Nyc02 overground

the third person you HAVE to know in this story is timothy. timothy is 34 years old. he lives (i don´t call that living anyway) in a hole. this hole smells like shit and it looks like shit. timothy all in all is a piece of shit and he even thinks of himself as shit. the great advantage of all this is, that tim acctually likes shit. he loves it. so tim loves himself as this piece of shit he in fact IS and has been for all of his life, pretending to his fellow people to be a respectful and even decent person. he doesn´t give a damn about what people think about him. never has. he doesn´t mind others noticing his lies and elaborate stories about the world and how it is supposed to work in its own chaotic but playfully nonsensial way. which makes all the acting and pretending again easier for tim. you could say at this point that he is a impersonated loop of honesty. but please, don´t say it out loud. only that it is a bloody lie from beginnig to the end. allover and everlasting in its honesty of being completely unholy and untrue in every respect. now comes the scary part. maybe you are tempted to see tim as a lonely person. sitting in his shithole, broadcastung pathetic speeches into every corner of the cloud. guess what: he´s not. people love him. they dont think of him as this crabcluster he is, they feel attracted to his indulgence that only originates in his fanatic shitloving. people want to love themselves as much as tim loves himself but they will never make it, and you know why? the reason is that all those people think of themselves as good people. people which would not sell their grandmother the first second they could. they are all wrong. timothy is right. it was him by the way that made maria kill that bastard in the restaurant just seconds ago. like a kind of neuronal puppeteer, he mastered to enter her wicked brain and reprogramm it to sudden murder. he did it with a special constellation of the reataurants furniture, but all of that stuffprog skills later. you have to know the circumstances first in which these three twisted folks lived or at least called a living in their own pathetic blogsystems.