Diary of stable, responsible and wholesome lifestyle choices


Yep and now Sabbath is no more. And now I feel old. :weary:


Oh, don’t worry. We’re all going to die anyway, so it doesn’t matter if you feel old :grin:




And as long as you don’t shuffle over the stage floor like a really really old and really really drug marked Ozzy Osbourne, you ARE at least not old :smiley:


Well there is that. And I don’t drink nearly as much as he does. (Looking at Ozzy in the corner “Hey this fucking fruit vodka is great man”)


Die Nacht steht still, die Luft steht still,
Mein Herzschlag stoppt, mein Herz, es will,
Es sucht, es wagt mir aller Kraft
Zu enden, was zu enden hat
Um Letztenendes nachzugeben,
Letztenendes wach, zugegen


Now to the fun part: my S.O. has been offered a job as social media content manager, or how I would describe it: posting memes and snubbing old offended people. I would love that, too.


So here’s the thing:
It might look like there is nothing much going on atm. But I’m (or better: WE are) working on some unsolved issues that I’m not willing to discuss openly with a shitload of strangers (bodyless entities are much better).
Tech support is at it, so to speak. Maybe I’ll write about it sometime, maybe I won’t.

(rough translation)

I’m on my way down south and will continue to the sea
Will lay myself on hot pebbles, and the sun will burn off
the scars from my neck, every scratch, every bruise,
_So no trace will be left behind from a thousand hands, _
which punched and grabbed me for a whole year.
And when the wind will sweep off my old dead skin as rags
from my back, like white ash, I’ll stand up again and will be healed.

I’m on my way down south and will continue to the sea
But I’m not really sure anymore, if the sun will help this time
It burns as hot as ever but underneath my shirt
I feel how my skin is tightened by the cold.
But the sweat in my boots is cooking and gnawing at my toes,
And from where I came the wind carries the stench
of half forgotten fear, hate and disgust back to me.

I’m on my way down south and won’t continue to the sea
I’m tired, I just want to sleep. Tomorrow,
tomorrow I’ll write down my dreams and I will see
how the filth in my guts, my spinal cord, my brain,
has already began to putrefy and has runned to poison.
Tomorrow I’ll know what’s it’s name and where it came from
And once I’ll know the name this poison won’t kill me anymore.


No big details about todays rather emotional evocation but one core quote from Marquis Leraje was this:
“You’ll be able to breathe through fire one day.” Aye. And if not, just fucking shoot me already, okay?

And I heard your voice
As clear as day
And you told me I should concentrate
It was all so strange
And so surreal
That a ghost should be so practical
Only if for a night

And the only solution was to stand and fight
And my body was bruised and I was set alight
But you came over me like some holy rite
And although I was burning, you’re the only light
Only if for a night


I figured out that a gallant blood cough keeps really annoying fundraisers at bay. Owning your illness and such.


Pneumonia is hitting me hard. Not pain wise but I am bored.
Leraje is telling me to relax; dude you do know that I don’t know how to do that, right?


Did I tell you to megadose vitamin c? Well do that. 2-3 grams three times a day.


Vitamin D is also good for this

wink wink nodge nodge


Is that what you kids are calling it nowadays?


It’s a new age thing :joy:





Why you always react like this???


Every time I see that pic I hear it narrated in the voice of someone who smoked three packs of menthols a day for the last forty years.


dis me