I have to say, that after, statistically, 1/3 of my lifespan rushing like having fun on the Interstate, I feel exhausted for doing nothing, which is awkward. And I have come to the conclusion, that I am actually someone, who is better out of this world, then in it. What sense, or change, does it make anyway. I am living next to a society, I don't belong to. Speaking tung none can understand, or pretend to understand, and love... well love... that's a different thing. Get a life, someone might say, I got a life, and I am sick of tumbling and fall, get up in order to tumble and fall again and again. If that is what life is, then it is sick!

If you reed between the lines, you might say, this guy has a situation here, and you know what... you are right. But I cannot die, I simply cannot. I do believe in higher existence, but I haven't found what I am looking for yet. That does not mean, I am willing to do anything after that. The thing is, life betrayed me. Or I betrayed myself, who fucking cares. In the end, I rest my case anyway. But I want to be loved, not only by a figure on the cross, whom's existence proved, that god loves me too. I want to be loved, and deserve to be loved from within the world. But... how do you dunk in a society while you live in a world of your own. It is like being legal alien, without anything to cling from the past. I actually do have memories from my childhood which was great, but I think, I was an alien from the start.

I know my parents love me as I am, but their love can't compete with the love I am missing, or in the need of. I would love to hug them, but since ages, I am to old for that, to fat, to loving! It is just like the Kindergarten comic, where all the children are hanging on trees and a Kindergarten-teacher comes and sent them in the real world. I should have hung there a little longer. Someone decides for you, by when you are old enough to discover the world on your own.

The truth is, life is a looser!

Problem is, what kind of society do you belong to, if you never belonged to any.

That actually takes me back to the Immigration Officer from my last trip to the US. I am sure, he saw my passport, which is German, but he said word by word: Welcome home, son!

What did he know? Home is where your heart is, and I felt never more home while in US and Canada. But I feel home right now, but it all isn't.

I could make one on my own, like I always did before, but I simply can't anymore, since, per definition, society is more then one. That brings me back to: Life is sick.