Attropolis II

Caution: Attropolis contains strong language, sexual content, disturbing images and immoral grotesque behavior. You have been warned. The following events probably happened and are based on past real events. The story you’re about to read is based on many documented past beliefs and behaviors.

"Rome is my city." said Juliusegos de la Capital. These words were taught by his mother, a wealthy whore that confused self-respect with fornicating the Caesar's close circle and wearing a sheet of silk and a tiny leather belt that barely held said sheet on her. The city was vibrant, even in these early hours of the day, as Juliusegos was walking towards the school. The fresh smell of fish, produce, horse dung that was on the streets as carriages were roaming the roads, were filling the air, people were doing their morning shopping. Some were taking their recently deceased ones, putting them outside on the ground  before they were to be taken for inhumation or cremation. In his adorable sandals, he was skipping through the town singing "Rome is my city" over and over again. Sometimes people joined him, as they thought he was adorable, to be this small and take so much pride in his beloved empire and leader. Enthusiastically he reached his school, children were sword fighting with their adorably small wooden swords, they were playing centurions and savages. The children of the plebs or poor were the centurions and the wealthy and elite were playing the savages, as they wanted to learn how the savages thought, why would they act like the way they did... Thinking that maybe one day when they command their own legion, they would be prepared for whatever those savages would throw towards them. Coianus, Felaticus and Fistium seeing Juliusegos, rushed towards him to greet him with a big smile on their faces. The four of them became friends instantly during the first day of schooling. They met in the lavatory as they each were doing their business, they started a farting contest. The affluent children had their own tutor, those less fortunate were pulling some money together so they can afford all together a tutor. But today was a special day, as they were all going together to the Colosseum to witness some public executions, this was also supposed to be a lesson for the children. For those affluent it's supposed to teach them humility, for those under-privileged was supposed to instill fear into them. As they themselves could become slaves if they wouldn't behave, and if you were to become a slave, more than probably you'd get executed. There were three executions scheduled that day, a mad man believing in some bogus god that was to be crucified, two slaves that tried to run and now they are about to be decapitated. Lastly, there was a sacrifice to our gods. First came one of the slaves, the crowd was roaring, as he was brought up on this elaborate stage. The professor of the children was drawing their attention over to the fact that people would react the same way if they were up there getting executed. A hush fell over the crowd as the slave was asked what his last words were, the slave just screamed some obscenities as the ax fell on his neck. Severing his head from his body, blood was gushing, the crowd was cheering. They immediately brought up the second slave, this one was begging for his life, saying that he was drunk, he didn't know what he was doing. They forced him on his knees, asked him too what his last words were. And the ax fell before he could even speak, the crowed was roaring again with excitement. Some of the children were crying, some were cheering, Juliusegos and his friends were chanting and dancing as the executions were happening. The crazy man was brought up next, the crowd was still cheering, they announced that as an example they will crucify him there in the Colosseum and put up as an example to what happens to heretics. Though they usually wouldn't crucify people in such places. They had the cross already laying there, the soldiers came, beat the man as the crowd was cheering them on. He was put on the cross, and they started nailing him, first his right hand. With each hit of the hammer he was screaming, just as the crowd was cheering. The mixed sound of his screams with the crowds cheer at each hit of the hammer was something wonderful to witness. They had finally finished nailing him to the cross, as he was put into his place, the crowd started chanting "Die, die, heretic, bye, bye heretic." In agony the mad man was looking around, as blood was dripping in his eyes, as he had his skull cracked by one of the Roman soldiers, when they beat him into submission. So they left him there, as they started to prepare for the sacrifice. The preliminary ritual had started for the offering to the gods, the sacrifice, usually a male, was on a big table, his head was covered with a cloth, the ritual was supposed to clean him so that the gods may accept him. And so...

End of part 2

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Trapped: Winter - An excerpt about things

Maybe a disruption helps from time to time from the average days of the mundane, the ordinary and the plain.

It might get your brain rattled, shaken for something interesting to find or think.

Or just simply distracted from all one wants to avoid… Isn’t that right?

Of course it is, nothing works better than distractions. Or changes for the sake of just changing anything, so one can be busy, have an excuse to procrastinate on the things that really matter. Well, that’s if you choose to make them matter.

Otherwise it’s pointless. Isn’t it? To choose anything or have any sort of say or need for freedom of choice… When you don’t want to choose or do anything, really.

But then again, so is trying to find your purpose in life and starting to do something with what you have been gifted.

There are simpler ways to deal with that… Just chuck the responsibility on some entity and say it’s in their will. Whether it’s Karma or whatever god you can come up with… And you’re have no more responsibility to be or do anything, because you know you already have your place reserved and you’ll be forgiven once you pass onto the next life, whatever for it may be, if there is one.

So, if it’s in his will, why should one have the choice to choose what they do with their life? If it’s in his will… Your life doesn’t belong to you, does it? It’s either his or yours, it can’t be both.

Not that it really matters, because when it comes down to it all, there’s nothing really that matters, if you don’t want it to matter. Is there?

No, not by default, only by designation…

Just like choosing who we are with.

Choosing is used loosely in this context, isn’t it?

To choose means you knew all options and chose the best one for you. Yet if you do not know yourself, if you do not know what you want… If you don’t have all options… What exactly are you choosing?

Whatever is left… And you’re happy with that, aren’t you? You’re happy with what you’re getting and nothing else. Isn’t that right?

That’s not choosing, is it? When you’re forced by circumstance to choose between bad and bad-ish, between okay and okay-ish. To have to choose something that is not up to your standards…

Or…

Or worse… Choose something that doesn’t even satisfy you after a while. Something that is becoming a nagging thing you can’t escape from, but you’re not willing to risk it, because it’s better with the lesser evil than alone, or worse… With someone that is worst that she is…

Things, they’re all things that are here and there and everywhere…

So you settle… You aren’t willing to go for better, because you might never get the better, since the better already found the better of you in someone else. So, now you sulk at the thought… A regret for no reason, as it didn’t happen, yet, you’re not willing to risk it. To get out of this box of misery you live in. But nor can you tell all this to the person you are, because you just might hurt their feelings. You might just insult them unwillingly, about a truth we all know, yet don’t we don’t speak of. When we have the tools to find those that we want or need, we shut our mouths and close ourselves off, because trying to find those we want or need, might end up in disappointment. So we settle, for worse, never for better, always for worse.

Always for worse than you can do, I can do, anyone can do. Because there’s nothing else that matters, as long as you don’t die alone, suffering and crying.

Right? Wasting away, what a self-inflicted tragedy that no one will mourn. Because no one should mourn someone like that, a monster that love its own misery to the extent you do. And then you wonder why no one wants you, when you can’t even love the thing you are.

Things, that’s all we are, things that pass. Everything is a thing of a thing of a thing. And no one can change that, no one… Because you’re either no one thing or some thing that does a thing that has its thing of a purpose that helps things.

And everyone loves a good thing, don’t they?

So I heard.

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An Artist's Manifesto

Hi, I honestly didn’t think I would do this… But here I am.

What do you think when you hear the word artist? Probably a musician, a painter, photographer, dancer… More in the audio-visual department I suppose. Why? Looking the question what type of artists there are you get a long list: “Some different types of art are animation, architecture, assemblage, calligraphy, ceramics, computer, Christian or religious, conceptual, artistic design, drawing, folk, graffiti, graphic, illuminated manuscript, illustration, mosaic, painting, performance, photography, sculpture, stained glass, tapestry, and video.” This is just to kind of give you an idea of why I am talking about this. It bothers me, I don’t like this… I really don’t. Each of those mentioned above have an industry attached to their name, this will make sense a bit later, yet, they are still considered art. The same goes for movies, right? Movies are mainstream, making billions upon billions of dollars, they are also art, more some than others, and the people involved in them are artists, right? Here’s a tweet that kind of tipped the scales in my decision to write this manifesto.:

https://twitter.com/Brandonwoelfel/status/1082087400099274754

Now… My question is as follows, when did writers/authors fall out of this category of artists? Why is writing not an art? Why is the writer not an artists? Are we taking books for granted? Are we taking writers for granted? Let me walk you through this a bit. There were multiple strikes by the screenwriter’s guild, with another one just barely avoided this past few years. My question is why? How can those that put the skeleton of a project together be treated in such a way that even to this day they are underpaid and overworked? Behind these masterpieces and these countless hours of entertainment you get every single day. From the writers in a TV station behind a show you’re watching cause you have nothing better to do, those that writer for YouTube channels, to writers that rip your heart out with some of the best TV/Movies/plays out there… To those that writer short stories and finally those that write books, the authors. Which 98% of them couldn’t live on the money they make from their sales books, because they the house they signed with ripped them off, scammed them, or simply wouldn’t pay them or tricked them into a horrible deal. To those that self-published and don’t usually get a chance. But all these people write and create some of your favorite stories… Those that are either talented or worked their asses off to become the wordsmiths they are in order to blow your mind. Those people that can create whole worlds that have endless interpretations, those people aren’t worth being called artists? How can people deny the fact that there’s an art in discourse, in writing, creating, thinking, imagining and mustering the power of putting all those feelings and thoughts into words isn’t an art and that writers aren’t artists themselves? Writing is as much a visual art as anything else. But we never really do consider them artists, do we? They are their own breed… Either amateurs or intellectuals… But never the artist… We have to change that. It’s unacceptable. We have sites that promote artistry but leave out writers and writings, poetry and plays. We auction paintings and photos, yet no one is auctioning for books. Authors have to sell their books for pennies or a dime, when we ask for 12-15 dollars a book, we look at the author like he is a fucking madman, because he is not well known, we don’t think of the hours put behind that work, the people that contributed to it, like an editor, proofreader, beta-readers, printing, publishing, those that designed the covers or paintings withing the book itself. Authors have to sacrifice 80 to 90% of the “income” from a single book, in order to pay others first, before getting anything for all that work. Playwrights spend countless days writing pieces, and don’t get paid until the play really becomes profitable or maybe never. Yet we don’t take any of that into consideration, because they’re not artists, they’re writers, they’re intellectuals or another species… And that their industry is full of snobs and if they’re intellectuals, they'‘re smart enough to find a way to make money (See? Told you it would make sense later). Unless you’re stupid lucky or dead, literature doesn’t really pay, neither in respect nor monetary. If you really want to become a successful writer, you must be a brilliant marketer and seller first, something no one really tells you. There are so many stories of author being rejected 20-40-100 times on their brilliant works or being accepted when they’re old and jaded, and have developed a mental illness that it becomes depressing, not really a success story.

One last thought… If the boundary delimition between something that is art and something that is not is the same across painters, photographers, musicians and writers, then writer and their writing is an art too. You can’t refer to photographers as artists and as writers as non-artists, because the only difference is the “value” and “importance” their work has. The medium is very much irrelevant.

Writers are artists and I want to push that forward, because there is no real argument against writers and their works not being seen as art. So let’s start doing that from now on. Thank you.

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Attropolis I

Caution: Attropolis contains strong language, sexual content, disturbing images and immoral grotesque behavior. You have been warned. The following events probably happened and are based on past real events. The story you’re about to read is based on many documented past beliefs and behaviors.

As any story, many moons ago on a coast, in the city of Creetus, somewhere between Athens and Sparta. Stars were shining in the black of the skies, the waves were hitting the shore, the wind blowing, yet it all came together as a calm and soothing voice that was singing the song of gods. On that night, a boy named Hippos was being born. The oracles were thrilled at his birth, as they saw a great future for him. Maybe a prophecy fulfiller came to be. But they warned Hippos's parents about an evil that was born. Around the same time as Hippos, somewhere in Rome, a boy named Juliusegos de la Capital was born. Years had past, Hippos now in going through mousike, the traditional Athenian way of teaching class, beauty, literature and philosophy, in order to make him a true philanthropist. But this being Creetus, the educational system was a combination of the Athenian and the Spartan way. After a child got to the age of five or six, he was sent to school, to be taught to read, to think, to learn about the history of the place they were living in. As they grew they were thought about more and more complicated subjects from the art of beauty to the art of the war. When the children got in the first year of their teens they were sent to the academy of war, the Spartan way of education named Agoge. Hippos being at the age of five, he is very rambunctious, yet during the lessons he was quieter than the dead pigeon he had found on his way to school that morning, as he took it and gifted it to this very beautiful girl. She had long black luscious hair, her feet were clean, her sandals sparkling in the sun, his first love. She coyly accepted it, but the other few children were laughing, one of the laughing children had a coughing fit, as the coughing fit continued, he started having seizures and a few minutes later died. The laughter had moved on from the two love birds to the one that just had died of laughter. It was tradition to gift the one you love a clam, a seagull's peak in Creetus. But never a pigeon or anything that can be found on land, since this was a coastal city. So the reason the children were laughing was because it was thought that if you gifted something from the sea, it meant that your love was as big as the never ending sea or ocean. But Hippos gifted her the pigeon because he thought that she made him feel like flying, and that the land or sea are just limiting.

Today's lesson was in astrology, as his professor Jonis Aledranxus was telling the children: "Most of us know that those dots in the sky, those flat shiny things are part of the cosmos. Just like we are on this here blue pale flat dot with a sun rotating around us." He and all the children around him were simply in awe at the thought that we were the center of the universe, and they all wondered if they could ever achieve the unimaginable and maybe one day get to the end of the earth. But Jonis Aledranxus continued: "There are only two things men should not do, try to walk to the end of this Earth and try to reach the mountain top. As gods lay at the top and they must not be disturbed at any point for any reason. And the danger of falling in the underworld is way too big for anyone to venture that far. If you might not fall on thy own, you might be dragged by Hades's hounds and monsters down. That is, if you try to reach the edge of the world." The children grew scared, trembling in their seats, as the sun was burning their skins, the idea of Hades was terrifying for everyone, even adults. Just as they dreaded Thanatos, the god of death. Some of the children started crying, some even relieving themselves, afraid that one day Hades or one of his minions might come and drag them to the underworld. Hippos on the other hand was seemingly excited at the thought of gods, the underworld and getting to the edge of the Earth. The teacher seeing the reaction of the children, had the class dismissed. Everyone was heading home for the day, as their next class wasn't until later in the day. And in Rome...

End of Part 1

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Trapped: Winter - Another Excerpt about people.

There’s a reason, it must be. When someone leaves, disappears, lies, goes away for no apparent reason.

There must be a reason behind this lack of crimson. When someone leaves nothing remains to be. They’re gone, no reason to look, no reason to exist.

Thought the temptation is hard to resist. When there’s a reason to look for someone.

Yet we go on like there was once no one. But where’s the sense if there’s a reason, it should make sense…

When you save a soul, you sacrifice another… An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth… From two people for two people, yet no truth.

No one’s blind, but all are hurt, no one’s whole, they all are gone.

What is tougher but to suffer? To choose when, why or for whom to do it.

Does that make any sense?

We choose to choose when to suffer and the reason behind it all. When we could end it all…

Suffering, pain, disappointment, and all…

I wish… I wish I could, I wish I would…

But I care, too much, too little, sometimes I don’t even know what I am feeling.

Everything gets so confusing, all I know is that I can end it all…

Turning a blind eye, can do miracles…

Simply feigning ignorance, staying out of it all, it’s a blessing not a curse. Knowing that all those voices are dying in a void, because there’s no one there to give a helping hand… Echoing the same thing over and over again to no avail…

Pointless, wonderful and pointless.

No one really cares, because this way everyone has a purpose, everyone gets to have their lie.

If you take it all away… What’s there left for them to do? Put some actual effort into what they… Think? Do? Say?

This way they can drag us down with them, can’t they? Cruel, fowl beats… No cure for you… I’m taking you to hell with me, if I have to have no place or purpose give in this world, thou shalt not live in it either.

Letting yourself rot in a hole, due to your pride… Keeping suffering alive, because you can’t fathom reality… They, they are the real monsters when they stand in front of greatness.

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A Night's Tale

Some nights are just for dreaming, others are for being awake.

One night long ago I asked myself "So I am here, where to next?". I just stood there and dreamed as the cold of the weather embraced me, but the warmth of my dream made me feel everything, but the icy weather. As the music goes on with my thoughts and the mind starts elaborating scenarios of "what if I" have the courage to run away and change everything, what if I never have made that mistake. The only question I have in mind is "why?". The truth maybe is ,this isn't the time and maybe I'm not ready, so even the fact that I have a romantic view or a great moral, maybe I'm just kidding myself.

There is a moment when I'm blocked in my own mind, without solutions or questions. Staying quite awake on my bed, I try to put myself to sleep, dream of a better place, trying to get back on my own feet, refilling myself with another hope or dream, looking for places to go, where to be, with whom to be, after I wake up to start a new day as a stranger in a strange world.

I lost night after night, searching for answers in every day choices, I always found out that being the trapped man in the woods is hard, where there is no escape. Just glimpses of light, showing through the leafs. So I start running up, down, left and right and finding out that I'm in the same place, but somehow  getting out, doesn't mean nothing. Because there is still a problem, this is the same forest with different trees. No way out, but to cut down the trees and start planting my own, with patience and time they will grow and give me a shelter, they will not start falling in order to damage you, but always there protect me. I think I see now, there is escaping from the forest, from the darkness I wondered in, as I start believing again looking at the sky as it it lightens up a path to a new home. 

But cutting the forest down, was also a mistake for there's no more oxygen and every day becomes harder and harder to breathe. Because there's no more shelter, no more wind, no way to find a way through the place I want to raise and change. So I barely move, barely spake, trying to preserve the air I've got left. Watching from the highest place on this hill for someone to help me breathe new life into what's dear to me. And so with my last breath and one small tear I died in a peaceful place torn by mistakes and the power of a stubborn man. 

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Attropolis Nulla

Part I - Macedonian Wars.

The beginning of the Roman empire, a legend in the making, thus this story begins with the Macedonian wars, the first push towards the East of Europe and its growth into a real empire. The Macedonian wars spanned from 230 BCE to 146 BCE. These wars ensured the domination of the Roman Empire over Ancient Greece, with the destruction of Corinth in 146 BCE.

Part II - The Rise of Augustus

Born on the 23rd of September 63 BCE, to much luck and wealth, as his great-uncle was the Julius Caesar. His father governor over Macedonia, his mother niece to the Julius Caesar himself. His father remembered for his victory over some rebellious slaves, had died when Augustus was just four years old, so he was taken in by his grandmother, Julia, Caesar’s sister. His mother had married the governor of Syria, Phillippus a self-proclaimed descendant of Alexander the great. At the age of twelve he was elected in the College of Pontiffs, a year later he was in charge of the Greek games in honor of Julius Caesar. After which he wanted to join the Caesar in Africa and Hispania, but his mother protested and then he fell ill and was unable to travel. A few years later he was undergoing military training when his great-uncle was assassinated. From there his rise to power was inevitable, as he was a formidable young man with a lot of potential. After years of political intrigue and the wars against Pompeius and Anthony and Cleopatra and their demise, he had finally gotten to the place he thought he was rightful for. The place his great-uncle stood, keeping this facade of a republic alive, before he himself was crowned Caesar. With this Augustus also completely took over Greece with the battle of Actium in 31 BCE.

Part III - Greece under Rome

Under the rule of the Roman empire and its Caesar Augustus, Greece was at peace and flourishing. Which is where we are starting the story for Attropolis. Hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it.

ALSO JUST SO WE’RE CLEAR, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED: THIS PIECE OF HISTORICAL FICTION IS GOING TO EXTREME PLACES AND IS NOT FOR EVERYONE FAINT OF HEART.

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Bad Fiction Ep. 5 & 6 [Bonus Content]

Bad Fiction Ep. 5

“It’s been five years, two week and one day. This was the first time it snowed more than one night. I woke up to this beautiful sight of you and the snow covered houses and roads. I missed this.” I said, sipping my hot coffee.

“It must feel nice.” She replied.

“Yeah, I haven’t had this feeling since I killed Santa.” I say with a new found love for Christmas.

“I’m glad you can enjoy this time of the year again.” She said in a very relieved tone.

“Took me some time, glad I back.” I turn, looking at her… She was wearing a hoodie, holding her coffee mug, smiling.

“You know, since you’re back…” She said with a suggestive smile on her face.

“What? No…” I said in disbelief.

She took a step back and pouted, I didn’t know this would have such an effect on her.

“Come on, don’t be like this.” I said.

“Then satisfy me.” She said with a stern look on her face.

I was in shock, I didn’t know what to say.

“Please…” She begged.

I was frustrated, but determined to do it. I wanted this Christmas to be special. Something really special.

“Fine, let’s do this.” I said this knowing that the world would be turned upside-down.

She started smiling again, she started jumping on the bed, rushing towards the closet to get her clothes.

“I’ll be ready in five minutes, puddin’.” She said.

“Puddin’…” I say snickering. Why was she calling me that? I never knew why. And especially after all this time. Maybe it was just nostalgia. But I felt like I could laugh again. Really laugh. Let’s see if that’s what I need.

“I. Am. Ready!” She said way too enthusiastically. 

I was way too concentrated to noticed her outfit at first, or to listen to whatever she was saying. Suddenly my hearing comes back and I hear her…

“Come on, Puddin’. Why so serious? Can’t you smile for me?”

“Ha ha ha ha hahahahahahahaha. Merry Christmas, dear.” I say.

“That’s better. Now let’s go kill the new Santa, that’s my gift to you.” She says smiling from ear to ear. But I was afraid. I haven’t done this in quite a while…

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Bad Fiction Episode 6

Lawrence-Sama enters the room. Bruce is shook, trembling with fear at the size of his Sama’s Hatsune Miku.

Lawrence-sama: Bow to me.

Bruce-kun: Yes, master.

Lawrence-sama: Why isn’t my seat warm? You know how my Hatsune likes the sit!

Bruce-kun: Y-yes, I’m sorry. So, sorry.

As he takes his rightful place as the Captain of the SSFH, Lawrence-sama angered by the fact that Adamu and Jamesu weren’t at their posts, he uses instant transmission. Only two find the two of the cucking each other.

Lawrence-sama: What the fuck are you guys doing? We have to go to Animetion-5-Sektor. Why are you cucks cucking right now?

Adam: I’m so sorry, it’s just been so long.

James: You never give us any free time, we had to do something.

Lawrence-sama: Not in here, not right now. We’re on a very important mission right now!!! The fate of the Teeth of the Rooster are at fucking risk, you cucks.

All were very upset about this situation, not just due to the blue balls the three were having, but also because of the already huge amounts of the word “cuck” in this Bad Fiction Episode. As they went towards the command deck, Elyse suddenly emerged from the room… Angry… Hissing, as her blue skin was falling off, she went on a rampage. Kicking a box for thirty minutes, until a gentleman named Ben the Son came and calmed her down, by petting her head. We learned that she was mourning the death of Fart of the Hands, one of her best friends. He had died in a tragic accident whist giving her an abortion. Anyway, back on the command deck, Lawrence-sama finally calmed down too, as they set sail towards the Animetion-5-Sektor. Where Lawrence-sama was promised to marry a princess. Suddenly an SOS signal came through. It was the SS-Bungalow, Captain /\ had brought too much rhye and corn on board, with oates overflowing.

Lawrence-sama: What the fuck /\?! Didn’t I tell you not to do this anymore? This is what? The third time? God fucking damn it! I’m supposed to pick out my fucking waifu, not help you.

Bones: Ha! You mean like I picked your mom up?

Lawrence-sama: God damn it, Bones! Not now.

After five years in space, eating oats, rhye and corn, the SSFH was finally back on road. Shitting bricks, with no one able to cuck, fuck, suck or cum anything but fiber. Yet the one thing that they all noticed, it was that they got ripped, not jacked, but ripped.

They finally jumped to Animetion-5-Sektor, Lawrence’s Hatsune Miku was growing. They finally got there, it was everything he imagined. The physics, the shapes, the bounciness, the ratios, it was heaven. They finally landed the damn ship, after a few hours of roaming around looking at everything. As they landed a voice is heard: “You’re not the real one. I am.” In shock Lawrence-Sama looks around to find the source of the voice… It was a laptop.

Laptop IG: I am the original, I am the real one.

Lawrence-sama: No, no you are not! How dare you? I am!!! I am the quintessential gamer!!! You were no one!

Laptop IG: Join me, brothers, sister! You know I would never treat you like shitbags, like he does! You know where the glory days were! You know who’s the real one! The authentic one! The only one!

The two entered a starring contest… It was intense, the most intense competition of strength, wit and power.

The rest of the crew left… As the two have died of low blood sugar and running out of power consequentially.

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I Killed Santa

It is said that curiosity killed the cat… Well, I killed Santa with my curiosity.

I was 5 or 6 years old, a very curious child like all children, always questioning things and the reality of them. I caught on the way the world works very fast, so you could imagine that in my wonder and awe I knew something was wrong for a fat guy to go all around the world to give children presents. And for some reason my younger brother followed me, in this childhood destroying path, well of course he had little to no idea what I was searching for.

But often I consider myself a bit of an asshole for doing this, purposely trying to screw up or find unhappiness in my life. By doing all sorts of odd stuff, like just annoying people with seemingly stupid questions, but when you stay and think about them, you have no real answer to them. Or I do anything else but what people advise me to. But the second part it's mainly due to the fact that I disagree with their point that was made or arguments that were brought for that supposed action. Which makes people mad, but if people bring me great arguments, then I am willing to participate as long as it is in my, let's call it, code.

So yeah, eventually I started at 5 years old searching for hidden presents, of course, my parents hid them very well, so after I checked everything, I gave up that Christmas. A year later with the help of my brother we found "Santa" and at least for me that's when I killed him, for my brother, well maybe a year later. So basically my Christmas was from then on: "Here you go, merry Christmas." Even though they thought that I didn't know about "Santa". I just killed the biggest joy of the Christmas as a child, besides getting paid for singing like a little horrible shit, caroling and having money for sweets. I had ruined presents and the only time I felt appreciated and some happiness when it came to family.

Curiosity can help you grow up, but in my case it just killed Santa and the magical part of Christmas.

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New Short Story Series Announcement: Attropolis

History, our way to reminisce about the way we were, to be fascinated by our own past actions and keep stories that might have been lost to time. They say that those that do not know history are doomed to repeat it. Just look at the resurgence of Nazis, a perfect example of just that. Then again, there are people that still know the history and the only thing they can do is observe. It seems to me that either way we’re doomed. Yet the late great Stephen Hawking has said that you shouldn’t look to history to learn anything, because history is the history of fools. And if I may add, greed, misjudgement and misplaced anger and frustration. Which applies to today as well. This series looks at a period in time of extraordinary potential and that we still know little about. Following some interesting couple of characters and their day to day life in two of the biggest civilizations of the ancient world, that had an impact on our understanding of history and the world we live in today, Ancient Rome and the Early Roman Empire and Ancient Greece under the rule of the Roman Empire. A story that has never been told until today, after the revelations of the author of this series regarding the time period. The main protagonists of this story are Juliusegos and Hippos, two rambunctious boys, one from Rome and one from a small city in ancient Greece. Attropolis will be the story that brings their legends to light and their life back into glory, as these two have been lost to time and their tragedy lost to too much sorrow. In an attempt to learn about the traditional Roman and Greek family, culture, education and lifestyle, something that hasn’t been attempted before, at least not to this level. Attropolis will span over 52 weekly chapters over the whole of 2019. This coming of age story promises you war, precises and graphic details of a vivid past world that has come and gone, leaving an impressive mark on human history. Not just that, but love stories, hard hitting commentary on society, historical facts and past beliefs that will draw you into this ancient world. With all that said, I do welcome you to Attropolis, a one of a kind story, starting with a prelude next week. And the official start in January 5th.

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