There must be a coincidence or a spontaneous combination of words that makes everything better. If not, then at least easier. The magic phrase or an unexpected event, which shut out, which is not clean and correct.
The elimination of the possibility of misunderstandings. The identity of body and mind without painful education and the errors of the dialectic. The direct encounter with the other and strangers who needed neither the means nor the medium.
clarity of thought. Opposition Lose emotions. And a unity of feeling and thinking.
all pure escapism. They are not, this spontaneity, the cleaning accident. In Consideration is to draw only the next pebble on a pile of problems.
It all sounds very clever so far? Do not worry. You'll get. Appearances are deceptive.
The first thing you need to know about me is that I have anything telling me does not happen again! Please. The whole crazy stuff and the boring routines, I can not list as my daily report. I could, but I can not. Stories, stories. Not just fast-drivel with a joke and thirteen punctuation marks in each paragraph. What I tell and what I experience is not just entertainment. Not just a blog.
You say I'm blogging now, so it's just a blog? Why do I start a blog if I want to write a blog? Go die. Or tweet. Whatever your attention span can handle.
If you take it, I told you a thing or two to tell.
I consider it a blessing that the only school in my town has a flat roof that can be entered without further notice. I'm obviously not in this school. I am twenty-six and, like working, but there are just so precious few high buildings in this city.
If Hell were an ordinary place, then it is a medium sized town, trapped in a narrow valley in which it is reasonably everything and absolutely nothing happens. This form of Hell is probably also Neunfemünde. There are only a limited number of combinations of letters, to name a damn place like it. The roof of the school
Neunfemündener comprehensive school, I am lying on houses, six floors below it and is it the tallest building in the city. In the absence of a creative construction concept for several school buildings, the city administration, as I can remember, just piled up on the school like a pie. It looks like a modern hospital and I can only wish to leave each patient soon his sick bed and the city may be.
is now the school by the last undecided young people to languish on the farm in the sun like fallen fruit, completely empty. Even the most avid readers have left the library and are home to the moth light of their computer screens fled. It goes on to six clock. It's Friday. There is no darn reason to be in a school. I'm here because I openly and honestly nothing better to I know what to do.
Also, I see from here all over the city and likes the big picture. It's like an oversized village which has forgotten stop growing and slowly wanders up the mountain slopes. I think I hate nothing more than this place, my hometown, and am still here.
It dawns before and I must watch how the light from the street lamps like a net over my view, raises I get myself and make my way home. In my apartment. I will not see in Neunfemünde as my home. Should I worry To make clear that I must correct myself - or that it is to me important to me to have to correct?
I walk with awkward steps, stiff and numb from the long lying around, through the dark corridors of the school building and climb stairs to stairs. Only two or maybe even a year ago I joined a lot of mixed feelings and impressions with an empty school building in the twilight of dawn. The Hall, the long corridors, as the emptiness of God and man leave. The upsurge, somewhere between longing, madness and confinement, of feelings. The question, as is sex in a classroom have. In fact, this is all for me now just 'a lot of mixed feelings and impressions' which are recorded in my memory, but not skip. Penetration. High cooking. I can not even choose my favorite image of incredible emotions and thoughts. They are stored in folders and card indexes, resting in a locked filing cabinet of my memory.
am As I previously touched by these programs - even as I was already out of school - and knew nothing better to do with myself, it was always with me be swept away like a stream. A river of memories, perhaps of my youth or classmates, but not even that: the last time. School. A portion of my life that seemed forever and then incredibly far away, so I could hardly bear inexplicably.
Meanwhile, more than five years later, seems to me that tragic sense of distance from pretty ridiculous. On the other hand, I lack - as to so much - just the reference. At that time the slogan that I hertrug behind me like a banner yet, 'I miss the past, not live in the present and am afraid of the future. " Today it seems easy to care. 'I'm not good at something' reactions and thoughts circulating in my very high. It can be applied, sadly, to a surprising number of areas.
I leave you with the thoughts of the last glass door behind me like ghosts, haunt the school-house. The door does not close properly concluded already in my time not right and deep in my heart I am convinced that lives somewhere in this teaching hall, a wise hermit, just with the intention of a TUE r holds open that people like me find their way onto the roof. Perhaps will he simply keep only the way to the only place in 50 miles radius open, from which one can jump with a realistic chance at the death.
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