It has been a productive month indeed, however, everything turned out not exactly the way that I've planned...
The newspapers and all the media has gone crazy due to the practical joke that I've played...
It occured to me that both Hitler and me began our revolutions in the same city, so I've decided to pay him the honour and established a comical tribute, which the press named "the most blasphemous racist anti-semitic nazi prank".
I crucified a jew on a turned over cross in the Holocaust Mahnmal.
The effect is outrageous...
I was called the "Unfortunate Hitler" by the Deutsche Zeitungen and my head is worth a title of "national hero".
Its unbelievable how cycled life is... I was never understood in childhod. Now the same thing is happening all over again. I remember my 14th year, when I've found one and only true soulmate. He said:
"Yes, such has been my lot from very childhood! All have read upon my countenance the marks of bad qualities, which were not existent; but they were assumed to exist—and they were born. I was modest—I was accused of slyness: I grew secretive. I profoundly felt both good and evil—no one caressed me, all insulted me: I grew vindictive. I was gloomy—other children merry and talkative; I felt myself higher than they—I was rated lower: I grew envious. I was prepared to love the whole world—no one understood me: I learned to hate. My colourless youth flowed by in conflict with myself and the world; fearing ridicule, I buried my best feelings in the depths of my heart, and there they died. I spoke the truth—I was not believed: I began to deceive. Having acquired a thorough knowledge of the world and the springs of society, I grew skilled in the science of life; and I saw how others without skill were happy, enjoying gratuitously the advantages which I so unweariedly sought. Then despair was born within my breast—not that despair which is cured at the muzzle of a pistol, but the cold, powerless despair concealed beneath the mask of amiability and a good-natured smile. I became a moral cripple. One half of my soul ceased to exist; it dried up, evaporated, died, and I cut it off and cast it from me. The other half moved and lived—at the service of all; but it remained unobserved, because no one knew that the half which had perished had ever existed. But, now, the memory of it has been awakened within me by you, and I have read you its epitaph. To many, epitaphs in general seem ridiculous, but to me they do not; especially when I remember what reposes beneath them. I will not, however, ask you to share my opinion. If this outburst seems absurd to you, I pray you, laugh! I forewarn you that your laughter will not cause me the least chagrin."
My soulmate's name was Grigory Pechorin and he was fictional.
In that year I refused to deal with the fate that might has been prepared for me.
I refuse to deal with it now.
My comrades are nazis, my haters are the remaining world, my soulmate is fictional and long dead. How did I get here? - That's what I have so small time to figure out, before some "national hero" chimes in chopping my head off...
The newspapers and all the media has gone crazy due to the practical joke that I've played...
It occured to me that both Hitler and me began our revolutions in the same city, so I've decided to pay him the honour and established a comical tribute, which the press named "the most blasphemous racist anti-semitic nazi prank".
The effect is outrageous...
I was called the "Unfortunate Hitler" by the Deutsche Zeitungen and my head is worth a title of "national hero".
Its unbelievable how cycled life is... I was never understood in childhod. Now the same thing is happening all over again. I remember my 14th year, when I've found one and only true soulmate. He said:
"Yes, such has been my lot from very childhood! All have read upon my countenance the marks of bad qualities, which were not existent; but they were assumed to exist—and they were born. I was modest—I was accused of slyness: I grew secretive. I profoundly felt both good and evil—no one caressed me, all insulted me: I grew vindictive. I was gloomy—other children merry and talkative; I felt myself higher than they—I was rated lower: I grew envious. I was prepared to love the whole world—no one understood me: I learned to hate. My colourless youth flowed by in conflict with myself and the world; fearing ridicule, I buried my best feelings in the depths of my heart, and there they died. I spoke the truth—I was not believed: I began to deceive. Having acquired a thorough knowledge of the world and the springs of society, I grew skilled in the science of life; and I saw how others without skill were happy, enjoying gratuitously the advantages which I so unweariedly sought. Then despair was born within my breast—not that despair which is cured at the muzzle of a pistol, but the cold, powerless despair concealed beneath the mask of amiability and a good-natured smile. I became a moral cripple. One half of my soul ceased to exist; it dried up, evaporated, died, and I cut it off and cast it from me. The other half moved and lived—at the service of all; but it remained unobserved, because no one knew that the half which had perished had ever existed. But, now, the memory of it has been awakened within me by you, and I have read you its epitaph. To many, epitaphs in general seem ridiculous, but to me they do not; especially when I remember what reposes beneath them. I will not, however, ask you to share my opinion. If this outburst seems absurd to you, I pray you, laugh! I forewarn you that your laughter will not cause me the least chagrin."
My soulmate's name was Grigory Pechorin and he was fictional.
In that year I refused to deal with the fate that might has been prepared for me.
I refuse to deal with it now.
My comrades are nazis, my haters are the remaining world, my soulmate is fictional and long dead. How did I get here? - That's what I have so small time to figure out, before some "national hero" chimes in chopping my head off...
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