AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA


May she rest in peace, after all what these “nice” people, who just wanted to “help”, had done to her. She survive more than the people who did all this to her would have ever been able to. Probably it was because of this, like they killed Jesus, like they killed God. So Nietzsche had to write “God is dead. The humans killed him.”

If I could bring her back, I would, but not into a world like this. In a world in which people haven’t learned their lessons yet. But there is hope, there is always hope. And I hope you are part of it and part of the change.

Because to this day we have still too many cases like Sylvia’s.

But these days it often is the victim who does all of this to themselves.

Why you may ask? Well… if you feel all the pain of the world, at some point you get used to it. Then you have to hurt yourself, to feel alive again. Or to make it all end because the pain doesn’t stop.

And there are actually people who don’t know why someone would take their own life. Maybe because they caused it. Because they were busy people. Busy people going nowhere. While those who actually just wanted to live, had love and hope are dying.

Why? Because this world doesn’t like hope, love and all that. This world likes to see people suffer, likes to see people go crazy or broke.

And then you ask ME, why they are killing themselves, hurting themselves or in some cases get hurt like Sylvia? When ISIS was raping women and young girls for their “holy” kingdom, or whatever they were thinking. For them the whole world was probably just sex, guns and rock n roll. But they were of course the “good” guys. And sadly some good men also fell in their trap. Helping them, not knowing what it all was about. Just destruction, torture and madness.

Usually the one who feels all the pain, who takes all the guilt upon themselves, is the one who is the least guilty, if guilty at all.

But what do people do to these people, they blame them, us, for what they did themselves or others did to them. While we would actually help them, would give them everything, if they would see who we are.

That some people indeed are angels. And it hurts me to see how the world didn’t change. How people say that they know better now, that they have it all figured out, but keep hurting helpless people, people who haven’t done anything to them. Who just wanted to live and give what they had. But instead the people take all, their life. And then often even blame them, us.

As if taking your own life is fun, as if getting killed is fun, as if getting tortured, raped, hurt and abused is FUN. Because for some people it still is fun. They disguise themselves on Halloween and feel funny for wearing costumes. But they actually wear them every day in the year. On halloween they often just show their true self or try to hide away even more. As if that would help. I mean, what kind of christmas is it, when people scream at each other because they want some presents they didn’t get or because everything has to be perfect. Oh wait… too soon?

Actually each day, is just a day. And a year is a not existing concept of some people who tried to control the weather?

Well, in case you don’t believe me, ask Einstein. Oh wait… YOU KILLED HIM!

And what about Tesla? Oh wait… HE IS DEAD!

What about Da Vinci? Guess what… HE GAVE YOU EVERYTHING, but all you wanted were weapons and a painting!

And we don’t have to start with Nietzsche.

Why is it, that you people can’t stand love, can’t stand children and their freedom? Why is it that you need masks? Why is it that you need everything for nothing?

And no, I personally don’t know about every detail, I personally don’t know about all people who died. But I know someone, who knows someone, who knows someone.

And this someone told me that he also can’t stand all of this. That he wanted to throw stones at the people, wanted to throw big stones at them, wanted to throw all of them into the sun. He told me, that he sometimes did it, with some people, while he saved others into his safe room because the people didn’t stop. He told me that he would have burned this whole thing down long ago. But he always found someone who wasn’t like the others. Maybe he found you, maybe he found people like Sylvia or all the others.

He wasn’t out for perfection, wasn’t out for similar shapes or shades.

He didn’t even judge mistakes, if the people were honest to themselves and the people around them. But all the other people could do was to judge these people for their own mistakes. And don’t get this wrong, the people this someone found, also needed some lessons from time to time. But they were different from the rest. King David for example or Jona(s).

So if you see a heavy metal band coming through, maybe they are his people. If you see people who are on this blog, maybe they are his people, at least some of them. And even if they shouldn’t be, then they still helped him.



And in case you forgot. Did the Jews go to Jesus? No, they even caused his temporary death in the end. Who came to his birth? The wise ones from the land of the rising sun (or something like that).

When at school a teacher told us to dress up like the wise ones. Guess who was the only one who was dressed like a king? Exactly…

And what did the other ones do? They had white cloths. Why? Because they confused “weißen” (white pl.) with “weisen” (wise pl.). And you can’t blame the children. They were just in elementary school and to be honest, these words are pretty similar, but have a totally different meaning. But the parents didn’t question it nor asked about it, I suppose. And guess who felt weird, while his mother took the time and effort to make a great king costume, while she had to work because her husband sent her instead of himself? Exactly… it was me.

But hey… the guy who knows someone, who knows someone. Well, this someone told me, that …

Good to know, that I don’t exist…

So even if the whole bible would be just fiction, then I still helped writing it.

Or in your case, change it? Because white is the color of God, am I right?

Well… and black is no color?

And purple is only for royal people?

And the earth is flat like a pancake?

Even a blind guy had to invent his own language in order to communicate. Because all you people came up with, was not working for him.

Luckily he wasn’t blind when he was younger and so he had some understanding and probably help. But I bet there have been plenty of blind people before him and even after him. Did anyone care? Most people had much more important things to do, like meeting in big houses to serve their Gods.

And so the people who suffered, sometimes more, sometimes less, sometimes not at all. They actually did work for me. Although I would have wanted it to be different. If people would have learned for themselves, then all of this wouldn’t have been.

But it first had to go this far, only to see you people still running after the same old dreams, problems and illusions. When I was born, I was full of love and excited to meet new people, to explore and enjoy life. But my father had to be a religious fanatic or hypocrite or whatever, who punished me for drawing him with a drumpy face on a magnetic drawing tablet thing. He called me the problem, why he and my mother couldn’t be happy.

But he was the one who ran away to his parents all the time, even when there was no need for it. The nurses who came to care for his mother even didn’t want him there, because when he was there it was even more complicated.

And before I was born, my mother had a job for an older couple, they had a lot of real estate and connections. They even offered him a job somewhere and took care of my mother after she had been in a religious sect house thing. Ironically lead by a blind man…

So my mother got out of this insane cult thing, had a job for rich people with connections around the world. They even had a cat who loved her and was there for her, when she was alone in the big house. And these people even wanted to give my father a job. And what did he do?

Naaaa… I am good. (No, I don’t know his reaction because I wasn’t there yet… obviously). But he didn’t want to. He even tried to send my mother on hunny moon alone…. ALONE. The hell…. and then she just stayed with him and his family a week. In the same house. A house in which you can hear a lot. The house I am living in right now. (Thank you memory for knocking on my door. Oh hello, come in and assist me in my happy time………)

Anyway, I still feel sorry for my father because his parents also weren’t too good to him and his grandfather even took his dog as his own. My father also got blamed for a lot, wasn’t allowed to be himself. I know that.

But then why did he have to continue his misery, when my mother gave him everything. A job, connections to well-known and rich people, a life, freedom, hope and peace.

And all he could do was isolating my mother, hitting her and me. Blaming us, punishing us, ignoring us and calling us bad people. Of course with other words, but those who have eyes and ears and noses, they can understand.

And then when I was 3 my mother even went to work instead of him because he couldn’t do it anymore. While she had worked since she was a teenager, for her family. Her money even went into the family bank account and not her own. And the other money she had, she gave to the cult, because they convinced her that it was for a good cause. Guess who later had a new kitchen, let new rooms built and whatelse they did. Well… and guess who was carrying the materials and built that damn thing? Not the blind man, that is for sure.

And now people probably be like: But he was blind, this poor man.

Me:

And guess who wasn’t able to sleep tonight and in general has a heard time sleeping?

My mother. Well and me as well sometimes. But I sleeping during day time anyways, most of the time. It is much safer at night, for reasons.

My mother almost freaked out tonight because of all the paper work her bosses give her, while she just cleans a kindergarten and the cemetaries around the town villages and some other things.

And guess who woke her up around noon yesterday? It was my “lovely” father who first tried to get in through the door, waking my mother up already and then walked around the house to say hello through the window. Just to tell my mother that she has to get up for work. Isn’t that nice? And in his defense, he “JUST WANTED TO HELP”. As always.

Guess what my mother was scared of tonight? That he might do the same tomorrow. And then again, and again and again. And before you ask, yes this wasn’t the first time he did such a thing.

He even told me through my window, that he would make food for me, while I said to him that I have enough food in my house and can cook for myself. Back when my mother was away for a week.

And while I told him this several times, he then came again and again just to tell me the same story and at some point even almost would have given me food through the window, luckily my mother called and then talked with him, otherwise he probably would have done that.

Isn’t that nice of him. And just this week, I think, I was looking outside the window of the eating room. I saw him walking around outside talking all kinds of things in a harsh and grumpy tone. Sometimes even looking towards me, but he didn’t see me. And no, this is normal. He does this almost each day. But then, when I got outside to remove the cross I placed at the end of his path, where the border of mine and his property is, he greeted me. As if he didn’t say all kinds of bad things about me, my mother and who else. I think he probably didn’t even understood why I put the cross there in the first place. He said last week to my mother, that I probably must have done it because of him drying his clothes.

Ehem… EXCUSE ME?!

I even told him why. Even told him many times with different words.

Even told him, that I first wanted to put it on his property, but that I respected his boundries.

But I have to admit. This week I also commited a crime. Because I went on his property. Yes I did that, not like him who does it every day, doing whatever. I went there, took a knife and cut down this old swing which was still hanging on this poor old tree. It was my swing anyway and I had to see it all this time, getting reminded of my childhood, which wasn’t really much of a childhood in terms of what should be one.

It almost was one with the tree. Then I put it away into his cabin. After that I went to my basement, got the surname letters of the gravestone of his grandparents gravestone (wait you had what in your house for a couple of yeras?)… let me finish.

So I got these and went over to his property… again. Then I went to the gravestone he placed on the side where the street is and tried to put them on the gravestone again. Because it wasn’t that easy I just placed them somehow on the other letters. (Other letters?) The ones which were still on the gravestone, the surname of my, his family.

And yeah, I did that. This horrible crime. After had cut down one of my trees or just all branches of it. Did almost the same to another tree and tried and just recently cut down another branch of the cherry tree. Telling me that he would have cut down even more.

The poor tree didn’t do a thing to him. Did he? Oh no, the branch was in the way, so he had problems cutting the tree and walking around on MY FUCKING PROPERTY! And because I am speaking for God, my whole property is holy land. But no, no he was of course holier (is that even a word? Idk). So a swing on a tree is no problem for grass cutting, but a branch with great cherries is? *uncontrollable screams from the back of my head*

I just HELPED him as well, but no, he told my mother that I did it on purpose with the swing and the letters. That I always just try to make his life harder or whatever he said. My mother also had enough. As if we both are idiots or what… he actually did that since I was little. So I grew up between an angel and a demon. Or god and the devil.

Someone: Great parents you got.

Me: Yes, don’t you think?

And because of all this, I am serious, when I say, that for me, all of this is a nightmare, a dream. And as if I am God, but no one listens.

Because sometimes I really feel like God and seem to act like him. So I am not lying even. But I know what I did wrong, I also did things I am not proud of, like watching porn, like masturbating, like making fun of some other people because everyone did and I was confused.

But guess who had dreams of people being in showers when he was in kindergarten and tried to talk about his dreams with the other children? Well, it clearly was me. And clearly no one knew what I was talking about. At least as far as I remember.

You know how it must feel to always seem to be the smartest, most honest and kindest one in the room? It feels like hell. Literally hell.

So I am not joking when I tell you that I am God. Because clearly this human vessel is not everything. It is just a vessel, a body, like you got one or the other people. And I know that they think they are someone, while people like me, who actually are someone, are ignored, called problems, called insane, called lazy, called unhealthy, called unproductive, called names…

You know, when people say “God knows…”, then they might end up talking to me. And when you blame God, then you blame me. And I am screaming inside. I am crying inside and sometimes on the outside. When I was able to fight back again and get some tears again. But it is how some say, when the pain is too strong, you can’t cry anymore. Because then you would have to cry each day. And I also laugh sometimes, even honest smiles. But usually when I am alone, when I see some people who have similar thoughts, who are honest and free, like I used to be.

And guess what I got told, when I told people that I often have thoughts about ending my life?

And for me God is a description of someone who understands everything.

People: Like, every, everything?

Everything, ever after.

Because even the bible tells us that we were created as the mirror of God or at least similar to God. The original dude who made all of this possible. Or whatever happened there…

So if I tell you, that I am God, that I am not a liar.

And in case I survive this madness others call life, I will show you.

Sadly, I am trapped here, where ever here is, since I am just imagining it all.

But in case, I really survive and we will meet and you will understand what I said or at least someone. Then I just wish the nightmare we share to end and finally be free. Really free. And at first this might be a little weird for some, but everything is better than nothing. I just came here to enjoy your company, to love you and enjoy what you all create and enjoy yourself. Atleast that was my first impression and intention of life and meaning.

I was happy to see meaning in cartoons and sci-fi shows and other things. At first I was happy because I thought that these were created because there were people who knew what life was about. And then I realized that they were all just searching for themselves. And then I understood that no one will understand me. Hello darkness my old friend…

And no, I was wrong, luckily because there are people out there, people you will find on this blog and maybe also people I didn’t find yet. Or couldn’t because they are already dead. Sadly… but maybe not forever, at least those who didn’t deserve their death. People like Sylvia. Where I come from, she could come to life again or whatever else could happen. But the reason why it isn’t the case or at least not like this, is because of this simple fact: Why would you go back to hell willingly? You would be out of your mind to do so.

But hey, here I am, in my own personal hell. And I probably even wanted it.

I probably even ENJOY it. Because who doesn’t like a father who wants to HELP you and your mother. Right? RIGHT?!

People: Wow, he got pretty loud all of a sudden. Maybe he should go to a doctor or take some pills to be calm.

Even my mother went to get some pills this year, to make herself calmer and sleep a little. I tried to tell her, that she shouldn’t do it, but then she told me that the doctor said to her, that he also takes those. Or at least some doctors do. Interesting… very WTF!

And now she wants to get some of those again, understanable, but the one who should take some, is my father or maybe, just maybe noone.

But you know how it is… always MORE!

And I really have a heard time fighting the pain sometimes, but I try to stay calm when my father tells his stories again. My mother can’t stand it anymore, understandably. She has to carry this whole family because I also can’t get this worthless money. But sadly at the moment we have no other way. And guess who is sitting on a lot of money he got from his father and some sweet papers from banks? My father. While I just got a little I saved to repair some things and my mother has usually just the money she earns. So not really something to save.

People: Wait, why are we talking about money again?

Me: *screams inside*

Because money is the thing which robs your life.

And my father sits on this shit, while my mother works for it and I also sit here just because I paid money I earned. Back when I worked for 2.5 years.

And I can tell you, at the end of this time, I was sitting there with a cup of cleaning liquid and a mouth full of it. I was sitting there… sitting there. And then I ran into the bathroom and spit it out again. The whole week after I could taste the acid in my mouth, felt it in my stomach. But I survived and after this week I felt a lot better. I mean, I had acid in my blood…

But I felt more alive because I knew that I actually would be able to live free.





And the sad part is, that when I want to help in the way I can or at least seem to be able to, it seems as if I am my father for other people. Or as if I am themselves, as they are thinking I want, what they want.

They want something, I wanted nothing. And then I got all the problems others couldn’t handle. And I solved it, but nobody listened.

And that’s why I am here. Waiting for some wise ones out there, but I guess, I am not worth their presence because I am too stupid. And no, I don’t need someone to tell me something. I just don’t want to be alone. That everyone is free with me. Otherwise I can’t stay for too long. Because either I got crazy or I am gonna die. It might sound silly or horrible. But you haven’t seen, what I have seen. Otherwise you wouldn’t judge me this way.

And you have to question God, but not blame him. Please… I don’t want to die again and I bet thousands of people or maybe millions, also don’t want to die. But feel like it sometimes or maybe each day.

Now you are asking me, why I don’t do something about the whole situation? I am trying my best. All I can and I make mistakes sometimes, it seems. But I do my best. And some of you as well. And I am sorry for all we have to go through or went through.

This pain I am feeling is very overwheming, but I know that I have to keep writing and sharing this. I know that I have to because otherwise I will end my life anyway. You are keep asking why… why… WHY?!

But please, ask this question to yourself.

And for me it sadly often was answered with, WHY NOT?!

But not because I want to die, but because I want to live. And this here, is not life. I lived when I was younger and for some times this year. Like today, when I made dinner for my mom. So I know what I want. Do you know what you want?

And do you know why Jesus left? Because everyone expected him to carry all the weight, all the pain. Because no one wanted to face it themselves.

I had no need to, when I was little because I wasn’t guilty, but still my father found in everything I did a flaw, a reason to punish. And the other children also hurt me. And then sometimes I also did hurt them… by accident. But my nose probably broke several times or at least got hit until it bleeded many times. I stopped counting. I got used to it while playing football.

I even got a ball into my balls sometimes. It did hurt, but I survived it. I got a ball on my ass. It did hurt, but I survived it. And I mean, I wasn’t the only one. But who am I talking to…

But nonetheless…

I am screaming for my end, but death always gives me another stone to carry. And no, I am not the only one, I know. But this makes it even more painful for me. Because while it is good to know that I am not alone in this, I still feel this immense pain.

And I can only continue this until something happens. I don’t know exactly what, but something for sure. And I can finally live my life together with you. But trust me, when I say, come and kill me, then I am not joking.

When I say, end my life, I am not joking. When I say, that I might be better of dead, then here suffering a lonely, slow and painful death.

You know, when others are running away, I am waiting. Because I hope that death could finally come for me. But instead he goes past me.

What have I done to deserve this? Was it my birth, was it because I wanted nothing? Was it because I was happy about other people and didn’t care about what others said about them? Was it because I saw all the colors? Was it because I wasn’t meant to be?


This is how “real” life feels like for me:

But not how it was supposed to be…

And my father even was a carpenter. But no, his name is not Joseph.

His name actually is Berthold. But I don’t know… maybe he should have been named Joseph instead, maybe then he wouldn’t have become so mad.

Suddenly

gets a whole new meaning. When I see my father as the devil and myself as the Anti-Christ. Because that is what I am according to the world.

Or I don’t know. I mean, some of you probably know that I am just someone or noone or a ghost. I don’t know… I just want to live.

If you understand that God and the devil are part of you, in your brain, your heart, your every cell. And you just need to decide. How much do you have to give?

When the fire is lit, the meal has been prepared a long time ago.

But the people are searching up in the sky, in books, in buildings in things.

And I came here and just wanted to live, just wanted to live.

I didn’t ask for it, did I? I don’t know. But I was called and here I am.

Whoever I am to you. I can be whoever you need me to be. But I am using words, when I should use my heart. Rip it out my chest and give it to you.

But I can’t because it doesn’t work like this, does it?

I would, if I could.

Please… please…. PLEASE LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!!!!

Otherwise I die.

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