Ferenc Piller: The public private site

This website of Ferenc Piller is not designed for unsolicited desires of curiousity. Ferenc Piller is, as on this website and this time, a private person. If you made the effort to find Ferenc Piller over the internet, you may just as well, according to the FAQ document on this website, make liberate use of the back-button of your browser - in this case, read the FAQ, or just don't.

If you came here on purpose, or even an invitation by Ferenc Piller, feel yourself welcome to discover the public private website of Ferenc Piller, and if you were not provided with further information, you might want to drop some lines on Ferenc Piller - the contact form is intended for the ease of use, from any point of the world.

Thank you? Sure, no problem, just don't s.p.a.m Ferenc Piller with undigested degenerated braincell convulsions, Ferenc Piller might just ignore them out of bad habit.

This site seems to be photography loaded, many things are not what they look like. Photography is not really about operating the shutter frenetically, a spastic would do an outstanding job if so, not intentionally devaluating his photography for that reason. Many Photographers produce an antload of photographs with their motorized high-tech framecrunchers but in a different manner, not creating more value than the spastic doing it by hand... Don't get this wrong, Ferenc Piller is crazy about all kinds of high-tech high-speed photography framecruncher coffee and lovemaker equipment, and if all the freaky photography equipment doesn't disable the purpose, he's using it too, which happens most of the time - but just most of the time... There are moments you will only catch with a matchbox-sized digital camera shooting hundreds of frames without reloading, with a technical quality that sucks, but no one ever would recognize because the moment fascinates beyond the eye. Caugh on this...

readme1st.nfo

Shit, cunt, fag, pussy, dick, bitch, ass, fuck, goddamnit!

The word is out. Antagonists will probably not read any further, as with this they have read all. Others will ignore the text between these words, since that's their niveau in first place. Educated people won't get blinded by those words, and will continue to function. I have of course minimal influence on how you gonna read my stuff, you could even read it bottoms up and I would have no influence on how you gonna interpret it anyway. Since Cee-Lo Green's got his shits on MTV and his Fuck You is randomly on air, since a Mark Zuckerberg calls his own users Dumb Fucks and everybody even on the news does their best to cite him as often as bloody possible, since hollywood stars find it fashionable to pronounce four-letter-words on footage, and not to forget Dave Chappell making the best show ever not spearing you exactly those words you wanna hear, since the most of you folks omit those words only in the presence of your own minors, I don't feel a greater urge to artificially chop down my language when not really inappropriate. You see me talking differently according to my context.

I see all you holier-than-what four-letter-word-watchdogs throw your hands in the air and yell out for muting the bastard that takes those nono-words in his mouth, eh, writes them down in public with his very name under it. I see all you b-stock-brain-owners understand just about a handful monosyllables of my vocabulary repertoire and call for instant verdict. I see a lot of you sharp-minded folks wonder what makes someone like me mix up his otherwise trenchant rap with obnoxious utterances.

For those who's comprehension reach to the end of words - I guess you never scratch the surface otherwise either. For the ones reading something into my shit - if I had to write it in your point of view, I would maybe reason, but I didn't. Simple-makers, classifiers, fast-checkers or elsewise things-in-drawers-anal-phase maniacs - the world maybe isn't just black and white, square and good or bad. Huh? I understand a lot of you want the world to be square, well, fuck you. The ones that never mind digging in the mud as long as the gold is solid (shit, bad allegory, anyway), scrubbing statements out of my words - thank you.

Why can't you write without "those words"? Well, I think I can, but I don't have to do things just because I can? Besides, since we're at it, I could also take the sting out of it, make it more easy-reading, and why not alter the glossary to fit a hip-hop volume of vocabulary, you know what I'm saying? Things could just get better!

In these times I could even win a double nobel price with a keyboard with reduced number of keys in favour of a few more shortcuts like a [yo]-key (for "you know what I'm saying?"), another [yo]-key... wtf, (for "keep it real") or a [yo]-key (for "Yo"), and why not even a hopper-in-rage-[yo]-key (for "if you make me come over there I gonna fuck you up biaatch!") you know what I'm saying? Like a line of keys would go like [tab] [yo] [yo] [yo] [yo] [T] [Y] instead of [tab] [Q] [W] [E] [R] [T] [Y] you know what I'm saying?

Basically we could make it a ten-key keyboard for hip-hoppers, something like [Esc] [yo] [yo] [yo] [yo] [yo] [yo] [yo] [yo] [Enter], since hardcore homies would make indiscriminate use of their phrases anyway, you know what I'm saying? I better stop now before my kids find out and kill me... uhmm, why do I have to give money for an Ed Hardy hoodie when you can buy an _uncluttered_ Dolce & Gabbana sweater looking brand new for less than 150€? Go figure...

The Fukushima Sitcom: Daijoubu, daijoubu

So we had Chernobyl.

So we had nine-eleven. I remember arriving at the train station and none of the usual crowd was breaking towards me. Spooky. As I turned in to the main hall a huge crowd was packed under the infowall display in scary silence staring at a repeating sequence. I thought it looked like bowling, stupid movie, stupid crowd. Till I realised, that display never shows anything else than commercials. Till I realised, that newsperson is real, the headlines in the background is real. This was not a show. That hit all of us metropolitans just as well. This could happen in any of our big cities.

We had *the* tsunami. I don't want to talk much about it. Everybody who knows me, knows why. In the aftermath I just wondered how the world underestimated this tragedy from the beginning. Nobody talks about it today, not even insiders. Though you can see reminders of it everywhere. Incomplete families, everyone has lost someone, names you don't mention, you don't want to hurt anyone. This was not a show from the start. Thinking of it, nobody ever mentioned nuclear power plant then, or ever since.

Now, for the main act tonight, imagine the following show: Build about 55 nuclear reactors on the worst earthquake strip of land on earth. Expect tsunamis on regular bases. Put a highest tech society around them, that stubbornly rely on their technology and authority. With ancient hierarchical codex and behaviour. If you put all of those nuclear reactors on the seaside, make sure you build at least one nuclear power plant with the General Electric Mark I ESBWR containment design (nothing wrong with that per se?), substitute the hardened vents (because the incident these were designed for will very very likely not happen...), install a passive emergency cooling system that actually depends on dc power supply and degrades it to a factual non-passive emergency cooling system (this will NOT work without power), install ALL of the REDUNDANT emergency electricity and cooling gear in some basement area approximately five meters below sea level behind waterproof doors (in the USA about 25 of these work well, and have never seen a tsunami...), put all of your maybe 600 spare geigercounter for about 400$ each also there, but install the diesel fuel tanks overground on the seaside (even in the USA without a tsunami ever they burry fuel tanks). For maximum profit, entreprenate the whole project with related companies, like maybe EBASCO for architectural design (Electric Bond and Share Company, later sold to Raytheon, an US defense contractor), construction by Kajima Construction Corporation (known for its hydraulic jack demolition technology) and let people that previously worked for the government controlling AND promoting nuclear energy sit on the board of the company (for instance TEPCO, Tokyo Electric Power Company) running the nuclear power plant. Then remember you don't say *no* or *shit happened* to these guys as that's just far too impolite. Ready? Sit back and wait for something that will never happen. Theoretically.

Of course anybody who knows me knows my roots in japan and my love for this country.

Featuritis

So a slut's got to have big sloppy titts, long blonde hair, tight pussy and a little ass. She's gotta have fat lips, long legs and wear supershort miniskirts that hardly covers up her skimpy stringtanga. If she then rather stumbles than walks on super-high-heel-fuck-me-shoes and pushes her ass up like offering it to but anyone, she definitely qualifies for a must-have-girlfriend that everybody turns around after but nobody would marry though (you just don't marry a whore like that). Now, have her in fishnet stockings, big earrings, red glossy lipstick, thigh-high-whore-boots and she's a must-fuck dirty bitch, no doubt about that, she's bangin', to use the words of Michael Jackson. If a chick's got a tight pussy, she's a real good girl, if your wiener is too small, she's a worn out whore, if finally your turn comes to fuck her, she's a cool chick, if she fucks five more after you she's a dirty whore. If she wears a tight minidress when going out with you, she's your sexy girlfriend, if somebody elses girlfriend goes out like that, she's a common property slut. To break it down to basics, the coolest guy is the one with the girlfriend that has the biggest titts, the blondest hair and the tightest pussy. And tightest ass - you don't really score with fat booty, unless you're a niga, you know what I'm saying?

Good girl. What about her character features? Most important of all is her beer and football tolerance behaviour. Bringing cold beer in time while you're watching any important football games on teli is certainly a major qualification, same goes for her not complaining if you had too much of that beer. She doesn't forget to run after you with your football fan scarf, should you forget it once hurrying to the home opener you bought tickets for at the local stadium. Again, she would not complain when you come back in the middle of the night after celebrating the 3 to 1 victory of your favorite fag eleven, where you promised to be home at ten o'clock, drunk as vikings in rage and bringing your pals along, from which one puked on the livingroom carpet the moment he stepped in. While you were away, she had prepared your socks and office suit for monday, and cooked a nice dinner in case you would be hungry coming home at ten. Of course you and your pals would just pass out after two more beers and some schnaps, spread around your place like a battlefield. She would still not complain but pull the big boys out of their boots and wrap them in blankets, the way a good houswife should. Content and silent, she would go to bed alone, and wake up as the first one in the morning, to patch up the horde. She generally takes it well, your snoring like a rhino every fucking night, tops worrying about your heart or something. She looks at it with a beningly smile when you stare at other girls in the streets, or once in a while catching you flirting with the divorced neighbour sexbomb obviously in heat. She is the one working after hours to buy you that stupid roof spoiler for your tuning project, good girl is waiving new shoes to save some money for your phat exhaust mufflers. She is watching out for your money, tax refunds, paying bills in time and saving on loans. She cleans the bathroom after you shaving, without a word, as she cleans the walls up till eyeheight because of you pissing standing like a man. She gives head even before you shower after a long days work and swallows whatever you manage in her mouth, she takes all kinds of toys you might think of putting in any of her holes, and she'll be excited as you shove it in, the same way you did the last ten years. Tearing off her clothes is enough foreplay, and rolling over to fall asleep once you whacked off with her pussy instead of fleshlight is the way she likes it too. If her titts are too small, she automatically asks you if she ought to have a boobjob done. If her ass is too big, she'll stopp eating until your dick comes up again looking at it. If she's just getting too old, she proposes you to have a concubine for your pleasure, and she won't even mind if you take that slut home. A fullfeatured woman will still sincerely love you, when you don't bother to care about your relationship since four decades. She will love your big belly and your fat ass, caress your grey hair and baldness, and your limp bisquit with that endless pubic hair. If she gets excited at times, she'll masturbate secretely, and longing for tenderness she'll cuddle up with the sheets, squeezing her tears in the pillows.

A boy's gotta have a big dick, a mean sixpack, tight ass, wide shoulders and he's gotta look "sweet" (what the fuck that ever means, I mean, come on, real men don't ever look sweet...). If he's sagging baggypants, has a stupid cap the wrong way around and moves like a fag monkey in some brand new sneakers or he's even black, than he sure had his second date and he's on the half way in to a chicks (or boys? fag bitch ass) pussy (erhmm, heart?). If he's got a rolling ride, an own crib, and maybe even a job, he's that fucking Mr Right that every bitch slut is looking for to have him pay her shit, have him fuck her and have him marry her. If you look like that, you've got all the attributes of a real winner, so to speak. Boy's gotta brag about shit, move like a retard, be like something known from mtv or the latest commercials and movies. Boys gotta wear boxershorts, run around with a two-day beard that's still gotta be lean as a fresh baby ass. Have an employment as a rocket fucking engineer or professor of poetry that pays like entrepreneurship and he can leave anytime his bitch chick gets the shits or talk to her on the phone all day long without getting fired. He's got to earn a medal every day he shows up for work, and get promoted once a month for whatever bleeding reason, plus carrying some sort of title if possible, preferrably a dr of any kind.

Now, my shit's bigger than your shit, it's stronger, faster, and my shit can even fly. It has more horsepower, more watts and more titts than your shit. My shit is much blonder than your shit, it sucks my dick, makes superb coffee, goes to work for me and takes me to the moon and back again in about no time at all. It makes my laundry, my dishes, and general household anyway, answers my phone, ironing and takes care of the mafia when they come for their instalments. My shit is more expensive than your shit, and it's a bargain, I've got it next to free while you still would have to pay the full retail price, it's tougher, it takes far more shit than your shit and even looks like brand fucking new after treating it like shit every day.

What else in life matters?

Rules of love by Ferenc Piller

- love is conditional
- the love of a weak person is worth shit
- the love of an always friendly person is worth shit
- the love of a subjective person is worth shit
- the love of a stupid person is boring and dangerous
- the love of an intelligent person might end up in a best friendship ever
- you don't love some one if you need that one
- if you really want some one, you MIGHT love that one
- if you feel lonely, you don't need love
- if you are in love, you don't feel lonely
- if you love some one, you don't get aroused by some one else
- if you get aroused by some one else, you're not in love, you're just horny
- horny means, you're ready to get in love with ANY ONE that fits your picture
- love is NOT friendly

Mind the fucking copyright: text and photography, Ferenc Piller! Stop posting my shit in stupid guestbooks and fucking profiles, write your own stuff!!!

The socalled/social friends disease

I've been on the internet since they invented the name. In the beginning everybody kept their address collections secret, today you can follow every divorce of a given user on the internet and it seems like they don't even find it embarrassing...

The more friends you have on facebook, the more people are gonna forget your miserable existence even twenty years before you die. Real friends are not on myspace, facebook, twitter and alike. Social networks are proof of emptiness in life, proof of loss of freedom and independence, creativity and designation. Real people make real shit, have their names as their own domains and maintain personal sites with individual content. Real people, by all means, don't, I repeat, don't show off their friends. Friends just aren't profiles you row up on a wall, you just don't do that. You protect the dignety of your friends, their privacy and security.

Peace of shits pile up endless friends on their profile, pretending what? Are you a spit more worth than your fellow bitch cause you've got fivehundredseventynine more avatars on your followers list? And then you shit bricks when people start to cancel their friendship with you after finding out how worthless you are - actually you shit bricks every time the pure number of your friends-list goes downhill, starting sending invitations to people you once met pissing in a station toilet or total strangers and even to people who have ever screwed you in one or the other way and hate you anyway.

By the way, what picture does the world get of you putting up messages like "i'm home ;)" or "weekeeeeend :P" or "just had a nice shit ^^"... which kind of retard's got to tell the world if she's got a knot in her guts and vomited beeing pissed like a teenie on light beer friday night behind the disco - actually, we'll never know if she puked of the dicks down her throat or some harder stuff - now that's not the kind of stuff you want to see on your facebook wall. The guys paid a twenty each by the way, that's the way she earned her first money - and it was "just fun"... this is gonna be the mother of someones kids in ten years from then, and she's gonna kiss them with that mouth... and believe it or not, she'll even find some poor moron marrying her whilst in the sixth month wit somebody elses baby.

The "friends" who join those profiles and contribute to that typed shit - you know, show me your friends and I'll tell you who you are... aren't you folks aware of that people of power track you down by some clicks? You care sooo much about your image, now how does that look like in real life? You must be stupid as rain under water, you know what Mark Zuckerberg said about you, yeah you? You are dumb fucks! The guy is a Harvard genius and he thinks of you as dumb fucks. You know what? He's fucking right, look at you... a half a billion users can't be wrong you claim? Howbout 6 billion non-users can't be wrong?.. you come with numbers, idiots? Man is a social race, that's true, but also a stupid one, at least in collective, you know what I'm sayin, even intelligent folks leave their shits online sometimes, like me, right now. Admittedly my shit might sound like your shit, but to the contrary, even an audience of half my intelligence would nod their heads and scrub a point out of this. Scrubbing your shit for eternity wouldn't make it shine. To put things right: addressed as dumb fucks by an obviously surprised Mark Zuckerberg are the users of his facebook because of trusting him by giving him their personal data. Who cares, if you think you're something better, you are on LinkedIn anyway - the same shit in green, as the germans say. But with even more educated people and even more personal information. Very good.

And remember, pissed means drunk, pissed off means angry. It's like being shit, or being the shit... being the shit's cool, but being shit stinks like old cheese in your pussy. Whoa, rough words I know, but hey, it's shitbags like you making the world suck so much. If you can't express yourself, why did you come down from the trees in first place? If you wanna talk to me, use one of my three native languages! Or one of the other six I speak, or at least one that you're not impaired of yourself.

Sure, it's fancy to be a part of it, being inside, being someone. New stuff, brand new stuff, the new shit... new is anything to anyone who ain't seen shit yet, and the only time in your life that you were new was, when they pulled you out of your moms you know... and being part of what is fancy?

Being part of somethings always implies not being outstanding, that is, not being rich, smart nor happy, fyi there's no thing as collective happiness, ie "parteyyyy!" etc. The moment you close your door at what you call your home, yer just a sole human (?) being. If the collective was the happy part of your happiness, well then, you ain't got none. Yanderstand wha u get da depression when you get sober, gangsta? Yer not born to be outstanding. I'm getting old now, and I've been everywhere you gonna try to get the rest of your lifes. My time is done soon, and I'm gonna leave you wondering. No, not wondering because of me, you were wondering anyway, but me not doing anything about it - waisting five minutes of my life writing this down, pointing my finger whether at the symptoms or the cause, won't cure the affected, if they don't get it by themselves, they won't get it anyway. A bitter lesson in life, especially when you have to face it with your own kids...

Disclaimer: I don't have anything against fags, social network users, dumb fucks, Mark Zuckerberg, tushies, pussies, impaired, your moms, new stuff, and alike...

You gotta be something

We come from nothing and go to nothing, what the fuck you think you gotta be something inbetween? You think you gonna become some kinda Ferenc Piller, Michael Jackson or Bill Gates, Madonna, Marilyn Monroe, rich and famous kings and queens driving Maybachs like your favorite nigas on MTV? Hey, Snoop Dogg is a fuking, genius, in a row wit Curtis Mayfield (everybody should know his last album by heart, his last breath went in there) or Aretha Franklin (hear her sing and you forget that human voice has limitations, she's expression by nature)... they have paid all along to be where they are/were (Curtis is gone...) now, what qualifies you to be something, not waisting your life...? If you shove a mic up your face and squeeze your throat through autotune wear stupid clothes and walk like an ape and grab yourself in the crotch more often than Michael and 50 Cent together ever did, you think you're on the half way to the top?

Yeah?

As he doubles the profits of Apple for the last time, Steve Jobs announces that he's retiring because of health reasons. He probably is going to spend a great deal of his profits on doctors for the rest of his life...

You wait for the day everythings gonna be different. That days never gonna come your way, that ain't gonna happen. Ever. You neva gonna be famous, rich or happy, or win a jackpot. Have you ever won a jackpot? It's the same. Wait, I see someone waving behind his NASA-size computer-wank-screen. Ah, you won a jackpot once... well, you rather gonna be hit by an ugly asteorid the moment I press the next periodkey than winning a jackpot a second time. I see you stopped waving. Not because of that asteorid though, got my point?

Death

There is nothing larger than life. Period.

Death is nothing, life is everything. Actually, death is so much nothing, that if I really would talk about death on this page, it would be blank.

Imagine, nothing.

No more people, no more talking, no more sex. A ride in the night along a lonesome road, you don't know where it goes, through empty valleys and naked mountains, never a horizon and no stars, there is no sky and you don't ride in a car nor on a bike, you even don't walk on your own feet (you don't have any), the road to nowhere keeps on passing but you don't move a bit. Actually, the road ain't no more, and no more moving, no earth, no universe, no questions. You can't remember when you last saw someone, you don't hear anything, you don't feel, you have no heartbeat, no memories - time becomes infinity, no changes, ever.

No honor nor love on earth will make a dead rise again. And again, you can talk shit about a dead, it won't harm him the least bit at all. If you die in holy honor or totally defamated, what fucking difference does it make to you from the moment you enter death, that is, exit life, actually you can't really enter something when you're dead, ne? Think about it, before waisting your life on trying to create your name never forgotten by mankind in eternity. I like DaVinci and Albert King, (J.S.) Bach, Prokofiev, some of either Kodaly and Bartok, I enjoy playing Ysa˙e and I listen to Killing Joke when I get my strange moods (yeah, they're not quite dead yet - that's the point), but to all of them, it makes just about no difference at all, whether I like them or if I forget them.

I never talk about religion (right here, this will be the only time ever probably) as I avoid politics too. I see the last pages of the bible as a kind of disclaimer, that basically says so much: "ehmm, you've seriously read the whole schmear?" Take these words for it: "Do not turn to mediums or spiritists..." or the license to kill: "The secret [things belong] unto the LORD our God: but those [things which are] revealed [belong] unto us and to our children for ever, that [we] may do all the words of this law", and the threat of institutional enforcement: "And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment". Or simply the two stone tablets of Moses. I won't dispute the contents, I probably even live by them. It's the nature of projection, calling for a higher authority without a face by an institution. It's like "if you don't love me, the mysterious slime is coming for you" and it got as worse as "if you don't suck my cock, I am going to beat the shit out of you" - sorry (...), I don't see any difference. Here's another one, I mean, where are we?: "I will set my face against the person who turns to mediums and spiritists to prostitute himself by following them, and I will cut him off from his people" - come on, get real. This concept of my point of view (I recently found the notes looking for an old loveletter I once received) is approximately thirtysomething years old, and I still feel the same, and I don't do anything to deliberately change my mind about it. After all, religion is not about life to me, it's about authoritative prescribed death - life itself, is totally free of any kind of religion, religion is a handicap of mankind, a social desease, a faint attempt of death-control. It's simple, you start to talk about death and no two sentences later someone brings up religion. Start talking about life - nobody will mention religion... I know, I know, you superreligious people couldn't even cook a soup without gods hair in it, I was referring to normal people that go to church once in a lifetime (when they marry), or maybe a second time, visiting Notre Dame on honeymoon. No, the very very first time nobody goes there, they're carried there for an involuntary hairwash without drying or styling, getting away with a name they'll probably hate for the rest of their lives.

I don't have to raise a cathedral to show how great my belief is. If I talk to a whale about life (I said if), do you think he would say "the mysterious slime said we have to swim like this otherwise we come to sahara"? Why don't whales have wall street and an army, submarines and cruise missiles? Birth control, courts and prostitution? Drugs, promises, jobs, unemployment, economic growth or inflation? Whales may have leaders and authority, but to what means? Mankind, get real! You're just a short guest appearence in universe, shut the fuck up. Imagine, you're the last couple of boys left on earth, no more girls (I would probably commit suicide facing that reality), no children. Hows that feel? To be the last of your species...

Why make it all so complicated, discussing ancient scripts and digging for garbage in the desert to prove legitimacy of a couple of dudes that once decided to scare the shit out of their children if they don't go to sleep. My mother did the same, we were on family holiday in italy, it was hot and we couldn't sleep, she said: "if you won't sleep right now, I don't care, but this dark demon is coming out of the ocean and will take you away..." To me it all sounds like terrorists, threatening with, and illegitimately justifying with an (lost/never inherited) authority, spreading anxiety and guilt. What's love got to do with this? What has respect and dignity got to do with this?

"If you deepthroat my schlong honey, you gonna get rich and famous, if you really do me good and swallow too, I grant you immortality." Well, any chick would see there is no point in dropping on her knees and pull my zipper for wealth and fame, I'm confident about my mojo and I don't have to cut back either, but money's too tight to mention to make any wonders happen, and living for ever nobody would buy you in the third millennium anyway. Now change the part of the schlong there to what ever, you'll get the picture. But as it has worked for a couple of thousand years now, why not leave it that way...

Why do people believe a verbal acrobat standing up in his pulpit bending reality a different way every sunday? They have no internet and facebook, or they don't get enough sleep during the week? I don't want to discuss this part, as the same people walking out of there twitching gods feet, keep on beating up their wifes and children, getting home drunk late and ripping off innocent people the rest of the week. Not all of them. Some do other things...

Death is the ultimate and absolute end of life. It's not a grand finale or some heroic shit, it's just a fucking unspectacular cut, an abrupt irreversible end. Death doesn't begin, it ends, it finalizes.

"- We all gonna die anyways!" Yup, I never put that in question.
"- I don't wanna die healthy!" You gonna die earlier, dipshit, AND have a miserable life till then.
"- I know somebody that knows somebody that smoked and got 96!" Yeah, and everybody that smokes gets old, right? Idiot. By the way, how often did you crack the jackpot?
"- No risk, no fun!" Ever heard of Murphy's law?
"- My life is so boring!" ?????? Shit.
"- I just wanna die!" I've got bad news for you, Death's not gonna live up to your expectations.
"- I'd better be dead!" I agree, from OUR point of view...

There is nothing AFTER death, death is as continuos as the expansion of the universe, worse, you gonna stay dead even after universe collapses again. Probably. But to dead you, it's not gonna make ANY difference.

Life after death is not life.

Fuck life after death - don't worry, if I'm wrong, you'll have _plenty_ of time to enjoy your deadlife - in this life all that matters is life, how many did get that point? Smokers? Drinkers? Youngsters? Christs (or whoever believes in life after death)?

If somebody dies, who's the poor one, the died one or the ones "left behind" (still) living? For the dead, it doesn't matter, but them living, often loneliness and pain replaces the gone one.

If the dead are the poor ones, meaning there's a life beyond death, they miss their real lives before they died? If they don't, why are they poor? Missing their cat or spouse or something? They gonna be living the dead-life for a really long time, and the ones still alive gonna die in the blink of an (dead) eye.

They're gone

"- They're gone, son!" Stop lying to them kids! They're not gone, they are terminated, finished, annihilized, rotten or whatever. Don't make young people believe if they fuck up in this life, they've got an extra chance to fuck up forever in their next life.
"He didn't make it!" Come on,
"He had bad luck!" If you put a litten candle in a temple of oxygene, no luck in the world's gonna keep it from burning down like a moonraker. And you knew it, if not, yer stupid, fuck luck.

So the stupid have less luck, right? If you die because you switched on the light in a kitchen smelling gas, either you didn't react, you didn't believe your senses or you simply just didn't know. Again, if you know less, you're less lucky - don't blame it on poor luck! If you follow patterns that eventually fuck up, you gonna die if you essentially rely on them. Permanently driving against red lights (in the civilised world) doesn't make you have bad luck, you just gonna die much sooner than others.

Death strokes without predjudice, and it hits by surprise. I think nobody ever is prepared for death. You can talk shit as the day long is, but when death stops knocking on your door, you'll shut the fuck up. As time is to go, you'll hang on every second, yeah, every blink of an eye will be worth a lifetime for ya... why didn't you cherish those seconds as time still belonged to you? All the times you were bored, you were _alive_, huh? When you wanted to throw your life away, did you really wish for death? What does it prove to challenge death? Shit, why did you kill yourself? Challenge life, for life's sake.

Shedding tears

Hmmm. Eventually, over the years, the tears got gradually scarce. Sometimes wondering, if at all, I had lost the ability to cry, no, to feel, I had actually all my senses awakening. But instead of surprise, I felt confirmation, anger turned into consequence and sadness vanished in peace. Twenty years of history seemed to be just stories read off of notes passing by a backyard billboard.

I never intended to be mourning a lifetime over losses and tragedies. However, since I can remember, realising that virtually everything that ever happens is final, absolutely ultimate or gone for good, made me feel dolorously sad. And thirty years on stage haven't made that a bit better - there never is a second chance. Ever. Though I never cried for anything happened/not happened on stage, the perception itself enforced sadness about this final thing. I've been crying over the dead and broken, friends, dogs, cats and even a few things, but the most I cried for the things in life not beeing anymore, for the infinity they gonna fail to exist.

It was not like I didn't want to go hay, the way life goes, but dying crying was never for bargaining and, call me a hardliner, all the feelings were supposed to be played with positive values on the y-axis of life. So it be, I actually made it. Crying is history, though I still shed some tears once in a while - then of happiness.

Wrong Wrong World

If you take the book of wisdom from a bold man and sit on it, are you wiser than the bold man?

If you death sure know how to make money, are you rich then?

If you know, jumping from the cliff is lethal, do you think this knowledge saves you if you would try yourself?

If you've got the right answers, basically the story ends here.

But why did far older specimen than man, survive for so much longer than mankind obviously will?

How can you talk enviroment and saving jobs in one breath, while creeping up in the ass of the industry?

The meaning of life

I've been wondering.

One of the first things I remember (besides pissing down the nurse the moment I entered the light of this world) is the approach to put two toy cars in one direction, and two in the other direction. That was the christmas after I've got one year old. Fourteen years later I found out, the reason I didn't succeed was, that I had three toy cars. I remember two persons of that christmas, one of them is grandma. I am sure, she grasped my endeavor and she said something and fumbled around with the toycars too, but I didn't understand any languages at the time, I also can't remember hearing anything concretely. I always thought, pissing the nurse and those toycars (and lots more) were dreams, but in my teens my mother mentioned that pissing and I just thought shit, and shit again as grandma was teasing me with those fucking toycars on my birthday some years later...

Once I could sufficently communicate verbally, one of my first questions was, for what my dick was good for. I got a taunt answer that didn't convince me, like something concerning urinating, so I forgot it right away. Every time proud little me got a stiff after bathing, my mother kept on teasing me that my thing was broken. So, stiff was broken. I didn't buy that, at age three.

Coming into school with six, they eventually pulled down a huge poster of a naked man, and a naked woman. They booth had a frightening bush down there, and you could see shit. I instantly associated them with troglodytes I've been reading of a year before or so. I was bored, so I didn't pay attention from there. Till the teacher one day pulled down a huge poster of a pregnant woman where you could see the baby inside, you know, this documentary type of images. I immediately understood, that this played a significant role in life, that baby curled up in there really caught my eye. At this point, i still didn't think of my dick having anything to do with it. After all, it was a pissing device, and what sense would it make to pee in a vagina, and anyway, what was this thing with the semen? Could adults choose what to shoot and how would this feature work? Something was wrong here.

The question what made the difference between urinating and ejaculating was permanetly bothering my mind. Nothing we learned in class explained this, that is, made no sense to me. I was sure though, that I was fiddeling around on the core of existence. That baby was the evidence, I just had to go back on the timeline to find where this thing came in. And what was this hazy stuff about sensations and emotions.

The following years, sexual education (in elementary school) was on regular bases, but I never figured the connection between the illustrative theory and what was growing in my pants, till I had my first conscious pollution (I was eleven, and periodically, many should follow) while awakening, and some wonderful figure sneaked out of my vanishing dream. I still remember some straight blond hair and a glimt of a loving eye. I can't recall more physical things, except maybe her to stand up to my beeing there. Feelings of strange intimity, care and goodwill caressed my soul, and a poking desire to melt into this someone that opened up so willingly. This appeared to be the most important thing in life, and here we go, ever since it has been.

In my adolescence, acting up and playing the monkey too, were desperate attempts to get it in, accompanied by permanent failure till I got seventeen when my regular student life started. Just to keep the picture of me undistorted: I am an extreme performance individual, I try to take it over the top, whatever I'd venture. Girls, party, booze and funny things were about part of it, so eventually all got a little hazy, and I found myself getting down with all kinds of chicks, tryna figure out with whom I was in love with. And to be absolutely honest, I found love in them all.

At this point I understood, that my penis was the key to the meaning of life and mating the only strive of this vicious animal inside me. But joyful (protected) sex having as many orgasm as I/we wanted, was nothing compared to sex with the full consequence. The complex of deep severity, intention, by all means an emphatic empathy, moving along extreme borders, unconditional emotions... this is where I was home, life couldn't get anymore than this. I thought, hey Piller, fuck for your life or fuck your life...

It may be funny to you, after the lines above, but for me, consequences included to stick to someone for ever, to stick to your breed and many things more. In contradiction with all love-movies, ya know, dude gets chick or the other way around at the end, living the consequnces starts where the fucking love-films end.

For those deliberately throwing shit around themselves, and for those as well beeing wholier than the wholy fuck itself:

And perversion starts with the intention of not to reproduce. Anyway, stop yelling at people that just wanna have fun, you're no better the moment you protect your spouse/yourself. I like to have lots of fun, it is actually a good way to get to know someone, communicate, to get in harmony for the unleashed real thing.

From beeing almost pathologically jealous in the beginning, I got quiet easy on it nowadays, so everybody go ahead and fuck around like hell, just be sure to take care and be human. Really, fucking around, you should any time be conscious of, and deeply serious about knowing and taking consequences. Dead serious. I was. I am.

You could be nasty about it, or even naturally serious about it, like late Biggie raps "cause I see some ladies tonight who should be having my baby" - that attitude really gets down to the point.

Old childless people or couples often just wander around like lost kids themselves. The knowledge and experience of a lifetime in curiosity and vivid interests are clearly printed in their faces, still, they appear like children robbed their childhood and future.

You could try to prove me wrong and find out by yourself, most likely ending up beyond your own fertility, losing...

Even bad kids that hate you are better than no kids, it's not about you, it's about them, it's about life. Once you contributed your dues to life, it's up to life to decide, just let go.

When you got them kids grown up, you'll understand...

How is it like to be a crutch

After being mad and jealous for ages when my hoes ran away to other guys who would "understand" them or "listen" to them or basically always be there for them when I... screwed up, and being even more mad because i knew those guys were lurking for their chance to get it in, I finally realised that my girls always came back to me, calmed down and peaceful, not back to those crutches. Once temporary issues between us were settled, the girls wouldn't even spit their way, of those guys always being there for them. They had taken the attention they needed for their little problem, and once the crutch had confirmed, well, probably anything my girls would poor on them, they were back again, being the nicest ones ever to me.

While my single-times, that never endured for long, I hooked up with a lot of girls, believing love is waiting just around the corner, of course I met girls that actually didn't want to hook up, but they still would disguise their intention. When I told them, I'm not the spare friend, I'm not going to talk unless they'll have my baby, they got really sad, for whatever reason. Digging deeper into the problem, which was unfortunately not the prime target (love and a mother for my children, you morons), these strange girls declared, they couldn't talk to any other single person about absolutely everything, like they could with me. Whoa...

Eventually I would think they have died or something, not hearing anything from them for ages - or they just gave up, you know my policy by now, no pussy no talking. But every now and then, they would show up, either before or around breaking up with their boyfriends, talking for hours, and then telling me I'm their best friend, they wouldn't know whom to turn to. Sometime I started to advocate I'm whether their best friend nor cute, but I never told them, the sole reason to listen to them was, I learned my prey.

I wondered if the other guys playing the garbage can for my girls would feel like a crutch, or if they took the chance, like me, to take a glimpse on the inside of our countersex. Time and again, I observed this crutches being poor sods, totally addicted to my girls, out of control like zombies, following every quirk of my girls. Intelligent, polite and handsome guys, just not enough to arouse any woman - well, thats what women came to me for, love's a losing game, what? These guys would pay attention to the most stupid things my girls would say or do, remember it for ever and worship even fragments of her shits. I thought, they must be some kind of masochistic selfmade victims, unable to cut the disease out of their... hearts? Or penis? What moved them to do such efforts for a girl letting herself be treated like shit and going back for more? She would use them, throw them away and get someone new? I'd give a shit, but those crutch-guys were different.

I would listen to the girls, still using me as a crutch, learning their weak spots and take it to my next battle. All along I lost the illusion of love, much of that romantic kind of stuff - love was a discipline, a game, and it worked. It was insanely simple to make them girls crazy, to be the one for them. And towing along her "fanclub", a bunch of best friends and pathetic crutches. Hearing "him and me? Oh, we're just good friends" over and over again. But hey, thats the price for having the fanciest girls around, and I paid it.

Intentional blondes preferred

So you like blondes, huh?

As long as she's blond you don't mind a thang? Oh wait, and you girls, you wanna be blond? Is that right, you want to have blond hair? Well, the half of you western civilisation women already dye your hair, and the majority of you definitely bleach your hair.

It's got such a stereotype reflex to find blondes superior to other...

Would you trust a blonde? Think about it - a woman intentionally changing her appearence to look in a favorable way, that she is actually not, ie, faking you something you'd like to have but she's not.

You morons don't deserve better. If you're one of those reptilebrain type crotchgrabbers as soon as you see blond, you really ask to get tricked. You're either blind or stupid or both, if you don't see the obvious.

A blonde rather gets away with a big ass than a brownhaired woman...

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