Drunk at Work

Freely translated from the lyrics of a song from Die Toten Hosen, a lovely punk-rock band from Germany. They are active and popular to this day, but this song is from 1984, so it’s fucking 36 years old.

Woohoo, woohoo, woohoo (this part is exactly translated)

Muffled knocks on the door
What could someone want of me this late?
The Reaper stands outside
„It’s not my turn yet!”, I call

Has my time already come?
Must I go with him?
My time was way too short,
must I go with him?

Woohoo, woohoo, woohoo

I saw, I had no chance,
so I let him in
He was very cold and pale,
so I gave him a drink

Has my time already come?
Must I go with him?
My time was way too short,
must I go with him?

Woohoo, woohoo, woohoo

He forgot his duty pretty fast,
he drank heavily, and it became bright at last
Completely drunk, he went away
Got lucky again

creepy-1867707_1280

Say What You Feel, in a Civil Way

Communication, dammit. It’s not easy, but try it. It might just work. Be honest. Damn, I know, it’s complicated b –. (Editors note: forgive the interruption, but Mr. Hellstrøm has just spit a glob of . . . whatever . . . on his keyboard. He’s trying to say something he considers important, and his zeal has got the better of him. Now he has to clean it up) . . . but you can deal with it.
It’s not actually that difficult. Even with the minimal empathy that I am equipped with, it isn’t that hard. I make up for it with – I was thinking ‘intellect’ just now, but that ain’t right – perhaps it’s more like I empathize on a different level. On several levels, maybe, and then it’s too much, and I’d rather attack than feel with you. Nevertheless I try my best to understand. So don’t take it wrong if I wrestle you to the ground and bite you in the throat.
skeleton-20746_1280
Whatever. We all have our crosses to bear, our balls and chains to drag dismally across the floor, and so on. Besides, some people deserve to be bitten in the throat. But, basically, when I have those feelings, I counter them with perfect politeness. There are ways of making your feelings clear without biting other peoples throats. I’ll nevermind them, those people. Keep them at arm’s length.
Politeness is like armor then. You see how people misbehave, and you counter it with absolute civility. There is nothing that could make them angrier, perhaps, but you force them to be civil in turn. And that is an honest way of communication. You’re telling them very clearly what you think, though it may be masked, and you’re forcing them to deal with you on a certain level, the only level left, at that point, which won’t cause you to bite them in the throat.
So you’re wearing a mask, but it’s an honest mask. Everyone knows what it means. That’s what I mean when I say: say what you feel. Nevermind them. They may hate you for it afterwards, if they even take the trouble to think about it, but most likely they won’t. Even if they do, there is nothing they can do about it. If they do think about it, they will silently admit defeat. You’ve fucked them in the ass, big time, with civility.
Man, I love that. It appeals to my sense of irony. Not to mention the little cynical fuck in me that has a huge laugh at it. Haha, fucked you in the ass, man! Not a thing you can do about it! Aced you out, big time, you fucking asocial ass!
Ahh, I love civility, and politeness.

Ideally

Ideally, we stick to our ideals. I deal, I do, I do what I think is right. Deal the cards, deal ’em straight, do not ever cheat That’s an ideal. I deal, dealing, doing. Do it. It’s that simple. It’s not a word game, it’s not any kind of game at all. It’s real life, and if you think that is a game, well, play as best you can, but every game has losers and winners.
Ah, you say, now I’ve got ’im. He thinks he’s good, but I’ve got ’im. You are thinking: who’s ideals? Mine, or his, or the ideals of a zealous maniac? Well, I forgot to mention that you have to think about your ideals. You have to realize that they are your ideals, because you have evaluated them and found them to be sound. You can’t just take someone else’s ideals and make them your own. I doesn’t work that way. The ideals of a zealous maniac are not true ideals, because they have been planted in him. The zealous maniac has never thought them through to their insane conclusions. Well, there are, of course, exceptions.
Here we come to the question of indoctrination. Can you indoctrinate an ideal? No. You can indoctrinate an idea, but you cannot indoctrinate ideals. Ideals can be presented, taken or left aside . . . they cannot be indoctrinated, because, by (admittedly, my) definition, they are something that every single individual must think through and establish for themselves.
Here we come to the question of moral responsibility, and that’s the core of it all. Each and every single one of us is morally responsible for what we do. What are morals? you may ask. What is morally correct, what is not? Is that not a question of upbringing, of indoctrination? No, it is not. Each individual has to think about it. That is the key. If we could find a way to release every single human being from his indoctrination, to allow each person to actually think, I am convinced that they would all come to a similar, if not exact same, conclusion.
neurons-582054_640
The conclusion could be described as enlightened self-interest. Or – yeah, I know, straight outa the Bible, baby – do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Just because it’s a stupid religious book that has caused incredibly nonsensical wars and the destruction of countless good-willed people doesn’t mean it’s completely devoid of good ideas.
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Can you, as an individual, honestly deny the value of that phrase? Can you, in the dark hours of the night, say to yourself, ‘fuck that’? Can you really, in the depths of your heart, cynical though you may be, having really thought it through, deny that simple truth?
Unless, of course, you are a masochist, in which case you’d have to become a sadist in order to agree with what I’ve just said, haha.
All this reminds me of the determinists. Mistakenly, many people believe that the determinists propagate some kind of preprogrammed world, along the lines of ‘it is written, so shall it come to pass.’ Or that they will undermine the morals we’ve all built up, remove the feeling that one is responsible for one’s actions. This is not the case. Very misunderstood, those poor determinists, but I won’t go in to that now.
What interests me about them is that they want to substantiate their ideas with scientific evidence. So they’re connected to the part of science which is investigating how the human brain works at the most basic level, even beyond the level at which you might suppose free will originates. These scientists see that something is going on in your brain at a point where it hasn’t yet presented you with a single thought, not even at an unconscious level. They’ve delved deeper, and they are saying that our thoughts aren’t ours, in a sense, because what we think, what we perceive to be a spontaneous decision, comes from a level of physical, chemical reactions that have determined what we do. Though I agree with many things the determinists say, the evidence submitted thus far is very controversial, and completely open to interpretation. Since I am not a scientist, I can comfortably dispense with the necessity of substantiating my statements with tons of statical data (likely skewed).
I think I’ll just stick to my romantic ideals for the time being. Neurons, you’re fired. What for? For even thinking about this shit.

Vernissage

Just stuff the food and swill the champagne. Act like you think it’s art. Give intellectual commonplaces to your best. Be quasi, you casual little cultural fuck, you. Well… well, it’d be different if it was really good art, wouldn’t it now? Then, you could say: holy fucking shit, this is really cool stuff! or: I don’t understand it yet, but damn, I like it!
champagne-237239_1280
But how often does that happen? I’ve been to enough „openings“ to know… that I am not impressed. I know, that sounds totally arrogant, and it is. But, and here’s the wiggle, most of it isn’t even, well, how shall I say… acceptable? I mean, like, better than average. I’d be willing to praise anything above mediocre. But 90% is just plain CRAP, with some fucking kinky concept to accompany it in to the depths of creative hell. So just stuff the food and swill the champagne. Act like you… oh, yeah, I said that already.

A Big Thick Wall

It’s really interesting to see how Germany has evolved. I live in this fucking country. Its’ fucking insane, like any so named country. People gotta worry ’bout the weather, ’bout the young folk, like anywhere else. They got nothing better to do. Oh, but now it’s the fucking foreigners. As if that was something new. Oh, don’t worry, you German’s, mother Merkel will keep you safe. It’s truly amusing to see how Germany marshals the countries walling her from the shit goin’ down in the world. Suddenly there aren’t enough refugees to populate the shelters built for them in Germany. It’s a magic trick.
wall-279519_640

Fool

Foolish fool. Damned fool. Fucking fool. Fool of fools. Fooleristics; a cross between statistics, stochastic, and simple foolishness. What could be more foolish than that? I am the first and, most likely, last conscious (well, semi-conscious at least) adherent to this brand new mix of mathematics and philosophy. More on this when I am not quite as drunk.

Another Conversation with God

„Who are you?“
„I am what I am, I’m Popeye the sailor man.“
Hellstrøm is nonplussed. „Wh… what?!“
„I’m sorry, wasn’t that the right answer?“
„Don’t you know?“
„Yes, I know.“ God giggles, then knits his brow in thought. „At least, I think I know.“
„Wait a minute… you’re just fucking around with me, right? Who are you? What are you?“
„I’m, uhh… it’s impossible to pronounce in your tongue.“
„What do you mean, you mean, like, you’re an alien or something, with a name impossible to pronounce?“
„No… uhh, yes.“
„What the…?!“
Hellstrøm decides to approach the matter from another angle.
„Where did you come from?“
„From never-never-land.“
Hellstrøm’s mouth writhes wordlessly.
„Wrong answer again? I’m sorry. It’s just…“ God’s voice peters off.
„Yes?“
„It’s difficult to keep all this stuff apart…“
„What stuff, what do you mean?“
„Everything.“
„Everything…? To keep everything apart?“
„Yes. Maybe.“
„But, but… who are you?!“
„3.141592653589793238462643383279502884197169399375105820974944592…“
„Stop!“
„I can just tell: wrong answer again, right?“
Hellstrøm curses under his breath and wonders how he can get out of this conversation gracefully. After all, it wouldn’t do to offend God, would it now? On the other hand, something in him wants to get to the root of the matter.
„You can’t keep everything apart… what do you mean by that exactly?“
„Nothing.“
Once again Hellstrøm’s mouth writhes wordlessly.
„Anything? Is that the right answer? Nothing seems to satisfy you though! That is to say, in a manner of speaking… nothing.“
„I have the feeling you are leading me in circles here, God.“
„Circles? Circles are fun. One, two, three… it’s the threes that get me. Or the sevens. I’m not sure. All those little numbers… put ’em together, and they’re big. Made so many I’ve lost track. But I am not leading you, Hellstrøm, I am you.“
„So, you’re Hellstrøm?“ Hellstrøm feels utterly silly in posing the question.
„Yes… uhh, no. Yes.“
„It’s the wrong fucking answer again, God. Now just stop bullshitting me and, and…“
„All the numbers,“ God grumbles, „it’s enough to drive you batty. I know them all, I am all the numbers, it’s no wonder I can’t concentrate. Too many variables. Possibilities. It’s gotten out of hand, but I can’t stop it anymore. And to think I started with zero…“
„So… so you’re saying…“
„No!“ God thundered, „Yes! Maybe! Take your fucking pick! There is no answer to your questions, and every answer is correct!“
When Hellstrøm had finished cowering, he went home and listened to some music and smoked a joint, reminding himself of Voltaire’s words on doubt and certainty.
Voltaire-Baquoy

Honest Hypocrites

Give me an honest hypocrite any day. At least then I’ll know what I am dealing with. People who know they are hypocrites, who are up front about it, at least with themselves. They live with a sardonic grin on their faces. But please, oh please, save me from the hypocrites who truly believe in their own bullshit. Those are the dangerous ones.
It’s the little biddy telling me that we have to do something for the poor while she lives on the inheritance of her predecessors, an inheritance pressed out of people who worked sixteen hours a day for pennies. She pays her dues to various charities, and she feels very good about that. It’s the young urban professional telling me we really need to finally do something about the situation in Africa, though the company he works for is robbing resources from that very continent, and killing people in the process.
Dangerous. In such cases, the word honesty takes on a whole new meaning. The problem is that truth is on many levels, and people who believe in what they say are very convincing, though what they say may have nothing whatsoever to do with what they do. That yuppy wouldn’t give a cent to the corner bum. Nor would the biddy, most likely, for she has already paid to help poor people, hasn’t she now?
Either you live in the world as it is and you’re glad you’re not in the bottom half, and you know you’re glad and you look at the bum on the corner and say, tough tits; or you don’t think that’s right and you actually do something about it. I won’t tell you which direction I go with this, because that is not the point. I will say that either direction is okay with me, as long as you are honest with yourself.