Gwendolin in the first place. But Gwendolin was, among thousand other things she was special for, special for doing one thing regularly that in our country you'd expect from boys, not so much from girls: she came first; she made the first moves; and she made her intentions clear, so I would feel encouraged to leave my comfort zone.

And so it happened a few weeks or months later when we met again in a rock pub in the city center. Of course, she found me there and then ushered me to a couple of seats where we would chat and have a few glasses of her favorite drink: vodka lemon with ice...
..and again, there is not much more from that evening that I remember. Just so much: throughout the night that we spent in this pub, boys in the club helloed her, hugged her, chatted with her while I--totally puzzled, not knowing what was going on--just counted suspicious and reproachful looks the boys threw at her once they turned their backs on her. I wore a question mark over my head the entire night and probably left it there for a while. Cuz years went by until I figured why these hundreds of men that hugged her that night all looked that stupid and frustrated when they saw her with me. Anyway, as much as I would have liked to know what all these guys thought about her that night, that night I just wanted to hear her stories and her views--of which she had plenty. By the end of the night the two of us were almost the only ones who haven't left for other pubs and my constantly staring at her obviously annoyed her. And shortly before the pub closed, the two of us sitting almost alone in a corner, she was like "I have no idea what you're still waiting for. They're all gone. I know, you wanna kiss and shit, but you know, you need to talk as well"... something like that she said. What she actually meant or wanted that night I have no idea. From today's perspective, I think, what she meant to say was: "Make your fucking move. The hell, it's your turn". In other words, she probably was trying hard all the time while I just kept waiting for something to happen. But, you know, I was a teenager and obviously didn't have the manual. I just remember then talking to her in a clumsy and nervous way. Whatever it was I eventually said to her, she was good with the answer--even if it must have been like pulling teeth. (Dt.: Sie musste mir jedes Wort aus der Nase ziehen). However, sooner or later we kissed and I therefore managed to calm down and suddenly had an easier time being myself. After leaving the pub, we (once again) exchanged numbers in order to meet again for a romantic night at hers.

And so it happened, I guess, about a few days or weeks later that we met again in her tiny studio. I remember calling her a few times to get the date and she postponed the event several times. But one day she called me and told me that she finally managed to tidy up and that I can come and visit her. When the day came I was very nervous cuz... I don't quite remember, cuz as I've told you, those were my most chaotic years... but I think, Gwendolin was the very first woman I had sex with, and it was about to happen that night.
When I entered her studio, I saw there was not much she could have shown me. She introduced me to the rat she kept in a cage and I think we maybe ate a bit, or didn't we?... but sooner or later we kissed and danced in her living, toyed with each other until we finally took off each others clothes and sank into her bed. She switched on her tellie and we started watching a stupid horror film called "the Ring" or something. But that movie running in the background was just a requisite anyway. Once in her bed I couldn't keep my hands off her. First she tried to play with my penis and softly asked if I didn't find her attractive since I couldn't get an erection. A moment later I just thought "What the fuck is wrong with me" and suddenly got a boner as if on cue. Everything in my head changed within seconds. First I tried to remain calm by simply diving deep into her eyes with my own, sometimes in between softly kissing her lips. But the moment she closed her eyes, I totally lost control. I felt poisoned, addicted, desperate like a vampire craving for blood. She whispered something like "I want to feel your claws" or something into my ears and so, I remember, violently let the fingernails of my right hand sink into the flesh of her back and scratched a bruise along her spine. She moaned painfully, then put my penis into her vagina. A few seconds later... definitely not much more... everything was over. I might have moaned, dunno, but I remember a disappointed expression on her face when I let all my body's weight fall on her. Much more I don't remember of that night. I just know, we cuddled a bit further, fell asleep and spent the entire night together. Maybe we tried to have sex a second time that night but if we did, it can't have been that intense cuz I can't remember. The next morning she had a hard time ushering me out of her studio--since I didn't want to leave.  I just know, I left her studio brainless and walked back home into my cellar flat to take a long and decent power nap...

Before I continue with the story, I need to make that train of thought a little more accessible that named the post series that ends with the post you read now:
In post #4 I told you about that awesome chic I met at an Unearth concert in Vienna, right... When what I thought was a serious relationship went awry, I first blamed everyone else for my "loss". But sometimes I tried to talk to my friends about the feelings that made me go nuts cuz--and that's true to this day--sometimes, leaving aside whether views can be right or wrong, it just needs a change of perspective; and an honest friend has all the wherewithals to give you just that. When I told one of the few decent friends I had that the girl I love was ghosting me and that I had no idea what to do, that smart friend was like "Yeah, you mentioned her, I think. How often did you actually meet?", and I was like "Yeah, we met at a concert, she visited me twice in my studio and we talked a lot on the phone and stuff", and then he was like "I see where you're heading; that sounds like you. Just one more question: Did you ever have sex with her?" and after a second pondering I was like "Nah, not a single time; we didn't get that far", and so my friend concluded "Well, Michi, then there was nothing; you're best getting over her". Of course, back then I didn't want to hear what he suggested and threw all the hatred and frustration at those I could reach and talk to, those who truly wanted to help me; in sum, all my real friends and my family. I turned away from my loved ones and chose a lonely life. But years later, when I realized how much my then gone friends meant to me, I thought: "Man, you were right. She didn't really love me. Whatever it was, it could not have been more than a brief brainfuck... and it was not supposed to hurt"--not necessarily cuz I haven't fucked that girl* but cuz she ran away early enough to make clear that she wasn't that interested in me.
Gwendolin, however, did not really run away; and to be honest, [hätte-hätte-Fahrradkette] I wish she would have run away, so that the pain I would have felt when she'd leave would have helped me conclude that what I felt was no longer good, justifiable or sustainable. Having typed down that, let's get back to the Gwendolin story:

The months to come I couldn't get that woman out of my head. So, my brain was still gone but the woman was in there instead. Every time I couldn't sleep I thought of her eyes, her cute pig-like nose, her gently-freckled cheeks or the shampoo smell of her curly hair. Every time I got super-randy I thought of her round luscious ass, her small breasts, her shaved pussy and the faint smell of her sweaty, white skin. And when I wasn't obsessed with the thoughts of her outer appearance, I thought about the shit she talked about, such as the books she had read, the movies she had watched, the religious view she promoted, the dreams and wishes she told me about, the necklace she wore and the messages that necklace conveyed. She was all up in my head and all I could think of was fucking her brains out for the rest of my life. But she herself might have had other plans...

...cuz, no idea how long it took me, but when I kinda came to senses again after that night--'though I actually never ever again came to senses after that night--I called her dozens of times cuz I wanted to see her again. Her reaction wasn't mere ghosting, but of a twenty incoming calls or short messages on her Nokia she would respond to maybe one or even none of them.

It turned out that in many ways Gwendolin was like my sisters first red-furred cat Radieschen (eng: radish): My petting was something she liked more than daily food but not when I felt like petting her but only when she asked for it; and when you told her to do or not to do certain things as in the beggings "Don't jump up the table", "Don't carry your birds into the garage", "Eat that mouse, don't torture it", "Leave that thing, it's dead already"... she clearly understood what I was saying but she just didn't give a damn fuck about it. And Gwendolin was just like Radieschen in that she might have loved me but like a toddler (who while experimenting in an early age hits you cuz he or she doesn't know any better) or like a cat (that actually never really turns into an adult and regularly cruelly tortures mice in order to get the entire hunting experience when studying their final suffering)... like such unguilty creatures she might not have fully realized that the hundreds of partners she chose had strong feelings of love... or maybe she knew and simply was an evil human being; who knows...

But well... as I said. It wasn't mere ghosting. I called and texted her many times throughout years and she must have had a feeling about how to keep my feelings for her alive...and when I think about that I just think of Radieschen torturing mice:

For instance, one day, Gwendolin sensationally took off her phone and talked to me. We met in the city and spend some time in a bar or something talking to each other. I have no idea why she felt like meeting, but she told me that she was in a relationship and when we finally departed, she gave me a kiss on the cheek. I haven't seen my face in the mirror in that moment. I just know for a fact that the expression on my face was precisely that odd, frustrated one of the hundred guys she talked to that night in the pub.

From the first day we spent the night together to the day when I fell in love with the girl from Vienna, I just remember thinking of Gwendoline every night before I go to bed, hoping she would call me, respond to my messages or something. When once in a blue moon she would answer my calls, I would tell her that I want to see her and that it wouldn't make sense if we didn't meet regularly. She then would tell me that she's always busy working and stuff but in between promising that she would soon come and see me again. Of course she barely did what she promised. I have no idea what sometimes brought us together again and why I always raised my hopes anew, thinking that she would ever change. Now that those years of useless yearning actually are gone, I count the days we've actually spent time together. Guess what, I remember four noteworthy events in a time period between the years 2000 and 2005: One time we met in the city center to have french fries and chicken. One time I invited her for a Shenanigans concert at St. Patrick's Day. One New Year's Eve night we kissed in the midnight hour on the bridge next to the local arts museum. And one night she made up for forgetting my birthday and fucked my brains out in one of her friends appartment. But those events of course were just intense enough to always get my heart back into her jar. It usually would take only one estimated call each year to make me fall for her again, thereby ignoring the rest of womanhood for ages. Every time she herself was in the mood to give me a ring she re-obtained what was left of the love I felt for her. As said with famous words of a tender-hearted soul artist:

 

...Just when I think

I've taken more than would a fool

I start fallin' back in love with you...

 Lyrics quote from "Fallin'"
by Alicia Keys
from the album "Songs in A Minor" (2001)

But it never felt as if I permanently fooled myself into thinking she'd love me. I think she loved me but not only me and definitely not as much as I loved her. That it always felt real and irreplaceably good might have been the reason why I couldn't let her go...

 

The funny part

And now we're talking 2005, right? Around that year I found solace in a handful of mouthwatering, hot girls who were in for the experience. A few of them I briefly mentioned in post #4 of this series. Those crazy ladies--all of them looking like they jumped out of a Playboy cover--usually kept me for a couple of weeks before they eventually ran off in the woods or somewhere. But at least they stood for a while and by spending time with them I got an idea of what a relationship might look like. Most of the time I was with one girl and one girl only cuz otherwise it still would have felt like cheating. But in all endeavors of morality, when I made it to divert myself from past heartaches cuz of Gwendolin or Miss Vienna, I had an easy time permanently asking for consent. That's simply much easier once a healthy pot chic for instance is good with you as her temporary fucker being a male pig. Sooner or later healthy girls get us pervs without feeling molested. And the girls I rocked around 2005 just had that undamaged sleaziness in their mind; they knew that when you like them and have thousand things in your head that you'd love to do with them, they only have to agree to the fifteen things they like as well. The girls sooner or later broke up with me but me asking for consent when I was randy was usually not the problem. I learned a lot that year and I assume what I found out is how you ask for consent once a girl is actually your girlfriend. Here is my list of rejections from girls I shared beds with that I couldn't forget in twenty years; starting with the most frustrating one:

"No, I'm with Max now".
"Michi, I don't want to sleep with you tonight".
"Take your hands off my breast".
"Take your hands off my ass".
wordlessly taking my hands off her breasts
wordlessly taking my hands off her ass
wordlessly putting my hands from the breasts back to the belly, then kissing me
and eventually the least frustrating one: "Again?"

The approval list starts with "Again already?" but doesn't get much longer.

Anyway, I think that experienced women never came up with the idea to make rejection lists unless they have a thing for blank paper...  

No fun at all

Alright. I promised you a few months ago, when the time comes I won't deny deep thoughts, even if you don't want to read them. I couldn't really do that. I constantly had to leave out things knowing that I would be misunderstood if I said certain things. A bit I try to tell you anyway cuz I think you're brave enough to handle my world view. So let us pretend that for a second I'm telling you things every honest man would like to tell you in a reflected state of mind; let us pretend sooner or later every man who has had the experiences I had might preach the following words:

 

Know that for most people sex might merely be the icing of the cake in a relationship. (Not for me, by the way. I'm just assuming;) As you may have found out by reading, I personally had to find out the hard way that it's not a fulfilling friendship when there is not even cake. So, I recommend serving cake on a regular basis; it's healthy. However, if you as a woman spend a lot of time with a man and think that cake doesn't need much icing, just two straight hints:

1. If you wanna talk but don't wanna listen, get a dog.

2. If you wanna talk and listen but don't wanna rock the dude, just know that there is no shame in being a lesbian. Just make sure you wear an army haircut and look like a classy dike. The problem pervs like me have is that we think you girls are beautiful the way you are. So most of the time with you, we're having a hard time keeping our hands off you.

 

Allright. It's out again... Glasses may shatter and hate may be felt; shame on me. If you knew from the start what I was talking about then the green part wasn't made for you. I might just have felt the urge to let it out at least once to make sure Gwendolin's imprint on me won't rub off on the sweethearts that do deserve my love and devotion; and emphasizing on icing I felt was necassary. Cuz if that girl would have fucked the rest of my body just half as much as she had fucked my brain, she would have been the jackpot I always wanted her to be. But she wasn't--cuz she wasn't there for me and hardly ever with me.

 

Eventually I realized that Gwendolin would never have given me that little bit of time that I needed to feel complete inside...
... and so one day, about half a year or something after finishing art school, I stood in the shell of a women's toilette performing voluntary artistic tiling, when suddenly my Nokia peeped. It was Gwendolin who asked me repeatedly if I wanted to meet her in the city. I remember not texting back much more then simply "No" every time she paraphrazed the same question, obviously expecting I'd change my mind. But I went with my cold answer until she stopped texting. It felt wrong in the beginning and I couldn't sleep well that night, but I had sworn myself months before she texted that I would rather stay alone for the rest of my life than to ever again needle my brain with the same stupid illusion I had started to create when she fucked me for the first time.

 

And today Gwen no longer hurts; and my wishes that the girls I loved shall be happy when I'm gone might have come true: Assuming that Gwen's mother was dead--since Gwen once told me that she was already very sick when we last met about fifteen years ago--there wouldn't be much that would keep her in my Austrian city. She always had a thing for the Brits, for the Irish and other northern cultures; and she travelled around some time when she wasn't selling underground music, toy blocks, or computers. About a year ago I was curious what had happened to her and so I googled her. She later in her life worked as a translator for a while, started studying the things she already was interested in back in the day and, fortunately, married a Scandinavian dude with whom she has two lovely kids now. That'll keep her away for quite some time and chances are high we both are going to be happy sooner or later.

 

 

To conclude

In the past I made it a habit to drown myself in fantasies instead of making dreams come true. I would meet girls and not find courage to make my intensions clear once my feelings were too strong to not deal with'em. Probably this poisonous concoction of wishful thinking, the fear of rejection and the childish idea that good things happen coincidentially would keep me from talking business with the women I truly wanted in my life. Also, hoping that people might change was a bit naive; just the ones with the 💛 can do that; and those are hard to find*.

 

Today I take with me that from the thousands of great women that are still out there, only one single girl needs to muster up the courage to mirror my feelings. And if she can do that, then scheduling twosome hours would come free-willingly; and spending every fortnight together may be a piece of cake.

 

Peace

Thanks to my real friends (and my mom) who never give me the feeling that spending time with me once in a blue moon wasn't worth it

I fucking love you for everything you've taught me while just being friends with me

and with tears in my eyes I end this horrible post

Feel free to listen to the song I felt listening to when I finished this post series. I put the video below.

Yours,
Little Kulla ❤🐙

--------------------------------------------

Sources (in case you wanna dig deeper;-)

 

* "...not necessarily cuz I haven't fucked that girl..."

cultural scripts - a chat with ChatGPT on the 18th of July 2024

 

 

Borrowed plumes in this writing: 

* Heart of Gold - Neal Young

 

 

 

Start of season 2
The bullshit in our skulls. Part 0: Prayers in advance