Who am I? For sure I don’t really know myself exactly. I was born in an nice town and raised in hicktown. My childhood passed by. What I did back in the days I can’t remember in detail, but today I consider myself a person very different from that naughty, savvy and tacky toddler. I was labelled with the term „confused doctor“. Am I someone, never being aware of my own reflection? Like in 1997 I suffered from an epileptic shock. I didn’t felt I was ever going to face huge odds when it comes to health issues. I was a lively boy, I had friends to play with and due to a prescription of having a compulsory athletic activity, they grew in numbers. I choose handball over football which was never an option to me, because I still regret the fact that something made me reckon, an individual like me can’t face the tough challenges of asserting himself among rough churls and the hostile relationship my parents had to deal with the local elite. The elite, people who run something and trade their responsibility to their sons and sisters. They themselves do benefit from their very social background. I didn’t thought in measures like these, but I felt it. To perceive my dreams was never a mission accomplished, in fact it was more like a mission forgotten. A mission I couldn’t care less. Always when technically I made it, and I did not regard at my achievements proudly to call it success. My childhood went along without any mentionable events except pooping myself in class and eventually having to go home in girl’s clothing. It wasn’t really that embarrassing as it is supposed to be. Focus on my health again: 1999 was the luckiest year. A warm may and the last year without pubic hair and diabetes. Which caught my by the end of the millennium. I was thirsty, wetted my bed and my grades felt substantially. Subsequently, I muddled all the way through to the grammar school. My grades were at the lowest, for the first year I encountered remarkable changes. I had a friend, one year older than me, whom I joined a theatre club with. Some said, I would make a great host. Looking back it was rather a parental driven thing. Now that the challenges when straight through the roof, I withdrew. The school had me for the rest of my teenager life. Diabetes should knock me out with serious shocks, due to low blood sugar. Within 2 weeks I suffered from to of them. Having a breakdown, is the same as if your life wouldn’t stop buffering just like an internet streaming video. We were on holiday in Bulgaria, were it should happen for the last time. Ever since, my mother remained concerned about my personal well being, like a jewish one. “Take your dextrose, where ever you go”, she shouted at me. I still hate her for that particular behaviour. Over the years diabetes became like a manager issue. A good blood sugar was the outcome of good counting your carbohydrates and insulin dose. Not that I wanted to take some mental steroids in the first place, I was diagnosed with ADHD in 2001. I took some pills, called Ritalin. Over the years, my grades went up to an overall average grade of a B+.in 2007. Now I am asking myself: Was it really all worth it? Those pills called Concerta made me feel accepting everything. My mind was controlled by a silence force. I lost friendships, and told people I had to study hard. I also lost them, because my school life featured only people from the villages, I couldn’t technically meet with in the afternoon. My appetite: 0. My true feelings: 0. No doubt better grades, better feeling – but I still had sometime a bad mark, only to replace it with another. The factory of emotion was run totalitarian. I was in elementary schools extensively jaunty, painting swastikas in my exercise books (I should have told the teachers it was a sign Buddhism, unfortunately I wasn’t to smart to tell them), I used bad language in front of the teachers, hell, I didn’t bother at all. I had no inhibitions to not turn my math test in, I took the sheet of another person, wrote my name on that, and withheld my own work from the teacher. I was all about adventure. My best friend I thought at that time, really went to some adventures with me, he had a nice father. Mine was mentally deranged, but not in the crazy way, more in the depressive one. The father of Mr. Fickler was a real leader. I thought he would work as the chairman of fire brigade, but years away from my misconceptions a saw him as powerful elitist union leader, who stepped up for his fellow furniture plant workers. Xears later, I saw his son going out with blond butch, from my very own school. That misses of him, was the incarnation of “practonistas”. People not very god in school, speaking bad languages (in her case 3), standing on their own feet to very quickly cut upon apron strings. Those people make a living very quick – the opposite of me. Once in while, I somehow fear doing normal stuff, like construing advices correctly. It appeared that all those fellow man and women turned than me moved on away from me, especially the older ones. Same age “acquaintances” stuck on lower education fields throughout my under-age life. Some of them became skinheads. One were saying without being sarcastic. “Well, I took a look into the agenda of NeoNazi-Party, and I agreed with it”. He is considered a good football player, but his family were ill-reputed. It wasn’t that he told me and our paths went different ways, he said it to me on a YMCA-Event, he just suffered like me some earlier, that somehow he may thought: “I can not share the same values with him, he will succeed within his agenda. He reckoned, I’ll be a smartass, more intelligent and saver raised than him. It turned out, I should envy the world like he envied me. My mother again thought I was raped, after returning from diabetes rehab. Which was built like a fat camp. Only that there were no fats and no camp insight. I wasn’t raped, my soul was. 2003 I began to realise: All men are evil to begin with. The physician in chief wanted me to stay for a half-year. No comment. I still have the impression, this centre is built for another reason, just like the camp in the novel “Holes” by Louis Sachar. A gross prick threatened me with a knife. I don’t know for what reason. Another one promised me, to send me some crack for only 15 Euros. I am still waiting for that package. Seriously, sometimes people tend to look back with joy, they are silver lining some reality out of their mind, I am pouring sewer content all over it. I wanted to get laid. Looking back, more shocking to me is now, that those were the days I got closest to do so. At he age of 14. Well, they cheated me all a long. But this is how I work sexually. I have jack off, otherwise I get mad. If there is no opportunity for having a hand party in private, alternatively I have to have sex with a person different from myself. One girl acted like she would if I could. Another trick was played on me, because I was horny. I was so dumb. I “celebrated” birthday at the Northern Sea. They laughed. I was driving my cart at 8 km/h average speed. They smiled. I cried. They wanted me overcame my sorrow, I could no longer hide. Not that diabetes made me take trains within 50km for free, not that it made me pale like a turkey, it also made me shuttered and shunned.

I found a new friend, he was considered my buddy and he was the same like me, only that he behaved more Russian, although his manner and background were as German as his moral. To me he was a helping hand. A guy you couldn’t hang out with in public but joke in your private property.

I like to make other people laugh. I can’t laugh that all much. I know what the punchline will be. I am creative with ADHD.

Over the years, teachers were criticizing my handwriting. Only with the drugs it got temporarily better. It still looks terrible, as my paintings would, if I still would be forced to draw with ugly brushes.

I was considered a good discusser, a walking encyclopaedia and a face looking either stoned or gay, I mean the gay in terms of being weirdly happy. I couldn’t be normal, because I was getting weird by doing so.

I rediscovered god, Brandon and Amber did. I just wanted to get rid off my disease and all got was faith. New friendships evolved, church-based and all down to earthy bound. I even was baptised, confirmed and all that silly stuff. I went to a Christian camp. Now I knew what people are like, and how to treat them. With affirmative, meta talking! You just have to blab out some populist issues everyone agrees. People began to like me, I liked to people. Especially one girl, why? I couldn’t remember what she looked like. A Simile: I was a nymphomaniac fly, who forgot how orgasm feels like, and therefore urgently wanting sex. Not that I wanted to like the fly. At the end of this nice camp, organised by the YMCA, I was feeling uncomfortable again. I, on purpose smashed a bottle on the ground, pretending to sneeze – it worked perfectly. The god thing, made me join the Jesus Freaks. A cult, or just radical Christians. It have been times I lied to myself. I knew, If I showed feelings somewhere, sometimes – people would looked down on me. Always a strange atmosphere. Their meetings were gone, and so were those extremist Now they had no bad influence on me whatsoever. I just could give myself 100% into their views. 2004 was the first time, I figured out, that Mr. J. a young half-friend of mine and another quarter on occasion friend were doing a rap for our conformation. I learned how to write lyrics, and aborted it over and over again. Everything was crap. I finally started making music on the PC. I called myself mouse musician, and turned over to electronic music. I also wished to become an audio engineer, just for the sake of having professional equipment around. Now I deeply felt sorry to have never learned an instrument, I resented it, for the same reason I denied joining the football club. This was a skill you should have to get accepted for SAE schools. I produced music and even was on a radio show, my music made it there, because I reckon they had no other material from the website I uploaded my songs on.

Another shaping holiday to me was the one in Italy 2005, organised for families by the YMCA. In particular, I learned to hate girls. Mr J. became well acquainted, in consistently wooing a girl from our school. Rese and Me, who thought we could have nice time there, were jealous at him. Out on the pool they swum, but nothing physical. They were mentally cheating me. The girl’s name was Caro, she had to deal with my mother because her father was a bad guy and my mother’s job is to deal with such issues. She would rather have my mother, than her own. She was just like my mother in her youth, outgoing, hedonistic and promiscuous.

2005 was a year to forget. The girl I used to adore stayed our class for one week. The first day I wasn’t prepared for the situation whatsoever. The next day, when I was pimping my appearance she was ill. On Thursday I had dog poop on my shoe. My neck became stiff I was looking after her. The first lesson she actually joined my seat, unfortunately she wanted more alone time and eventually got a single chair. I began to hate Mrs. Kleinsteuber. She highhanded, shrewd, grumpy and gave grades by face. Mark 5 two times and I didn’t know why. My mum wanted all of us including Mrs. Hutschenreuther, the principal, to gather at a round table analysing and solving the quandary. The principal and the teacher were biased and deeply endorsing each others agendas. My folder was examined and Hutschreuther attended to a lesson, prior to the decline of my honour. One test was re-examined with a result even worse, the school had the be a private one founded by “Wicki”herself, we joked, that was how we called her. At half-time of a school term, I managed to gain mark 1 two times, with one strange incident, which proved also my history teacher I her understanding of democracy. Here is the story: We wrote a test which was interrupted 5-10 minutes before the closing time. It was huge fuss whether to let the results count or not. Kleinsteuber started a poll, where everyone could cast his vote by selecting a column. The breakdown was: 16 votes NO!, 4 votes YES! OK, she said then we let it count. Yeah, that’s democracy a leader is only a leader with a 100 % percent approval rating! She subsequently set off the results with another test. From class eleven on, I had a teacher very different from her, with whim I reached mark 1, for 4 consecutive terms. I actually liked history a bunch of years before that.

I figured out again, I hate being away, after all. Let me prove it by outlining my class trips:

In 2000 we reach our destiny even by foot. It was a cool village nearby, from the time I enjoyed going into the lido, which I did there. In 2002 we were in Russian Bomb shelter, 16 boys in one big bed, and among us silent witnesses from World War I and some others, called shelves. In 2004 I was not in England, my mother refused to send me there, because the prick organising it, refused to insert an emergency syringe, in case I would die. I stayed home, those where the days of my life. In 2006, this was the craziest thing I’ve ever done. It was the time of the World Cup, Footy was reigning Germany. Our squad did reach the quarter final on Saturday, so they would have to play on Friday. As we arrived there still were 4 matches of the last 16 to play. On the first day, I was going in the TV-Room, the first to arrive to last to leave. As one game had went through penalties, one teacher switched it off, I came back, but did not see Switzerland score any goal, what they really did not accomplish. The next day the class was supposed to head to a trip to Wismar, some of our pupils were stolen money, therefore they went to the police with our main teachers. We were supposed to take a little tiny rail, and then eventually pick up the default, official one. Having arrived at the railway, I took a key and locked myself into the loo. Were I stayed for half hour. When I was was sure about my missing of the train, I came out of closet (no pun intended), one official came to me and said Are you Mr “Hoj”. I couldn’t decide whether to have accomplished that I missed the train or that she misspelled my name in a very cute way. I was lucky, the rest group having gone to the police picked me up, and I managed to watch another football match I was supposed to miss. The teachers couldn’t threat me with” If you are not behaving yourself, you are going home!”, because I intended that and they had to object the default policy, I got a special treat, a usual punishment would turned me into crowing and exulting. The next Friday arrived, like I hoped we would do the same with our bus just in time. I was urging the bus driver, for we otherwise miss the quarter-final against Argentina, I remained at the bus, to listen the the rest of the first half on the radio, before I moved on to the public viewing. Being away always causes trouble.

2006 was anyway a crucial year to me. My mum lost her job. She regained it in 2008, nevertheless I never recovered myself. I was 16, the time to go out and explore night-life. I had a bad conscience pursuing this kind of lifestyle, in fact I never could embrace it. I had fear of spending too much and to ruin my mother financially. My father worked in disabled craft factory, which was a no income business ,. for he also had a certain state of “unemployability” and received some extra money apart from that. I excluded me once again from nearly everything. My mother was actually about to get her a new job,. by the 1^st of September. It turned out, what she has been promised, was not correct. Some evil guy decided her to no put her into,for the reason that my mother was telling politically engaged to expose the mistreat a the workplace of my father. The woman on the telephone did not have that information for, because the decision against her was made after we had all celebrated her return. The 1^st of September – sad day. I nearly fainted in 2002, World War II broke out that day and now she has been rejected once out of the blue. My grades were mixed, they remained somehow well. In 2007, I began to not care and ignore my future plans. During a week in July, we had a nice project. It somehow re-integrated me into the society. Female classmates were driving me home, still I had to be sick in order to induce them doing so. Due to a social network site, a girl in my school began to adore me. She wrote messages, and with her friends she stalked at me. I once found a used condom on the knob of our door. She placed it there, I reckon. Actually, she was the most mature teen in her peer group. The reason why she stuck on them, was that she didn’t had any guts. Her mates were trying to persuade her, speaking to me. Nicole, had no self-consciousness, how should she, looking ugly like badger cracked his pants on booze. The group practised their dance in front of my house. They were laughing when I was asking them asking them, about what was going on. It turned out, Nicole wanted to invite me to her birthday on 15^th of July, a day I should never come back. It was not the birthday I went to, were I gave her a present, which I actually forgot what it was, it was not that we were playing tennis on the Wii and table tennis in reality. I was only there for 2 hours. I had a good alibi. Armin a former classmate of mine, who had to repeat a year after 10^th grade invited me to Skybeat. I really like to describe those events as “happening, where people dance and enjoy to music, made by means of electronic sound creation and engineering”. Yeah, I am crazy about electronic music. But not in the party way. Not in the way, “I am drinking booze and like techno”. I hated Hardtrance, Trance, Hardsyle and cheap dance music. I liked god electronic stuff, the straight sort of house, and NuSkoolBreaks – what more people should do. Anyway, no one has a clue about the music itself. I could live with electronic house played at the event, which was held on a tiny airport, with no plains. The village did not even have DSL or broadband internet available, therefore a hicktown. Sono played there live, a group I knew for 2 years, DJing here live. It were only three days of school left. Normally, I used to not to go to such events, for additionally having no time for school and studying. I rejected hedonism, although I like using this term. On that day, I just found out that people can be together for the sake of decent dance music. The fact that good quality music is played and all people like it – is what is to make them all go crazy in a positive manner. I was there, and it was great. Yeah, it was the best day of my life. I even saw a girl, that one. I began to adore her, when all my class was on a trip in England. She was a real cute. Nice hair, nice face and so thin that you could rape her, if you were mentally ill. As I found out, she actually was that spoiled hedonistic whore with a daddy, wrapping his stings around her. She had asthma never spent a night outside of her home. But she evolved and became spoiled.

The father of her was a physic teacher, so fat that no one could explain, how he managed to get his little stick into producing something that wonderful. I took a snapshot of her, but I saw her only outside the tent. Now, I hate her. She had become a doll and face looked like a breed from a gen research lab. The night itself I enjoyed, making a new acquaintance, and we I managed to make him like listening to electronic music even at home and under way, by sharing his music. His 56k dial-up connection broke up, and no DSL available either in his village. I uploaded the pictures I took, to the social network site. Still, weary with toil I dragged myself in front of my computer, which had something, I always wished. Since 2003 I fancied having a broadband internet, with the times passing on. I was satisfied with having it at the school. Me and my friend used to wage war, on whom the seat with the best computer will be awarded to. I could live with that. 2006 I was promised to get it, when my mother regained her job. You know the outcome. In 2007 although my mother still suffered from a knee injury from 2002, which was medically mistreated and therefore she struggled with 4 operations, impeding her ability to get a new one. Even at that lucky time she had to drop on offering. Nevertheless, she was given some money from our health insurance. I could do nothing about it. So, I was over it. Finally, in 2007 I got it. The funny thing about it was, my closest friend had to never know about it, I didn’t want to make him jealous. A suspicion aroused him, when out telephone number was somehow different, anyway I could take myself out of that situation. He later found out, and DSL himself. I thought having DSL will get normal. Despite this knowledge, I couldn’t get over the fact that I someday will feel that well. Seeing a high download rate makes me horny. No I am not turned on by numbers any more. The summer was dull, being in Austria with your family. Nothing worth mentioning. Once again, I could not gain friendships beyond the summer. I disliked society, everyone around me is the same over and over again. No incentives, to make me having a good time. 12^th grade was going to begin. It begun in Ireland, not Africa ( if you get that reference). My English course went there. The accommodation was average. It had no power supply. Over the time, I forgot to care about it, because we were away all the day. We were dragged to museums and dull stuff. They spoke Hibernain English, the one I hated. I made a friendship with an Indian guy, studying in Munich at that time. We had a some nice chatting. There were three single events, under the bottom line a fuckfest of me dropping in clangers. 1. I was being harassed, because I turned my neck extensively towards the Crooke Park, a football stadium with over 100, 000 capacity. 2. I was being poked fun at, because I couldn’t get rid of a guy, from whom I was expecting to ask for a route. He gave me book, and plead for a small donation. I gave him one Euro. My course lampooned my behaviour my stating: “Hey, join our group before you get converted to Islam or join Scientology”. And the girl drove me once, committed another smearing campaign towards me. She didn’t get a joke right. The most horrific thing about it was, that this very joke was none of her business. I just compared a specific behaviour of my room-mate to a specific ethnic group. No one of us even come close to be member of that group. The person I joked about, got this right. But the girl I began to hate, shouted at me: “What are you thinking, you should go to Auschwitz”. I was there 2 times. I did not make a joke to offend the victims of holocaust, only Tom, who got the joke immediately. We had to argue about this for two hours. Well, the whole trip was a problem between my desire to communicate with people English, what lead me into trouble. And all the others, having no interest in this at all. I talked to Tom, we found out we shared the desire for the same porn personality or better said teen model. People also made me awkward, when I was standing at the window, to get some fresh air. They were thinking, I am going to end this. If it comes to suicide, I am taking it serious. I take the suicide serious. I said: “ There is clip 2 foot down from here, I might not die. And if I was going to take my life away from me , then I would assure myself that I am passing away for sure, by applying several methods at the same time. I was so upset, because my once best friend, spoiled me with a Football result, I wanted not to hear, and rather see at home. I poured salt in all his drinks.

I only joined this trip, because I was hoping the plan is going to be hijacked and everyone dies. Well, then I we were all dad, and my mother could have avoided, that she is questioning herself, why her son took his life. The trip did not kill me. Back home, I had some bad grades in math and physics and also I screwed up one test in German, because I got some semantics wrong. I can not understand, how the interpretation of one word, can mislead into a false interpretation.

It was the time when I died, because our seminar paper had to finish in time. It all went well, even the presentation had us snatched mark A to all group members.

Silvester 2008, I was telling my mom I am going with the crew of YMCA to Erfurt and return home at night. Staying home was so uncomfortable to me, I wanted to go through a completely different procedure of celebrating the new year. I never seriously considered the official version. I played Orwell, when the good was the evil and the evil turned into good. I made the lie the accepted truth. Those people were the same all along. I decided to trick them all. I got on the train and met Schora, an old Armenian friend of mine, now visiting another school. We used to play footy and handball, but he was always more mature then anyone else, you could also tell by his outer appearance. His beard grew as early as fast as the fear of his family to get deported. His father managed to get a job right in time. Every since, Schora is the luckiest man in this world who wanted to cut his veins. I could tell him the official truth. Technically, I did not lie, for I took the train, towards Erfurt. Finally, I left the train in Weimar and got back in a train again, to return to our garden. I bought some fire works earlier the week, stashed them into the barn. I climbed up the hill to read Faust. It was boring. It was dark on the hill, and cold. I lightened the way with burning hankies. I had forgotten the most important item – a flash light. Dropped some wax on my skin. I was faffing around Stadtroda, lightning a rocket every once in a while. I wanted to start once fire work in the forest, after I got only a C+ in a math test, earlier this year were I expected to succeed big time. My bottle, where I used to store my rockets was too much blurred. When I got between all those trees I had to gouge it into the ground, so it failed to rise although it exploded. Most of the rockets, I misused as a missile and held it slopingly, standing at the hill, were my school is at. I just didn’t want to hear a New Years Countdown. I returned home, telling my mom I could not get to Erfurt, due to the train schedule. I told them I was staying in Jena somehow. I did this for one hour in late afternoon, to erase some time away from the clock. 2008, was just going along normal. I was mad at my French teacher, me and my buddy consulted a website to check for grammar and spelling. I got 12 and my partner 15 points. Fuck her. Impudent behaviour by one of the other students. He just copied my text out of the internetz. I am asking how that would have turned out, if he would have been the first to read. Later, my French teacher awarded me 14 points more a concession than a real justice that was. We had to go through our pre exam. Math turned out worse for nearly everyone. At this point I made decision I won’t regret. It was time to act now. I had to do something. My rage made me think, I should do something to destroy a false hope. I can not stand, my anger about the person of me. English turned out a huge success winding up with 13 points. After the math pre exam, I had given up myself. Eventually, I still finished with 9 points. 18 years and 8 months I lived and now am so mad at the frauds. I just fucking h8te arising superficiality. People think, you’re going to study, have fun doing it and eventually get a nice job. Earlier in my life I just heard about relationship, what still is not acceptable. You have to know someone, who knows another person to get a job. Still there is a lop of practising this policy, but what get me really going, is that people think everything will be fine. If a person next to would say “ I belong to the elite”, I would wrap his ass off with my bare hands. My plans to study right after finishing school, were dropped by myself as my mother got unemployed. I changed my plans in the way to begin an apprenticeship as digital media designer . Some earlier I will have an internship and after that I will study Media Design at a University without any pressure. As I discovered, my grades in physics have really gotten bad, so if I had to read my application I would recommend me to something else. There where no internships available except one, with a more common description.

Plan B is now to go directly to a University and study communication science and English as a main subject. I just tell about those plans if someone is asking me. Deep inside of me, there is a will to end my life quickly. It just appears to me, I have maybe the best school report to have the worst chances. What I am going to study, will not have the best prospects, and I will have problems to get somewhere slammed in. If I am looking at me, I am a person to whom people will have regarded as: “He was so talented, why did he do that?” or “What had been possible, if he is still alive?”. I am so not made for the workplace. The most appealing studies to me are theoretical and everything would be no incentive to even try. Most of the people are teachers, which study what I am aspiring. Not with gun on my head. Other people are working in the economy as modern chap everyone hates.

There is no future for me. I even puke by the thought to do it in Jena, where everyone of school time is still around. I hate those people here. They are accepting censorship in the official graduation speech. They are walking equal-clothed in the last week of regular schooling. History, baby! One day we had to exchange clothes – the boys and the girls. I am getting furious only by the thought if someone should get my attire on. This crap about the last day in our school. Everyone makes a little farewell presents, to their teachers. Mine has come to you. I couldn’t stand an hour of this trash music, played at our party on April 18, they all were mainstream addict alumni. Fuck you all. Not in thousand years I would have come to your stupid prom or school leaving ball. You are big fat asses. Sorry, I am getting rude. The reason I did this, was that despite mental physician treatment, despite good grades you still can kill yourself. There are straws events that broke the camel’s back. In which world we are living where other people can scratch off their worst grades and I have to include physics. I am fine with maths, but the rules are contradictory and confusing. If the Thuringian Department of Education would have made their point clear, I’ll probably be alive today. So eat that.

Then I screwed up the subject I always had A’s on the certificate and one B+ as a single grade being the nadir. Fucking social studies. Only a C! I could not have been any worse: The tasks, the content the sources. Everything I did not no well was examined. The topics of my final exam could not have been more uninteresting. In English, I even choose the literary text, in German I had to interpret a story about a girl, who was the embodiment of all I hated. I wrote her on myspace about it, without offending her unlike I did in the written exam. Thank god maths was so easy this year. I even made it through vector calculation On the judgement day I wanted to not see the results as they were handed out by paper. The results of the written exam were on it! I held my head high to not see them. I brought them into our garden. There was a lawn and a hill. I had not given back my English book, due to misfortune the pages were glued together. I slowly scrolled down the book, which I let be hidden in front of the book. I rolled down the hill. 7/15 points, mark 3 ( C ). I was even more disappointed when I received the same mark in English. Only that would be enough to induce me to pass away. I watch The Colbert Report and The Daily Show via torrent, and I used to watch films in the original language. There is no lobby for it in my country. Dubbing rules and people are used to it. Even my English course has watched a film when after 5 minutes the teacher asked if they should return to the German dub. I would like to kick her in the arse for that. This unwillingness to improve your language and at the same time only snatching some grades is a mindset which makes me mad from the inside. with Math what I felt like amazingly done well – only 8 points. The teacher said there would be no certificate for me. Nice job bitch, now I don’t need one. And you madam I actually mean all 3 of them, can feel lucky that I did not get this disaster when they were around, in which case I would have gone after them. But I have time, I will ignite their cars and eventually kill me. That’s determine. Fuck elitist wiches. That were my first thoughts.

My plans of destruction gained some momentum right after the math pre exam. My plans to ignite the school were settled. I wanted to buy some charcoal lighters. The market were it was available was situated in the town nearby. I couldn’t reach it directly by train, I took itfor free due to my diabetes. It were miles away and actually not reachable by foot. Unfortunately, I met Tom on the way . I told him something, just to get rid off him. Although I felt busted, I carried on. Went through the wild, and eventually reached it by foot. I didn’t want to go all the way back, not only because I couldn’t remember it, my feet were dying. But they had to carry me home. Accidentally, my mother picked my up, and I told her all the trains were cancelled. But I had my two bottles I refilled in a half gallon Coca Cola Zero bottle along with my firework remains they were stashed into my locker for 2 months. On our last school day, combined with some sort of party (Oh, how I hate this word), I walked from home 3 hours earlier as it started. My second plan was, in Erfurt bottles number 3 and 4 will be purchased. Thanks to GoogleEarth I made it. And history was repeating, I met Schora and told him I was going to a doctor and forgot all about it before. I had them and felt well. My locker subscription expired and all the bottles had to return home. I feared my parents would get a hold of it, but they didn’t.

Now they are lurking under my bed to unfold their power. The motherfucking prom is right to begin within 2 days. How should I really get through the day. I did not gave all my books back, usually rented from some depot. The thread me by withholding the graduation certificate, if I would not return them with 1-2 weeks. I don’t see the point, for me. They have deeply disappointed me, with the results and now I shall pay them money. This is just a scam to maintain profit. One week ago, it also came into my mind, that I maybe should go into a compulsory oral emanation, due to the bad results in English. I don’t know whether the grade in the pre exam was the casing point or the mark of the last school term, which had not to be a margin of 5 points in comparison to the exam grade.. The latter would be a worst case scenario. A phone call on Monday, when examinations were held remained unanswered. I became second thoughts about it. O my god! This event is about to celebrate the farewell to all the the teachers and other scum. To me there were just a few questions: How should I kill me? How should I faint?

Thursday, 8 days before the prom I was so full of hidden joy, because our national team lost to Croatia, and thus played on Thursday before the prom. So they would be out of the tournament, and I won’t have a success to miss. How will I accomplish to not attend to this crapfest? I guzzle some booze in the morning and I hopefully faint. I little Methylpendiate will do the rest. My mother will come home shout and scream. She will consult a doctor, bring me into the hospital and disaster will be dodged. I happened to drink more than ever in my life. Not to have a good time, rather to make my life bearable. I really can’t do this. Going the that snob parade, and do like everything is fine. This is as absurd as celebrating the growing economy of Third Reich within the 1930s, and simply ignore that there was a war perpetrated by the own government conducted by deception and fearmongering. Like celebrating the half-time lead in a football match and deny the 3:4 defeat after the final whistle.

On Thursday, things took an unexpextetd turn. Germany won 3-2 against Portugal – a reason to celebrate.  Even more shocking to pick up the telephone, a teacher in chief of  mine said hello. At first I hoped it wasen’t her voice, but she asked if the “dad” would be on the line. I collapsed on the floor. Now she got down to business.  And I could forget about everything. The will be to just get the Vodka down my throat. My PC got a virus, I had to deal with Linux, to get this thing published.

I didn’t wanted to know the results of my best friend. Accidentally, I got a hold of his mark in German which was 11 points, a mark two. He said, his eye managed to catch my results, which was an hour before me. We didn’t talk that much. He will is about to to launch his career. Having finished his traineeship, in this very month, he will study some economic “please let me advance to the elitist jobs, other people will envy me for”.

The Education

Another lie of our history. Education is going to yield the fruits of its seeder. I don’t buy that. It’s about luck, relationships, snobbery, background, parental claims to slam their offspring into a secretalliance and what branch you choose. It’s all about economy and science related issues. Everything else is either for tutors again, or there is just the premise studying for studies sake. Only the best will prevail and once again it all comes down to be at the right place and knowing right people. Wrong ties, wrong life. More people are looking at the workplace and how he will ensure the best conceivable amount of happiness and money. They have no interests, at least none of which you could make money with. If they play guitar, they won’t sell records. The human itself is spike in the eye of capitalism, everyone knows that. We are desperately looking for consulting engineers, guess what. In 10 years there is going tom be a surge of unemployed people, who made it through the jungle of engineering, only to grab a job. We had the same with the IT-craze. The scissor between rich and poor…This is also a fraud. Greedy Mangers have now their salary revealed which technically did not rise regarding at the inflation. In most cases there is not a big difference between High School graduation (Abitur) and secondary school level I certificate or the O-Level. The O-level graduate will have the same salary as the Highly Graduate, the only disparity will be that the first will have his money within 3-years and did also get paid a little in that time and the latter will have a quarter-lifetime and a lottery prize in his education.

The Talk

Isn’t it funny? When I am having party or just any situation I could ever think of, I see there has to talking done. Most of the time, I am thinking of a way to begin a conversation and still more important, what are we going to talk about. Usually I start with meta talking. I talked about all the stuff that is around. I ask questions, and I add emphasis to given answer. I know why girls are able to talk more words than I do. They are chatting about stupid things. I recently began to avoid stupid things, what are thinking about that, I agree with you, or this is a fraud – this can’t be happening. Well, let other people talk. Another problem is: the pop culture. I hate to talk about celebrities, I rather take what they embody. It is also less what people consume at the same time. I do not watch a series regularly on TV, I do not listen a pop radio. It’s a pity to mention that to begin with. Still driven by obsolete mindsets of condemnation and black-and-white portrayal my fellows march on the million times walked tracks. There is nothing new anything has to be pigeon-holed. And crap always wins.

The Privacy

There was so much written about we the people abandon our civil liberties to fight terrorism. I do not want to carry out any more words about the obvious fact most people do not realise how they are trading liberty for security. I know it’s slowly and depressing. We have to face what privacy is actually doing and why it is so precious and the most important thing – why are people not concerned. I learned that a disease which does not hurt one at the time one technically suffers from, does in now way restrain any person to sustain his behavioural pattern. Simply said: if something does not kill you, you don’t care about it. And this is one reason why people are less concerned with privacy issues. If want to be socially connected all your personal information has to be released to the public. Social Networking works this way. Vice versa it still makes sense: Anyone who act’s anonymous via the internetz is bound to conduct a solicit life as opposed to those Web 2.0 “exhibitionistas” just crying out for getting into contact. Being exposed to the public means also a way to advertise yourself like a franchise. Some people get a whole new impression, by taking a look into the preferences and hobbies. And don’t want to get down on the “I have nothing to hide agenda” but the next point needs also to be taken a glance at. People in sorrow need to talk to one another, they are told to turn to them, in case of sickness. Trustworthy, but still there is a slight chance that those people blab out something somewhere. When the police take’s a look into your personality we do not consider it raid or something. Seize and Seizure takes places at the border, the airport and other public venues. Used to this inconvenient transparency, no one wants to be a criminal. What is necessary to state is the growth of convenience. You save cookies, you are getting recommendations and advertisements. But having you registered makes you also profitable and there was this report of the one lady, who was denied entering the USA, due to her Amazon Wishlist. There is no doubt, big government wants to sway the public towards a manners and conduct in favour of themselves.

]]> http://heisnomore.wordpress.com/2008/06/20/da-story/feed/ 0 heisnomore