#shell pondering

Those that stood on the square, listening to a tour guide, as I passed immersed in the energy of my daily life. Nobody was pointing their camera on that. On us. On the fight we had in school, because teachers would prioritize grades over who gets neglected and abused at home. On the people struggling with the injustices of the system that kept us running in loops, that seperated us into hierarchies.

To me those tourists were invaders. Idiots. Blind idiots, completely alien to me. They disgusted me.

The first time I moved abroad, I barely left the house. Going to work and back. Took me two years to discover more than my daily route. Never actually ended up learning half as much as I could have. I was a tourist in a way. I made myself believe I belonged after some time. When I left, I realized that was an illusion.

Living in another country now, I know I cannot even pretend being part of it. Too different on too many levels for me to fall into that delusion. I know my route again. Very little outside of it. Again.

I wish I saw more. I envy those that travel everywhere. That don't feel like Australia is an invented continent, because they only saw it on a map, but never got to grasp it in all it's facets. I have that with many things. It's unreal to me. Too far from my understanding. I cannot comprehend it.

I am so detached.

From very early on.

Having to hit milestones in childhood - I remember how upselt my parents got, that I didn't crawl, barely wanted to walk.

That I cried too much and wouldn't stop.

The pressure to write my name, to hold a pen properly. To eat more than my favorite meal over and over again.

Behaving in elementary school, integrating finally. When will she ever make friends?

She has to learn how to calculate, to write properly.

Each year in school was stress that would never ever stop.

The ever evolving standards to live up to.

It didn't change with the autism diagnosis after almost a decade of misjudged 'support' that looked more like further destruction.

I am exhausted of existence.

Afraid of stepping outside of culture offered to me.

Sure, I could go radical, just enter homelessness, except weather conditions, bugs and whatever nature does to a human that does not fit in anymore.

But even that does not sound appealing..

I know I operate within the will of a larger crowd.

My will has not been strong enough to draw others in to lay out another version of reality to buy into.

They say the prison system is meant as a Time out to reflect on behavior, develop skill and change future actions that can be better integrated into society after release.

To me it's an attempt of a manifestation that is more a symbol than actual transformation and alchemy.

There is heavy judgement around those who had to go to prison, who are known to have committed a wrongdoing.

And even though we all make errors and mistakes on a daily basis, only some come with the expectation of exclusion, almost a mental quarantine- well that's more psychiatry.

So what is prison then?

I observe a lot of people do everything in their might to not go to prison. Sometimes doing even more horrible things by my standards than those that succumb and surrender to their judgement.

Judgement Day.

I know I judge a lot.

Also myself.

And I also try to escape from it.

Today I'm trying to face what I have sensed and felt for a long time.

I am afraid of being known in my wrongdoings. Being seen.

Actually being seen.

Because to act means that depending on the foundation, something can always be seen as harmful to something else. Because it's about prioritizing values.

If I live in a system that values money higher than human lives, then yes committing tax frau will be more frowned upon, rather than rape. Because how is rape effecting tax fraud?

And when we live by those values, because we make the choice to go to work and feed the money machinery, then yes, it may not matter if you or your friend, or your parent or your sibling will be raped to you, unless you are being payed for it and pay taxes. I'm probably phrasing that wrong (how ironic), but you might get the gist.

We make the choice to give in to the system over our family and friends.

And we tell ourselves it's for our family and friends.

So they can survive.

So we can survive.

Im the system.

That chooses taxes over human lives.

Taxes that are meant to save human lives.

We are told.

We tell ourselves.

For health care (depending where we live)

To get easier to our jobs -public transport, smooth roads, accessible pathways free from snow, nature bend to our will and expectations (depending on where we live)

So we can take care of our children (by giving them to other people to raise and teach them the RigHT wAy), whether we would have the capacity and willingness to take on that responsibility ourselves.

Choices being molded for us.

A B or C

Choose the wrong path enough times and you'll end in mental hospital, prison or any other Facility of Societal Exile.

How do we grow as characters in such a system though?

Or is it more about maintainance?

Staying in the ever same energetic field?

Always someone to fill the place in the Land of the Outcast and some people escaping it by excelling through deception and connection of decicive power.

Bringing the ugly to light and connecting with it, while not choosing it, that is what is something worth living for to me.

Ich Zweifel doch alle Versionen an.

Schäme mich für jede Idee, scheue zurück vor einem Vorschlag, weil ich Lücken suche und finde.

In meinem Konstrukt und dem anderer.

Kritisiere ich nicht auch häufig andere?

Leider ja.

Warum?

Weil ich in der Grundannahme lebe, dass es doch eine Welt geben muss, die doch auch mal stimmig ist? Ich frage mich selbst.

Weil ich davon ausgehe, dass jeder einen Blueprint erhalten könne, mit welchem man Glitches ausgleichen kann, und Probleme lösen.

Wäre es besser, meine Basis zu wechseln?

Lebe ich im Falschen Spiel(/Film)?

Braucht es lediglich Charakterentwicklung um in meine Kraft zu kommen?

Bestimmt auch.

Ich traue mich nicht laut zu träumen.

Und langsam auch nicht leise.

Ich habe meine Standards weit verfehlt und radikal umschreiben müssen, weil ich ihnen nicht gerecht geworden bin.

Sind meine Ideale nicht passend an die Struktur angepasst?

Mein Weltbild ändert sich häufig.

Der Weltenbau schwankt.

Prioritäten wanken.

Es ist kein Wunder, warum so viel schief gegangen ist.

Meine eigenen ausgeteilten Vorwürfe hängen mir nach.

Zurecht.

Also liege ich hier mit Ihnen. Während mich meine kleine Schwester fragt, was ich den ganzen Tag so mache.

Und die Antwort ist grübeln.

In purer Erschöpfung.

Wer schaut denn noch hin in die verzogene Realität?

Kann ein Mensch alles anschauen?

Ich weiß, ich bin daran schon lange gescheitert.

Hab mich schon lange geblockt.

Krieg halt ich nicht aus, während andere keine Wahl haben.

Gib dem keine Energie sagen Freunde, während ich im Stillen schreie nach jemanden, der meinen Krieg im Inneren mit mir anschaut, mit dem man sich nicht beschäftigt, weil es Kräfte zehrt.

Wie denn sonst weiter machen?

Die Ansprüche der Welt und von erer aus von sich selbst an sich selbst Gestellten stämmen?

Wie kreieren wir und mit welchem Material?

Mit welchen kreativen Stoff? Ich rede nicht von Leinen oder Baumwolle, sondern den Stoff der Träume, der Erwartungen?

Woher nehmen wir, was wir ein Ziel nennen? Wonach formen wir es, an welchen Richtlinien, mit welchen Pfeilern ausgestattet?

Wie konstruierst du deine eigenen Träume?

Und nach welchen von denen handelst du?

Wie oft hatte ich Gespräche über die unheimlichen Gedanken, die manchmal dazwischenfunken.

Was gibt mir Kraft denen zu widerstehen, was gibt mir Halt und Ansporn in eine andere Richtung zu gehen?

Woran halte ich fest und warum so lange an Träumen, die zum scheitern verurteilt sind, die nicht gut enden können?

Welches symbolische Schwert schmiede ich in diesen Momenten?

Wie kann ich zwischen Realitäten bewusst springen?