A short introduction

When you read this, you have to go back in time… back at the beginning: Riding. Reading it from the end. Finding the way on your own.

There are 17 short stories, because that was my age when I was raped quite viciously. My doctor told me I could never have babies because of it. I lost everything. My future, my hopes and dreams. All gone.

I wish no one got raped. Women, men nor children. But they do.

… please, if you have this pain in your life, don’t give up. It takes a long time. It hurts, but you can live a full life. There is hope, strength and mercy in an experience of pain, shame and anger.

Just don’t give up.

And by the way… my doctor was wrong. 



“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”

… it did teach me to fly. There is no road to ride anymore, and I can’t wait to see what’s going to happen next. There are no heroes, no villains. Only humans. I always found the best, in the worst places, but I never knew it was the worst places. No one told me and now it is too late. I saw too much beauty and kindness… in the worst places.

Now I can ride a bike into the abyss, go flying… or just stay. What ever happens, will happen. The only thing left to do is… life.

I am me, again.

The end


The warm water runs down my body. Making me a bit sleepy. Very nice. That’s a good thing. It makes me smile.

Little things like that make me smile – for no reason. The other day, i saw a lot of children laugh – Every sound seemed to heat my soul. I met an old friend, who was so hurt, so angry – so I did, the only thing, i can do. I tried to make him smile. I did make him smile, twice. A real smile, a soft one, a human one. Just for a second. It was a good second.

I cannot change the faith of others. I cannot control what will happen tomorrow, pain will always wait around the corner, but I can work really hard on not hurting others. Choosing the mild. The gentle way, and not be afraid of speaking my mind – because there has been a lot on my mind. Not judge or condemn, without ignoring the pain and the needs of the invisible.

You can fight pain, horror, beasts, but only by yourself and never with hate, anger or control. Kindness from strangers, family and friends, truly is the only thing that helps, when a dark shadow enters your house.

I am in no rush. I will give back a sunrise in a park, breathing, a second, a whisper, music. I will try every day to give it back, not wanting anything in return… they didn’t. They gave me everything. It was not shiny. It was not expensive. It just was.

Let it all in. Every part. Every bit. And it will hurt, and that’s okay, because now… I can feel again.



They are everywhere, are they not?

The ones complaining, whining, feeling sorry for them self. They always have some excuse for not doing anything: “You didn’t say it right”, “You misspelled it”, “you just don’t understand”.

Oh… but I do understand. You have to watch Paradise Hotel. You just have to fuck the blond one. You just really can’t be bothered with responsibility, when it is so much easier, just to blame someone else, for whatever inconsequential thing that went wrong in your life.

The spoiled ones, the lazy brats. The ones, who got everything. The ones, being born into the easy life, where everything is arranged in a neat, straight line. Because that is how life really is… is it not?

I came across a girl, one out of many. Her boyfriend was fucking around. They broke up – because he was a real prick. The problem: it was not really a surprise to anyone, that he was a prick. He didn’t hide it. Actually, he was very honest about it. He is ruled by his dick. That’s it. And, in the beginning, she loved the way he fucked and can’t stop talking about it. He is fucking her the right way. He was so exciting, experimenting a lot. Because, she has never tried anything interesting in her life. Everything is mediocre in that neat and straight way. Well… yes – a prick being ruled by his dick, would be very interesting, to a girl like that. Afterwards she keeps complaining, saying a lot of very nasty things about him… and she keeps fucking him. I did fuck him. He was a really good fuck. He has practiced fucking for years. So did I. I’m a very good fuck; I’m just not a prick… anymore.

At least he doesn’t hide, that he is a prick. Like her, trying to hide, that she is an idiot… like so many others. I can respect him. She… is… however… wasting my breath. Taking my air.

There are a lot of those. They take up space, so that the ones, who are too weak to complain, become invisible. The ones, under a gray blanket, in a condemned house, hiding in a cardboard labyrinth.

I have learned to ignore them, because they really dont matter… Feel free to do the same … please do



When you read a good book, there is – in most cases – a thin red line that guides you through. If it’s a really good book, you don’t notice. Not the first time you read it. Then you read it again. You sensed something there. Each time you read the book, the thin red line becomes more present. More noticeable, until you see nothing else. You forget the characters, the narrative, the plot. You go back and you read the book again and again and again. Not ever letting it go. Always there.

So I had to write a letter. A letter to the thin red line in my book. Begging him for forgiveness. He didn’t understand, what I was doing at the time, when I hurt him. I didn’t understand – I had just begun reading that book. It was a very dark book, filled with horror, torture and pain. So much anger and a lot of blood. Evil villains and knights in shining armor. Monsters. Traps.

It took 8 years to write that letter… Because it hurts begging for forgiveness. You do it right. You do not ever expect anything in return. Make sure you don’t. Not even forgiveness. You cannot crave the kindness of others, only hope. It is not how much you hurt them, but your own intension, when you tried to hurt them…. and him, I wanted to hurt more than anyone. I hated him. I didn’t hate the beast. It was just a beast, but him, I did hate. A very strong, pure form of hate. He was the only one, who had done nothing. He never hurt me. He was a part of a world, I would never be part of, again… and that was the only reason, why I hated him and wanted to hurt him. Hurt him, just a deep, as I had been hurt. Take his future away from him.

I will always beg him for forgiveness. Always. I will always be, at his mercy. Completely. He will always be… my thin red line.



Walking down Wall Street, NY. Just seeing white people. No color. Suits everywhere. Uniforms. Wondering if they all have the same tailor, in some basement, somewhere… a chandelier. Its looks rich. They have a lot of money and everything is shiny and clean. No garbage, no filth. Nothing – just this shining surface. No shitty tats, but the beast is there. It’s a smart beast, but when you have seen one beast, you recognize them all. Even when the beast is just one part of a huge organism, seeing nothing. Mindless movement.

Not far away, there are ruins. They call it Ground Zero. In the heart of everything. Beating. Throbbing. Bleeding. They want to rebuilt. A symbol on shiny things. Please do forget what happened. Clean everything up. Make it look nice. Don’t let the darkness in. Close the door. Reinforce it with shining chrome.

Find the right girl. If she doesn’t look right, find a doctor to fix it. Here! Get a free manual for fucking. If you just fuck her the right way, everything will be okay. You have to do it the right way. Get the right house, car, TV, Clothes, children. Get the right job. The right education. Get more money.

A woman stops me on Wall Street. Her hand grabs my arm, but without aggression. A perfect hold. I stop moving. I didn’t see her. “I loooove that tattoo you have! Who made it?!” Her voice smiles. Everything about her is smiling. She is black, wearing a blue uniform. Not a suit. A proper uniform. She is a security guard at Wall Street. One color in a white shiny place. I like those colors, blue and black, it made me stop.



Lying on the floor. Shaking. Again. Can’t control it. It’s not the beating, that makes me shake. The body never forgets violence, no matter how much times goes by. Its the fear of the door opening again. An earthquake shook the door, inside my mind, out of its frame. I don’t have the strength to do it again. No more metal inside. I am getting soft. That is the prize for normality. Softness. Nightmares slipping though the crakes. The black, white and red coming back. The voices. A shadow. I can’t find the red key. He took it from me.

Another one comes. It feels like every day. Drinking coffee, just talking about normal stuff. A friend. I keep shaking. Can’t stop the tremble. One night he stays, in my bed, but as far away as possible. Almost falling out of the bed. Just being there. Breathing. He is trying, not to move. I can feel him, trying not to move. As if he can feel, that even the slightest movement would make everything crumble. All night.

He comes back. Drinking coffee. He doesn’t ask what’s behind the door. He settles in, but as far away from me as possible.

It feels like years. Him drinking coffee. Talking about normal stuff. Each night he stays, he moves a bit closer. Very slowly. One inch at a time. Never rushing it. Just breathing.

One night, he puts his arms around me and I let go.

I don’t need that door anymore. It just is. He is. My friend. Just waiting. I can cry, like normal people do. I cry a lot.



Kim is dead. Killed himself – I think it was pills. Not the veins. He wouldn’t want anyone, to touch his infected blood. When it comes to death, he wouldn’t be a drama queen. Not there. Such a delicate boy. He would just disappear. I don’t count the suicides. Too many. I just remember him, and the fun we had.

He never understood the fuss, when the gym teacher was put in jail. He visited him. He really loved, what happened in the shower. Liking it made him different, for no reason. He was what he was. But getting old. 19. He travelled all over the world, before he was 16 – that’s why we connected. Traveling. Going anywhere. He loved the old men and their shiny things. Their yachts. He loved to be handled from one to the next, and he really loved all his designer things. If it wasn’t expensive, special, it wasn’t worth anything. Something to be tossed away.

We did a lot of clubbing. Always stripping in a very intimate way. Together. So much fun. He loved the attention. It’s very important that you time it right, than the bouncers won’t kick you out… you create an atmosphere and that sells. Kim had perfect timing. I loved the way the little boys looked, when they found out that we weren’t an item. He only did old, rich men. I liked sleeping next to him. Naked. Just me and him. He was always so gentle and mild. Looking into my eyes. Smiling. He didn’t want to infect anyone.

He was my Peter Pan, and I was one of his lost boys. Never leaving Never Never land.



Going back. One step at a time. Slowly. You start with one second. Just one second: don’t hit anyone. Walk away, when it comes. Keep it inside. Stop it. Two seconds: don’t thrash things. Stop. Don’t throw things. Three seconds: don’t manipulate. It is too easy, to make others do what you want – especially men. Don’t do it. It is the red key, that will open the door. The door must be closed. It must be hidden in plain sight, but don’t tell them, what’s behind the door. Normal people don’t understand, why the door needs to be closed and they should not. They can smell it on you anyway. The wild, the animal, the beast… a dark shadow running by your side. They think it is interesting – it’s something else… something new and exciting. You do not let them through the door. They don’t deserve that, just because they were curious. You slam it, reinforce it… again and again, with metal. Shining chrome.

One minute: smile- really smile. Find anything to make you smile. A child, a flower, a TV show, music – anything. Small things. Tiny details. Keep it small. Petite. If it is to big, your thoughts will start imagining again. Imagination leads to nightmares. Focus only on the little things. Two minutes: laugh. Every day. If you cannot do it yourself, find it in others. See it every day. Find one grin, one giggle. People tremble, when they laugh. It’s a good tremble. Practice that kind of tremble. Teach the body to tremble in a new way. Or try to cry. That’s also a tremble. A different one.

One night: sleep with no nightmares. No faces in gray, black and white. No red color. No voices. Keep out the voices. When the voices come, turn on music. Very load. Block out the voices. Do not let the voices in. They always say the same… open the door. It would be the easy thing to do. They lie.

One day: get up: be on time – not your own time – but theirs. It is okay. They don’t want to hurt you, only an animal thinks like that.

One week: new place. Stay. Don’t run. Stop running. Run away and you lose your way. Again. You get lost and you don’t know where you run to. It’s not always a nice place. You don’t think, when you run. You don’t feel. Don’t be tempted to run.

A month: Study. Read. Learn. Knowledge helps, when you feel the urge to run again. Find out why. There is always an answer.

Half a year: do your exams. Fix a lamp. Go dancing. Talk to normal people. Listen to them. Try not to tell them, that what they say, has no meaning to you. Makes no sense. Has no value to you. Remember that only few know what’s behind the door. They like their things. That’s normal. Things. Talking about shoes, cars, desks. Don’t think about walking and getting lost, rides and mahogany, when they do. Practice the normal.

It starts with one second.

It is always there. It always comes back. Dont let it.