We’re at DM. Buying those fizzy soap balls Bruno likes. I’ve promised him he can put two in this bathtub. Why? CAUSE DAD LIKES EXCESS. If the doc tells me to take Tramadol, one pill before going to bed, I will take fucking four in the morning. So Bruno gets two damn fizzy balls and not one. My son otherwise gets too many examples of people making utter grayness a virtue.

At the register I spot two attractive women with their mum. They’re beyond surface level attractive, so they are not Slovak. My intuition says Lebanese or Syrian. I heard them speak Arabic minutes ago. Mum wears a head scarf. The daughters don’t. Suggesting some liberalism. They’re not Iranian, no Persian. Especially the youngest has that absurd level of smugness people have these days as if they’re always posing for an insanely overpriced luxury brand of perfume. The oldest one KNOWS I find her attractive. I had already spotted her before we ended up at DM.

But what you gonna do? Run after them with your son with your mind in most unsexy dad mode? To break through a modern woman’s Instagram and Tinder warped nervous system you have to be in freaking solid untouchable God mode of a mindset.

You gotta know that we are no longer in the human world. We are in a post-apocalyptic world where people’s softness is buried under many layers of toxic materialist programming. For the sake of brevity: we shed bodily fluids for cars first, then the people owning the biggest ones or who at least behave like they own the fanciest ones or manage to rise above it all and still present themselves like they are gods among mortals without any car.

I make several days a week purely about Bruno. I like it that way. I don’t mind carrying him to the toilet. I tolerate him sabotaging my tactics to get the most tickets at the casino for children. It’s a lunapark, but some money savvy Dutch family has turned it into a Las Vegas for kids.

With machines screaming ‘yummy yummy, tickets, tickets’.

Collect enough tickets playing games and you can get an oversized Paw Patrol cuddly animal.

They go for 10.000 tickets.

Bruno and I are at 6200. And this with Bruno who unlike dad plays for fun and not to maximize ticket output.

It feels off to take Bruno here. It’s like am training a gambler.

But hey, we live in gambling world with everyone addicted to something. Maybe it’s one of the best skills to teach him.

The more you think about modern parenting the more you realize you will fuck up.

So I just love the dude and try to avoid having him stab people or causing traffic accidents.

You have to find the Schwerpunkt in everything.

It’s ok if that line doesn’t make sense to you. If you didn’t have a modern day attention span you would now look up the word Schwerpunkt.

After six hours of catering to Sir Bruno, the center of my existence, the most lushly blooming oasis of a guy in this fucking desert of a country, I need some fucking intensity, so at night I put on war movies, which I watch with fast music blasting and punching these keys.

We were in a coffin today with bright lights.

A mall.

I am trying to live like a human man in a world that doesn’t produce human conditions anymore, but reduces us to two-legged credit cards.