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)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WORK IN PROGRESS

  

* Borrowed plumes in this writing:

Allen Carr'S Easy Way to Stop Smoking

Endlich Nichtraucher – Allen Carr