Archive for December, 2015


Posted: 2015-12-22 in Anja, Uncategorized

Mankind. Man-kind. Man, kind. Man kind? … I don’t think so.

Man selfish and hateful.

This is the world we live in.

Season’s Greetings.


Posted: 2015-12-21 in Anja

Dreams lost, fate destroyed, promises broken, souls deadened: by people, circumstances, inanimate objects and weather conditions.

This world surely sucks … then spits in your face.

For many it’s only the stock market that matters. Shiny coins and vestiges of power, control (really, they like to gamble).

For others it’s merely scraping by, surviving.

Potential? (Fucking swear word!) … Where did it go?

Jesus, this could have been quite a radiant life.

Taupo. Blown Away.

Posted: 2015-12-20 in Anja

It was quite strange, the image that flashed through my head, the second before I pulled the trigger: Ironman New Zealand, Meredith Kessler putting her hand down her top, feeling around her breasts and pulling a can of Red Bull out. She pops it open, on the run, some froth flies, she imbibes, on she goes, on she wins. And, wow, if only I had been able to do such, in my event, in my day…

(Wry smile)

And I had no compunction about pulling the trigger and extinguishing that life. … Life? Life’s unfair. Yes. Society’s perverted. Humanity is screwed. The world is a messed-up place.

I wanna have a can of Red Bull “resting” against my breasts too. … Uh, do I really?


Posted: 2015-12-20 in Anja

It could have been 1975, 1985, 1995, 1945, this year, or last year. I (yes *I*) was doing well, but circumstances prevailed, took a toll. And I did what I could. Within the system, from the ground to the sky, inside and outside. I did what I could, frustrated, knowing I could do more.

Ahhhhh! Exhale deeply, breathe in unhurriedly, hold, repeat. It feels so good to get one’s shoes and socks off. Coolness pervades the previous discomfort, rigidity, warmth, closeness, unnatural. Now space. Some kind of freedom, breathing room, liberty. It feels like I’m expelling the experiences and times around me, today. It feels even better to get the rest of my clothes off, piece by piece, cleansing. I place my bra aside. I pull my undies down. The natural order of things. Here I am. Naked and alone, unencumbered, I feel happy. I pop the cap off the bottle and enjoy the taste of beer. … Inhale. The delicious moments. Before I get distracted, enslaved, again.

Somewhat numbed, in orbit.

Occasional corrections made to course.

Sometimes words coarse, despair and hoarse,

we listen for, hoping.

As our sports stars are…

Apropos the destination,

formal salutations

and radio waves,

blurred reception.

Often misinformation flies,

faster than the speed of light,

absorbed by ready ears.


We hear what we want to hear!


Posted: 2015-12-16 in Thoughts For The Day

Playing the system is tiring but, somehow, feels necessary to get by in life, in this society, this time and place. From cutting out coupons, to going somewhere at some time, doing what they ask, saying what they want, using sense and logic, feeling (!), paying heed to the voice within. … Compromising today. Taking advantage tomorrow. … Playing the system. Playing *the man*.

Reinigen Sie den Bastard du haben…

Yes, a wise woman told me: clean the bastard you got. I didn’t understand, now I do.

If you’re anything like me, when you’re sick, you like to be left alone. ALONE.

See that bald guy over there? Yeah, the one messily eating a hamburger, grease and drool on his chin. Repulsive, right? Indeed. … Well, he didn’t used to be bald. And he didn’t used to be fat. And he didn’t used to be repulsive. And he didn’t used to be frustrated. And he didn’t used to beat his ex-wife.

He didn’t used to be full of anger and hate or subject to unexplainable outbursts. He didn’t used to be hopeless and he didn’t used to be a loser.

But one day he noticed his receding hairline, then others did too – they made comments and jokes, playful yet hurtful. Whaddya associate, after all, with baldness? And, then he got a hernia too, consequence of years of self-sacrifice and pain. Old, past-it, sickly, stiff, gone grandpa, gone: you’re never get a second look from a pretty young woman again (unless you’re filthy rich).

Some men don’t mind, they’re in a secure place, loved by their family and friends. For others it’s another brick in the wall of isolation, pain and fear, blocking them off from already dwindling hopes, in this society of shit. As their hair falls out, they lose what little remains of themselves.

Is it any wonder that many give up and succumb to the basest desires of their flesh (What the fuck difference does it make now if I eat crap and get fat, fart, watch porn and piss on the toilet seat, even more repulsive?! Yeah, fuck it. And fuck that bitch for looking at me the wrong way, I know she’s loathing what I’ve become! Like she’s a prize? Saggy cunt, show her the back of my hand!).

He didn’t used to be…