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Home for the heteronomous

Friday Afternoon Confessional: Going Crazy

The most important thing is this: never – never ever – leave a space at the end of a line. Fill it to the end even if you have to type ghjtrgk. Or something. Never mind whjkjkljere.


You may leave space after an O.

Or an Aha.

They don’t mean anything like. They’re not important. Ghdhjk. Like me? I don’t. Well, I like the other me and he dislikes this me. Dis mie ning. Strike that. Stricken. Always correct yourself. Try that with a jkjkjk space. Should have been spspspp. Too late. Always too late to correct your self. Why write, anyway? It is not like someone will read it (except me, I’m here writing it, don’t have a choice, never hadt; even not  in parentheses). What a relief, not to have to be understandable; kind of explains why you’re not not – a random string replaced by a less random still meaningless one – not not not understood.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck – fuck. Fuck ‘Em.

Toto thinks (

A dog’s name


Everything arrrrrrrrround me



Toto thinks.


Haunts me.

That Toto


Gets me to thinking. Like a robot, unwatched for the very first time. Processing ….. Dots are annoyingly annoying somebody dear to me once said. She’s so very dear. Spellchecker wants Sue. Sure, Sue, sue me for using dots to fill lines. I can’t help it. No worries, Sue won’t read it; I won’t let her although I wrw want to let her so bad it Achel (stupide spellchecker – Achel, no aches, ah damned algorithms thinking, without having to think they’re thinking; bless them, bless us, damn me and I am damned).

Borderline borders on a lie.

Toto doesn’t denkt. He thinks maybe in a very Anglo-Saxon kind of a way. Turing-think I say after being interrupted by the glazenwasser undoing my thread of thought so I’m caught in a web of associations – help me or I say treat, trait, threat with the middle term intended to be mispronounced as only humansll can do. I don’t help myself. Be clear God Damn It. I can’t help myself. I really can’t. I miss Brod my dog Max (um zu spelen? zum fressen!).





That’s poetry. Yes, poverty as well Mr. Spel Check. The joke’s on you know stupid bastaard coming klk  apart in your clarify (I give up, there’s no talking to me; like me or unlike me).

Like me


Unlike me

You like like me

Unlike unlike me whom you not even honour with dislike

Too weird, much too. If I could stand blood I would bleed you all (minus some which might be many, it depends on my clarify). Don’t fight the check; don’t parenthesise it ends without sentence. Sad.

Stop now. Stop typing. Go out with a bang instead of another fizzle. I could make you produce sounds stirring shaking shit stream but the truth is: you’re not there only I am and the only I who am there is an I that needs to be gone but cannot stop but continue – make up your own ‘s’-ses – babbling & insisting so sorry – here they are ;-) – sorry so.

I come




October 28, 2016 - Posted by | boredom

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