Unveröffentlichte Veröffentlichungen: explanation /erklärung

,unveröffentlichte veröffentlichungen' means something like unpublished publications. Those are blogs I wrote during my journey. One is from poland and three are from the north. I left them exactly how I wrote them in this situation (no editing of grammar/ words/ style/...). I can't guarantee that nor the orthography neither the storys are right. I think I was mostly drunk or sad or lonely when I wrote those blogs. Sometimes all of it :). Why do I publish them now? Because I just want to. I had such a bad day today, and I realised that I learned some things during my journey: 1. I really don't care what people think about me. I don't give a fuck if you think I'm xxx or yyy or even zzz. 2. Because of this reason, I can publish on my blog whatever I want to publish, because I REALLY don't care about other peoples opinions about me. 3. Even if I try to get along with people, I just hate 99% of them. That doesn't mean I think I'm something better or that they are the bad ones. It just means I'm one of those 1% who just hates the 99%. I'm one of the bad ones, the anti-social haters. 4. I never talked to anyone about any of those things (or the things in my unpublished blogs). Because I sometimes like to keep my personal stuff private. I don't really like to talk about it, because talking: waaahh! So 5. I write about it instead. Finished with counting.
May some people enjoy the stories! I'm very sorry if someone finds her/his name in one of the stories, but as I wrote above: I didn't edit anything, so this means I also didn't change the names. Because I want to remember them in 30 years. FINISHED BLOG! Goodbye

[unveröffentlichte veröffentlichungen - part O - poland] Camp Life

Lagerfeuer - lustige Gespäche in der Küche - aufbleiben bis in die frühen Morgenstunden - und mindestens eine nervige Person.

Nach nur zwei Wochen engen Zusammenlebens kennt man die Menschen um sich herum besser, als einem manchmal lieb ist. Es herrscht eine ganz spezielle Gruppendynamik, die schwer zu erklären ist. Die meisten Menschen finden sich zu einer grösseren Gruppe zusammen, die viel miteinander unternimmt und zur gleichen Zeit etwa das Gleiche tun will. Dann gibt es ein paar introvertierte / schüchterne / nicht gut englisch Sprechende, die meist lieber ein Buch lesen als an den Gemeinschaftsaktivitäten teilzunehmen. Und dann gibt es immer DIESEN EINEN, den Spezialisten. Meist motzt er an allem herum, sei es nun das Essen, das Programm oder die Arbeit. Hauptsache gemotzt. Und wenn die allermeisten das Eine tun wollen, will er garantiert das Andere. Nach 10 Tagen mit zu wenig Schlaf da unbequeme Feldbetten ist dies nicht mehr auszuhalten!

Beispiele? Bitteschön:

-Spezialist: gib das Salz schon jetzt ins Spaghettiwasser!
-Normalo: nein lieber nicht, weil damn hat es länger bis es kocht, weil höherer Siedepunkt.
-Spezialist: ja ich weiss das natürlich, ich studiere phys.Ch.
-Normalo: ja warum sagst du den das?!?

-Spezialist (während Normalo nach Früstück zähneputzt): Putz deine Zähne vor dem Frühstück!!!!
- Normalo: ?????

-Spezialist: Diese Karotten sind nicht gut genug für meine Sauce. Ich brauche gentechfreie Karotten.

[unveröffentlichte veröffentlichungen - part 3 - on a farm in sweden] How To Party On A Farm

It's 22.36, I'm already lying in my bed. That was a night! It all started with a bag of some fancy dresses and ended up with a party. But all from the beginning:  Some days ago, an elderly looking man with no hair on his head dropped by. He left three garbage bags of clothes here which his family doesn't need anymore and would like to donate to the farm. When we opened the bags, we found something we didn't expect. Instead of old jeans, shirts and sweaters, there were fancy dresses, suits, silvern high heels and so on. We were joking for days that we will wear this clothes in the barn or for dinner, but never did it. Tonight was the night. Adam started it by wearing a suit, and everyone else followed. We had a nice dinner with vine, food and abba music. But somehow there landed some Wodka on the table. Shots were drunken. People were dancing. The farm owners said goodbye and left, and the bottle was emptied. It was 9 o'clock at this time. The short way to our accomodation suddenly seemed quite long. Finally we arrived. Angela was already quite drunk and laid in her bed. Sanna and Adam as well (in Angelas bed) and also Vincent. I stayed with Markus in the living room and used the computer. After a while, Vincent came out (of the closet :P) and also used the computer and the others shut the door to their room. Always an akward moment on/after partys, when a group of people close the door behind them and adds the others out. I kind of hate it. So we went out and took a walk towards a light we saw in the sky. After a while the light dissapeared and we headed back. We had some nice, open talks. We brushed our teeth. Oh, and I forgot: when we were in the living room, Sanna came to grab a bucket for Angela, because she is throwing up. So now, when we were brushing our teeth, Adam came with the bucket downstairs and putted the puke (=kotze?) in the toilet. So it happened what had to happen: it stucked in the toilet and the bathroom floor was floated! We ran out of the house so we don't have to smell this and don't have to help him with this misere. After a while, we went in to grab vincents face washing soap and I ended up dancing alone in the kitchen to 'Locked Away' by Rock City which I think is an amazing song in this moment! (I'm quite sure I will hate this song tomorrow, because it might be an awful song). So after this, I went to bed and just thought: this is how the people party on farms: dresses, alcohol and someone who throws up / like in a city . And then I wrote this blog. And we all live happily ever after :D. (I told Markus I never write drunken things on facebook, but this is blogger so I think its OK!). It's 23.01 now and I have to feed my chickens at 6.30. Good night!  P.S.: Names of my sheep: Punky, Frassy, Einstein, Bambi and mom of Bamby (forgot the name).

[unveröffentlichte veröffentlichungen - part II - somewhere in the north] It's quite normal to wake up in another city every other night

I still remember the moment I entered the first train. It was the beginning of my almost three month long travel. My father brought me to the train station at 5am. It was dark and cold, and I was really tired. I didn't knew anything. Not where to stay this night nor where to go afterwards. As soon as I entered the train, tears came to my eyes. Not because I was sad leaving home, but because I was very excited, in a nervous way of excitement. And I was also a little bit afraid, without any particular thing to be afraid of. Now, almost one month later, my feelings turned around for 180 degrees. I'm not insecure anymore. I don't worry about hostels and public transport anymore. I feel much more relaxed and happy and especially: 'normal'. It's like I felt at home when I woke up in the morning. But instead of taking the bus to work, I take the bus to the next city. But it feels exactly the same. Normal life here! :D And the most important thing: I don't miss to go to work anymore, because travelling is now my work!

[unveröffentlichte veröffentlichungen - part I - somewhere in the north] Schlaflose Nächte

Gedankenfetzen, halb wach, halb träumend, halb traumatisierend.

Ein Brief von meinem Vater. Email und SMS.      
Whatsapp-Nachrichten von meinen Freunden. Und Facebook. Bilder.     

Irgendwas .    
Irgendetwas .
Irgend etwas fehlt.
      
Erinnerungen: Kindheit, Jugend.
      
Die Suche: nach der perfekten Familie. Die mich vielleicht adoptieren will? Nein! Suche weiter. Nächste Familie? Nein! Geht nicht! Leibliche Erzeugerin vorhanden!
      
Ich bin zu aufdringlich. Zu sensibel. Kenne die Grenzen nicht.
      
Grenzen: Oberflächlich bemitleide ich die anderen! Die, die Regeln bekommen. Die, die etwas nicht dürfen. Die, die rund um die Uhr jemanden haben, der sich um sie kümmert. Die, die sagen müssen wohin sie gehn und wann sie zurück sind.
Unterflächlich möchte ich Teil des Systems sein.
Ist es allen egal dass ich als Kind in einem Gefängnis lebe? Ein Gefängnis aus Regeln, Putzen, Arbeiten.
Ist es egal dass ich mit 15 bis zum Morgengrauen Wodka trinke? Mit 16? Mit 17?    
 Eine Mischung zwischen Autoritär und Laisse-faire. Gegenteile. Kontrahenten. Hin-und-hergerissen. Zerrissen. 

Mit 18 hab ichs selbst geschafft. Ich bin mein Vorbild. Ich kümmere mich um mich.
      
Und doch: 
      
Irgendwas.
Irgendetwas.
Irgend etwas fehlt.      
      
Ich kann mich gut lustig machen über Helikoptereltern. Zu fürsorgliche Mütter. Zu aufeimlnander fixierte Menschen (= Pärchen). Menschen, die ihr Glück von anderen Menschen abhängig machen. Doch hat das nicht jeder Mensch ein wenig verdient? Ich würde gerne eines Menschen Glücks von meinem Glück abhängig machen, nur um ihn glücklich zu machen!
      
Es ist einfacher, auf einem vorgetrampelten Pfad zu gehen, ab und zu abzuweichen, den Pfad im Blick, um wieder zurückzukehren, oder in der Nähe zu bleiben. Doch ich kämpfe mich durch den Dschungel. Ich kämpfe. 
      
Und ich weiss:
Irgendwas.
Irgendetwas.   
Irgend etwas fehlt.
Und.      
Wird.   
Ewig.      
Fehlen.