Author: reinhardschleining


amidst all this censorship nonsense, corporate headslapping and prepotent babysitting, telegram has certainly emerged as the hub where every intelligent and openminded person will come to. “i can breathe”, lol. is a neat new space. for now, i’ve uploaded all the major promotional activities. as you know, so far, everything happened on-site and directly. online presence was kept to a limit, and even then persecuted to the extreme with the site having been offline for almost two years and otherwise being spammed with foot fungus ads and all sorts of disgusting / distracting bullshit. the very basic wp theme that i had used from the beginning pulled from under the feet to be replaced with the generic ugly unprofessional looking mask that will hopefully alienate as many hopeful readers as possible :)

i believe (the *cp?) even went so far as to create another literature magazine with the same title just to make sure the morons don’t get it. (or are at the very least kept at bay :)

i’ve been active primarily on telegram for the past couple of years. the personal account i’ve used to share and forward everything i come across that adds up to the centre line puzzle (not left / liberal nor right / conservative) of the present uniersal reality unfoldment. merely an editor and hardly an author, i’ve given people the opportunity to climb the mountain of truth completely on their own, by following up on the links and sources. rather than ushering subscribers in to ‘my story’ by hiding sources and origins and pretend the neverending streams of content to be ‘my stuff’. some, very few sadly, might and will appreciate this approach of total transparency and lack of self-interest.

other sister sites that i’ve been rolling out and that might be of interest are: – my author page – all the madness crossing my path – counteracting one of the nastier topics of the present social engineering, i’m adding any girl picture that i feel represents ‘truth’ insofar, as they inherit the earth, as they have the power to choose any man. so the question of which man they choose becomes a vital one. can they be broken and bought with ‘leverage’? can the ‘beauty’ see the virtue and integrity behind the ‘beast’? the prince behind the scabs and sack clothes, lol? – haha, yeah. when design had still style, vision and purpose. this maybe reviving something as well … – and finally the same with the world of the design surrounding us … Continue reading “TELEGRAM PRESENCE”


just a quick note to say that i’m creating a good deal of the by far biggest issue for the past couple of months live on my facebook profile (

i’ve already set a precedent with the paybackTime issue, where I used laser printed postIts to circulate single sheet poems around london that became in its compiled version the final issue (plus a few additional works).

it just so happens, that writing these days has reached a state and a level that it never openly had in (known) history. of course, behind the scenes, our reality had always been written. the writers of our official narrative – the gods – were shaping our perception and our culture as they ‘needed’ it to be. certain individuals deemed fit to contribute content on the human level (or those who came down here with such a mission) were ELected (EL – saturn) to shape society and its culture. some were then granted the privilege to be added in the ‘official’ book of history.

others worked ‘internally’, dedicating their life to write down certain things, to create certain ideas and visions, and then be ‘used’ for ‘internal’ circulation only. no mortal on the ground would ever know that they existed, nor would they know what they had to write (about).

people who fancied themselves writers but weren’t elected might’ve been really ‘good’ in a ‘talented wordsmith’ kind of way – yet what did they truly know? most of the writers and artists that we know of were ‘initiates’ of masonic brotherhoods and priesthoods. was that not nearly always the case?

while the rest of mankind lived their lives according to their allotted ‘scripts’. not much room to ‘move’ there. from dust to dust.

it is only today that the process of writing – and its impact on reality – has reached a state where all ranks and hierarchies have been turned upside down and everything – all lives and all available content – mixed and mingled. today, everybody is in fact writing. and through the digital world stage, able to publish their views and theories in an instant.

to be sure, the prevailing ‘gods’ continue to generate their main stream – the main thread of the story. yet, no one (not even those gods) can fully and ultimately see who or what is behind some of those other outside / alternative voices. or what would be their ultimate impact and trajectory. is the talmud truth? the gospel of jesus? the koran? the tao-te-ching? quantum theory? charles darwin? elon musk? the holographic universe? the thunderbolt project? the vedic scriptures? osho? david icke? the satanic witch? alistair crowley? greta thurnberg? the royal family? sabbatinian frankism? self-help books? becoming vegan? psychotherapy? transhumanism? logical thinking? greek philosophy? mathematics? pythagoras? illuminism? gnosticism? new age? entheogens? the hive mind? artifical intelligence? augmented reality? cyberspace? simulation theory? or maybe the peer and next door neighbour?

what about buddha law? what about zhuan falun?

for cultivators like myself, an environment of complete and utter confusion like this present one makes completely sense. if there was no confusion and uncertainty even among levels that have ‘all the power’ otherwise, it wouldn’t be ‘fair’ for sentient beings on a universal scale to ‘display’ their true nature and to subsequently arrive at their own understandings – to consummate their very own ‘slice of reality’ (to use an expression i had used more than ten years ago in an essay with the same name).

long has it been said, “beware of what you wish for, since it may well become reality.”

what if everyone, by composing (consciously and unconsciously to varying degrees) their very own ‘narrative’ (however much remote controlled and pushed that may be), will find themselves ‘awakening’ in the universe that they themselves have been ‘writing’ slash ‘creating’?

could this’ve been truly happening once the fabric of delusion is finally lifted?

aren’t we living in a universe that has multiple outcomes / dimensions / realities?

the ‘pseudoReality’ issue would like to humbly contribute to the noble cause of allowing people to find their own take on the reality that manifests inside and outside of them, and then help to write a ‘good’ story.

london, autumn 2019


Alas – like with our own website (, due to the most hilarious and outrageous sabotaging and persecution issues, we’re back to our old home, WP. Let’s see how we fare.

Work is in progress for our next issue, Issue 007 – Pseudo Reality. We’re demonstrating how the powers at large were able to construct a perception of ‘reality’ that has nothing to do with Ultimate Reality and can be likened to a ClownFactory (see our thus labeled Twitter page), with the goal to not only end with the First Death (as the ‘new world order’ crowd elaborates), but to result in the Second Death (as mentioned in religions), thus to lead to not making it through to the ‘future’. The ‘Enter Not Job’ as some smart observers of our work have come to call it. Yep, tough call. As you know, YouTube is full with conspiracy stuff, but we’d like to point out that only draft magazine – via it’s discernment of the Great Law of the Cosmos behind the scenes (Falun Fafa) – will be able to help you truly see through the curtains of deception behind deception behind deception.

First three issues are now available through Amazon. Our fourth issue Issue 003 – Maintenance, has been rejected with threat of account closure. By comparison, London’s ‘Poetry Library’ rejected us from issue 004 – Survival onwards, which has been stolen from their shelves and remained unlisted in their system until this day. Just to give you an idea of how hard it is to get through to you guys.

Take care and talk to you soon,

draft magazine / reinhard schleining


hey :) some guys have been wondering why we haven’t released anything new for a while (for more than one year). well, here’s the new edition, explaining some of the reasons briefly.

on a more important note: draft really isn’t about new new new. in fact, the most important things to extricate you guys from the web of deceit have already been discussed. cultivation matters and secrets have been made public. the score has been set and assistance / support to increase circulation and visibility have been ‘wanted’ from the get-go. all that’s left now for us to do, is to continue rolling out the most outstanding literary and art title in the world. in other words, we can afford to take it easy and take our time. the rest is up to you, the readers. market driven economy, innit? the powers have hooked into any ‘we are we’ bullshit and said, “well, how great you are. here, have some more credit. go for it.” in other words, everyone has added fuel to the fire.

another quick reminder to any future help and assistance: spreading the word is the most ‘natural’ way for any human things to grow in this realm. wouldn’t you agree? mass media, in the wrong hands, is extremely dangerous. lots and lots of money can make something seem extraordinary and massive that isn’t even worth to be size of a bacterium. who with money can compete with anyone doing things from the heart, even if they are so small that not a single person in the world would ever know they existed? daos would still aim to become immortals while no one outside their caves would ever know that somebody is actually inside and cultivating.

what we were doing with draft is in a way anti-hype and anti-advertising. we are dismantling so-called ‘social conditioning’. but we’re not against ‘propagation’. neither against the principle of ‘running advertisements’. we’ve worked in the creative industries and the work was fun an interesting. nothing that exists is a ‘problem’, really. “people are the problem”, as the old saying goes :)

so – feel free to spread the words wherever you can. and then, obviously actively doing something counts more than thousand words.

Vienna, Summer 2016


proper ‘commercial’ videos :)

download ALL NINE here >>>  mydrive or on dropbox

(DivX format, so feel free to burn them on a DVD for any future reference)

since we experience lots of server downtime and sabotaging on all ends (haha, anyone ever tried to google us?), we’ve started to revive the clean and crisp SWISS mydrive server again. simple is always best, no?

as usual

login: reader@draftmagazine | pass: thanks



***UPDATE winter 2023:

since we’ve created a specific telegram account to promote and save into the cloud related draft content, the videos can now also be streamed from there:

London, Winter 2014 – Spring 2015


‘campaigning’ this time from the ‘other side’, or  – the other way round ... twisting it, bending it, and still remaining CENTRE.

hope you appreciate =)


London, Summer 2014


Easily the most profound and far-reaching spiritual-philosophical Treatise ever committed to paper.

Only oral traditions might’ve put you on a similar righteous track

only the Gods know why this is available to Man now


Layman – You think you know anything?

Scholar – You think you know everything?

Attention! While reading this, you might find that your entire life and studies have been in vain. Yet – you may also find that what you’ve secretly come to know is actually true and what everyone else was trying to tell you is actually false. Such is the State of the Present World. The Kalpa’s End. The Dharma Ending Period. The long-awaited End of Time.

Wouldn’t you rather die Knowing than Knowing Not?

What if you actually Survive that way?

96 pages. Beautifully type-set, illustrated, hand-printed and hand-bound. Each item unique, signed and priceless. Free for collectors of the first five (5) sets of regular draft hard-copy Issues.

Still only £30,-

Get it NOW!

London, Summer 2014


after having ‘given’ you those most beautiful buddhas from our earlier post, we wanted to add a few more words on marketing and advertising. much has been said already in our issues so far on this (in the same breath as money and the exchange of values), and our editor’s piece on the subject of guiding the draft project through the otherwise 100% air- and watertight ‘net’ of deception and persecution finally into public visibility should make it even more clear what stakes we’re talking about when it comes to what we’re truly doing.

there’s always been a discourse between a stylistic ‘telling’ and ‘showing’ among intellectuals and the ambiguity of a clamouring serenity within the typography based PRO-MOTION pieces now goes as far as it goes in terms of ‘selling’ and ‘telling’. while on the surface they seem to be ‘in your face’ messages, upon closer inspection, they’re actually solemn and ‘peacefully standing’. they’re not lying or telling things by boasting or hustling or grabbing. they’re our version of telling.

the imagery of buddhas, on the other hand, obviously doesn’t sell anything, they’re rather the antithesis of selling, if you really think about it. it’s more the case of buddhas deeming the project worthy of blessing it with their visibility, if you will. that’s putting it in general terms. of course, the true meaning goes much much deeper …

our actual products, then, the magazines, can clearly be positioned into the centre between those two main columns of ‘market’ positioning.

however, an interesting turning of tables has also occurred with this change of tack or this further level of unfoldment. while it hasn’t been so obvious before to the too vigorous or too oblivious that putting oneself into the context or frame of draft visibility is by no means a casual undertaking, the revelation of buddhas’ grace behind the project makes you think twice, doesn’t it? and it doesn’t just end there.

when uploading those pieces of content to our blog – exposing them to the ‘online world’ – we put them into the frame and context of draft magazine and when we in turn say to you that you can pass them on to your loved ones but ‘put them into a particular frame and context at your own risk’, then interesting questions arise for the online world as well. if sky pays enough to run their adverts in order to achieve visibility in this ‘free’ frame of reference – then who is it that is committing the ‘sin’ (or accruing the karma) of ‘blaspheming’ buddhas?

is it the machine that is distributing the ads?

is it the ones who set the machine in place?

is it the machine regulating the machine behind the distribution?

is it the company paying to have the ads run?

is it the company running the ads?

what if the massive gods behind sky are merely ‘using’ all those levels below?

what if higher gods than the ones behind sky are merely using them?

anyway, just another input into the whole draft monument that might hopefully make it even clearer that what goes on behind the surface has now become very very complex indeed, and sometimes even ‘dangerous’ …

(this has obviously also repercussions on what constitutes ‘free’ online ‘content’ as such).

London, posted through the free sky sponsored theCloud network outside the SwissRe monument theGherkin, Winter 2013


this is something we’ve done to work opposite the PRO-MOTION campaign in order to put the actual packshots of the ‘product’ (our covers) into a straight centre line. obviously, we also reveal some more things without saying anything :)

feel free to pass on to anyone you care about. yet putting those images in possibly ‘indecent’ contexts happens at your own risk …

 0109 08  


hooray to the new issue! summer 2013. there’s so much content in there, again, that you shouldn’t know or that you couldn’t have ‘normally’ known that we increasingly feel tables are turning with regards to ‘power’. hope you cherish …

distribution of 50 hard-copy issues (with a ‘real’ nominal ‘share’ value of £ 50,-), like before, through lovely cafe 1001 exclusively.

we’d also emphasize our print on demand scheme for all the collectors amongst you who’d rather like a fine-art printed paper edition to survive possible power grid  or  battery failures ;P don’t be put off by an at first glance ‘unusual’ price tag. it’s really just that outsourced mass production has warped our ‘modern’ understanding of values. not our fault. we try to help correcting this, thus also helping everyone in a similar position to survive their humble ventures in the future. has pricing ever been an obstacle for quality? why can coca cola at present ‘afford’ do offers that sell one bottle for gnostic numbers £2.08 and two bottles for £2,-? but even more so, why would they do it? lots to think ….

London, Summer 2013


we don’t want to say much more here other than we’re very happy to bring to you issue number 001 of our magazine. it’s packed with hard core as you’d probably have imagined in the meantime ….

distribution as before through cafe 1001 exclusively.

however, we’re also proud to announce our new print on demand scheme on this occasion, should you have missed out one of those rare and extremely sought-after pieces =]


London, Winter 2012


>>> IT’S DONE <<<

… the triple zero issue is set in stone to set the first milestone for history in the making …

of this beautiful baby, there is a hand-crafted, signed and numbered limited first edition of 100 issued at the moment. we’ve decided to distribute them through cafe 1001 here in london (possibly exclusively). there are a few matters related to this undertaking that will become clear when you get your hands on this precious jewel :)

in terms of payments, the ‘free’ is rather conceptual than ‘real’. it is free because we can do whatever we want to. there is no advertising mixed into this entire project whatsoever. not even ‘opinions’ when you look at it closely. we’d say that’s a lot, these days, if you know the true situation that all media is subjected to. but more on that unspeakable subject is also to be found inside.

the idea behind the finance model is explained in the back bit of the zine.


download the pdf from

>>> HERE <<<

(login: reader@draftmagazine / password: thanks)

a convenient link for your contributions.

[email protected]


London, Summer 2012


(the following is an example of the kind of NON-FICTION content we are interested in running. anything which pushes the boundaries, bring it on …)





As we vigourously slither towards yet another year’s end – 2007 – we once again wonder. What the hell is it? What is still wrong with this world? Why are we still killing, abusing, torturing, spoiling, if all we really want in life – from life – is just to be HAPPY? Are we again not going to get anywhere near, also not this year, towards perhaps at least marginally altering the glooming crash course of our poor planet? Climate change, poverty, famine, terrorism, environmental mayhem. The terrifying prospect of nuclear wars. Corrupt and cynically anti-liberal governments. Intensified media-spin of pivotal public information. Further intrusion into our ever so sensitive privacy. And on a more personal level the soaring deterioration into depression and resignation intertwined with the weird sensation of being increasingly alienated from people around us – friends, families, partners, colleagues, lovers. What has been unfolding thus far is really just another year of eerily empty consume slavery in a dull, almost surreal treadmill, devilishly staged against the emotionally unsettling backdrop of failed intimate bonding – if we do actually have any love life at all in our sad, single-cell city-cave households. What is the point, we sometimes wonder, to carry on living like this, merely existing? Why don’t we just end it here, push the buttons, pull the plugs, and that’s it, end of story, finally we manage to escape this tragically man-made prison? It wouldn’t really matter, would it? Life still goes on, the planets steadfastly keep moving, nature will always survive. It’s just US HUMANS who’d be gone – so what?

There must be some deep down life-force, or a genetically embedded core belief in humanity if you will, to keep on fighting abuse and havoc and to bravely pull up our sleeves in order to work towards a somewhat better, more humane reality. We seem to carry inside a vision where life has to work for every single one of us, regardless of passport or bank account, sex, religion, culture or views. And yet – however persistently we hear the call for more human unity – HUMANITY – we first need to get our own individual act together. We can’t even recycle our beer cans properly, how can we possibly contribute to an increase of LOVE and RESPECT in this world?



One of the problems seems that by subscribing to however much recycled but still essentially “Paulinean” value and belief systems (irritatingly referred to as “Christian”) our western civilisation has built its cornerstones on pretty muddy grounds. Its core structures – and consequently most of its branches – are essentially a lie. The whole evolutionary battle between the sexes, as well as our genetic animal nature has never been properly addressed, not even remotely acknowledged. And yet the same set of views was determined enough to go nuclear by the end of last millennium, with the threat of human extinction cold-bloodedly asserting the right of calling the shots on this planet. In 2007 this essentially means that we’re all being patronised by patriarch, rigidly corporate power structures. MONEY has replaced all other certificates for alpha-male- or -femaleness like heritage, intellectual / cultural achievements or otherwise claimed “genetic superiority”. Those who have the money now, at the beginning of the 21st century, have also made sure that not only will they (and their families) keep their tight reign on it for any foreseeable future but that they can effectively generate MORE almost effortlessly, at the whim of any however dimwit board-room decision and – most alarmingly – also war-room decisions as we’ve sadly seen in recent years. We’re operating within a new paradigm where money is EVERYTHING and the inescapable truth is that those of us who haven’t got IT, here and now, at the beginning of the 21st century, haven’t really got much chance to ever get anywhere in life – apart from maybe “scoring” a girlfriend if they perfume their armpits with the right brand of deodorant-spray or – more foresightfully – disguise their ruthless ambitions with the ability to bend over, right time, right place, in the rat race for the sparse company hot-seats where apparently fat bonuses are impatiently only awaiting to be unplugged.



In the face of such darkness it is admittedly sometimes just easier to subscribe to Hello! magazine or other Hollywood / Bollywood celebrity bullshit which PR companies and media giants cynically vomit into our cultural void. Within the everyday challenge of what we refer to as “our life”, with its permanent, subliminal power struggles between family, lovers, work colleagues, friends, authorities or any other different value and belief systems we feel it makes totally sense for us to just switch off our brains for as long as it takes to surrender to ready-made quick-fix pleasures on offer – even if it is pre-manufactured, cheap and hypocrite fast-food crap.

If we look into the behind-the-scene workings of human interaction though we can see that we pretty much function like tiny, fragile gears within a giant, global clockwork which have sadly been screwed up throughout our politically charged and emotionally and / or physically abusive upbringings. What Systemic Psychology is able to teach us is that we are in a way not really meant to be “loved” in this world (at least not on a surface level) and to a certain extent not even liked. Within the limping clockwork of our everyday reality we’re much rather being usurped by each other and through the assertion of power and the seduction of sex more or less helplessly controlled and manipulated. As long as we’re blaming other people or circumstances for our ugly experience of life we do not have the slightest chance to ever change anything at all. The clockwork will only keep spinning, awkwardly and grindingly, and further deteriorate into the painful experience of ageing, betrayal and despair. The simple, bleak truth is that there is no one to blame, no god, no country, religion, parent, partner, fate, president. This is it, us humans, and what we participate in, with every single breath, every single heartbeat, is our very own, custom-made slice of reality. What we desperately need is careful repair work to our poor, damaged gears, the painful and deep-rooted procedure of PSYCHOTHERAPY – EMOTIONAL HEALING.

It is indeed very unfortunate that the present framework we’re stuck in, with our almost hysterically machinesque 9 to 5 job structure, doesn’t ever give us a fair chance to find out who we truly are. We’ve established a system which makes it almost impossible for us to ever “be ourselves”, let alone “love ourselves” which is of course intrinsically required to ultimately “being loved” also by others. There is no real awareness about the importance of EMOTIONAL HEALTH embedded into our western society. At the end of the day, what we ultimately long for are friendships and relationships built on warmth, depth and understanding instead of insecurities, superficialities and power-games. We’re way off target, psychologically speaking, and it is in the systemic interest of people / gears in power that we’re being kept in a state where we haven’t got a clue about the way how it really works in this world.



Looking at it from the outside it is almost ironic. All we want is to be around people who can equally open up to us as honestly as we wish to find ourselves capable of opening up to others. But all we’re achieving are uncomfortable and energy-draining entanglements with people trying to get some advantage through us, sexually, financially, emotionally, intellectually, spiritually or whatever else they desperately need us for. They feel compelled to socially climb through their fake affiliation with us and they skilfully camouflage this bonding as friendship or sometimes – most disillusioningly – even love. It doesn’t matter whether they’re being conscious or unconscious about the dependency strings they’re creating. They are in any case people who can not actually see us and consequently don’t care about us, no matter how much they openly claim they do. Once the relationship or friendship is over and we’ve had enough time to unwind and move on we’re suddenly strangely unable to understand how we could have ever been attracted to them in the first place.

On the other hand we also find ourselves continuously victims of people who’ve got power OVER us (or on an even darker level who we hand over this power due to some devastating early childhood programming). These people are “getting off” on establishing all sorts of sick dependency strings in order to submit us to their pathetic attempts to escape their painful experience of utter, inescapable loneliness. And yet – from whichever side we look at it, “victim” or “perpetrator”, we’re all victims and perpetrators, stuck in our HUMAN CONDITION, the dark clockwork / framework also referred to as the CYCLE OF ABUSE. We’re not free in any way whatsoever, stuck in an ugly prison of attachments and needs. We can not possibly find HAPPINESS and PEACE in this world. We’re basically just doomed to failure – unless we CAN take charge and ACT.



There is only one way to get out of this prison. Stepping out of the abusive cycle through healing. We have to deal with the fact that we’re all alone in this world, lonely gears spinning away as time passes (even if we somehow manage to crawl back into the substitute womb of a family). And then take responsibility for exactly how and how much TIME we spend with ourselves and in turn with other people. Buying into brands, boyfriends, girlfriends, celebrities, mobile phones, mortgages, websites, countries, TV programmes or whatever / whoever else wants to get into our fragile minds (and eventually pockets) will only hand over to other people our ever so precious HEADSPACE. Since we’re essentially only a brain, jacked-in to the experience of living, our headspace is the only true asset we’ve got to offer to other people and thus to the whole world at large. It is literally our REAL ESTATE and – why not – 2007 could be the time to finally reclaiming it from everyone who’s inhabiting it without our kind and sincere permission. We have to learn to say NO and self-assertively press the unsubscribe button in order to cut ties with dangerous power trippers and needy emotional vampires. Giving people we DO NOT LOVE our headspace is what only further empowers them and in turn buries us deeper into the framework of being their slaves. Whereas in turn supporting those people, ideas and products we truly love and care about will make all the difference and eventually FREE us. Kiss by kiss and hug by hug we can, with a clear and healthy mind and spirit, change this dark, unsettling world forever.

Let’s therefore see whether 2007 is yet another passing, insignificant snapshot of human history or whether we can finally stir the ship of humanity into a more beautiful, meaningful direction. Perhaps another wake-up call might alert us to do something about our condition, not only wait, endure and follow? Perhaps we need to be reminded, over and over again, in the midst of day-to-day dullness and slave entertainment, that it only takes one single, desperate hand to push a red button or to pull a nylon string on a vest, for us all to go down, blown apart into pieces – essentially fractalised back into the random, amoebean splinter code as how we once popped up on this planet which we sometimes later lovingly called THE EARTH.


Reinhard Schleining
London, March – November 2007

© 2007, all rights reserved


(the following is an example of the kind of FICTION content we are interested in running …)




a short story


I certainly didn’t expect THIS to happen, but that’s always how it goes, isn’t it? In the midst of another insanely crowded Shoreditch steel-wood-and-glass-bar. This awesome girl. She kind of wades forward, smiling, through a vast ocean of faceless, chatty, after-work binge-drinkers. Venus rising from a foam shell. But draped in a scarlet-red, sexy laser-cut cocktail dress. The most staggering face i’ve ever seen. At first I think I’m dreaming, it can’t be me she’s moving towards, smiling at. But she adamantly floats precisely to the place where I’m standing. On invisible angel wings or something. And a couple of seconds later, now only a few steps away from me, she still hasn’t stopped smiling. My knees feel like butter and the situation hits me with utmost sincerity. Adrenaline. Hair stiffening on the back of my neck. Fucking hell, I MUST be dreaming this. Jesus, how unbelievably beautiful this girl is. I’ve never ever seen anything like it. Black hair, white skin, green eyes. I almost drop my drink. almost shit in my pants, really really really.
“You look very sweet, babee. Wanna buy me a drink?” she says, still smiling. every-word-is-on-the-beat – wow!
“Sure. What you fancy?”
“Bloody Mary?”
“Sure, of course. Don’t move.”
Pause. “I won’t.”

The first thing I notice when we start talking is that she doesn’t seem to care at all about what I’m doing, nor where I’m coming from. I also don’t care much about what she’s up to etcetera, to be honest. Rich parents probably. Doesn’t seem to having to work and stuff. I’m still not sure whether I’m not dreaming up all of this. Her name is Amanda, she says and somehow hearing her say the name feels strangely comforting. Her voice trembles all the way through my body. Singer? Actress? In any case it has probably the same effect as pinching myself, I suppose. I’m most definitely wide awake, not dreaming.

“How’s the drink?” I ask in an attempt to stir up some more stimulated conversation. She’s still smiling at me, never stopped really. The most beautiful girl in the world’s just standing right in front of me, Bloody Mary in her hand, and she can’t stop smiling at me. Madness.
“Great, thanks. I just luuuv anything red.”
“Hahaha, having been bathed in blood as a newborn or something?”
“Hahaha, yeah, something like that.”
It quite stuns me that she didn’t actually think my joke was too dark or otherwise tasteless but I whisk away the creepy feeling. “I really like your dress by the way”, I say instead.
“Thanks. you’re really very sweet, babee. What’s your name?”
“Tom”, I say, shaking the ice cubes in my quadruple Jack Daniel’s.
“Nice name.”
She keeps smiling at me. Her lips, her mouth, her eyes, her face, her legs, her breasts. Her posture, her confidence, her elevatedness. It is all so incomprehensibly beautiful that I still have to put a lot of effort in to not just shit in my pants, right here, right now.

Keep calm, man. take it easy. EASY. Jesus, I’ve met many interesting girls in my life, that’s, well, just the way how it goes when you’re a successful DJ-Producer. A lot of them were confident and beautiful. But Amanda is something else completely and I can’t quite pin it down really. It’s EVERYTHING about her. Everything is like out of a dream or something. From another planet. I’m afraid I’m done. I’ve fallen for her the first split-second I saw her, all the way through the sea of binge-drinking mortals at the other end of the room. Should I be worrying about ‘why me’? Well I say, go with the flow, man. Ride the waves of the moment. I don’t think it’s vanity. And I’m definitely a cool enough guy to not think she’s an outrageously astute hooker either.
“You’re very nice too”, I say. “Unbelievably awesome, actually.”
She doesn’t answer. Just smiles. And then gently moves in to my lips for a long, soft, wet kiss.

On the streets back to mine we also don’t speak very much. We’re both quite a bit turned on by now. I’m in fact a bloody boiling steam tank, to be honest. Walking with her on my side through the Friday night crowd is pretty awkward. Every head we pass turns. They check us out. Something doesn’t seem right. They perhaps don’t like the idea of seeing someone so stunningly beautiful next to a just a ‘decent looking guy’ or something. It bothers them or something. And although Amanda’s kisses earlier on have given me all the confidence I ever need in this world I feel through their hostility strangely insecure and in a way almost undeserving. What if they’re right? What if I shouldn’t be going to my place with someone as beautiful as her? Perhaps even have sex – blimey? She slings both her arms around my neck, just in time before I’m getting too self-deprecating here. She hisses a “you make me so hot” in my ear, giggling from all the Bloody Marys she’s had. Her voice slithers into my brain like pungent lava. My ear is almost falling off. But it’s done the trick and I’m straight back into the vibe. I grab her waist and pull her towards me. What a wonderful drug. There’s nothing else to be said. Other people cease to exist. She’s licking my ear now and since I’ve always found it quite tricky to walk straight with a hard-on we have to slow down now, take it easy, chill.


Straight upon entering my flat we need to split though. Breathe, Tom, breathe, I panicky keep telling myself. This is all too freaking intense. I lean against the wall, apologising and smiling, and beg her to sit down on the comfy leather Ikea lounge. Later on I walk over to the kitchen bit where I consult my flash mini-bar next to the fridge.
“What about Campari with blood-orange juice. Would make sense, wouldn’t it?” I ask as composedly and formally as I can muster.
“Mmmmmhhh”, comes her reply. She’s again smiling at me but obliviously someplace else. The bottom of her dress has come up a bit to reveal her flawless, deliciously juicy alabaster thighs. I force myself to look away but can’t quite manage. My head seems to be stuck to her as if to an all-powerful magnet. I bring her the cocktail and put on a really cool playlist off my iPod.
“Oh, that sounds nice”, she says when some of my stuff comes up.
“Thanks”, I mutter. I’m definitely not sure whether I should not join her on the sofa. It’s all just so fucking intense – Jesus Fucking Christ. My armpits are soaking. I bloody well know that I’ll be straight away gone if I go anywhere near her. Therefore I place myself leaning against the wall facing her whilst gathering all my willpower to not look into her direction. I pretend to stare out of the window instead. A few drunks pass by, pissing and shouting aimlessly.
“How did you spot me, back then in the bar?” I finally ask her, trying to act all casual, one hand in my pocket, the other one holding my drink. But even before I finish my question I already regret having asked it since I must come across like a completely insecure twat.
“I told you. You looked so sweet”, she says and there’s a comforting undertone in her voice as if she were to say that I might be insecure. But not a twat.
Silence again. I sip away on my drink and keep gazing out of the window. Luckily I’m quite hammered by now. She gets up from the sofa and comes over to me. She sticks her hand under my shirt and softly caresses my back. An electric shock runs all the way through me. My knees bend. Next thing I know are our mouths stuck on each other’s. Tongues rampaging. Hands fumbling. We’re lying entwined on the floor. Nothing really matters anymore. My dear, precious playlist has morphed into merely the echoing, squirming stutter from a far far away galaxy.

Multiple orgasmic waves shoot through my pent-up nervous system. We’re glowing. We’re splashed out on the floor like stranded, sticky seaweed. I don’t know what I’m doing at all, everything just happens. Our tongues snake in an out of whatever orifice they can possibly find. Legs part. Nipples contort. Cheeks shiver. We’re melting together. We’re forming a unit. We’re lost in each other and my flat has become a waiting lounge for all sorts of heavenly noise transmissions. We groan, utter, hiss, sigh. Everything is blurred. Everything is spinning. Our skins have become so incredibly sensitive that we squeak and convulse with even the gentlest of touches. Another series of orgasmic waves shoots through my body and leaves a sugary afterglow crystallising into our mutual aura. I feel that I want to totally give up myself, hand over my life to this person I’ve just met. Unconditionally. Wholeheartedly. Irrevocably.

And just before I can completely immerse myself into this feeling, sullenly, lusciously slide into it, I spot through my dreary, faint eyes how Amanda – one hand rapturously grabbing my member – suddenly reveals long, pearl-white canine teeth with her smile. They’re very long. I haven’t noticed before. And as she slowly sinks them into the skin of my steeled shaft – with delirious lust in her glazed, spaced-out eyes – I don’t think at all that I’m hallucinating this. I’m also not scared or shocked or repulsed in any way whatsoever. Instead I simply can’t stop shivering with delight. There’s a brief, tangy sting reverberating from her bite all the way to the lower end of my spine and then hot waves of pleasure radiate throughout my whole body. Several orgasmic explosions, different this time, spark up my brain again. My face is gleaming lasciviously. I’m burning. She’s still grabbing my shaft, thin rivulets of blood pour down her hand. Her mouth comes up towards mine. Our tongues meet. She bites into my lips, without the sting, without the blood and we just suck on each other. ‘Eat me, you beautiful demon’, I’m thinking and at the same time burst out laughing in ecstasy. I can hear my playlist again, but I’ve never heard it that way before. I’m transformed. I’ve become a new person. Another wave of orgasms and laughter. And then I fall back into the floor, deep, dark, dreary. I spread out my arms and legs as wide as i can. Whatever you want from me, whatever you need. Take it all, baby. I’m all yours. Truly and wholly yours. I suppose, till death us part or something, hahahahaha.


When I wake up she’s gone. The withdrawal symptoms hit me with sheer phenomenal power. I’m cringing, cuddling up myself. I’m shaking, shivering. Cold sweat. My heart is beating erratically. My nerves are itching with unspecifiable cravings. Somehow I manage to get out of bed. I try to shake off the nagging feeling of loss. The amount of sadness and despair almost makes me go down to the floor and die. I swallow a couple of Aspirins, take a long hit off the bong I keep to my rescue for generally unsettling conditions. I drag myself to the kitchen and whack up some scrambled eggs. Then I wash it all down with a few shots of vodka before I force myself to eventually hit the street. I’m walking on snakes and diving through aliens but somehow make my way down to the studio. Frank is there and it’s very good to see him although I have to rush to the toilet and vomit before I can even say hello. He usually doesn’t say very much anyway but he remains completely silent when he sees the state I’m in. I try to work but not getting anything done. We load up a track entitled ‘Prime Harvest’ which we’ve been working on for the past couple of days. He’s done bits and pieces since yesterday and plays it to me and I pretend to be listening but Amanda’s smile keeps cutting into my brain sharply. Her smell. Her skin. Her passion. The track has ended and I haven’t even realised. I sincerely apologise to Frank who looks at me with his child’s eyes. As usual his pupils are already at this time of the day stretching across the entire iris. I know he’s normally cool with things. “I’m really, really sorry, man. I’m completely fucking wasted. Most intense experience I’ve ever had”, I mumble. “Just carry on, sounds all cool to me”. Then I feebly totter my way out of the studio. He doesn’t answer. “See you tomorrow.”

On the street again. It’s about lunchtime. People are heading for food stalls, hungry stomachs wanting to be filled. I drift into the next available bar and order a quadruple Jack Daniel’s. Oozing into it. Drowning myself in self-pity. I check my phone. Yes, I do have her number. It wasn’t all just a dream. Everything is cool, Tom. You just need to keep it all nicely together up there. Keep it all tight. I wave for another couple of rounds.

Back in front of my door I have trouble putting the key through the keyhole. It’s become quite late. Midnight? I plunge into the flat as the door finally opens. Kick shut it. Then crawl all the way to the mini-bar. Glug glug glug. I fill a whole cognac ball with vodka and off you go. Zoning out. Waking up semi-naked on the floor. The withdrawal symtoms are still there, haven’t ceased a bit really. Nagging. Itching. Craving. Perhaps even more than ever before. Also a headache has mingled in in the meantime. For fuck’s sake. I crawl to the bathroom to fetch some more Aspirin. In the mirror I’m shocked about how awful I look. Both my eyes are pitch black. Blood vessels staining the white bits like nasty, poisonous cobwebs. I’m falling apart. I faint. Clinging to the sink I slide down to the tiles. It’s pretty obvious that I can’t live on like this. I’m done. Finished. She’s completely got me. Enraptured, hahaha. I lie there for I have no idea how long.

But it’s fine. I’ve found my master. I’m in love for the first time. Lying here naked, on the freezing floor of my bathroom, I’m drooling and drunk and fight off the most unbearable withdrawal symptoms I’ve ever had in my life. But whenever I think of HER, Amanda, the most staggeringly beautiful girl slash vampire, I’m rising. I’m suddenly awake. And all those ideas turn up in my head. Tracks, already perfectly written. It doesn’t matter who I am anymore. All I want is to surrender, be with her again. And as feelings turn into ideas, ideas form into decisions, I’m slowly becoming myself again. I’m starting to smile. The withdrawal symptoms miraculously fade. Even the fierce headache is almost gone, leaving behind only a distant memory of how miserable my whole life has thus far been.

A few hours later I’m leaving the elevator and step onto the corridor which leads up to her door. My legs are shaking as I knock. She’s naked underneath her scarlet-red silk robe and peels off my own clothes like the skin of an overripe apricot. And then I’m inside her and she groans and I’m zoning out again in bliss. The familiar electric waves of pleasure. Everything is sticky and wet. Blood, sweat, saliva, cunt juice or cum – I don’t know, I don’t care. This is going to be my life from now on. I’m completely, utterly hooked. And as we look at each other, giggling and smiling and shivering with bliss, I know that she’s going to take my life away from me, bit by bit devour it. And I tell you what – it doesn’t matter. Not now and not anytime in the future. It’s all cool, baby, love of my life. I’ve arrived where i belong to. I’m here with you. I’m the happiest person in the world.

Reinhard Schleining

London, August 2007
© 2007, all rights reserved

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(the following is another example of the kind of VISUAL content we are interested in running. anything which pushes the boundaries, bring it on …)



image by reinhard schleining
© 2004 – 2005, all rights reserved