Happ. I. Ness. Funny word.

Happiness. Happ. I. Ness. An intriguing word, really. Two double-letters, the I separating them like a wall. Curious. And one of the most important resources on earth. So addicting, and yet so… scarce. So colorful, so full of flavor, and yet… bland, and repetitive. If one doesn’t increase his dose, that is. But who can afford that these days, except those high-class individuals.

We.

Take.

What.

They.

Give.

Us.

We’re all just hounds, tirelessly chasing a wounded prey. Never catching. Never reaching. Only licking up specks of blood dropping from our fleeing haul. And who are we to ask if there is a better way? What choice do we have, other than to keep running until those specks, those shards of happiness that are so dear to us aren’t enough anymore? Until you wake up one morning just to realise that what little you have will be barely enough to get you through the day?

Until.

You.

Reach.

The.

Day.

You.

Know.

Will.

Be.

The.

Last.

And the worst thing is that you’ll hold that thought for about as long as it takes for you to reach for the little bottle on your bedside table. During these moments you realise the hopelessness. You feel the crushing feeling of the knowledge.

You’re.

No.

More.

Than.

A.

Cog.

In.

Everydays.

Clockwork.

And then you’re hand reaches the bottle, you unscrew it and forget about everything. You’re not going to last, but it’s ok. You had your ration. And then you’ll go to work.

And in the evening, when the hunger returns, the crushing feeling, you realise. You can’t still it anymore. Can’t subdue it.

You.

Have.

Nothing.

Left.

And then you write. with anything, on anything, no matter the cost.

You.

Have.

To.

Write.

Because you have nothing left. You’re out. The pathetic thing called life comes to an end when the last echos of todays morning dose die away. Leaving nothing but emptiness, and the urge to warn the others. But they never listen. You yourself have read countless of these notes, letters, books. Because you still had enough Happiness.

Enough.

Not.

To.

Care.

And once you finished writing, you walk. The pilgrimage begins. You walk the path your fathers have walked. Their fathers have walked.

The.

Path.

Everyone.

Walks.

To the cliffs.

 

 

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Sooo. Another post. A new story. If somebody even reads this. I dunno. Been feeling kinda down lately. Hope people get what I’m trying to say. What the text was about. If not; I took some inspiration from the video game “We Happy Few”. I twisted and turned, but I left some details. Compare yourself. Hope everybody’s doing great! I’m on Instagram!

P.S: For those who read the title and expected comedy… Hah! Tricked!

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Stop or Go, I dunno

It was an oh-so ordinary day, an oh-so ordinary setting, and it looked like it was going to be an oh-so ordinary evening as well. He had just gotten out of the office, and was walking across the dull, grey street. Content, but at the same time empty faces all around him. The crowd, moving with him, around him, over him. Flooding hm. Drowning him. He was close to his goal. The bus stop was but a few meters ahead of him, and a bus was just stopping. He felt the weight of the crowd, crushing him with intense stares, staring through him. He ran. Got on. Showed the driver his ticket. Got into a seat at the back. Waited.

He was living in a small apartment in the outskirts of the city. Even there, the streets were always crowded, filled with people, cars and noise. He had a long way before him, all the way to the final stop. He usually spent the time working on minor projects, calculating, scribbling, writing and studying. This day however, he slept. He couldn’t help it. There were no small tasks for him to do, and he couldn’t stand sitting in the bus with no place to let his eyes linger without him wondering about the people his gaze fell upon. ANd there had been precedents. Evenings of sleeping on the bus and a nagging feeling of restlessness, tormenting him, making him uncomfortable. But he had no real choice.

And so he slept. He slept. Calmly, silent, but for some occasional gentle shudders at bad thoughts.

And so he woke. The first thing he noticed, was that the bus was empty but for him and the driver, leaving him with the eery feeling that something was off. The second thing he noticed, was that the bus was standing still. The motor was still running. Of course! This had to be the last stop, and everyone else simply left before him!

“Will you get out now!”. The sharp voice ripped him out of his initial stun. “Come on, I’ve got a schedule!”, the driver shrieked. Still slightly stunned, he stumbled out of the bus – and stopped. The street was empty. Not only that, it was emitting some sort of warm, friendly glow.It was a rather small street, encased by hedges just tall enough to prevent the occasional curious glance over them without stopping the warm glow of garden lamps and barbecues from flickering through. The road was lined with tall, cast-iron lanterns swarmed with fireflies, mysteriously gleaming through the night.

The street gave him a feeling of peace, a feeling of relief. He studied the bus plan. The schedule displayed the same route his bus was taking everyday, except for one additional station. “Garden Arcade”, it read. He thought about asking an inhabitant of one of the houses about the area, when the bus driving into the other direction arrived.

Its doors opened, and closed again, leaving the peaceful road empty. It didn’t take long for the bus to arrive at his regular exit, and as the doors opened and spit him out into the flowing mass of people, the imprint faded, and what had been reality turned into a dream. Yeah. A dream, that’s what it must have been. I mean, where would you even find a street like that nowadays. He must have accidentally stayed on the bus until it reached the depot, and the driver had been nice enough to drive him back. Gosh, he had to tell his colleagues of his dream. Man, what a strange thought. Empty streets.

Meanwhile a firefly flew out of a pocket of his coat, rising high above the crowd, flickering weakly, until it went out completely.

 

 

Hullo. Soooo. I felt like writing. I hope it’s ok, I’m very out of shape. Well. I’m sorry again, I just really can’t seem to be able to keep things going consistently. I’m trying to work on it. Maybe someone’s gonna like this. Oh, by the way – I have Instagram now! I think I’ll be able to show at least a little more consistency there, as photographing is my hobby, and so forth. check it out if you want to. S’just Nomnian, as usual. Ok, that should be all. Hope you lie this, and just maybe someone gets what I felt like while writing this. Have whale of a time!

For the future of this blog 

So. Hello. Long, long time no see. I know i wasn’t active. I’m sorry. But I’m really bad at keeping things up for an extended time period. And everything got in the way… You know how it is. Welp. I have decided. I will still write things. Stories. Rants. Views on Vienna, or Austria. Essays. Or maybe I’ll upload some texts I wrote for school. If someone wants to read that. But I can’t deliver a daily text, especially since I’ll be in the Austrian 7th grade next year. Only two years till graduation. Yay? Anyway, that means there’s gonna be a metric fuck-ton of stuff to do. So yeah. We’ll see. I’ll try my best, and those of you who have patience… May get some satisfying pieces of literature. Welp. 
Ps: Dunno if that interests you, but I actually have some ideas. A dystopian thing. Or a modern fairy tale. 

Unfortunately, this graffitti doesn’t exist anymore… 

Brexit

This post won’t be very long. I left my Laptop in Vienna, and I am currebtly typing this on my phone, which is definitely not the best way to do this. But after the Brexit decision, I wanted to at least write a short note. Yes, I know I’m late.
I am shocked. I didn’t think that the UK would leave. I didn’t think that there were people willing to gamble with the country. Because that’s what it is. Gambling. Nobody knows how the contracts necessary for trading and so on are gonna look.
And then there’s the possible domino effect. The Brexit will, depending on how things work out for the UK, strenghten or weaken parties in favor of leaving the EU. The latter is fine, in my opinion, but seeing as these parties are often far right parties, them getting stronger wouldn’t really be good.

I am left wondering how the future will end up being.

Grandfather Follows (and Brexit Thoughts)

The metro station was built simplistic. It consisted of two platforms opposite each other, separated by the tracks. There were roofs over the platform, the actual tracks were open. The roofs were supported by slender posts made out of cat iron, The floor consisted of checkered stone tiles. Spread throughout the station were several wooden benches, mainly occupied by beggars and homeless people. The floor was fairly clean, although there were some torn newspapers and a lone empty beer bottle lying around.

And in the middle of this was the old man. He had come down the stairs, walking at a slow pace, dressed in an old blue coat with big pockets. His receding hair was almost white, there were just a few strands of gray left. In his right hand he carried a bouquet of flowers, snow-white orchids. He walked on, until he reached the iron post in the middle of the platform. He took a candle out of one of his pockets, the kind of candle you’d add to a grave, and the a small portrait of a smiling teenage girl out of another. He lit the candle. Set them both down. He placed the orchids in front of it. Reached into another pocket, pulled out a battered pipe. Fished a bag of tobacco out of the next. A lighter from the pocket of his trousers. He prepared the pipe, and tried to light it, an activity that proved to be a difficult task to do with a lighter. After a few tries, he succeeded. Inhaled. Coughed a dry cough. Sighed.

“I wonder…”, he muttered. “I wonder, Caroline. I wonder. Did you make the right choice?” He sat down on the next bench, his eyes fixe on the candle, sad, a tormented grimace haunting his face. He sat there, thinking. A voice from a speaker announced that the train would arrive any moment. He stood up, took a few steps, stood before the tracks, just behind that yellow line marking the safe area. “Was it the right choice…”

And he fell. Onto the tracks, just before the slowing train reached reached the position.

Thud.

He was in the papers. “Grandfather follows his granddaughter into death”, or “Family suicide”.

 

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I found this street during holiday in France. For those of you either unfamiliar with French or simply unable to read it, this is the “Dead end of democracy”. Quite fitting for the Brexit situation, I’d say.

I just want to say something about the whole Brexit dealio. Don’t. Please don’t. There are so many things speaking against it. The UK would have to bargain for trade agreements. Risky business, I’d say. And many foreign workers would have to leave, which is never good for economy. Most modern societies depend on multi-ethnicity.

But there are bound to be some positive things, right? Yup. You’d get something like 0,5% of your GDP back. That’s what the amount of GDP paid to the EU in 2013 was. Oh, and don’t forget the self-determination you’ll gain. Oi. Brussel ain’t so bad. I mean, ok, the system has to change, but leaving it won’t help.

This was a pitiful assembly of things that I remember from school. Geography. I didn’t check the exact amounts and dates, but they should at least be pretty close. And there are much more bad things than good things, let me assure you. Come on, keep your wits about you. Maybe I’ll write a proper text about Brexit soon, but… We’ll see. I just want to say, if that wasn’t clear: I’m against it. I may only be sixteen, but I know that leaving won’t help. And I know people who’d have to leave, so, come on. If you’re living in the UK and you are a Brexit supporter, I ask of you one thing: Please reconsider. Why would it be good?

And after you did that, I’d like some sort of answer. Please, I am honestly interested. Don’t matter if it’s a link to a text or a simple comment.

A Jocks Troubles

Jack was tall. Not only tall, muscular too. He was a sportsman. A typical jock. Him being alone was a seldom sight, and there was always at least one disposable girl at his side. Mainly cheerleaders, or the typical prom queens, pretty faces with empty spaces behind blue eyes. He had quite a lot of friends, fellow football players and other sportsmen. They all got along well, partying, studying, playing. All was dandy. Or at least it should have been.

If you looked at the grander scheme of things, it was monotone. Same friends, same activities, same girls. God, they weren’t even that pretty! It was common knowledge that the real good-looking girls never ended up with the jocks. No. The scenario was always the same. Pretty but stone-cold girl, rejects every sporty guy and in the end she’d fall for them. That’s how it always was. It was always the same with these damn nerds. What was so good about them anyways? Stupid faces, stupid glasses, stupid hobbies. They were so… studious. As if learning was fun for them.

He wanted to be one of them. The other jocks might be okay with exchangeable fake girlfriends, but I… I want a unique girl. Someone who actually thinks before doing stuff. Someone kind, yet cruel enough to not just instantaneously give in to every request I have, he thought.  It would never happen though. He was completely unfit to be a nerd. Handsome, sporty, average in school, no interest in this “Star Wars” or “Star Trek” stuff whatsoever.

Heck, why did life have to be so cruel?

No picture today, sorry! Instead, have a link to Rhett and Link’s “Nerd vs.Geek” rap battle. It doesn’t fit the topic perfectly, but if you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it. It’s quite amazing.
First of all, sorry for that thing yesterday. I… overflowed. Welp. S’over. But for now: I think it’s pretty obvious what I wanted to write. A story embossed by the prejudices from these old high-school themed movies. You know, Jocks, Nerds, so on… It could be better. definitely. But I’m better with darker themes, if you read some other things I wrote you know what I mean. By the way, I’m happy about every bit of Feedback I receive. EVen if it’S just “Go fuck yourself, you can’t write shit.”. Haven’t had any of these yet, but if there’s someone who wants to tell me that, go ahead.

Down, Down, Low Down, Oh Where I Know I Should Not Go…

It’s one of these times. One of these fucking evenings. When I hate myself. When I hate everything. Even though I don’t have any particular reason! I got a fucking guitar today, I should be happy. Instead I find myself remembering. Loathing in self-pity. I don’t care what people think about that. I keep telling myself that I shouldn’t do that. That I should be happy. That there are people worse off.

God how I hate that sentence. “There’s always someone worse off.” Pah. As if I’d care at that time! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t feel shitty. You’Re right, I have a great life, oh how happy I am that you reminded me of that! How nice of you to remind me that I should care about the problems of others more than about mine!

Seriously, I know perfectly well what people mean when they say that. “It’S not completely bad, right?” But that’s not helping. Of course I feel sorry for these people, but it’S hard to think about pitying others while I’m down. Sorry, all pity spent on self!

And then there’s my other issue. I don’t have anyone who tells me that. No friends close enough. Not anymore. Not after I and my best friend parted. I’m bad at social connections. I’m not one to surround myself with many, I find one person and build a long-lasting friendship. And if that person disappears… Well, jokes on me.

And to all these people telling me to find new friends, “after all you’re going to school, there’s enough people there”. Do you think I don’t try? Do you think all I do is walk around, not caring about anyone else? Oh, I do care. I do. I’m just not the guy to change my behaviour just to appeal to others. I depend on being different. I don’t want to change my taste in music, my way of dressing, or even my fucking way of talking. Seriously, there’s been people complaining about me speaking a slight dialect.

I feel like I was born in the wrong time. If the times were a bit different, I’d be the guy handing out mixtapes. That’s what I tell myself. My pathetic little self. My sluggish self. My rebellious self. And for some time I’m satisfied. I’m ok with myself. Everything’s dandy. But then the mood swing kicks in and everything turns bad. Rotten. Foul. Abominable. And I’m the source.

I was hesitant to write this, some of my better friends will read this. Probably. At least one of’em. Maybe. But I just don’t give a damn. Today it’s fine. Today, I don’t care. And I am fully aware that this probably won’t be interesting for anyone. Well, if you read this sentence it’s to late anyway. Look, I’m sorry, but sometimes…

I want to end this with a poor translation of a joke.

 

Grandfather and granddaughter sit in the kitchen. He’s eating a currant loaf. “Damn, I hate currants!”, he curses. “Well, why do you eat them if you don’t like them?”, his granddaughter asks. “Because I hate myself even more than currants.”

 

Well, why don’t you kill yourself if you don’t like your life?