the first will be the last… one day. and other way round. jesus said so.

two stories about perspectives.

not to say I’m special, but I am. Haha.

Once I was in class of Gymnasium with adults (I was second youngest of 22) we had to analyze a short story about a relationship of a medi-age-couple with kids. they were having breakfast and a difficult topic came up referring to the kids. the parents disagreed totally. and the father, then, left off, without discussion any more. we had to analyze this relationship. but it went on because the father stayed alone for the whole day, the mommy cried and daddy wrote a letter in the end to explain himself. we didn’t know what he wrote.
all mates (?) in class of mine – and even the teacher – agreed on the decision to judge this relationship the way it was bad and not lovely. but I was disagreeing and I raise my arm and said: But can’t this be lovely, as well? You might not know, what they both would have done if the father hadn’t left. He was kind and brave enough to develope some space and time inbetween their love. All others didn’t understand what I was saying. I shut my mouth after and thought I was wrong.

Another one:
Once I was in class of normal school for trainees (media design workers) with kids only (I was second oldest of 23), the teacher handed out a short story in German lessons. The story was about a hard-working working man who always said YES to all kinds of work, never complained, and never said „NO this is too much right now, someone else needs to do it“. He refused to go on vacation and he got stocks of papers to care about in his office. All his colleagues started to talk about him, stare at him and wonderin about his behaving. They did not insult him, but they said, after once the hard-working man had killed himself, they said, yeah, somehow this was something predictable. They really never insulted him in the short story and we, the class, needed to analyze social behaving of the group. All of the others and even the teacher (about 60-year-old-man) were sure those colleagues were cruel and bullying and not kind.

But this was nothing I could see and I raise my arm as well and said: But, can’t this be normal behaving, as well? I couldn’t explain my feelings then but today I see, if you behave like a slave and you show to others that you are not worth a beautiful, stressless life, then the others will treat you this way and (ab)use the situation. But this is Kharma. And so, I think, if the hard-working man couldn’t find out for himself to love himself and say „NO, this is too much“, then this is his own fault and his own decision on a worthless life.

I’m done.

By the way: As I said (this is two years ago now) they all looked at me and didn’t understand anything. And I thought, damn, I must be wrong… But I’m not and I know it.

Fine.

I will grow oldest.

I had a vision

one day… no, I am not Martin Luther King.

I had a vision, years ago, it came up to my mind while I was being driven around in a car through the night of the city. I wanted to write a utopian book about this. It will sound stupid to most of you, I know this, but I had a vision about society where noone cared about question of gender. No people asking you for what you should call yourself, a girl, or a boy, `cause all of them will decide on what they want to do in their lifes and which role they want to play. No judgement, no laughter, no fucking worries about.

Some prick will not feel ashamed for crying anymore and some pussy will not be ashamed for drinking beer as fuck anymore.

And here is something left for you who might not believe:

Ask someone: Are you a boy or a girl?

And the person will say: How can I be only one of these? I am proudly made out of Mom’s and Dad’s genes, so I’m both, Mom and Dad, at the same fucking time.

Think about this.

And later on, if you are still doubtful, the person will say: And Mom can also say the same like I am proudly made out of Mom’s and Dad’s genes, so she’s both as well, so Mom could be Dad as well, actually. She can decide on, it doesn’t matter. Mom means Dad.