Im Mai 2017 I ventured into a simple (way too simplistic) Message to the health system of this country. Whether my video was broadcast on Millions Missing Day in Geneva, I do not know. I myself could not travel there due to immobility.
Several years have passed again, the horizontal is my life, outwardly nothing has changed, except my decay. Inwardly, however, I have moved more and more away from myalgic encephalomyelitis as the main topic. she is it, undoubtedly, cementing my circumstances, but no longer the symptoms, the agony of crashes, it is the incomprehensibility of being left alone by politics and the state with this disease, that touch me to the core. No …. I have returned to my much more personal pain, a pain, that though, as I said, cemented by life circumstances, but it's completely personal: I got it, that it's not my job, educate about ME. That I just can't make this believable, because of my biography, my being, my personality ….. so I'm in the last chapter of my novel “Belief” returned to this pain of my childhood. And although I, as in no other chapter attempt, to integrate the outside world into my living environment to a certain modest degree, I ended up back at the beginning of my existence, in this infinite loneliness and longing for someone else, for which I accidentally chose the mouse that Mowgli had fatally injured in my chapter.
Final chapter, Lockdown, abstract:
‘I reached for the household paper, that I had placed under the tub and lifted the small mouse weight onto the grass. Although I didn't touch the mouse, I shuddered. It seemed to me, as if I felt the little life of the mouse, her warmth, their misery like an imprint on my epidermis. Tears suddenly ran down my face. I was so stupidly porous and desperately needed to eat something. Mowgli slowly strolled towards us and looked at his toy with bored ambivalence. Would he kill the mouse or amuse himself to death with him, I wanted nothing more to do with it. What should I try again, to build a nest!? The animal emergency center had just explained it to me, a mouse, once attacked by the cat, belong to the cat! Or fate! Certainly not the human! For him, the mouse is just a vermin, a robber in the field, a cause of pandemics and perhaps another nickname for a hard-working, but gray people.
"A gray mouse. That means among us humans, when a person is inconspicuous, you know.” I started stuttering again. "Not cheeky, nowhere noticeable, sich duckt. Then there is the mouse as a pet name for a love, but slightly limited woman. I was also honored with this nickname by one or the other Pinson. And then, Dear: the many experimental mice! Think! millions of them, you can't even imagine that! They are accepted, that they only feel gray, because they all look the same in people's eyes, also from the outside; degree. I mean, and: who knows, what a mouse feels inside! So I don't know. I think, to see fear in your pin-sized eyes. But who tells me, if that is not my own fear, that I am transferring to you? We are both in a similar position. Although I may have this artificial protection; it's getting to the bottom of both of us!
For sure, You say, that they care for the weak, and, especially in this particular situation, out there. You say: to protect the weakest, that is why they have now drawn the boundaries of their social cage so tightly. Do you think so?, Sun-Queen? Because I, I have a question to you, small! A question, maybe you can answer that for me, before Mowgli takes you to Nirvana: Suppose we have a tree there. He is extraordinarily old and voluptuous. It houses birds and other small animals such as mice, squirrels and even martens. But he also has a small rotten spot on him, which might grow; one must now all lush, Prune long-lived trees because of the danger, emanating from this one rotten spot? What do you mean? Are the healthy arms of such a tree not strong enough, to carry the sick arms? The sick arms could be entwined in the healthy arms, like vice versa, the healthy arms owe their perspective and position to the ill arms, who flank them. I mean, the healthy arms are in the majority, they need not fear the sick and weak poor, you don't need to fight them. Or am I wrong there?’
(2021)
5. chapter, End of homeostasis, abstract:
‘The doctors say, that this disease does not exist! imagine it! You take the documents of the latest research results with you to the doctors in this country, there you submit the results with the more than eighty metabolic deviations, Data, Black on white! But they say: "Is not true, there is not any!“ Look away.
And now you're going home again, this time you are really sad. As often as you've been depressed in your forty years; you've never been so sad. Get back in bed. Months and years go by, what a life. Do you dream? Is this maybe a nightmare?? No, is not it! It really is, it's true. Just, That you can't tell this truth. But why not? On, Because you are you! And because you are not believed! Others may or may make it, to convince at least one politician or a health association of the truth, at some point in the future. But you turn reality into fiction, for which no one can prosecute you, and imagine it: existence among them, the parallel story on the edge, not even unique, impossible; even if you can't imagine it. Let's go:’
(2020)
Incredible Speach 2017 one “Others”
(May the birds sing forever)