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
... 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.
To conclude
Little Kulla ❤🐙
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