My texts

Memories and emotions,
are the actors on the stage.
Be it love, or be it hate,
if we decide wisely,
we will enjoy what we create.

That poem was written by my father. A man with few talents. But when it came to poetry and philosophy he would just go on and on. He fascinated me. Sometimes I would listen to him ramble, not noticing the time passing. Some would call him useless, others strange and again others weak. I don't agree. I would call him special. As a kid I once got lost in the woods for several days. At first many people of the village helped search for me. But with each passing day their number declined, until only my father and mother were left. She had to stay at home to watch the animals. But my father searched still tirelessly. At that point he hadn't slept for about three days I think. Eventually I found my own way out of the forest, quite a feat for a 10 year old, eh?
After the overly happy greeting from my mother I asked about dad,he was nowhere to be found and so the search began anew. We, me and mother found him about an hour later sleeping at a tree trunk. By the looks of it he fell and just began sleeping without wanting to.
Like I said he was a good man. He was. No more. When I was about sixteen, our village was burned down by marauders. They once were soldiers and knights of the queen. At least it is the most logical explanation. I can't be sure however, the memory of the night is... horrifying, to say the least. Whenever I think about it, I... I remember nothing but the thick, black smoke illuminated at times by orange flames. The terrified, pained screams of friends, loved ones, sobbing mothers, crying children and my father. My father standing in front of me, as they dragged my mother of, struggling to free herself. My father shouting, raging. My father as a blade pierced his throat. My father bleeding. His blood leaking out of the cut. His blood covering my hands as I try to stop it from gushing out.
Nothing will make me forget that night. Nor the following days.
The marauders left the day after the attack, around noon. By some twisted miracle I had survived. But so many had not. As I roamed the streets oft that which had once been my home, I stumbled upon countless bodies. Most men had been killed, their bodies lying on the streets, dangling from trees with ropes around their neck. What happened to the women, even the girls I don not know, I do not want to know, but the imagination is not so kind as to listen to my will. Many of the ones I encountered were not in a state to be talked to. Some just muttered to themselves, some cried silently and some just laid there like corpses and only their slow breath told of the fire of life that still burned within them.

A day passed, then two. Time has no consideration for the tragedies of the mortals. The survivors would never fully recover. That much I knew, being one of them. The village, once home to many people, now laid in smoldering ruins. The people, once rich in numbers, were reduced to only twenty. Most of them children. Nobody knew what to do. Some of them moved. Went away to the cities, or other settlements. Others stayed. Wanted to rebuild. As for me... I had lost my father and mother to the marauders. I had no longer anything to hold me there. I left the nightmare in which I had been caught, but still couldn't escape from it. No matter where I went I could not forget, let alone forgive. In my hatred for the men who were at fault, the marauders that attacked the village, I ended up in Kalgen, a small city, whose only importance laid in it's trade. Kalgen was built just in font of a range of mountains, controlling the only safe passage. The land surrounding it was was not very impressive either. Just open panes. Not much grew on them, only droughty, short weeds and bushes.
What did I want there? Simple. I wanted t join the army. Protect those that couldn't protect themselves. Serve my country. All that is what I told myself. Rally I just wanted revenge, as I later found out. Avenge my father and mother. Rid the world of the scum that killed them. The training did not last as long as I had imagined. A few weeks. Not longer. A few weeks of hell, where me and about 13 other recruits were insulted, ridiculed, pushed to our limits and partially even abused. Not sexually mind. But when it was all over I was a soldier of her grace. One of the man in the white Uniforms. A sword was handed to me, about four feet long and with a long handle. A bastard sword and and a kite shield with the the crest of the queen. The white dragon holding a black sword. At that moment I was full of vigor. I could not wait to get out there. Fight against bandits and other criminals. Now I know how idiotic I was. Not too lang ago...

The Wither 2 is a game,
with quite an intriguing name,
but if you install it,
you better just throw it,
out the window completely bugged out.

Let me say the games not bad,
it just makes me increasingly mad.
I bought it 2 weeks ago
and couldn't wait to go
and start Geralts new andventure.

The installation was quite fast done,
I drooled in anticipation of the fun.
The joy came to soon,
as I sat all afternoon
and watched download patch after patch.

After 9 hóurs it was finally finished.
My patience greatly diminished.
So I started the game
and thought "Oh... LAME!!!",
as the floor was quite invisible.

The processor's state of the art,
and it's not like I dug it up in the yard...
Maybe the drivers were too old,
so I started the search to get a hold,
of new ones in hope of better performance.

Left to say there is a lot more,
but that topic's rotten to the core.
After all I wasted
about 200 euro, which fuels my hatred,
I think I'll only play on consoles from now.

F*CKING Computers!!!

Memories and emotions,
are the actors on the stage.
Be it love, or be it hate,
if we decide wisely,
we will enjoy what we create.

That poem was written by my father. A man with few talents. But when it came to poetry and philosophy he would just go on and on. He fascinated me. Sometimes I would listen to him ramble, not noticing the time passing. Some would call him useless, others strange and again others weak. I don't agree. I would call him special. As a kid I once got lost in the woods for several days. At first many people of the village helped search for me. But with each passing day their number declined, until only my father and mother were left. She had to stay at home to watch the animals. But my father searched still tirelessly. At that point he hadn't slept for about three days I think. Eventually I found my own way out of the forest, quite a feat for a 10 year old, eh?
After the overly happy greeting from my mother I asked about dad,he was nowhere to be found and so the search began anew. We, me and mother found him about an hour later sleeping at a tree trunk. By the looks of it he fell and just began sleeping without wanting to.
Like I said he was a good man. He was. No more. When I was about sixteen, our village was burned down by marauders. They once were soldiers and knights of the queen. At least it is the most logical explanation. I can't be sure however, the memory of the night is... horrifying, to say the least. Whenever I think about it, I... I remember nothing but the thick, black smoke illuminated at times by orange flames. The terrified, pained screams of friends, loved ones, sobbing mothers, crying children and my father. My father standing in front of me, as they dragged my mother of, struggling to free herself. My father shouting, raging. My father as a blade pierced his throat. My father bleeding. His blood leaking out of the cut. His blood covering my hands as I try to stop it from gushing out.
Nothing will make me forget that night. Nor the following days.
The marauders left the day after the attack, around noon. By some twisted miracle I had survived. But so many had not. As I roamed the streets oft that which had once been my home, I stumbled upon countless bodies. Most men had been killed, their bodies lying on the streets, dangling from trees with ropes around their neck. What happened to the women, even the girls I don not know, I do not want to know, but the imagination is not so kind as to listen to my will. Many of the ones I encountered were not in a state to be talked to. Some just muttered to themselves, some cried silently and some just laid there like corpses and only their slow breath told of the fire of life that still burned within them.

A day passed, then two. Time has no consideration for the tragedies of the mortals. The survivors would never fully recover. That much I knew, being one of them. The village, once home to many people, now laid in smoldering ruins. The people, once rich in numbers, were reduced to only twenty. Most of them children. Nobody knew what to do. Some of them moved. Went away to the cities, or other settlements. Others stayed. Wanted to rebuild. As for me... I had lost my father and mother to the marauders. I had no longer anything to hold me there. I left the nightmare in which I had been caught, but still couldn't escape from it. No matter where I went I could not forget, let alone forgive. In my hatred for the men who were at fault, the marauders that attacked the village, I ended up in Kalgen, a small city, whose only importance laid in it's trade. Kalgen was built just in font of a range of mountains, controlling the only safe passage. The land surrounding it was was not very impressive either. Just open panes. Not much grew on them, only droughty, short weeds and bushes.
What did I want there? Simple. I wanted t join the army. Protect those that couldn't protect themselves. Serve my country. All that is what I told myself. Rally I just wanted revenge, as I later found out. Avenge my father and mother. Rid the world of the scum that killed them. The training did not last as long as I had imagined. A few weeks. Not longer. A few weeks of hell, where me and about 13 other recruits were insulted, ridiculed, pushed to our limits and partially even abused. Not sexually mind. But when it was all over I was a soldier of her grace. One of the man in the white Uniforms. A sword was handed to me, about four feet long and with a long handle. A bastard sword and and a kite shield with the the crest of the queen. The white dragon holding a black sword. At that moment I was full of vigor. I could not wait to get out there. Fight against bandits and other criminals. Now I know how idiotic I was. Not too lang ago...