Archive for the ‘schreibenOHNEdenken’ Category

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Die Zeit

30. Dezember 2004

Gerade heute schrieb ich eine E-Mail an einen Schulfreund zu dem ich lange keinen Kontakt hatte, den ich dann vor zwei Wochen wieder getroffen habe, wobei wir feststellten, dass viel Zeit vergangen ist, seit dem wir uns das letzte Mal sahen. In der E-Mail ging es darum wie schnell die Zeit vergeht und wie wir uns mit ihr und durch sie ändern, so dass man immer nur eine Momentaufnahme seines Selbst ist. Und ist dies nicht auch ein Grund dafür, überhaupt etwas zu Papier zu bringen, um sich selbst nachvollziehen zu können?

Wie schon oft erwähnt, kommen meine Gedanken wie ein schneller Strom, von dem ich vollkommen unterworfen werde, so dass ich mich gezwungen sehe, etwas aufzuschreiben. Ich versuche deshalb immer ein Stift dabei zu haben und war schon oft genötigt auf unmöglich kleine Papierfetzchen zu schreiben. Diese verteilen sich dann letztendlich in meinem ganzen physischen Lebensumfeld, so dass einem manchmal ein vor langer Zeit beschriebenes Papierchen über den Weg läuft, auf dem man erstaunt lesen kann, welche Schlüsse man einmal gezogen hat. Das ist für mich wie eine Reise ins vergangene Selbst und mitunter kommt einem diese Person fremd vor, nein vielmehr unbekannt, aber positiv unbekannt, so dass ich mich freue, Dinge zu lesen, die ich einmal aufgeschrieben habe.

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München

27. Oktober 2003

Mal sehen ob ich ein schönes Wochenende an einem Platz verbringen kann, der mich unsicher macht. Unsicher, weil hier eine ganze Vergangenheit zwischen zwei Personen abgelaufen ist und eine von ihnen ist mir jetzt sehr wichtig. Ich fühle mich jetzt, wo ich noch nicht dort bin, so, als würde ich, morgen wenn ich ankomme, eine Bühne betreten, die von ihren Schauspielern verlassen wurde, weil beide jetzt an anderen Theatern spielen. Aber ich renne auf der leeren Bühne rum, und alles was sie liegen lassen haben, und alle Requisiten mit denen sie gespielt haben, liegen noch da.

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Ich habe keine Lust mehr

27. Oktober 2003

Ich sitze auf der Arbeit und picke aus dem Studentenfutter, dass mir die Mutter meines Freundes gemischt hat, in mühevoller Kleinarbeit die Rosinen und Mandeln heraus. Nebenbei darf ich endlose Listen bearbeiten. Ich bin gelangweilt, mein Gehirn ist unterfordert und es macht keinen Spaß. Plötzlich höre ich im Gang eine unserer älteren Mitarbeiterinnen, die immer leise ein wenig vor sich hin summt, singen: „Ich habe keine Lust, ich habe keine Lust mehr“ und muss herzlich grinsen.

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I doubt my own depth

9. Juli 2003

Of course I believe that many people are superficial and no, I am not like that. Now how on earth does measurement work, does my personal measurement work? Because sometimes I do doubt my own depth. I believe in loving people for what they are, but sometimes I get a feeling, which makes me doubt everything I am. And the thing is: men make me forget my depth. So, it´s them and their appearance, it´s this “tú sabes que estoy a tus pies”-thing. They open my pandora´s box, which is full of my surface I´ve managed to scratch off through all these years.

Yes, I feel pity for the woman who has to go to prison because of being obsessed with Mel Gibson. I don´t understand the Mel-Gibson-part of it, but I understand that she´s attracted to someone by merely seeing his face and body. And let me tell you, it´s not the feeling men have for pin-ups, for Playboys starring naked women. When I look at a man and he is attractive to me, a jar opens inside me, and a thick, bittersweet liquid runs out of it and flows under my skin, making me feel comfortable and at the same time making me feel an eternal lack.

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Don´t give me that attitude thing, honey

5. Januar 2003

I spent the most terrible year of my life in the USA, as an Au Pair. Even today I can´t tell you why I didn´t quit it and went home earlier. The family I lived in was detestable. The mother was a little slut, she would not clean the kitchen, she would not wash her children´s cloths, but buy them new ones and throw the old stuff away. They didn´t have much money, actually they even begged me to pay their energy bill one time, money which I never saw again. But she had money for new cloths and ebay auctions, only that her husband didn´t seem to know.

I felt sorry for Mr. Slut because he seemed to be a nice person. The woman he was living with wasn´t the woman he´d married anymore. She had turned into the deception of his life. And yes, does it work that way? A friend of mine once told me that the thing she liked about marriage was the fact that you didn´t have to make efforts to look beautiful once you had married a man. And no, I don´t feel that way.

But I also don´t want to spend hours in the bathroom, when the sex I´m getting will be as boring as always, just because I don´t like to wear slinky red things. And I´m convinced that men who didn´t get to see many porns are better to live with, because their minds are not perverted. I mean, who will ever be satisfied with „simple sex“ after having seen all these… things! I don´t know. And sometimes I´m so glad and thankful to be a woman. The way we´re not too tied to this sex drive men are tied to makes me happy, but the way we´re too emotional sometimes makes me sad.

And I say: You know, I don´t really want to go out with your friends, they´re boring, they don´t talk to me, because they don´t know how to treat a woman decently. And he says: Don´t give me that attitude thing, honey.

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More trustworthy

21. September 2002

Yes, I know. I think I will write about him. Why always boys? That´s sooo incredible. I am 20 years old and all the time I am still thinking about boys like a 14 year old. And I write about them, which means they are on my mind all the time. I have come to a, let´s call it total distrust in women. I distrust them. They are the most furtive and insidious creatures that live on this planet. I feel like boys are more trustworthy, cleaner, and true. I don´t know. I simply don´t know why.

Of course there are boys I don´t like. For example H. He is a friend of mine´s flatmate and he is simultaneously detestable and attractive. Almost every time I am at my friend´s flat, which maybe occurs every two weeks, and we are watching a film in the living room, we can hear him with one of his various conquests making noisy sex. And everytime one of his captures groans or screams or makes any sound that sounds like something is being thrust inside her, my friend and I look at each other with hooded eyes and share a killing glance and can´t admit to each other that we would do anything to be in that woman´s place.

Maybe, when talking to a man, I feel like my counterpart is respecting me. Even if it´s only because of my looks, I don´t care. I´ve got the feeling that men respect me, while women scan my body for failures and scan my thoughts for failures as well. Maybe, you can only have a deep friendship with someone you can´t actually compare with. I can´t compare myself with men. And, speaking for myself, when a man wants to talk to me, I am more at ease, more relaxed than I could ever be if a woman was approaching me.

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Whack off into the flower water

9. März 2002

A new day comes and new thoughts arrive. My stereo is featuring an old album and I am happy and tired. Last Saturday me and my friends watched some videos at L´s house and one of them dealt with a little boy who was able to write wonderful things. His teacher, a writer thought lost, told him not to think, but just write. Write down whatever came into his mind. Should I write this way, too? Writing without thinking? Let´s try!

Today in our English course we talked about flirting. At first I thought that practically everybody is flirting almost every time he or she is talking to the opposite sex. But then I realized that my conclusion had been made too hastily. Of course there are boys and men which I do not flirt with, but the truth is that with most boys I talk to I catch myself imagining kissing them or thinking about how they probably look naked. That is a terrible thing. Or isn´t it? I don´t know.

I once knew a girl, whose name is not really important here, who was utterly romantic. She was always looking for a boy with good manners, meaning that he would open his car door for her first, before getting in himself, meaning that he would give her his jacket if she should ever feel cold on one of their romantic walks in the moonshine. She wanted him to be perfect, she wanted him to love her completely, she wanted him to buy her flowers every week and all these things which do not really prove love, but exaggerated manners. Maybe those men where thrusting their love gun into her mentally, while opening the car´s door for her. Or maybe they whacked off into the flower water, before giving them to her, believing in their own nutritious liquid. Who knows? And maybe the fact of them being a bit too-well mannered, shows that in their head are going on the most outrageous pornographic illusions.

U-hu, stop! Is this really what I intended to write about? I´m not so sure. Maybe thinking about what you are writing is not so bad after all. I always thought that being sincere was the most humble way to act, but it´s not like that. Many people can´t cope with this way of acting. They don´t abide being sincere. They actually don´t want to hear the truth. That´s the whole thing about society. You try to be sincere and all you get back are shouts like: slut. When all I wanted was to put across the way I think and the way I look at things. I always thought that it is one of the greatest gifts to be entrusted with personal thoughts. But now I know that people don´t want to know anything about your inner self. They just don´t care or regard it as a burden, respectively.