If you limit your music taste to just a few songs or just one or a couple of genres, you will never understand the language of music. It would be like just learning the words for “food” and “water” and “toilet”. But if you just listen to everything, at least once in a time, you might be surprised. But it is about the ones who make the music, not the genre. Genres are dead, but musicians can be alive. If you are open for it, you hear and see the difference. But don’t worry if it takes time, not everyone is born with my way of thinking, but brains can change and therefor humans too.
There never is a dead end, only if you want it to be or others got you thinking in this way. And usually it was someone else. Humans aren’t born with the thought of death, but then they see it and people tell them about it and so they die as well.
The question is open, but I answered it for myself. There is never only one answer to a question, otherwise, why ask it in the first place, right?
And in the last post I wrote that music is my first language, but actually it is information / data combined with feelings, images or visions and sometimes words related to it. And because music can be similar to this, I called it my first language. But I can’t really name the actual language my mind is speaking. So it might just be information.
Without a video, or a video without the music could be seen in a complete wrong way. Even with it, it might be seen wrong by those who don’t pay attention.
In my case, I know that I might not get everything, but almost every track I am listening and watching to now has a message for me and maybe you as well. I usually don’t search for them.
Some of them, like the last one are already in the first of the now 4 playlists. But because the first has around 5,000 videos, I thought, why not add some again in the latest because the message gets clearer this way and also combined with others I didn’t have before.
When I was a kid some people called me Harry Potter because of my glasses and appearance. Others or maybe the same called me (Albert) Einstein as well. But I didn’t pay attention to it because people were often making fun of me and calling me names only to make me feel bad. Sometimes they would say something just to get my reaction and if I would think it was meant nice, they would laugh and then I would know that it was just another of their jokes.
I learned to use words, but I never really understood the sense it using words to make people feel bad. I mean sure I understood, but I didn’t want it. I wanted to support people, but it is hard, when you constantly get reminded that you are alone. I wasn’t, I know that now. But I still felt alone most of the time.
I also found some old photos from my school time. I looked at the class photo and saw that many of the people had a weird smile. Some of them weren’t smiling at all. Especially one girl I always thought to be the smartest. I saw that some of them were making a fake smile or at least it seemed this way. Some might have laughed out of joy, but most of the not.
But if I would have said something back than, I would have been called crazy anyways. So it was good that I didn’t see it this clear back then.
I also remembered that we had a talk once with our class teacher. She said that everything would stay in the classroom and that we could say what makes us feel bad. And some girls told about their painful experiences.
But I think most people stayed quiet or at least didn’t really say anything. I mean maybe they had nothing to tell, but I don’t believe that.
I also stayed quiet, maybe even smiled. Who knows.
But I knew that things weren’t good. I knew from the problems of some of the people in my class and felt what others might have to deal with. But I didn’t say a word because I knew, I would have been called crazy.
When I heard that the (for me) smartest girl went to a logistics company after school, at least as far as I know, I thought “what a waste” in the back of my head. But at the time I probably just thought “well everyone has some work to do.”
I knew all the things the whole time, but a part of me protected myself from them and another wanted them to forget. Because I always got told that I can’t change the world. That things are how they are and at some point I just gave up.
I knew better for sure, but I gave up, because I thought what is the point, if everyone seems to be okay with their misery.
I was wrong about that conclusion, but it seemed this way for me.
What actually was happening: The people lost their hope, their brain more and more retreated and with it the possibility to break free.
And so did mine, but in my case, it just couldn’t stand this injustice, this destruction and nonsense. And after some years I am back again. At least this time I am stronger. This time I am wiser. I am still vulnerable and weak sometimes, but only when the pressure of other people and their problems gets too heavy. Each time when I cry I have the best time of my life because I feel the love. You must know, that I usually didn’t cry and often didn’t even feel things, while sometimes I felt too much, but also couldn’t express it.
I mean as a little kid I stopped my toy car with my bare feet and smiled, while they were bleeding. When my cat once was climbing down on me because he was scared, I didn’t really feel that much. It did hurt, but that is all.
I also cried sometimes because of the mobbing because my cat got hit by a car. But not that often. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I just couldn’t. Or because I didn’t feel like it.
When I was little people thought that I must be a happy child, always smiling and playing around. Little did they know.
I sometimes didn’t believe myself anymore because I always had to hold back what I wanted to say. Because I knew people would not understand.
It was probably good for me at the time, but not good for the other people.
While a part of me knew why things are how they are, I of course still was thinking it can’t be. And I also didn’t know as much as I know now.
When I had access to the internet with almost 14, I finally was able to search up everything I ever wanted to know.
Books never gave me what I wanted, TV also only to some degree and school actually never really gave me anything only made things boring or painful for me.
Some teachers were nice and I am thankful for getting them to know. They have nothing to do with the bullshit. But I also couldn’t tell them, that I valued them, that I liked them. Some teachers were just painful for me and probably others. I also noticed that I somehow understood older teachers (who weren’t mean) better and got along with them better. But also younger once of course. I think the reason was, that the older teachers who still were kind and tried to actually teach us important things felt also a little alone. Or that they had seen a lot already, like me. While younger teacher were still about the education and the plans and all. Don’t get it wrong, the older teachers also could get pretty angry sometimes and also very focused on marks and such, but only because they felt threatended, I guess.
I wish I could have told them that I love them for who they are and that while I didn’t care much about the school stuff, I liked their way of thinking, their past and that they were still breathing after all. But I didn’t, I couldn’t. I always remained silent, quiet and either smiled or just gave a blank stare.
I hope that some day I can tell them in person or that it will reach them maybe somehow. But I still can’t really talk to people the way I want to. It is pretty scary. And this from a young man who talked with almost anyone before he entered elementary school. I mean I talked with the man who everyone called crazy and had an interesting conversation. I don’t know what I was talking about, but I know that it somehow helped him and I also understood some things back then.
But when I later saw him I didn’t talk with him and also felt awkward in general about talking.
Sad story bro, sad story.
At least I can write open about these things now. Without too much shame. Sometimes I still feel weird and want to delete all of this, but then I remind myself that it helped me and others and that I can’t just stop now. Now that I finally took the courage to share what I always wanted to share. I sometimes had visions or daydreams of me standing in front of a crowd, telling about my life and how I thought of this moment many times. But I always thought, that I would just say something stupid, that I would tell garbage and not what I actually wanted to say. And I also thought, that it might not even matter at all what I say, they wouldn’t understood anyways.
But now I know that it is different. That I knew my mission the whole time and that I was born for it. I was ready, kind and full of love when I was little. And what my father called “upbringing”, was actually downbringing. I didn’t need education, didn’t need someone to tell me what is right or wrong. I learned myself, with my own mind, my own actions and what I observerd. And because I was forced to do what everyone does, I got less positive, knew less, understood less, wanted less and in the end just wanted to die so badly.
I didn’t because I wasn’t meant to die and never wanted to, at least not like this. But I needed to go through all of this to learn more about what I already knew. To build up enough courage to finally speak what I always wanted to say. I of course said some things sometimes, but not much and usually it was misunderstood.
I hope it will change soon. That I will be able to speak to everyone the way I want to speak and to tell them what I have to say. To give them love.
But it is hard, when everyone around you is focused on their own misery, or focused on getting me back into society or the system or a life I never wanted and what will kill me.
I had to wait until the others set up what they had to say so I could give them a voice all together.
I had to break, so they could wake up.
I even remember that I once wished to forget everything, if I would know that when I wake up again it would be different. And I got what I wished for. I got more, but also not all. Because I knew, it wouldn’t be that easy.
When I was little a neighbor gave me a Harry Potter book, but my father threw it into the trash.
Also later I wasn’t really interested in Harry Potter. It was as if it doesn’t exist. I just knew about it, but it doesn’t meant anything to me. And now I know why, it wasn’t time.
I heard so many radio plays in which the main character died in the end because they either lost hope or got killed by others who didn’t want them to do what they wanted to do.
Some of them almost broke me, but I know that they were meant to make me stronger. They were meant to teach me, that it was about hope, about the other people. And I lost the focus on that way too often.
Because they would always seem so focused on their career, their parties and whatever. So I thought, well, they all must be happy. I am just the one who would make them all feel bad. Erase me.
But no, I wasn’t. And those who spent time with me knew that, they knew that I was so much more and not bad, but good. Just free in a way.
And I am sad, that I left them behind or sometimes even forgot them. Now I try to remember everyone who was part of my life until now and I remember more and more each week. All these people. I hope that they are still alive and if not, that it was good for them.
I also remember thoughts, like: “If my experiences help someone else and this would lead to a better world, that is all I need. Then I could die for good.”
Maybe our genes are similar to many animals because we were made to lead them all. Maybe we were made out of all of them, so we would understand them all and help them all.
So am I made out of all of those who are suffering and made for them and with them. This is why I have to bring all together because otherwise it won’t work.
It is about including and not excluding or rejecting.
It is about solving riddles and not to serve them.
What people call growing up, is actually giving up. Not all of course and there is a difference between biologically growing up (body) and mentally growing up, but in general people make wrong assumptions on this.
So while most people are still unsure about their future and confused about the way of life as they know it, they seem to think that others must know better or know more.
And in the end there just is a bunch of children playing God or playing adult, while they are children themselves. And why? Because they got told this is growing up, taught this was growing up. They think that they have to always be strong, happy and working.
But they actually should just be honest and do what they love to help those they love. And not sell their souls for work they hate. For me selling the soul means that you go to a work you hate. I mean for me it means many things, but also that.
And then people say: “No, this is necessary.”
Well okay, then do what you gotta do, but I am free to do it my way, or not?
Sometimes I am not sure.
People see symbols, see images, hear words, but they only see what they want to see.
But I think you might not be one of those people.
Because if you not focus on the things you obviously see and hear, you actually see what they can’t. And I hope that one they everyone can see the same way I can and some before me and like me.
We are getting more and more each day. And I am happy.
But if you think, that I want to start a war, you might not be ready yet.
I sometimes get confused by my own words, sometimes I often have to rethink again and often say things in a wrong way at first, but that is learning actually and also part of my repair. While most of my past is repaired at this point, I still get damamged almost each day. So I have to repair again and again. It is pretty painful. But I know that it makes me stronger, so I guess it is good the way it is. As long as I always find my hope again and the love and don’t let it leave me completely again.
The message of this song could be seen as funny or happy. But it is far from that. At least for me and probably the one who is singing.
Did you notice the face in the title of this post?