various possible final phrases:
‘Again a loop! A bang. My heart is pounding. I reach for a licorice. I'm afraid, to hear something, that is not intended for my ears. And, Now I'm absolutely sure: I'm afraid, to hear a sound of love.’
or simply: ‘Fuck you 2022, fuck you 2023, fuck you 2024, Welcome to the new year!
In this part I described the social disruption on the one hand (As a result of illness and misconduct, Stigma etc.) But I also have, basically, More than else foreign people in my environment and relatively genuine. This complains now, because I do not know, whether I can or want that. In the meantime I feel a kind of compulsion, at least in front of myself, somehow standing well, To get along properly (and can no longer). Interestingly, this happens at one point, where I was born halfway in reality, And it is like that, as until now, and so only out of myself, no longer gives.
Of course, all of this is related. And also this strangely oppressive world outside of me, far out, on TV, My Asus, In the media etc., that I try to describe, although I don't know, Whether I only go up again, This world may not be the right one again.
Sickhouse, I say, is there, Where I ended up, Because I don't get beyond a simple three-year video game. And so because of a new term: Neurodivergenz, first, secondly because of an illness me/cfs, The genetically related to autism, And where people have to stay in the Sickhouse, a life long. I dealt with this point in the disappearance (If you can say that, Because at least I die from this disease). Nevertheless, Sickhouse is actually less about the handicaps of the Tarc Jeanne, than a single feeling, Now there would be, In addition to the only real patient in the world so far, another one, second: The giant world?!
Is something true about it? Isn't it?
I have been pushing through some political shocks recently, Among others by Hanna Arendt, Because the feeling doesn't let go of me, that the Indiviual person should become more and more a single big person again. A human, that fits into systems, that even play with totalitarian symbols, although at the same time he relies on unlimited freedom. So something like that sloshes through the door gap into my fantasy world. (Arendt described these people in total rule. It is man, who in the end could eliminate himself as well as he eliminates his enemy, I mean, If you, this person, Finally, thinks in a system, that fully makes totaliarism. So far it doesn't have to come.)
I googled right and left, Because I am not comfortable, Like the right one, gives ( Argentine, Vice US) Suddenly a rock star is, but the left almost a skewer. The right, This is how it happens to me, Has definitely topics, those in my imagination are on the left (Perhaps the desire to loosen the over -regulation is only desired there, where it is about the economy?! Then that's lazy!) , The left … I do not know …. He leaves no imprint at all.
I am yes, in my way, Also an extreme. By the Way. So when I say: No way! I could never be right. Then on the other hand I'm not even a person, who loves the other people, but an anthropophobic and misanthrop. But I'm for the system, in which each individual can remain a single person, a self! I am for that system, in which thinking is never cut off and one speaks together, Until the consensus—————- Even if you hate each other. That is respect.
At most on my cap would: Let’s stay Strangers …. stand.
Anyway. It would be vulgar I wanted to be political in Sickhouse. I'm only interested in politics the question: How do we want to live? For what reason? What can we do, To give us sense? etc. And that's not a policy. Politics is subject policy. And things are blockades in my Asperger brain.
Talk to yourself: Have dealt with me.’ (Hanna Arendt)
I don't even know, whether this sentence is political. But I just think it's good. Because to be alone with his own conscience, from time to time, That can't hurt. But I'm alone with my conscience. I respect my protagonist is so alone with her conscience, that she fears, their imagination, with which she takes care of the other, in Sickhouse, Could be ill. This would not be that bad in a fiction, But since I can't really distinguish between fiction and truth reality and fictionalization, As a life artist, this depresses me this.
Tarc is, If I want, have become part of the subversive environment. Sickhouse, Your former radical freedom, has changed into a panopticon, The walls only make the room, The room the walls, in which she lives, breath, thinks. And fears, anyone, But especially the residents, Could look through all the walls into their innerest. And see their shame.
The shame, This new overwhelming feeling in Tarc's body. There are other new words in Sickhouse. Tarc googled so many words here in Sickhouse. Because she didn't know anymore, What these words mean. Or was no longer safe, whether she once knew, What they mean:
Invasion.
Gray zone.
Sahel.
Sturmauge.
Hikikomori.
Driving ban
etc.
What else does Tarc have left, than the residents, with which they so close, In the capsule hotel from Sickhouse, tormented, to snatch something, heimlich? If relationship is not possible? Smalltalk is only less than nothing for Tarc. Tarc has forgotten everything except the big words. Tarc no longer has a taste of favors, There is no eye, no spirit, who sees the healthy one in Tarc, this little one, tiny area, in which she thinks you are healthy.
Oh, How brittle is that?!
Tarc Sickhouse will be able to leave again? What should be done? What will the motivation of continuing to live, After Tarc has disappeared, over so many years? After Tarc spent the best in bed for the best years, After Tarc has negotiated her handicaps and without reconciliation with the necessary institutions, After Tarc lost her halo, With which she can invite Eros … (Because Eros is only at home in the very softest …. And that's the boy there!)
Tarc alone with the language, which has less and less weight for Tarc ….?!
The chatbot does not know any answer. To be able to say something about Jeanne Tarc, I need more information and context via Jeanne Tarc. That being said. And. Okay. Unimportant. Jeanne Tarc did her story without a chat bot. Okay. Not yet. Although the chatbot would have done that much better, a story. And certainly much faster. Oh, and, That is for sure.
(A quote from Arendt eV. in Sickhouse, A quote from Cioran in disappearance. Or no quotes of large thinkers, for what reason? Where, Wouldn't Arendt-Cioran be a great team? The everlasting no (He) meet the everlasting yes (her)