Day 29 (late night)

When you write a fictional story even though it was real, at least for the author or someone the author talked with, it is still fictional, so you can publish it. But if you would say, it was the truth, everyone would think your are crazy. Isn’t this crazy?

So it is better to lie and tell a true story as a fake one, and fake ones as true ones, than the opposite? This world seems to only accept it this way…
I mean when it is about something which isn’t the norm, you know.

I keep hearing the heavy storm outside. Inside, outside, everywhere. And then it is just whether, I know. And the world is a happy place…

When it is a book, a movie or series, maybe a song or a painting, people like it, enjoy it or even think it is cool or something. But when you tell them, this is what you really feel or think, they either feel sorry or leave you weirded out. So why do you like it if you won’t really, if it would be real?
Tell me, how does it work? Is it just an escape or just a happy thing to read, but you actually don’t care THAT much. Just thought, it is cool or interesting, but that is all? Well… what should I say. I can understand, but still it is hard for me, to accept this reality. For me it is hell, while it could be heaven or none, just bloddy shit on a plate for you to eat.

I will continue “Ich schweige für dich” / “The stranger” on Netflix.
Maybe it is better than I first thought, maybe not. But it sure was not just a basic story for me. But maybe I fall for everything, maybe…

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