Archive for November, 2010

idiot wisdom #1

When everyday is the same, become a bum.


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Of course you are.

A writer.

That’s what you are.

You want  to earn a living saying what’s on your mind.

You don’t want to work hard.

You don’t want to be exhausted.

You want to be famous.

Famous for telling whatever crazy thing comes to your mind.

You want people to adore you.

You want to feel loved.

Of course you are a writer.

Of course you are.

You want to write to enlighten people with things they don’t know.

You want to make people notice things they miss.

You want to make people fall in love with you.

You want to be as honest as it can get.

Sometimes you’re too honest.

So honest – people actually feel sad for you.

But you want that.

For some reason.

You don’t know why but it makes you feel special.

Cos you’re a writer.

And that’s what you are.

A writer.

Like everyone else on the planet.

You write.

Like everyone else.

You punch something into that piece of paper.

You think you’re great and the best there ever was.

But you’re not.

Of course.

Because you are a writer.

Like me.

I’m a writer.

I just push buttons.

It’s just words.






Really nothing.

It’s just me.

The universe as I explore it.

I’m a writer.

I’m a writer.

Yes, of course I am.

And there’s no beauty in it.

Writing is a fertilizer.

It makes thoughts grow.

Nothing more, nothing less.

I’m not a writer.

I am dung.

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That’s You!

And then again, everyone’s life matters.

There’s nothing undone.

There’s no one quite like you.

You are you.

No one has ever been you before.

And yet you want to be someone else.

Fuck you.

Listen to me asshole.

This is your life.

It’s exactly what you want.

It’s exactly as fucked up as it needs to be.


You wouldn’t be you.

You’d be famous.

You’d be poor.

You’d be rich.

You’d be stupid.

You’d be smart.

You’d be Jesus.

You’d be God.

You’d be a chinese fisherman on the Guilin river.

You’d be all of them.

But you’re not.

You are you.

Now go live that life.

The greatest you’ve ever been given.

Your Life.

Fuck you!

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“You’re happiest, when drunk”

“It’s lots of money that will make you feel good, not your noble thoughts.”

“It’s better to have lived a life with nothing but good will, than to have actually changed the world.””

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I wanna do something with my life.
I’m sick and tired of the fun and drinking.

The good feelings.

The bad feelings.

They tire me.

I want to change the world.

I don’t want to change the world.

I’m the miserable contradiction of 6 billion years of evolution.

It took 6 fucking billion years for this.

I think it’s not good enough.

I don’t want to change the world and the people who do

bless their heart for trying.

I don’t wanna change the world.

Only misery makes you grow.

Imagine all life would be fun.

No one would learn.

No one would evolve.

I want to feel miserable to feel great-

I want to vomit.

I want to cry.

I want to be totally enlightened,

at least before I die.

1 second would be sufficient.

Years of life.

Seconds of death.

I hope I didn’t miss all the fun.

I’m trying.

I’m trying real hard.

To make everyday a joyride.

But sometimes in the middle of the night it haunts me.

I might die without having seen it all.

I might die without fully enjoying it all.

And that’s fine in a weird way.

Imagine all the people would.

No worries, no pain, no fun.

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fick dich doch ins knie!

ja ja ja ja scheisse ja,

es wurde schon 1000 mal gesagt,

alles was ich sagen will,

diese Wichser aus der Vergangenheit,

sie kamen mir zuvor,

all meine Gedanken wurden schon gedacht,

sogar selbst diese,

und jene,

und eene meene muh,

raus bist du noch lange nicht,

nur weil so ein Spast damals schon erkannt hat,

was du aus eigener Erfahrung erst lernen musstest,

blah blah blah blah scheisse blah,

ich sage und ich sage nichts,

denn es ist egal was ich sage,

es wurde schon einmal besser formuliert,

deshalb habe ich nichts mehr zu sagen.

Dies ist das Ende.

Keine Geschichten.

Kein Spass.

Das Ende.

Und was auch immer danach kommt,

wird sowieso das selbe sein,

es wird sich nichts geändert haben.

Ich schreibe diese Zeilen eigentlich nur

sozusagen als Testament für zukünftige Lyrik.

Und auch die tollsten zuknftigen Poeten und Schriftsteller,

ach meinetwegen auch ihr, dort, in der Vergangenheit,

fickt euch verdammt noch mal ins Knie!

Die Bedeutung meiner Worte: Keine.

Die Bedeutung deiner Worte: Keine.

Die Bedeutung selbst. Nichtig.

Kotz dich aus wenn es sein muss.

Doch die Lyrik ist tot.

Sie hat niemals gelebt.


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You can never feel too good.

Once you feel too good.

You’ve arrived.

Mission accomplished.

If you ever find yourself in that position.

Abort mission immediately and find something

that will put you back into deep deep misery again.

Right away! Don’t waste time with satisfaction or

appreciation. Don’t stop and look at the beauty.

Go back to your misery. Back to your constant

slavery to become better than anybody else.

Because you are better.

Go back there, because that’s where home is.


Do it. Do it now!

Make sure not to waste any time living in arteficially perfect bliss.


We are happiest

being miserable and demanding.

We are happiest making the impossible possible

and thinking it’s still not enough.

That’s the human spirit,

Unlimited greed for more.

We couldn’t live in a status quo.

We couldn’t live in a perfect world.

Let’s make it happen.


7 billion thumbs up.

(this advice is best before:

when the sun explodes and nothing will be left)

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