introducing essay

it was in august 2001, when i was working for a big pharmacy company in my hometown. i was working on a machine on three-shift system. it was not such a bad job and the work was easy, but also boring sometimes. especially the nightshift. so i fell asleep on nightshift very often. to avoid that, a good workmate lent me his sonic seducer magazine. like me, he came into the punk and wave-gothic scene in the beginning of the 80th. i was reading a small note, right on the first page of the magazine, that Gregory-John Mc Cormick, alias Itchy of the detroit punkrock band Shock Therapy, was incarcerated in a michigan prison since march 2000, for lit a fire on a pile of trash at an abandoned house. he had trouble with the owner of the house, for all i know. Gregory was set on parole and charged to rot in that prison for 5 to 20 years, with a chance for release on parole not before 5 years have passed. there were annual parole board hearings. i have known the band, i loved the band. i never was a fan from any band on this planet, but Shock Therapy and their music came close to what i would describe as one of my favorite bands. i have gotten my first ep-album of the band in 1986 thru an import from great britain, costless. my first own bought and paid album was "my unshakeable belief" in 1987.

 

i once met gregory and his gang at the "neumarkt" in cologne. it was like a small marketplace. a meeting spot for a bunch of punks, gothics, homeless, drugdealers and junkies. that was in 1994 or 1995. i cannot remember so well. he was walking with his gang towards the "neumarkt", wearing black leather pants, a black pullover, a black irish cap and very old chucks. i was on the way to my job in an office at the cologne job center and standing at the traffic light on an intersection with my black Vespa, when gregory and his gang passing by. i realized it was him and i said, "hey itchy!" and he turned his head and answered obviously astonished, "hey?". we shaked hands while i was waiting for the red traffic light to change. i told him my name and he forced me to take a sip from a cold bottle of sekt. i hate sekt! he was carrying the bottle like a pirate treasure. he then invited me to come with him and his gang to the "neumarkt" to drink some bottles of whatever alcohol comes floating by. i told him, that i would have no time to stay and that i am on the way to the work at the office of the local job center. he doubtfully looked over me, a black styled wave-punk on a black Vespa, who tried to tell him, that this guy, me, would have a job in an office? i promised him to come to the "neumarkt" later, once my work has been done, but after i finished, he and his gang wasn´t there anymore. too bad, because that remained to be the first and last time we have met in person.

 

now i was sitting at the nightshift in august 2001, six years later, and was reading this small note at the music magazine. i read, that nearly no one would send gregory a letter to prison and he is feeling very lonely. underneath the note there was an address, to which anyone reading this note could send him letters. my american-english started to rust a little bit. i was only "Hauptschüler" and only in that b-class of the school. b, standing for "bonkers"! but my english was good enough to write him a first letter. i received a letter back from gregory in september 2001. i remember i was proud to get the letter. i was constantly drunk, addicted to absinth and not in charge anymore, with the whole rotten humanity. at least not with my own german tribe. my opinions and feelings were, to better fight and die for the irish republican army, than for any of the corrupt german politics or any stubborn and selfish citizen of germany. and these are still my opinions and feelings for germany. i was listening to irish music and punkrock too. gregory liked that statement of mine, somehow! i never imagined, not in my wildest dreams, what would follow after that. our exchange of letters became something constant, his "to do list" for me, evolved more and more into a "tons to do" list. we exchanged letters to each other every second or third week. the airmail sometimes needed a full week before our letters arrived at the receiver. i still have more than 600 pages of letters, that gregory sent to me. and another handwritten book-script called "more apokalyptical shit of itchy wiggle christ". and i hold the copyrights for more than 80 of his paintings.

 

only one time, gregory and i have had real trouble with each other for a longer period of time. a crazy girl named "steffi m." sent loveletters to gregory in prison. he fell in love with that girl and was willing to give her more than 2000 euros. money, that we needed so badly to pay the first attorney. money, that gregory was given from frank d. a. as an "advance" for a cd-compilation. the girl disappeared with the money! only two weeks before that shit happened, gregory begged me to send flowers via fleurop to this steffi. and he also begged me to add a small and nice card to the flowers, with the words "these flowers are from gregory and ralf". i was jobless at that time and nearly totally broke. so i spent my last money and sent flowers to her. right after she received the flowers, she wrote a letter to gregory, and informed him, that i would try to "stalk" her!? i never stalked a girl and i surely never will!

 

gregory could have been insanely jealous. and the irish men are well known to be very protective. he was american-irish. gregory menaced to start legal actions against me, attorney-shit and police-bla bla. i wasn´t very impressed. i promised, to beat the shit out of him, once he is back in germany. and that was reason enough for him, and me, to stop our correspondence for more than a half year. after more than six months i received a very big letter from gregory, filled with words of excuses. he already noticed, that his "steffi" was only a bad egg.

 

we started writing to each other again. i sent money on christmas to him, so he was able to buy warm winter boots, chocolate chips, peanut butter and more. i sold all of the paintings, he created in prison, to collect money for the attorney. at that time i contacted more than 10.000 people all over the world. hundreds of bands from different music scenes, music magazines, TV channels, former friends and band members, relatives and buddies, a lot of message boards and internet communities. i never creeped in somebodies ass before, but i learned to do that for gregory. i have done it for a length of 7 1/2 years. very often i sat in my little apartment underneath the roof,with my lame internet connection, up to ten hours a day, six days a week, to help him somehow. and so much happened within these years. some of what i tried was a pure waste of time, other, at least, helped me to stick it out. often i was close to resign and quit all my efforts. gregory´s letters were full of suicide menaces, once i would quit my efforts to help him. on the other hand, his lists of "tons to do" became more and more extensive. i simply couldn´t quit helping him.

 

at that time i got unexpected help of ingrid knetsch, a close friend of shane macgowan and the band "the pogues". ingrid is managing the official shane macgowan website. she helped shane with an online-petition against an ex-management, shane was in trouble with. back in the beginning of the year 2000, i didn´t even know, what a petition is good for. i associate it with something political. i was able to open up a bottle of beer with my teeth and to puke on the roof of my apartment. i signed ingrid´s petition to help shane and ingrid helped me to start my first own petition to help gregory. the "free itchy petition" was born and caused me a lot of extra-business for many month. beside the good ones appearing in my petition to help gregory, there were a lot of idiots doubting the success of my petition or anything else i was doing to help gregory go free from prison. some of them even appeared in my e-mail account. they tried to criticize me for what i am doing. after i begged them to send me contructive improvement suggestions, they disappeared and never seen again. some people offered me to help, even so i never asked them for help. they all promised me to help and stay on my side for the next month or until gregory is freed. after they had calmed down their own inner conscience they disappeared too. i was more than proud to see, who signed the "free itchy petition". markus kavka of mtv, nearly all of the members of "the pogues", a hundred of bands from the punk and wave-gothic scene and many many more.

 

then i had the idea to start a benefit sampler cd for gregory. first i had the idea to do this with bands of the punk-scene. my idea was, to beg some bands to do coversongs of shock therapy music. a lot of bands sent me their demo-tapes and nice little gifts like their own cd´s, t shirts and little bottles of schnaps. it was manfred schiek, of dossier records, one of gregory´s old labels in berlin, who gave me the okay to produce the cd. it was the first i ever worked on. unfortunately manfred didn´t liked the idea to do the benefit-cd with bands of the punk-scene. so i selected some bands out of 30 bands of the wave-gothic and ebm scene and we produced the benefit-cd. i could fill a whole book with actions, me and my friends have done to help gregory go free from the prison hell-hole. some things fortunately happened, other unfortunately not. it was an inner fight with myself and it is a quarrel with myself, but gregory´s dad has done nothing to help his son out of prison. he gave him a call once a week and sent him a little TV set to prison, that´s all. i gave his dad so many calls over the 7 1/2 years. i don´t know why glenn acted like that and maybe i do him wrong, but there was nothing coming from gregory´s dad. while his dad was doing nothing, more and more people in germany, michigan and other parts of the world was willing to help me.

 

i wish to thank my best friend, fabian schlupp from arnsberg, who sent letters to gregory, encouraged me to stay strong, and who was always reliable. inka reitzel, a very good old friend of gregory and me, who met him several times. sven matzner of the band »nautilus 2« from goslar. raimund j. höltich (suicide society) who is a great artist from hamburg, germany. carsten klatte, founder of the german bands "lacasa del cid" and "widukind", former guitarplayer in "project pitchfork" gave me a call and has done a real good cover of an old tom waits song together with n.u. unruh of "einstürzende neubauten", for the benefit-cd. i sat on my ass, together with roland bies of the band »blood for eve«, darrin huss and per-anders kurenbach (psyche), endless thirteen hours in a german discothek to sell gregory´s paintings, in a kind of exhibition. myk jung of »the fair sex« and tina of »endless records« were there too. per-anders kurenbach gave a lot of money for the attorney, he lent from a friend. nils sinatsch of "eternal nightmare/neon insect" collected whole lists of signatures for the petition at his concerts. the guys of medienkonverter (german e-zine) wrote a great review for the cd, and the infrarot webshop helped to sell the cd. there were a lot of people in online communities and forum which donated their last cents to help as much as they can. i am ashamed, because i cannot list all of the people which done anything, or at least tried to help a bit. i even received a donation from a seriously ill lady from beavercreek, oregon, mrs. barbara dougan, and sherry swiney of p.a.t.r.i.c.k. crusade in alabama. i was willing to help more and more organizations who worked and still work in the prisoner and human rights section. i signed their petitions and helped them with letters for prisoners, and they helped me.

 

at the same time i received more "tons to do" lists from gregory, who was seriously ill in prison. he suffered from constant migraine headaches, he puked and shitted blood, and lost a lot of weight. it was a real horror sometimes and more work, i´ve had done in my whole life. more work, as i was able to handle sometimes. a small german music magazine wrote, that amnesty international helped to free gregory from prison. that is absolutely bullshit! amnesty never done anything to help us. i first contacted their US headquarter and they told me, they wouldn´t help a "common criminal"! then i contaced their german headquarter, which told me, they couldn´t do anything and i should better contact amnesty usa! then i contacted amnesty ireland and tried to tell them, what gregory has done for ireland in the past. they had, at least, balls enough to wish me "good luck with the brother in a foreign land"! gregory has spent a lot of time in ireland.

 

my numerous contacts with prisoner rights organizations led me to the point, where i found doug tjapkes from michigan. he was a former broadcast journalist and a real smart gentlemen. he was kind, friendly and calm. and the right person i needed at that time to stay sane and calm too. he was running his own little prisoner rights organization, Humanity for Prisoners, the former Innocent!, in michigan and helped his afro-american friend, maurice carter, who was incarcerated in a prison, for a crime he did not commit, far to long. doug and i helped each other over the following years. often doug wasn´t even able to pay his own bills for the next office rent or the stuff he needed for his office. two of the attorneys i have paid with our money, wasn´t able to free gregory. i donated the last bit of money i had to doug tjapkes, so he was able to start working to free gregory more intensive. doug sometimes needed gasoline for his old studebaker, so he could drive to the prison and speak for gregory at his annual parole board hearings. on the second hearing, two years after he started to help, doug tjapkes was successful at the parole board and was able to finally free gregory from the prison hell-hole.

 

gregory already suffered a lot in prison. he was mentally and physically wrecked. he constantly suffered from migraine headaches and a never ending cold. very often i thought, these are the symptoms people get, when they develope cancer. he couldn´t stop his depressions and thoughts of suicide anymore. he lost blood every time, when he was vomitting and shitting. 8 years in prison were far to much for him. you can´t lock a tiger in a cage such a long time, and even half a year is to much for a free living / free thinking soul like gregory. i already knew, that no doctor or medicine in this world would help to wipe out the inflicted damage. just a few hours after he was released from prison, it was in april 2008, gregory gave me a call and we talked and laughed a lot. and we phoned a lot of times then. sometimes for hours or the whole night. i remember, i received a telephone bill from my provider, and wasn´t able to pay it. all the years, it was a hard work for me, to keep gregory away from committing suicide and to beg him to stay strong, until he would be back in good old germany, where he lived a lot of years. sometimes i wrote/talked more softly with him, other times i needed to be more harsh, to make an appeal to his proudness. it was an impossed restriction by the michigan parole board, that gregory shouldn´t leave the country for the next two years, after he was released. sanctioned by his probation officer. gregory´s dad couldn´t give him a room in his house, because his new wife hatred gregory and wasn´t willing to let him even stay in the house for only one day.

 

gregory was more or less without a home. he could sleep here and there, but only for a couple of days. i suggested to him, to sleep in a halfway house, until i would find anything for him, but he won´t. i contacted a lot of people in need to help him, finding a place to sleep. then gregory begged me to come to michigan. at that time i was mentally ill, too. the whole situation over the 7 1/2 years, was to much for me. my local job office covered me with a lot of shitty jobs and so i decided to make a deal with a bank, to get the money for a master in house painting. i was more than broke after i signed for the master school. how could i afford the money to visit gregory in michigan, without having any money? i wasn´t even able to buy me a ticket to fly to frankfurt, germany! so i asked keith jackson, co-founder of shock therapy. his brother was working for an airline. maybe he was able to help me with a flight ticket? but keith couldn´t do anything! after that, gregory and i asked glenn mc cormick, gregory´s dad, for help, to lend me, at least, the money for a ticket. but as always, glenn did nothing! i don´t know, if glenn was out of money himself? was he just afraid to help? maybe he thought, i would get in deep trouble, when i fly to michigan and could get incarcerated too? i have had some letters with the (former) governor of michigan, jennifer granholm!

 

like so many times before, i was completely alone with my help for gregory. no one was willing to help in any way. so i thought it is best to take away the money i have gotten from my bank to pay the master school and buy a ticket to michigan, instead of visiting my course. i was close to quit my master school, when suddenly i received the message, that gregory has died. the police found him, frozen to death and drunken, in a field not far away from his dad´s house. that was on the 5th of november in 2008. remember, remember, the 5th of november! i will never forget that day! i don´t know, if he committed suicide, but i think so. he was simply tired of doing another two years, before he would be able to leave the usa for germany. gregory´s half-sister, beth, informed me, that they found gregory with a smile in his face. right, as he predicted it in his now following book "the gospel of itchy wiggle christ".

 

i became mentally very ill. the death of my friend was unbelieveable for me. i couldn´t understand it for many month. i left the fulltime master school course and switched over into a weekend course, to be able to finish it, many month later. gregory´s widow, sabina, and i talked by the phone right after gregory was dead. she was weeping for hours and i wasn´t able to talk much with her. i was speechless. so i sat there on my phone, and listened to her. what more could i do? i wasn´t able to talk, to think, or to feel anything other but disappointment. my mother was weeping, after ingrid knetsch informed her about gregory´s passing. i couldn´t speak with my own mother about that. the work of 7 1/2 years for what? for nothing?

 

gregory´s last will and testament was, that a part of his ashes will buried at the blue stack mountains in donegal, ireland. so i asked glenn mc cormick again, the guy that i started to hate, because he had done nothing to help his son. only glenn and gregory´s widow were authorized by law to care for the tranport of his ashes to ireland. but, glenn simply ignored us! each death row inmate would get his right for a last wish, and even the last wish of his own son, was to much for gregory´s dad. gregory was far away from being a death row inmate! his ashes "rests" now in a hole at a michigan cemetery, the place, gregory started to hate so much, during his far to long incarceration.

 

gregory (sean) mc cormick was born on the 30th of may in 1964 in michigan, and he died on the 5th of november 2008 in michigan. he was only 44 years old. one and a half year after gregory was buried, i finished my painter school and opened up a very small company, like a sole trader business. i needed two new bank accounts, for private and business. the bank sent me computer generated PIN´s for the account. one of the PIN´s contained gregory´s birthday, the other one his date of death. coincidence? we still have a spiritual connection!

 

in august 2010 i was forced to get my first cardiac pacemaker. i lost my house painter company. i am more than poor today. but this is germany! the land, where angela m. is serving the drinks for her friends at the bar of the hotel bilderberg! we have even homeless craftsman, attorneys and former businessmen sleeping under the bridge! my heart is weak and i don´t know, if i will make it thru the next four or five years. i am mentally and physically ill. like gregory was, when he died. i try to leave germany in the next two or three years. i will definately end my life in ireland. i don´t know, how to "manage" it, but i surely will. i´m not able to transport gregory´s ashes to the blue stack mountains myself, but i will carry a part of his soul to the place, he loved so well, enclosed in my own body!

 

i have never betrayed gregory nor he had done this to me. he was far away from being an altar boy or a saint. for the committing of his arson, he sometimes walked thru hard times with me. and i judged him several times for the shit he has done in his life, in my letters to him.

 

i might not have the right to judge a friend or to tell him, what he shall do. but i have the duty to tell him, when i see anything, i think, he had done wrong in his life, he should better think of next time. you can find new "friends" on each corner of the streets and celebrate a party with as much people as you like. but which of your friends will stay on your side, once the party is over? gregory´s incarceration was an example for what can happen to all of you, once the party is over. better learn from it!

 

let him who is without sin cast the first stone!

 

captain ralf dellhofen, 05. November 2017
     leverkusen, west germany

 

1. The Gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ

05. July 2004

dreams of longing, tragedy. crying and reaching for hope. notes from those who miss me, begging me to come back, and i am helpless - i can´t even tell them, that i miss them. so much is lost in these years of nothingness. i am living in a twillight existence, where time stands still and life is only a facsimile of what was once real to me. i don´t feel myself growing older, i don´t feel anything. my emotional state is total shock. everyday, further assaults on my senses heep me permanently in fear, where my eyes, when i look at myself in the scratched and filthy mirror, appear as those of an animal that had been beaten severely and repeatedly. i do not think that even being beaten physically could be as bad as the mental beating i go through every day, every moment. i would prefer a physical torture session on a daily basis, if only i could be let alone for the rest of the day. i hate the monsters in here. i hate what humanity has become, if this is even humanity. i need to remind myself that what is in here is the very lowest scum of what "man" has become. my stomach hurts, my brain twitches from constant migraines, blood is spewing out my ass. i think this place is going to give me cancer. i only hope that i will get cancer - a really particularly nasty and quick version, so i can be released from this hell.

 

i see the sparrows flying up to and onto long stalks of flowers. they hang on to the tops and the wind blows them back and forth. they look like they are having fun, like they are on their own carnival ride. they look down on the ground and look for bugs to eat, or clover to munch on. i love to watch them. they make me feel that there is some goodness left in this otherwise nasty fucking world.

 

8 murders in the city of detroit over a 24 hour period, on july 4, the birthday of the wonderful country of the united states. i woke up with the soviet union national anthem ringing through my head. some kind of submarine dream, red october shit? i have no idea where my dreams come from sometimes. detroit is the murder capitol of the lovely united states. detroit is a warzone, but no one cares. why should they ?

 

there once was a turtle who knew he could beat the cocky rabbit in a foot race. he knew he could outsmart the rabbit, the rabbit was overconfident. the turtle was old and wise. when it came time for the race, the turtle never showed up. he stayed in his cave, and even pulled his arms, legs and head inside his shell. the turtle didn´t care to outsmart the rabbit. the turtle didn´t care to race. he only wanted to be left alone. inside his shell, deep in the turtle´s cave, he hummed a little tune to himself and chuckled to himself as all the animals looked for the turtle and the rabbit gloated that the turtle was too afraid to race. the turtle continued to laugh to himself as he hummed the russian national anthem.

 

what but could i only be transported to the ninth century, to live in ireland and be a celtic warrior, perhaps a king of my own land, with many children and goats and a beautiful wife. i would keep bees and make mead from their honey, and keep cows for their milk and grow magic mushrooms on their cowshit. i would be happy and free - and free from the chaos and pain of this modern world. evolution and technology and unnatural laws imposed on people at the end of a gun. it makes me think that there is no real point to this current life of mine.

 

no obligation required. no need to care. i see you are all having such a good time that i think i will join you. or i will make a quick exit from this planet, become one with the void. i´d like to ask you a question. tell me what you saw. the maw of the vulcano opens and swallows me whole. the lava flows, bleeding out the essence. hail, hail, fire and snow, call the angel we all know. the rest will be our enemies. the universe will be mine to command, and yours to play in. the lava flows thru my veins, it too can bleed out onto the ground. slowly, slipping me into the void, the void, the void. i cannot be expected to tolerate much more of this. there is a vase holding a flower. the flower is my love. the vase is my life, the water in the vase my spirit. there is a crack in the vase, because the vase has been broken many times before, and always repaired, but the vase can only be broken and repaired so many times. there is water leaking out the small cracks in the vase. the water flows onto the ground, evaporates, never to be seen again.

 

some hippy hit me in my car once. it was seven in the morning. the hippy was high on pot. my neck was broken, the hippy´s back was broken. my car was a complete wreck. i wore a neck contraption for weeks, i was in great pain. my neck was not broken bad enough to warrant my never being able to walk, but it did leave me with a terrible inclination towards pot-smoking hippys. actually i hate them. i do not like smoking pot. it makes me tired and sick. perhaps i am having a memory flashback of my accident. perhaps i just can see no real point in getting stupid and dull from smoking pot, or i don´t want to ever be so stupid as some fuck-head long-haired faggot hippy. whatever the reason, it doesn´t matter much. i like drinking bushmills irish whiskey. doing so makes me feel happy and energetic and warm inside. not too many hippys drink bushmills. not to many people i know actually drink bushmills, it tends to be too strong. that´s okay, it sets me apart from the rabble, and leaves more for me.

 

there is a beast inside us all. show that beast to a person, and you show that person the very essence of their greatest fear. who is the beast but what we ourselves are made up of, deep inside? we fear ourselves most of all.

 

there are many lasting impressions in my life. things i did, things that were done to me. so many memories crash thru my conscious mind and also permeate my sub-conscious, my dreams. even when i try not to dream, the memories flood my mind, constantly turning over and over at a 1000 miles per hour, as if i were a car with it´s gear box in neutral, and the engine is revving at it´s highest and beyond, ready to overblow itself.

 

so many of my mistakes haunt me and trouble me. so much unresolved shit, things i wish i did not do, but which i can do nothing to change now, and probably never. there is a deep guilt inside me, that which i feel for what i´ve done to others, and even more that which i´ve done myself. i cannot forgive myself.

 

i believe i will spend the rest of my life regretting what i have done. there are some things i regret that i wish i had done, but since i´ve done so much in my life, good and bad, there´s not so much to regret. it´s only the effect of what i´ve done. but would i have been better off hiding my head in the sand and never doing a thing? perhaps, but it´s too late now. i´m fucked.

 

i was at a party once, long ago, at ann arbor michigan. it was in a house where there was a lot of acid being passed around, a very strong kind of acid that was apparently more of a "designer" type of LSD. the sister of my roadie, her name was dominique, gave it to me. she was a strange girl, very short and thin, but cute and very punk-rock styled, smart, sort of bold. i liked her. she gave me the acid on a vitamin c tablet, and it hit me very quickly.

 

i completely lost my senses, i was unsure of what was happening, until dominique and i were driving in my car to another house outside the city in the country. the next thing i remember i was in the back of this house. i don´t know how i managed to drive my car! and it was warm and humid, with a mist over a vegetable garden. the sky looked purple, and the plants and grass were glowing electric green. i was hallucinating out of my skull.

 

next i knew, i was laying naked in the garden, dominique was naked as well and laying on top of me, we were fucking, and laughing, and eating peppers of the plants as we fucked. this went on for seeming hours. sometimes it feels like love, and this felt like love. next i had my clothes on and was driving home, without dominique. i felt extreme paranoia. and i don´t remember getting home. i never saw her again, except in a movie dominique was in a few years later, "ruthless people". she played a pregnant girl in a stereo store, a non-speaking part, but i was happy to see she did well. she had moved to hollywood after our incident, and i don´t know what she is doing now, but i saw her movie again last night. it brought a lot of feelings back, and memories of that night, i wonder what dominique is doing now.

 

so many people think, i´m a total chaotic violent madman. many do not trust me. many are never sure what i´m going to do next. they may be right. i´m not ever sure what i am going to do next. it always amazes me tho, that so many people, even the ones who are supposedly close to me, are so apprehensive about interacting with me. as if no one trusts me completely. i´m not sure why - except for my total hardline against trust and being hurt. i will trust someone, once i decide to trust them, completely - until they screw it up - and then all trust is removed. i never trust them again. so many people have screwed it up with me, tho. maybe it is knowing that i take such a hard line that makes people apprehensive to ever get too close to me in the first place. nobody realizes that inside i am so utterly vulnerable. i am so easily hurt, and i am so horribly afraid of everything. it seems that everything has hurt me - animate and inanimate. i cry at the thought of a toy i had as a child. i wonder what happened to that toy. i miss it. i can´t even begin to think about a pet that died - and the people i´ve known and loved who died. THEY HURT ME. i´m in pain from all the loss, i´m in constant pain. lost toys, lost animals, lost people. and then the ones i know wonder why the hell i find it so hard to trust. it´s because i am afraid of losing them, too. they mean that much to me.

 

all my life has been defined by one incidence of pain followed by another. any happy times i´ve had are only the filler in between the moments of pain. it´s hard to imagine how i have managed to cope with it. i have not coped too well, obviously. if only i could somehow get to a point where i could just have a year without being pummeled by the horrors of life, or even a month. maybe a day. even one hour. but it is not to be so, not at this juncture in my life. everytime i think life has gotten as bad as it could possibly be, it gets worse and worse. there is no respite. one would think, that if i get to the lowest point, that i could go no lower. but believe me, dear reader - life is a sadistic torturer, and it finds ways to destroy the spirit further - there is an abyss, a bottomless pit of hell of pain waiting beneath us all. we cannot even imagine how bad it could possibly be. the only consolation we have is to obliterate the mind, so the pain in the spirit cannot filter through, so we are unaware of the reality of how brutal life really is.

 

i am a pirate, sailing the irish sea. i raid english trading vessels, loot them and capture the crew, selling them as slaves. i am a cut-throat bloodthirsty pirate, with a golden ring in my ear, a buckler sword at my side, and a love for rum. i need a drink.

 

i watched a sparrow that was pecking around a small flower garden. he saw some bees flying around a yellow tiger-lilly. he sprang up from the ground and snatched one of the bees in his beak and flew back down. he then started mangling the bee and trying to swallow it whole, but the bee was too big, so the sparrow flew off with it. i was a bit shocked, because i feed the sparrows everyday with bread from my own meals. i call the sparrows my "finchees", and i love them dearly. to me, they are the most beautiful things in my life. so it was shocking to me to see one of my finchees so brutally attack an innocent bee. i was not aware that finchees ate bugs. i thought they were vegetarians.

 

i am vegetarian, so there was a kind of connection. maybe bees are not exactly "meat", but i still would never eat a bee. bees are alive and they wiggle. i do not eat anything that ever wiggled. i like bees, also. I have had many a thought as of late about one day having some bees colonies to make honey - in which i would then make mead. The bees would go well with my idea of having goats and making feta cheese from their milk. i like feta cheese and honey and mead. i like bees and sparrows too, but not to eat. well, maybe that finchee really didn´t want to eat the bee. i didn´t see him actually eat the bee after all, he just fucked it up a bit. maybe that finchee was a sort of "Hannibal Lecter" sparrow. i don´t know.

 

i got a note from the doctor today. it said i had an abnormality in my recent tests. i hope it is something terrible. i´m getting tired of all this stupid shit.

 

what kind of a person would do a thing like that ? a very sick person. a very disturbed person i´m on a winning streak. the frog is green, the tongue that licks it belongs to a very tempting woman. it´s the irresistable taste that can only come from a crazed addicted hop-head, my kind of girl. if you could do it all over again, would you ? FUCK NO. it is putting it lightly that i regret ever been born. struggling thru life every fucking moment. breathing is painful. exploitation of my life energy. i´m tired. i need to sleep but i´m afraid of my nightmares. i haven´t shit for days on end. the last time i did i lost at least a liter of blood out my ass. i´ve had a constant pounding migraine headache and a subtle nausea. and a huge shadow of foreboding doom looming over my soul. i cannot rely or ask on any god to help me out of the mess i´ve found myself in.

 

They don´t care, or they are not there. i must take it all into my own hands. my soul cries for the kiss of the beautiful woman who will transform my frog existence into something i could finally bear. but this is a dream and a fantasy, and it may as well be a plea to the gods. it won´t come true, either.

 

i´ve drank an awful lot of guinness in my 40 years. a lot of whiskey, too, mostly irish. i think it is the only way i´ve been able to handle it all. i understand why people drink and do even stronger drugs - it´s to escape the fate of living. it is otherwise unbearable without something to drown out the horror and boredom and uselessness. i would like a cool pint of guinness right now. i miss it. i could use a little obliteration of reality. since booze of any kind is not forthcoming, i will go to sleep. hopefully no dreams or nightmares. just a nice long comatose death-sleep. good night, world.

 

now the day begins to find me still deeply mired in my melancholy. this is everyday. the moon is at half at seven in the morning. red-wing blackbirds play on the grass under the tree where i throw bread for them and the finchees. i am the creation of a sadistic god in an insane universe. one wonders how much suffering can be endured by any person, or why. what is the point in prolonging the pain and avoiding the inevitable ? well, the gods of the prison have turned on the lights, it is time for me to paint my glorious pictures - my glimpses of the hell inside my soul.

 

nothing in this world can drive a man faster, take him to greater heights, or destroy him completely like the love of a woman. Only with my love can i stand together to face the forces of darkness in this world. apart and alone in this place, all love and hope escapes me. the prison inside this prison. the walls around the walls. there is no egress, no passage to happiness. endless pain. Komm zu mir, süßer Tod.

 

i am so tired. the wind is blowing like the end of the world. the sun is hiding from me. i feel sick. i´m afraid to shit - i don´t think my body has had the chance to make up for the blood i lost the last time i shit. it´s so hard to sit still. i cannot discuss the results of my symptoms with a doctor. there is no doctor that could fix my ailments. there´s no god, no doctor, no thing that can help me. i am a miserable wretch, i should only be put to sleep like a sick and hopelessly diseased animal. there´s a hole in my gums between my first and second bicuspids, left upper side of my mouth. the hole keeps bleeding and pieces of gum keep coming out of there when i floss everyday. very disheartening, how my body is falling apart piece by piece, physically. but it is nothing compared to how it is falling apart inside me - my soul is rotting like a lump of hamburger sitting out in the sun for three weeks. and it stinks also - that stench is that of a memory of what is rotting. memories of what once was a good soul, but what is now even less than a stinking rotting lump of flesh.

 

a friend told me he had a nightmare about me - that he and i were in a restaurant and he got me drunk and high on pot and beer. he said i was incoherent, and he got me to eat a bite of steak. he is a real fat guy who cannot understand that i am a vegetarian. i was so fucked-up that i took a bite of the steak. one bite. then i started screaming and bright glowing green bile started spewing out of my mouth. i started climbing up the walls like spiderman and growling and vomitting on the restaurant patrons, and they were all screaming in horror. this is the kind of dream i wish i could have, rather than the terrible shit i do have - my nightmares are all full of emotional pain and wanting to be with my family and loved ones.

 

somebody was asking me about amsterdam. so much happened to me in that city. it is hard to recount every detail. i´ve been tattooed in amsterdam, pierced, arrested, had my hair dyed green, taken every drug available on the planet earth. and perhaps some interstellar contraband as well. i´ve had a sex marathon with a 17 year old girl while fried on hash cakes, i´ve been propositioned for sex from a female cop, i´ve been so high on acid that i thought i was a secret agent spy and tried to pounce down onto a tourist cruise ship that was floating past a bridge i was hiding under. so many things.

 

perhaps my favorite time in amsterdam was when i woke up at seven in the morning and took three hits of really strong acid, this blotter type on white with a purple indian "omm" symbol on it. this was tantamount to creating an irrepairable psychotic reaction. and just as the acid started to go to work proper, some 30 to 40 minutes later, i walked to the van gogh museum and got in just as they openned. i sat and looked at vincent´s paintings for hours and hours until they closed. i was talking to vincent the whole time. it was nice. those were happy times. but now they make me sad to think about. this is what life is - up and down.

 

greetings from gregor, patron saint of pain and hopeless causes. it´s time for the death of all senses, a trip to the land of noddy blinkers. death in the afternoon. i took a nap and now death in the night. the escape from this horrid reality into the dreams, the nightmares, the crashing upon my spirit of all my unfinished mental business and unresolved conflicts. i´m always looking for the mental escape. where do i get my sanity? can it fit into a garbage bag? which recycling container do i put it into? i want to be sure, because i wouldn´t want the german garbage polizei to give me a 500 dollar ticket for disposing of my sanity an improper manner. i watched a TV show about some amis trying to find hitler´s bunker in berlin. hmm. it made me think about my time in berlin. again, so many things happened. truly a wonderful and terrible experience. but more good than bad. i drank a lot of champagne that i stole from the grocery down the street. i didn´t even need to steal the champagne, i had thousands of dollar with me that i carried around in my pocket, loose, no wallet. i just stole the champagne cause i was bored and because i could. plus, i didn´t like the price. it was too expensive.

 

i could afford it, but i still thought it too much. there were many brands of champagne, or "sekt" i should say, but i exclusively stole only "mumm". it is very good, and very dry. i was shit-faced night and day and certainly every morning on that stuff. i had to lug the bottles up 5 floors of a real ancient building where my apartment was. i usually stole seven bottles, i had special pockets hidden under my ankle-length black trenchcoat. the bottles would clink and rattle as i walked. i would do this at 8:00 or so in the morning. i did buy a käsebrötchen for 30 pfennig, too. käsebrötchen go well with champagne in the morning. i would get schnockered all morning and write nasty potty stories. then i would see my sometimes girlfriend, a beautiful hippy-kind of girl, she was german but lived in india a long time. she had long brown hair and she was thin but with a very nice body. she was very kind and tolerant of me, and she was funny. we got along well, i liked her. i lost touch with her tho. another regret. i miss a lot of things. i miss my life.

 

there was once a little snail who lived in ireland. he squirmed around in the grass of a field, and he was basically happy, but bored. one day as he was squirming along, he came upon a sidewalk. he saw many big people walking by. he had a sense that the feet of those big people were not good things - those feet could squish him bad. but the sidewalk looked so warm and inviting. the sidewalk would feel good on his slimey underbelly. so the snail took a chance and squirmed onto the sidewalk. a little girl saw him and picked him up before any people could squish him. the little girl´s hand felt even better than the sidewalk, and the snail was happy. the little girl took the snail home with her, she cared for him and played with him all his days, and he was happy.

 

i am the dream-maker, the dreamer of dreams. i am the interpreter of my reality. i am the king of all i see. i am irish royalty, a descendent of king cormac, first great king of ireland. i am a prince.

 

last night i did not have a nightmare. i had a very good dream. i was in a star wars-type universe, and i was a jedi knight. i was on some type of mission, i had a light saber and some kind of special biege-colored commando space suit. i had a female jedi partner with me, she was also my girlfriend. we were on a mission, deep inside an orbiting death-star weapon, a type of huge round space station. we were crawling all over the thing, inside among structural girders, searching for some kind of powerful sphere, a floating metal device about the size of a grapefruit. there were droids and computers and all types of adventure. my partner-girlfriend looked like mara jade, or what i envision her as. long red hair and beautiful but deadly, and smart. somehow the dream changed and i was back on a planet. there was a type of hobby shop that specialized in making alien costumes. i walked into the shop and everyone knew me from my band, and the shop even sold "shock therapy" albums. i was famous as a singer and a jedi knight. what a strange nice dream! i rarely have these, but it was a welcome respite from my usual nightmares. i woke up wondering what the hell i was dreaming, but a quirky smile was on my face, and not the usual where i wake up screaming with tears flowing from my eyes.

 

sunshine and humidity, i fed my birds three times today but i am ill with some kind of light flu. but i ran nonetheless. i don´t really care in the least if i am healthy or not. the doctors here want me to go back in, there are abnormalities in my blood. beautiful, but i won´t let them work on me. if i get sick, so be it. i´ll be free from this hell just that much sooner. i´m ready for a new season in hell. i will now go back to painting. this one is a retard getting puke spewed into it´s ear from some kind of angry alien/god thing. it´s a masterpiece, natürlich.

 

little metallic monster spiders eating at my brain. sucking out my mind. how did i ever t alk them into letting me go? the devil, the god, all nice fairy tales to make it so that mediocre men can stop thinking about what the hell it is all about. i am not retarded nor am i lazy. i continue to think and wonder and torture myself with the question "why?". i have the guts not to accept the norm. i still think, no matter what those little mechanical spider fuckers are doing in my brain.

 

the primary use of venom is for catching dinner, not slaying giants. saturday morning in hell. waffles for breakfast every saturday. something i look forward to. i look forward to not much else, though i can safely predict that i will approach a nervous breakdown everyday. maybe i look forward to death, that would be nice. the end of all my pain.

 

a small beetle insect crawled out of my ear. an earthworm crawled out of my nose. flies flew out of my mouth. locusts flew out my ass. a hole openned up in my chest and my heart squirted out with a bloody plop. a cheetah ran up and snatched my heart and ate it as she ran away. my teeth fell out and i held them in my hand as i stumbled like a cripple through the streets of my life, crying for the end to come. there is no such thing as a second chance, when all i want is for the first chance to end.

 

particles of quantum hate floating in the air. as ions hold a negative or positive charge, tiny hate and love molecules float among us. some collect in areas more than other areas. it is giving me cancer.

 

there was once a weasel who didn´t particularly like to be a weasel. he thought life would be better as a chicken, so he gathered some feathers from around the rooster house and super-glued the feathers to his weasel-fur. he saw himself in a mirror and thought, "i look ridiculous - nothing like a chicken!". so the weasel thought he might be better as a goat, but he couldn´t get the super-glued feathers off his fur, he thought it didn´t matter so much, cause the nice thing about goats is their horns. the weasel snuck up to an old billy goat as he slept and cut off the ends of his horns, took the horn pieces back, and super-glued the horns to his head. he looked again in the mirror and thought, "now i look even more ridiculous!", so he thought he better just leave well enough alone and go back to being a weasel. try and try as he did, tho, the weasel could not get the feathers and horns off his body. he was perplexed, but he was detirmended to go on with his life as he did before. when the other weasels saw him, they thought him extremely strange and were afraid to talk to him. the weasel told them, "i´m still the same underneath all this shit! at least i tried to improve myself, to not be the same old boring weasel as all of you!". at that, the other weasels shunned him because he insulted their weasel-hood, but there was one girl-weasel in the back that he noticed: she was wearing peacock-feathers all around her. the weasel thought they looked beautiful, and from the way the she-weasel was smiling, he knew that she did not shun him for his chicken-feathers and goat horns. they fell in love instantly and ran away to live the rest of their lives together in the forest.

 

america is convincing itself that it is okay to be fat. america believes that god is on their side, so they have every right to blow the shit out of any country they please, for any reason. usually to protect oil interests. america takes away the gun from it´s citizens, or makes it extremely difficult to legally own a gun, yet america knows and allows the ghetto-dwelling monsters to operate almost with impunity using their guns. america knows that the ghetto monsters are too preoccupied with smoking crack to want to take over the government. america is in it´s decline, just as rome once was. i will be happy to see america fall into ruins. it is an evil country. white man be da devil.

 

some kind of enlightened genius bio-chemist needs to come up with a super-deadly virus that will wipe out, very painfully, all the stupid idiots on the planet earth. of course, this would kill 99% of the world, but then us geniuses could breed and create a better breed of human, a breed with no christianity or rap-music or mcdonalds or TV commercials. i could write a whole book on what is stupid and needs to be eliminated from the face of the world, but it would be easier to have a super-killer virus to kill off the idiots. quick, selective, efficient. i would be happy to fund such a project, so if any bio-chemists reading this need money to start working on the idiot-killing virus, let me know. i´m easy to find.

 

i have to be disciplined in my writing. i need to be honest with my shortcomings. i´m deluding myself. i´m sorry, i don´t accept that. i make it a practice to never get into these conversations.

 

the skies begin to fall, the trees are weeping. the sun hides behind boiling angry clouds. one small sparrow sits on a branch and waits for the strange bald-headed man to throw bread onto the ground for his little breakfast. the world is blowing up and evil reigns throughout the hearts of wicked humans all over the planet, but for one small moment, a little breath of happiness pierces thru the gloom. the sparrow flies down when he sees the bread and cheerfully pecks at his meal, and the bald-headed man with the spirit of a child smiles at the happiness. the innocence of the sparrow´s happiness. if only the whole of existence could embrace that bit of innocence. but there is so much ugliness in this world, so much evil. all of the filth would have to be eradicated before any amount of sun could shine. it will never happen, evil is far too powerful.

 

only when one is truly alone and lonely, will the magic of a movie be able to make one´s heart soar. when everything is well, nothing matters.

 

the champion of nothing. the mindless entropy, failure to comply to life´s challenge. no dreams, all hope destroyed. the beauty of one flower in a sea of evil shit. it is pointless, inane, ridiculous. tragedy leads to a desertion of faith. little particles of thought slipping thru the miasma of depression. how to do it, when to do it, will it hurt? will i see my mom? is this what life is for? i´m mentally and spiritually crippled. i see only one end. ich kann nicht mehr.

 

whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers. yea, right. make sure, kiddies, that you never allow the fanatic religious dogma to ever blind you to the fact that life is unjust, unfair, cruel, and pointless. the church makes it a sin to commit suicide only so they can ensure patrons to fill their gold coffers. when you have felt the pain and loss that i have, you will realize that there is very little good reason to stay online. life is defined by a series of tragedies and sadness. any good thing that occurs seems like a breath of fresh air, and one wants more, so one continues to toil through the depression and weakness. the good things in life are addicting. but only when so many terrible things happen can you break the addiction and see life for what it really is: meaningless suffering. heed my words, kiddies. truth lays in the heart of a man with nothing to live for. open your eyes to what you see, welcome death and follow me.

 

there was once a sad little goat. his mother had died and he didn´t know where his father was. he was alone in the forest. many scary animals who wanted to kill and eat him were all around. the little goat cried to himself and didn´t know what to do. he had lost everything in the world that he cared about. the little goat laid down underneath the boughs of a big oak tree and nestled in among it´s strong large roots. the little goat closed his eyes thru his tears and fell asleep. an angel came and took the little goat´s soul away to heaven, where he played amongst all the other happy goats, and he saw his mother looking on happily. there was no more pain or sadness.

 

sunshine burning thru hazy clouds, the head radiation baking my senses. my finchees are fed their lunch, five slices of prison bread, more than i ever eat. the food is poison to me, prolonging my life for no good reason. hunger strike is in order, yet i feel no one would care if i starve myself - only my captors would care, because my death would keep these evil fuckers from being able to torture me for the indeterminate and endless period that they glory in doing.

 

i want to be nice and i like letters, but i pour my fucking soul into the letters. sometimes i just don´t have the energy to write letters or write this shit in this chaos book. i am a mosquito, i am a fly, i am a spider, i am a person who cannot shit without blood loss. i´ve had no nap today. no sleep in the heat of the day, humid sticky i-can´t-breathe-this-shit but i can sure smoke unfiltered cheap tobacco cigarettes. somehow wishing the sun would burn me up, rip apart my water molecules, reduce me to nothing. i would bet that the pile of ashes left of me would not retain any of the sadness, depression, pain and despair i feel in this water-laden sack of horror that is my body.

 

a really cool disease like cancer or some other kind of unidentifiable growth. speaking into the microphone, i utter only three words: i am tired. grant me the death you so fear, for i fear it not. always looking for the pleasant experience, i look forward only to the end of this horrible one.

 

i remember once i was with some guys from the band in stuttgart, germany. we were at some guy´s house, he lived in a place that overlooked the city, a nice place. dino and i had taken acid, and we were standing on the back porch of the house. we had taken a bottle of cognac from the guy whose house we were at, and we were trying to drink it while being psychedelically entertained by the nighttime city lights. the cognac was absolutely terrible, but there was nothing else to drink. i normally will not turn any type of alcohol down, but cognac is really not very good. i was determined, tho, so i took some large swallows. it did not go well at all with the acid already bubbling in my brain. i felt sick and i had to wrestle with my stomach doing flip-flops. i gave the bottle to dino and told him to swallow down as much as possible, which he did. and then he immediately projectile vommitted all over the porch. i never quite saw so much puke in my life, and the spray out of dino´s mouth was at least three meters, it sprayed all over the nice sandstone tiles and brick walls. the puke stank really bad, too, like cognac and rotten garbage. i don´t remember much more than that, other than the guy whose house dino puked on and whose cognac we stole was very angry at us. but, he was stupid enough to invite me and my band to his house for a party. anyone who does that pretty much will get what they deserve for their stupidity. or at least, they better expect not to have much alcohol, if any, left when we are finished, and they can expect that at least a few things will get broken or puked on, or shit on, which has also happened. that is another story, perhaps i will tell at another time. lucky you, reader.

 

it is, in fact, exquisitly painful, as you now will see.

 

ferris wheels and merry-go-rounds, clowns and balloons. failures to see what is real thru the haze of disbelief. don´t make any sudden moves. monsters are on the loose because no one is watching them. what i am looking for is further than i ever imagined. nothing is possible without hope. otherwise i am running on autopilot. looks like i could use a little help. it would seem that i have a negative outlook on life.

 

the wild weather across the united states is causing problems. this is an evil country filled with hedonistic pigs. bad things should be punished. wild weather is not enough. much worse should happen and has. but there should be more. there is so much unchecked wickedness in this world, kids. my situation is a perfect example, but we won´t brood on that just at this moment. it is morning, and the trials and tribulations of my day have not yet been able to pollute my brain so thoroughly. yes, i am still untainted, until a half hour goes by, and i will then be inundated with scenes from the worst wretched skum of humanity. to see these monsters pollutes my soul. walking thru the day is like a surreal movie - so much stupidity, hate, violent yet nonsensical unfocused aggression. at times i cannot belive that i am even in here. it is the worst horror movie ever made, and i am just a small bit player that can´t walk off the screen and never be heard from again. who could dare question my belief about the evil that exists in here and throughout america? this is a sick horrible world that keeps me trapped in it, where torturing my senses and breaking down my soul into worthless pieces of shit seems to be the only purpose. so i say good morning to you all, the few, the very few who are untouched by evil. my friends in europa. my message to you is: thank the gods that you were not born a mongrel-american, embrace your freedom...and please take a drink, irish whiskey preferably, and think of me today, as i think of you all in here, everyday. i miss you, my friends.

 

always, always, when i think it could not get worse, it gets more worse than anything imaginable. the "it" in this case, well, it does not quite matter. imagine if you will, dear reader, the worst thing you can imagine in your life, and imagine the nasty helpless feelings you have in me. it´s always me. i am convinced that i am cursed. there can be no other feasible reason for my endless string of bad luck. storm clouds shit out lump of crap upon my head, and piss down urine rain so that the shit can run freely down my face, into my eyes, ears, nose, mouth. was there any trace of excrement nearby?

 

take me there, please. ach, i´m already there. do you know what hell really is, dear reader? hell is life. hell is earth. heaven is death, and the release from this wicked stinking place. do you believe in reincarnation? save me from ever returning from this fate, ever again.

 

only virgins are suitable for human sacrifice? where the hell have the gods gone anyway? they probably ran away from humanity after a fit of wretched vomitting in disgust. shit, i want to do the same, but i am not immortal. i am doomed to suffer the fate of human life and the long slow death we all begin at birth. whoever or whatever came up with this little scheme should be punished severely with a sound trashing. i will sleep now, i will dream, i will become a part of a world far away from this earth, where the skum of it´s inhabitants cannot soil my soul, not until i wake up, that is. hopefully i don´t. slainte.

 

"of the price of pain" - this was the name of a band i dreamed about - i don´t think it´s a real band! in the dream from last night, this band was from aukland or new zealand, but they were actually irish, they only lived in new zealand. it was a whole group of gypsy-type of irish, some old, some young, male and female. the singer was a really beautiful girl who wore strange glasses, these were with different colored lenses, like the old 3-D glasses, she had spikey blondish brown hair with feathers woven in, she wore a dress that was yellow and made to look like tatters. she was very pretty and nice. the rest of the band played a mix of different instruments, standard and celtic. there was another girl who sang back-up, she was very dark and small, mysterious and pretty. i was friends with the whole group.

 

and then there was an old man who was the father of one, and we started talking about how i was one of the descendents, as if he were an irish king. i looked a bit like him. when the band played, they sounded a bit like the cranberries but with the pogues mixed in. it was a really nice dream, with none of the usual terrors that visit me nightly.

 

it is so easy to hate myself, oh igor, igor, why do i ever leave you by yourself? unless you change your mind, we´ll begin and the pendulum swings, and soon i will but cut into two bloody pieces. all these nasty things happen to peep-holes on TV, but never in real life - i´m never so lucky as this. in this wonderful world of brotherhood and "can´t we all just get along?", i am saved from the release of death. in reality, i am being tortured by extremely cruel masters of psycho-terror, whose only purpose is to keep me alive and make sure that every goddamned day i am alive, i feel pain and terror, sometimes only from the simple act of taking a breath. may the hearse of death, a black carriage pulled by two beautiful black irish horses, pull my lifeless body through the streets of this filthy world, pull me to oblivion, pull me to where i never have to remember the fear and loathing of being a human in this shit-fucked world. need to find a lesson buried in the madness and evil i am faced with. or i only need a quick exit into the next life. or i need a bottle of bushmills irish whiskey, six pints of murphy´s stout, and 3 packs of camels. and maybe my private spot by the ocean in schull, west cork, ireland.

 

it´s a feeling of clean like nothing else! empowerment! salad with raisins. purple all over my fucking soul. what can be clean in this world? there is no soap available to clean a filthy soul. bathe me in the glory of what i once accomplished, not the worthless lump of flesh i am now. once i was a singer, a guitarist, a synthesist, a precarious punk-rock cult anti-hero. and now, now, now, i´m beginning to think you were right, i have made things much worse. death-crap, hilarious vomit, constant struggle, emotional defense. my shields are slowly weakening. there is a scared little bunny inside me, afraid to even nibble on his salad with raisins. not enough tears could ever be cried for the sadness i feel inside me. and with that thought, i would bid you a good night with no nightmares.

 

strange alien songs, little dittys, floating through my head immediately when i wake up, and persisting as i smoke a cigarette on the toilet seat. where the hell do these songs come from? i long for the days when i would wake up with a bottle of whiskey at my side. one long pull on the bottle, and the day began just right. or to wake up with a beautiful girl next to me in bed, naked and snoring, unprepared for the sneak attack of herr wiggles and his morning glory. ja, i am a lech, haha.

 

nothing anymore like what i once was - all thoughts of that past are but a dream now, hardly anything seems as tho it were ever real. now i am stuck in this timeless, senseless, horrible living nightmare, where the monsters are real and they carry vile diseases. not even my sleep is safe, filled with torturous scenarios in which i cannot escape, or callings of people who i care about and who care about me, begging me to come back to them. this is not life in which i find myself, this is sick, twisted, slow and painful death. there is but one answer to it all.

 

hide in the clouds and crunch-chewy-crunch on kat food. they are coming through, fire! the small wondering eyes of a kitten. the beauty and silliness of a baby goat. and hawkmen flying thru the skies. who wants to live forever, indeed. Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter becomes the consort of itchy wiggle christ, future king of ireland. here, you´ll need this. vegetables, eat no flesh, nothing that ever wiggled. scanner malfunction, area seven seven delta, under repair. i haven´t changed. i must fly into the clouds, i must become one with the sun, i must never fall to the wicked earth again, never soil my feet with the filth of humanity. i´m better than that, meow!

 

i woke up after a long morning nap, a nap that i did not really need but which i took out of sheer boredom, and i was forcing myself out of a dream which was scaring the shit out of me. in the dream, a very ugly and angry naked midget, was beating me with a whip. and as i came back to consciousness, i heard the midget scream at me, "the winner of the contest will earn his death!". i guess i have some kind of suicide issue. and a problem with midgets, obviously. i was glad to have gotten out of the dream, but then again i woke up in a worse hell than any dream of a midget whipping me.

 

speaking of midgets. once i was with wes and my girlfriend at the time, gerry, she is german. we were in america at some kind of big concert we had gotten free tickets for. i didn´t really care so much about the concert, i do not like concerts in general. i like to perform at my own concerts, but when i am only an observer, it lacks the thrill. i do not like crowds, i do not like people. nonetheless, a free ticket is a free ticket, plus i had some acid. i took four hits and gerry took one. wes took none, as he was driving. altho i have driven plenty of times while tripping and i don´t know why it would stop anyone else. so i was standing in the beer line with gerry. it was a long line and many people were scampering about. i was going thru some serious mind-cracking paranoia issues, but no more than usual. until it happened - i was holding tight to gerry´s hand but then she pulled her hand away and pointed. where her finger was pointing was at this nasty little midget holding two large beers in his hands, he was only a meter away from us. and gerry screamed "gregory look! there´s a midget!". and i was totally mind-fucked and frozen in shock. i am very afraid of midgets, and seeing a midget while on acid is a very terrible thing for me, and gerry knew this and thought it would be very funny to point the midget out to me. well, the midget growled like a feral animal and made a face of pure hatred at us. and i was moaning as if my life were coming to a painful end. gerry was laughing maniacally. the midget walked away in disgust. eventually i snapped out of my fit of fear and tried to explain to gerry that it is not correct to point and laugh at midgets in america. she did not see why, but maybe it was the acid. she was a very strange girl anyway, but good for having fun with. she eventually went away and wasted her life like so many girls i knew.

 

it´s hurting inside, it´s burning. sick desire, craving for her. and no amount of chocolate or peanut butter cookies will make it go away, this longing. either my heart is soft or i am lonely. probably both. drastic measures must be taken to remove the pain. does heartache follow one´s soul when the body is left behind? i stare at flowers and birds to try to extract some innocence, to feed my depleted starving soul. all goodness is forcibly pulled out of my soul when i am surrounded by evil and sickness, the most perverted monsters on the planet earth. i´m somewhat of a recluse. i wish to conduct my life on my own terms. there is beauty, there is ugliness, and there is death. where are my goats? where are my bees? where is my life, my kids, my little cottage in ireland? nowhere to be found, nowhere close. maybe never to be if i cannot bear this shit any longer. why would any one ever think death is so terrible? only those shitheads who do not understand real pain, or the blind - those blind to what life is all about. ugliness is so much easier to find than beauty. and death is inevitable. i will never be able to free myself from the indelible horror that i have been subjected to. not that it much matters, right? good-night.

 

can you imagine waking up every morning in hell? to be sunk down deep in the death-like world of sleep only to awaken to reality, surrounded completely by monsters, human monsters, the scum of humanity? perhaps you cannot imagine it. i can hardly believe it myself, and i live thru this shit every fucking day. i´m filled with so much hate and rage, i´m irritated at every turn in the juncture. no peace ever, only in the dreams, if the dreams are not horrible nightmares. it´s no wonder my body is falling apart and i am bleeding in places i definately should not bleed. the bar is closed.

 

forget ammonia, less damage. some sick bastard out there puts beetles and ants and cockroaches in a blender with yoghurt and orange juice, pureés the whole lot and drinks it down for breakfast every morning. it is sick, yes, but in a way, it is the same as most of the rest of the world who love to eat their 100% argentinian mcdonalds hamburgers or whatever kind of animal you flesh-eating swine enjoy stuffering in your fat mouths. yes, i am a vegetarian, and i am better than you, if you are one of those obese pig-fucking unnecessary-consumers of cows, pigs, and birds. piss on you.

 

part of the problem exists in this world from the forced integration of people, and monsters, who have no business living in a society with each other. humans are not all the same, and definately not equal. for the wonderful usa to force me at gunpoint to accept their sick belief that some child-fucking, dope-selling, ghetto-dwelling monster is as equal and as good as me. this to me is anathema. like-minded people should live in societies of their own choosing, and very BIG walls should be built around each society to prevent monsters from coming in. perhaps in the future, the world will realize sanely that nothing is working and will separate societies. maybe by then force fields will be built around these separate societies. on what a wonderful world it would be. as long as i am behind the force field in ireland.

 

life is so fleeting and fickle. we are defined by our actions and not what we think or believe. my actions are dubious and circumspect at best. a bit of nihilism mixed with anger and pain, my introspection mixed with self-loathing and outright confusion all plastered over my paintings and music and writing. i´m confused about everything, the whole "what is life for" bit. it would be noble to say that all i have done was an attempt to have my feelings be shared by others, so that those i touch do not feel so alone. and maybe that is all good and true, but it is hardly my intention. all my creative output was and is an attempt to let out what is inside me, as if the madness that exists inside builds up like water at a dam, and soon the dam will burst unless i let out some of the mad mad water. so these are my deeds, or what i consider my greatest work. i´ve failed at my relationships, i´m not much of a friend to anyone. i´m a dreamer, as my mother always reminded me, and i have never accomplished much substantive things beyond my polific creative pursuits. other than a musician, painter, and writer, i´ve been nothing spectacular - a dental technician, a chef, a martial arts practicioner and teacher, a thief, an anarchist, husband, brother, son. this was me, the essential gregory. what i wish i could have done, well, the list is not so great or grand, i wanted to have children, i wanted to make my permanent home in ireland, i wanted to be a successful husband, i wanted to raise goats and finance an animal rescue foundation. i don´t know if any of that will happen now. i feel as tho the end is near. but then again i am watching "meet joe black" with brad pitt and hannibal lecter. brad is a good actor, i like him. hannibal is excellent as always. i am dog shit.

 

there are so many secrets that are all together stupid to begin with. all people have secrets, what stupid shit. every day, all day long, i have the TV going while i paint my retard pictures. i do not hardly ever watch the TV, i only use it to drown out the noise around me in this hell-hole, the headphones stuck tight to my ears and the volume up high. but i notice what is on the TV, and it sickens me. not the shows and movies so much, but the commercials. i can choose the shows to some degree, and i stick pretty much to science-fiction, horror, frasier, or the simpsons.

 

i like that stuff well enough. but the goddamned commercials. i can say this much: 1. the advertisers are trying to shove black rap music down american´s stupid throats, and 2. advertisers are hell-bent to get idiot americans to eat meat of every kind. anything that wiggles, catch it and eat it, america. shove it down your stinking mouths and shit it out your hemmorhoidal asses. and feel good, america, that something died to feed your dumb faces. and hey, listen to rap music while you eat your dead flesh, you fucking idiots. none of you realize that you are marching to the step of what the fourth reich, which is the new world order united states of america, wants and demands you to march to. none of you realize that you are systematically being dumbed-down, that those who hold your leash want and need you to be as stupid as you can possibly get. so they can control you and watch you all the better. when your simple minds are occupied on whether to get regular recipe or extra-crunchy chicken, you are not interested or aware of what this country is doing to you or the world. but why should you care as long as you have so many choices to make - a big mac or a whopper? coke or pepsi? shit or shinola? who cares about the rest of the creepy world? who cares about injustice or how the usa keeps prisoners illegally interred for indefinate amounts of time? hold the pickle, hold te lettuce, nazi america doesn´t upset us. lalala, happy american. ask any jews who survived the war in europe how it feels to be interred indefinately. but none of you will, why should we care? until it´s your turn to be in here. and many of you reading this will end up where i am. and i do not feel sorry for any of you. you all let it happen. hey, let me tell you, there´s no big macs in here, no whoppers, no kentucky-fried chicken, regular or crunchy. there´s a whole lot of hate and rape and sickness beyond anything you ever could imagine, not in your worst nightmares. but then again, your worst nightmare is probably not getting a toy with your happy-meal, or finding a fly in the middle of your big-mac. but hey, eat it! flies were alive, now it is dead and on your hamburger, a dead cow. 2 kinds of meat! yea!

 

i was holding the galaxy´s most powerful compact energy source in my hands, and it was to be used for a cloaking device that would allow my starships to attack undetected. is there any hope for a man who cannot crap? is constipation related to mental anguish? oh, my story of perseverance and suffering.

 

there was a little red ant. and he went about his little ant business, crawling around on the ground, searching for food, preferably sugar. along came the exterminator terminator with his ant-killer death spray. the ant did not know exactly what the exterminator was, only that it was a big scary thing towering above him, one hundred times his size. scary, yes, but intriguing at the same time. the little red ant was not a coward, and he grew up with many scary things around him. the ant was of the mind, that if one does not explore all things in his environment, one will never really know what is out there. and there was an inexorable curiosity in the little ant to know. besides, he thought, running away from every big scary thing only makes me smaller, inside and out. but there was also a point where the big scary things could be the death of the little red ant, and he decided that this exterminator terminator thing was death incarnate, so he scuttled his little legs like crazy and got the hell out of there before the blast of ant-death could touch his beautiful red body sections. later that day, after finding his way onto the exterminators truck, the little red ant found his way into the house of the exterminator terminator. he explored all around until he came upon another thing, not unlike the exterminator, but only softer. the little red ant sensed female pheromones, he concluded this other thing was the exterminator terminator´s mate. the ant crawled up the leg of the woman slowly, but she did not move or try to scratch or slap him away. the ant also sensed the pheromones of alcoholic consumption and delerium. she was dead drunk, the ant surmised, and he was in no immediate peril. the little red ant made his way further up the woman´s leg until he reached her pussy. he sensed her musky sexual pheromones, which were reflexively released upon her getting tossed drunk. the ant tasted the juices of the exterminator-terminator´s mate. it tasted good. the little red ant took a bite of the womans labia. it was sweet tasting, better than earwig meat. so the ant settled down and had himself a tasty sweet meal of the woman´s pussy, leaving terrible swollen red dots wherever the ant took a delicious bite. there were hundreds of such red dots marks by the time he was full, and the little red ant laughed heartily to himself, thinking how he overcame the big scary exterminator terminator by munchy-munching on his drunk woman´s pussy. it was a good day for the little red ant.

 

how can i be sure? i think you are trying to trick me, vulcan. wasted days, crossword puzzles, smoking too much, drinking endless cups of cold coffee. running around a dirt track out of sheer boredom. now it is nighttime, my best time, only because soon it is sleepy time, time that the evil fuckers keeping me in here cannot have, altho so often being imprisoned is part of the dreams, in which case i should call the dreams nightmares. i´ve plenty of those, but occasionally i have my science-fiction star wars dreams, which i find exhilarating. my teeth hurt, my blood is abnormal, i have constant migraine headaches, i can´t shit but for every four days or so, and that only when i force myself. and then it is mostly only blood. i wake up in the morning and i can´t see for at least a half-hour. i wake up and groan, still not able to believe where i am waking up. not the way i used to wake up after a night of debauchery in a totally strange place next to a girl or girls who i had no clue what their names were. where i wake up now, the horrors are basically unspeakable. i can only hint at how bad it is. not that i cannot write it, only that, i do not wish to commit it all graphically on paper. i have some limits i must set for myself. and i enjoy writing. it would be like polluting my work to write exactly how bad it is. but i believe it is not so difficult to discern enough of the hell i am in from what i do write. i don´t know, really. some day if i am ever free from this hell, i may actually write all the shit i´ve been thru in here in all it´s sick disgusting graphic detail. altho, who would want to read it, i´m not certain. it will definately make a number of you numb-skull dunder-heads think about the reality of prison and the skum-bag dirty filthy faggots that comprise the majority of prison inhabitants. well, you may find out, you may not. i may never get out of this place alive. if i do get out, i may choose to drown out all memories of this place from my soul by drinking deep from the streams of irish whiskey.

 

what a world, what a life, darling i´m in love. and i think to myself, what a wonderful world. oh yeah. yea, what a bullshit, what stupid mindless horseshit, idiot pulp for the masses sung by some hopped-up dope head. me being forcibly sober for four years now, i tend to see the world with a shocking sense of reality. my observation is that this world is shit, people are shit, and nothing is getting better and nothing will. i can hardly believe that i bother to stay alive. what the hell is there to live for? i like very little, chocolate, kittens and puppies.

 

is this a big misunderstanding or something more sinister? there is nothing so bitter as the removal of one´s freedom. little tiny puppets are screaming bloody murder, "LET ITCHY GO FREE!". the little puppets dance underneath my bed all night. they are armed with tiny little hammers and spears, they want to protect me, but their ability to protect me is in doubt. there is also an ant under my bed, he is red, and he has a mysterious smile on his face. the puppets are all made from socks, my old socks. they are very simple puppets, with eyes and mouth only, but there are many of them. they keep me up at night, but that is okay, really. occasionally they steal out from under my bed and attack other sock puppets that attempt to infringe on their territory. those sock puppets they don´t kill outright, they capture. after intensive reprogramming, the captured sock puppets are added to the already large puppet army under my bed. no sock puppet in this prison is safe from the sock puppet army of itchy wiggle christ. i have been smelling strange things from under my bed. i believe that the puppets have begun to make honey-wine and whiskey. they are very excited about this. when all is ready, the sock puppets will have a celebration around a bonfire. they will sacrifice a pair of filthy underwear and bathe themselves in the underwear blood. the puppets will appeal to the celtic gods to have me released. and i keep saying that no one is on my side, that no one cares about me? what the hell is wrong with me? tz.

 

nothing like being woken up from a nap, especially when it is because of the loud fat mouth of a child molester screaming across an entire building. what dreams i may have had are forgotten. what is the procedure now, general cosmo? are you suggesting we withdraw? major merit calling earth, what are your instructions? there is no hell or heaven, it is all within and without me. hell is this physical realm, heaven is any place else that is not this stinking shit-hole of a planet. mars needs women, and the sock-puppets need to free their master from the clutches of evil. carry on, sock puppets, fight the good fight, general cosmo commands you!

 

terraforming makes you feel a little god-like. i think it´s the best job in the universe. i´m disturbed by thoughts of clowns converging on a group of balloon-animals and using sad animals in an unnatural fashion. time is such a strange concept when one has no idea where one´s life will go. i have no idea what to do with my mind anymore. my soul is wretching all over my life, my life is shitting all over the spirit, my spirit is beating my mind to death with hammers and small sock-puppet-sized spears.

 

the greatest part of every day is here for me now, the end of the day. soon i slip into the darkness of dreams. after seeing her in a movie, i had dreams of jennifer tilly. perhaps of all actresses i find her the most intriguing, perhaps cause she plays crazy women in her movies normally. i like crazy girls. i like it when a girl is able to relate to my own insanity. she is beautiful also, at least to me. i´m attracted to dark-haired women, not very often blonds. i had a piss-poor experience/nightmare with a blond. but i think jennifer tilly would not be interested in a man like me. she would have too much fun, and life cannot be all fun. god don´t i know this, but there is another matter that i am in love with a girl in germany, and jennifer would not fit so well in that relationship. and altho i love steffi to death, it is difficult to imagine a life with her when i never see her. i see jennifer tilly, tho. i see lots of girls on TV. it is frustrating, especially when i have not spoken to a real woman for four years, face to face. steffi writes me once in a while. shit, don´t know what to think or feel or do anymore. tell me what is my life? who am i, without you?

 

food goes in the mouth and is then crapped out, normally. the dead flesh of what was once a sweet little animal gets turned into a brown stinking paste that is expelled out the asshole. and all of it done to keep all you people alive, so you can LIVE. it hardly seems a befitting fate for the little animals who did nothing to deserve death in order to feed your fat faces, nor does it ring true for me that people are allowed to live from the death of the innocent. the whole idea of eating dead flesh creeps me out completely. and given the fact that i am a complete misanthrope and believe that most of this world is populated by monsters who do not deserve life anyway. i guess that makes me a real scary type of vegetarian. "animal rights" is a truth that i can find no argument against. if one of you flesh-eaters want to tell me that animals have no soul, i will simply point out that a cow or chicken or lambs or pig has more soul in their eyes than you will ever possess. and for these monsters that experiment on animals for "research" - those monsters deserve treatment of the like. i would whole-heartedly volunteer to be the master experimenter. there is very much "research" i would perform on people who use animals for experimentation. STUFF that would make hannibal lecter sick to his stomach. i know i am not alone in my thoughts and beliefs, but not all vegetarians have the same disgust for flesh-eaters that i have. maybe moby does, haha. but i doubt it. well, enjoy your next big mac. i hope it gives you colon cancer.

 

now is the time for the ceremony of possession. make them kneel! a number of my friends have been put to sleep for good. terrible sun creating hell-like conditions in this little corner of hell. he found a most undesireable way to die. because of my inadequecies, i am forced to accept the deep dark inevitable. i consented to this under duress. isn´t it debasing enough without having this ass spraying shit all over the place? i need to sleep, i need to be put to sleep, i need to be put to sleep for good, and forever.

 

and the day comes again to a close. batman on TV. it´s hot as a bitch, i should have been rich. get off the cross, itchy, someone else needs the wood. hello, vinnie, it´s your uncle bingo - time to pay the check. is it true, that if i see myself as a victim, i will never be able to grow or be constructive? really? how could i not see myself as a victim? i do not think any person could endure as i have in here without feeling like a victim or at least cracking up inside. i´ve done both. the crackling sounds persist in my head, at times i feel like i cannot stand being alive in here for one more minute. this town needs an enema, i need and enema for my soul, which is quite befitting for one of the world´s biggest assholes. or the world´s greatest patsy. i´m of the mind to make some mooky. if only. but mr. wiggles has not seen a squishy nice thing for many many years. and it could be many more before he does, if he ever does again. but then again. he has had a lot. more in 20 years of squishy nice things than most any man had. hmm. spare us the cutter. drown me in my own pool of dark stinking shit. to hell with this, all of "this".

 

"knock knock!"

"who´s there?"

"gonorrhea"

"gonorrhea who?"

"gonorrhea-L dick and i´m gonna make you sick"

 

good morning, all you slaves! here comes another sweet day of hot sun and short tempers, hate and aggression fueled by radiation from the growing yellow ball in the sky. "you take the adults, i got the kids!". that was a quote from a child molesting gingerbread cookie. i was thinking about social parameters just as i woke up. how complex society is, how confusing. every aspect of society is affected by something else, or many things. all to the point to where it is an overwhelming task to try and make sense of it all, and yet if i am going to be a good anarchist and taoist, i would not give a flying shit about any of this. and in fact, i don´t. i only want to be left alone, to only interact with the very few people i interact with. the social parameters of my own relationships are enough. clown, gods, puppies. a puddle of urine.

 

responsible moms who become addicted to prescription pain killers. but first a message from god, direct from heaven to all the peons on earth: HA HA HA. we will figure out who did this horrible thing. am i the only person on earth who thinks we are seeing the end of the world? a band of roving homeless people, a satanic cult, transients. some dumb fucker kills his wife and unborn baby. osama was spotted walking down houston street in manhattan yesterday. old folks cannot eat properly from their government pensions and are forced to survive on dog food. roving packs of rats attacking small children, cats and dogs in the beautiful city-of-detroit. i´m not touching you, i believe in love.

 

if it´s war they want, it´s war they´ll get. shit my pants today, horrible case of diarrhea to go along with my daily migrain headaches. i am fairly certain i have cancer of some sort. wouldn´t that be lovely? it would only be a welcome end to my now-senseless and useless life. i sit and wait and sleep and cry and puke blood. this is not living, this is not life. wake up, time to die. the light that burns twice as bright only burns half as long, and my light has burned so very very brightly. when it gets to the point where one is looking forward to not waking up, or better yet, waking up dead. then it is time to say "enough is enough". free me, brighid.

 

"the fifth element" is on TV now. milla jovovich + bruce willis. the point being in the movie that love is what will keep the world alive, or something like that. miss jovovich is portrayed as the perfect being who brings life thru love. hmm. i agree that she is perfect, but the business about love, well, i believe it only because without love, i feel myself dying. i have no will to live. i have no love in my life, only what i feel for a girl thousands of kilometers away. there´s no way to show my love for her. only letters, but those mean very little to her. i walk around feeling hate and disgust and fear all day long. i loathe the mornings when i wake up. so much is wrong with this whole fucking situation. so much is wrong with this world. not even miss jovovich could save this real world in the end. and there is very little reason to save the world. it is shit, and it should be flushed down the toilet of endless entropic eternity. so, in a funny way, i really believe in the power of love. only because without it as i exist, i wish to hell i were dead. say goodbye to all of this.

 

oh shit, we better get out of here fast, milla.

non, grégor, tu est mort.

whatever doesn´t kill me only makes me stronger, eh?

mais oui, bien homme. hihihi.

 

good morning america, how are you? i hope you die. summer fun can quickly turn dangerous. how many shitheads were killed last night in the city of detroit? ah yes, detroit, murder capital of the usa. that city is the hemorrhoidal stinking butthole of america. no one would miss it if the entire city just sank down into the ground. all except the crack dealers, murderers, and prostitute crack whores. but since there are about a million of those in detroit, well, who gives a fuck? heroes versus hijackers. is that it? do we finish it off? is that it? should we put it down? allah is great, should we put it down? ja, you bet. put it down, way down. these were words of some hijackers and some plane passengers who got in a scuffle when the hijackers were trying to crash the plane into washington, hmm. it brings back memories of me and the band drinking many fifths of irish whiskey, murphy´s irish whiskey to be exact, on a plane flight from nyc to london. we were very drunk, i was dancing on the seat. the limey fag of a captain came back and told me "if you do not sit down and be quiet mr. mccormick, i will be forced to put you in leg irons and hand you over to british authorities when we land". well, i would have liked to see that twat try to put me in leg irons, ha ha. hmm, it would have been comical. maybe that plane would have crashed into the atlantic or greenland or something. maybe then i would not be where i am now. what a bunch of shit.

 

bad morning, good morning. who gives a flying shit? some kind of spanish TV station is the only thing on in the mornings on saturday. some sex goddess mexican girl with giant milk factories on a show about different places around the world. i have various libidinous and lecter-like thoughts of what i would do to her if given the chance. sharp objects in her body orifices, or my own not-so-sharp but prominent object, ha ha. sex, there is an elusive and torturing subject for me in my current position. it´s best i never think of it, actually. but given my rather prolific past with girls, it is very difficult to just forget that i used to enjoy sex. now i can only think of it and live out weird fantasies while seeing the rare woman i find attractive on TV. i say rare, because not so many women attract me, only certain types. dark-haired, intellectual, and crazy, and thin. fat women disgust me. i don´t think much either way about breast size. the best sex i ever had was with girls with very small breasts. it is a girl´s personality and wit that seems to attract me. pretty eyes, often. this is all thought, tho, and not of much worth. thinking and not being able to touch a woman. it cancels out any worth.

 

it often comes to mind how fucked-up the world is in it´s thinking that "men" are created equal. i must put up with the worst monsters in the world, with their loud mouths that spew unintelligable monkey-language, and the sick faggotry that is so rampant amongst the monsters. such a great percentage of them cannot read or write, but they know how to steal and rape and sell drugs. if these monsters were animals, there would be a thriving business in euthanizing these things. veterinarians put horses and dogs "to sleep", they kill the animals, for much less reason than the curse that these monsters bring to a structured society. but this type of thinking is not allowed, especially in the wonderful land of opportunity that is the united states of america. the usa will force it´s citizens to believe that the most well-behaved, gentle, quiet and good citizen is absolutely equal to these filthy loud monsters. how equal does a woman feel when she is raped and beaten and had her purse stolen from one, or a gang, of these monsters? the equality that the usa forces at the point of a gun is only such that it gives the monsters the freedom to rape and molest and steal. for any person who has not been in prison, or taken a death-drive through the city of detroit, the butthole of the world, or somehow not experienced these monsters firsthand, it is probably hard to convince you of this truth. if one simply listens to the monster´s "music", the rap and hip-hop garbage, one can discern enough that there is violence, rape, sexism, drugs, thievery, and other social sicknesses involved in monster culture. that should be enough, but then, there are those of you who do not understand this, or you refuse to understand it. if so, i dare any one of you to visit detroit for a few days. and if you make it out alive, i´m certain that once one or many of the monster-inhabitants in detroit rape you and steal your belongings and stab or shoot you, your equality-thinking will change post-haste. but this is all just thinking. the usa has guns pointed at the heads of the world and will force all of you, citizens or not, to believe in the twisted logic of america, or you will die or be put in prison. the entire reason for the usa to make any normal, intelligent, good person equal to these monsters is simple: reduce the world population to the lowest common denominator in order to control the population easier. when the usa can put any person on earth in prison for any reason they choose, based on the sick behavior of the monsters, then america controls the world. ask the iraqi-soldiers who were beaten and tortured by us-soldiers. they´ll tell you it is true.

 

as the day draws to a close, a sense of anticipation hangs in the air. amazonian ants can kill and devour fifty thousand insects and animals per day, per colony. they must be hungry. the world is definately easier for beautiful people. i must be extremely ugly, then. the world is very difficult for me. i don´t see an ugly man in the mirror, i see a clown. my eyes seems to constantly have this "you´ve got to be fucking kidding me" kind of look. as if the whole world is a joke and i don´t get it. but, even deeper in my eyes is the "you better be sure you want to fuck with me" look. it can be taken any way you want. i can be trusted. i can be your best friend in the world. but you better honor that trust and friendship. i am not a nice man when crossed. a scene like this sends the human imagination running wild. bulldog ants in tasmania. the jack-jumper. lovely creature, that. kill a man in under four minutes. nasty, volitile, easily agitated. seems to be a bit like this skinheaded skinny irish prisoner i know. they say, to play the blues, you have to feel pain. i play the blues so very very well. suck my ass, nick slave. i am a jack-jumper ant with a deadly venom sting, i sing the blues like no ant can.

 

and here again is the night which brings my death-sleep and my dreams that take me away from the living hell. i worked hard at my paintings. a retard with tentacles and little angry midget with a bullwhip and mechanical legs. nice stuff, my usual, my sickness, my anger, my deep depression, my melancholy, my tiredness. ja, i worked hard. i´m screaming with delight deep in my soul because i know soon my eyes will close. but my soul also sheds a bitter tear, knowing i will undoubtedly wake up eventually, and the torture will begin again, the cycle of slow death, the entropy of my spirit. the black hole of death that is this prison, slowly and inevitably sucking out my life essence. my purity of essence. the clown is not smiling any longer. the clown wants only to go to sleep and never ever wake up again. see you in my dreams, girldear, á colleen.

 

 

2. The Gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ

and then it is morning, as promised by the gods of hell. sunday morning, day of the sun or son, which ever fits the bill in your own twisted retarded logic scheme. kitty cats on TV. i haven´t seen a live real cat in four or more years. "your kids know plenty about marijuana, you should know too". that is from the myriad commercials in america dealing with the ever-growing demonization and paranoia about drugs. as william burroughs stated, it is anathema for these idiots to think that one could escape the horrors of life by using narcotics and drugs. well, it was something like that. how´s tanzi? she´s fine. crinkle pinkle poppy-pop, i´m a cherry coughing drop. i escape into my mind when i don´t have enough, or any, drugs or alcohol to chemically escape from this wicked nasty filthy world. my mind is a powerful ally in my war against reality.

 

shaving the head. a liberating experience, just ask sinéad o´connor, hehe. she´s very pretty, but doubtful as a potential mate. i imagine she would be quite a hard woman to live with, much as my mom was. and yet i miss my mother terribly - every single day, even nine years after she died, i think of my mom and i have very terrible feelings. so if i were to have a wife like sinéad, which would be to say like my mother perhaps, maybe would only be an attempt to regain my great loss. my mom seemed to me to be the quintessential irish woman - very proud, argumentative, nagging constantly, smart, witty. often hard to live with. when i was in ireland, i met many girls, some who i could have married, one i came very close to marrying. and it makes sense that i would marry an irish girl so that we could have pure irish kiddies, all that celtic power in the genetic line, keeping the mccormick name and bloodline untainted by outside races. but that doesn´t seem like such a great reason to be exclusive. not to mention that many a smart irish girl would not have a gadabout drunken rover such as myself, ha ha.

 

then there is the thing about my mom. and it would not be fair to my potential wife to have to live up to my memory of my mother. due to my inhabiting germany over most of the last fifteen years, i´ve found myself extremely attracted and compatible with german girls. but there are problems there as well that go far beyond the scope of this writing and beyond what i care to write about. and yet, most germans were celtic at some point, and i sense that in some german girls - they are quite similar to irish girls at times. it is confusing. i have an english friend who knows me quite well, and it is his opinion that i only consider marrying an irish girl. he strongly believes that it is my only option for true happiness. perhaps he is correct. and it is not such a difficult task to try to keep in mind that my wife is not my mother. altho it is my suspicion that every irish man looks for his mother in his wife. it´s a psycho-genetic mainstay, perhaps, like drinking and the wanderlust. this is all conjecture, of course. i don´t know if i will ever have the chance to meet, talk to, touch, let alone marry any girl ever again. irish, german, chinese, russian, or otherwise. so, sorry sinéad, we won´t be shaving our heads together anytime soon, or any other parts of our bodies, ha ha.

 

i have a very dirty mind, yes? but i´ve not been with a girl for many many years. all i have are thoughts, and often my thoughts stray. not having sex for over four years tends to warp one´s mind. fantasies, dreams, desires. i need a bottle of bushmills, a beautiful irish girl, a hotel room, and time.

 

it is the devil´s puppeteer who stretches his fingers and answers the question: what will happen next? the spirit is willing, but the flesh is very weak. the monkey has got you - you do what is inside your head. an angry midget beats my soul. god is the one who feeds you. good and evil: people are not judged by what they think or say, but by what they do. there is no greater enemy than one´s fears, it takes a brave man to face them. what do you seek captain nemo? - i seek a queen. the wheels of life keep turning and turning - life goes on and the innocent die. explaining everything settles absolutely nothing. fixing it only makes it worse. for some people this world ain´t ever going to be right. my honor is my faithfullness. some people are afraid of whatever runs free. hitler´s phone number in the bunker, berlin, 1945: 12-00-50. why am i warm in the shadows of paris, when i know that the dawn means goodbye?

 

the night, the night, the night. jackhammer headache with jackhammer thoughts. great white shark of depression taking tasty chunks out of my bleeding soul. i can not be saved from this attack, or any other. i have been bitten by this shark since i was a very small boy. but it is nighttime now, the dreams come soon. i snuck a cat-nap this afternoon, and had a fabulous dream. i was living out the beatles song "norwegian wood". i was in the strange girl´s flat, sitting on her rug, biding my time, drinking her wine. the whole time i heard the song, but it was me singing it and playing the music my way, sort of hard and punk, but melodic. then i was playing a concert, i was on guitar, playing the sitar solo. it was a good dream, maybe because i like john lennon. and i´ve often had feelings that he watches me from where he is now. or maybe i am simply just psychotic, what with my shark of depression shit and john hinkley-type delusions. i talk to bees and sparrows. i hate people. i hate what this world has become, i hate my life, i hate myself. i much prefer dreams to being awake and having to see monsters and retards all around me. i embrace my nightmares before i try to actually try to get along with the filthy stink-hole assholes of this world. or maybe there really is a shark of depression. maybe john lennon does look over me. maybe vincent van gogh helps me paint. maybe kurt cobain, sid vicious, darby crash, and jim morrison are all waiting for me to snuff it so i can join the party in hell for good punk rockers who cared to much and needed to get out of this toilet you monsters call earth. drink up! chomp! chomp! chomp! here comes the shark of depression! swim fast! - or better yet, don´t swim at all. close your eyes, relax, dream now, itchy.

 

morning, waking up surrounded by monsters, filth, smells of diseased perversion, the smell of hatred and frustrated retardation. loud unintelligent grunts out of foul mouths that cannot speak the language of social integration. the stink in this living hell is enough to make me wretch. i sit on the toilet, smoking a cheap rolled-my-own, trying to make sense of my existence, but never ever coming to any real conclusion, other than: life is a waste, people are shit, deviant social norms are the rule of the day. and to vomit so early in the morning does not help the feeling of helplessness and disgust to go away, i only lose more blood out of another bodily orifice that normally blood should not spew out of. blood should flow out of a slice across the wrist and/or neck, not explode out of an asshole or mouth as it seems to like to do with me. i know i am not a normal human being but this shit-blood is ridiculous. i think i am a very sick with cancer. as i wrote so long ago, i have cancer in my soul. make it stop, please?

 

it´s all so wrong. i´m so tired. i can´t sleep, i don´t want to do anything. i know i should paint, i need to write letters. but then again, what does any of it mean? very little in reality. to escape my relentless self-pity, that would be something of worth i could try to accomplish. but, as yoda says, "do, or do not, there is no try". so i guess i do not. self-pity at this juncture in my life seems to suit me. plus, i am tired as hell. i can´t sleep, don´t want to do anything. boo-hoo-hoo. in your heart, in your soul, did you find peace there?

 

another morning, faceless, cold. hands trembling now, the cancer doing it´s work hopefully. release me, release me now, my sweet disease. weather getting colder, always the worry that my beautiful finchee-sparrows will freeze, but that is anthropomorphic fallacy on my part. just because i am freezing does not mean they are. and i am shivering more from nervousness and whatever disease is running rampant in my system than from the cold weather. shit, it is 60 degrees fahrenheit, or 16 celsius. yet i feel very cold, like i want to curl up into a ball and hide underneath my filthy blanket. but then again i want to do this when it is super-hot. must be a mental anomaly, one of my few thousand or so. i am needy, i am sickly, i am perverse.

 

there was once a little rat named finster. he loved a girl rat named judy, but judy lived far away in a garbage dumpster, whereas finster lived in a hole-in-the-wall of an abandoned house. finster thought often about judy, and how he would do anything to be with her. so he decided to leave his hole and damn the perils and traps of the wicked world. finster decided that to live without love was not living at all. so he went to find judy.

 

carnival rides, circus freaks, candy-floss, chocolate toothpaste. the fat lady threatens to sit on me and smother me to death with her sickening fat body. she eats too much, and she is a flesh-eater. she visits mcdonalds´s and eats hamburgers and frenchfries, she loves frenchfries. phoney clowns try to make people laugh but they only succeed in frightening children. i take a drink out of a pint bottle of jack daniels i have in my back pocket, i light up an unfiltered camel. i stare at the fat-assed pig-humans eating their elephant ears and hot dogs and bratwurst, their fat pig faces with tiny pig eyes. they are death and ugliness.

 

everything is afraid of something. patterns of behavior in this test animal are obscure and bizarre, doctor. he seems to flourish in his own world, a world that he himself creates. the subject, we believe, calls his mythical world "itchyland", and he seems to spend much of his waking hours in itchyland, and all of his sleeping hours. this subject´s behavior goes far beyond our defination of anti-social. he has no connection at all to his social environment. we have heard the subject muttering obscenities to himself on a constant basis. these obscenities are so foul we shant repeat them, not in your esteemed presence, doctor, no no. but we can say that the subject´s obscenities indicate an extreme hatred for human beings in general. his thoughts are misanthropic in the extreme. we believe he is very dangerous, doctor. the only moment that the subject displayed any kindness or tenderness was when we witnessed him feeding his dinner and lunch bread to the sparrows. he was talking to the sparrows, and we believe he was also talking to the bees. he looked at peace for those few moments. we just cannot understand how the subject could care so much for birds and bees and not care in the least for human beings. yes, doctor, we believe he is dangerously sick and should never be allowed to roam free in our world. we believe his attitude will be infectious - that other people in this world will see that the subject´s attitude is one of logic and genius - that he realizes people are complete shit and not worthy of life or to even breathe air. we cannot allow this to happen! people of this world must continue to believe they are supreme beings, people of this world must continue to eat animals and get fat, lazy, and stupid. especially in the united states of america. people must never realize that they are very horrible, ugly, monsters that think far too highly of themselves and need to be wiped off the face of the earth. the subject poses a threat to the american way of life and must never be allowed to spread his anarchy and independent thoughts. never! never!

 

ick, shit, fuck, crap. another morning, waking up in hell. the smell of shit and piss and unwashed faggots. i hope i die today. may you all feel my pain. i am sure no one reading this could ever imagine the true hell i am in, unless you were actually in a michigan prison, in which case it is highly doubtful if you were in a prison that you could actually read anyway. you would be amazed that so many of these monsters cannot read or write or even talk normally. the speech of the monsters is some kind of super-lazy unpronunciated bastardized form of american with a larger percentage of straight out chimpanzee thrown in. i understand nothing of it, i don´t even try. there are three semi-normal guys i talk to in here, and that is it. it is a lonely existence, but i have no choice. i cannot bear even looking at the filthy monsters in here. they are the skum of humanity, the worst aspect of what, being human, is already a dubiously disgusting waste of space. it is unreal how low and base these monsters are. as if they could not possibly be of the same species as i am. physically only, perhaps. and not even then.

 

it is amazing as well how so many of them are really fat and slovenly lacking in any sort of body tone. they are slobs. the prison hardly provides enough food to keep a monster obese, but they manage it somehow. there are no mcdonalds or burger-kings in here, but these fat pigs are still digustingly ugly and flabby. i have to actually try hard to maintain my weight. at one point i weighed so little that the prison officials questioned me, whether i was on a hunger strike, hmm. altho a hunger strike is a noble idea, and bobby sands is a hero to me. but starving to death seems for me a bit too slow and painful. if or when i go off-line, it will be quick, ugly, and messy. i want to leave behind a really nasty mess. no "leaving-a-good-looking-corpse"-shit for me. sometimes i hold my breath, tho, just to see if i might pass-out or give myself a brain embolism. for me to be flailing and twitching on the floor, biting my tongue, frothing at the mouth, my brain exploding in a stroke like hot popcorn. this would be interesting, and definately ugly. a bit similar to how i perform at my concerts, too, so it would be good for a laugh or two.

 

i´m sick, sick, sick, sick. there is no escape. rats running away from loud noises and noxious gas. deadly dreams, assassination squads bent to my will. nighttime, yet. keep the door locked. beautiful russian woman wants to copulate on a train to belgrad. darkness falls, my dreams come soon, strange music flowing thru my head, destruction of the willpower, death on my back, death on top of me, the train rocks back and forth, full russian breasts, dreams of my death, little bottles of sekt breaking to pieces in my head, bottles of beck´s beer across the back of my head, i fall down the u-bahn stairway, brain damage.

 

morning, another morning. woken up with the screaming of a cop to go to breakfast. unlike most mornings tho, i woke up amidst a really nice dream, and an idea for a new painting - my head hanging in the air from a spike driven thru it, severed and bloody. it has been a long time since i´ve had a painting idea come in a dream. my nice dream: i was puttering around germany in an orange volvo, an older version...i was living in a strange house in a small farming village, all the people living in the village were older gypsy women, but i lived in a house with steffi, it was given to her by her mother after her mom saw a picture of us together? there was a bird that was following me around, he was some kind of mix between a sparrow and a pidgeon, and he kept flying around me but wherever i put my hand out for him to land on me, he would get very scared and his body would split apart and he became two birds. just before i was woken up, i was getting into my orange volvo - i had left the windshield wipers going, but the car still started. i drove out to the autobahn and was heading towards stuttgart, and i was happy, thinking that not matter which direction i approached the city, i could find a café or bar to go to. i really wanted a tall cold glass of beer. and i still want a tall cold glass of beer. maybe i should paint a picture of my little splitting birdy, too, ja?

 

changes have to made. set forth a plan. remove the scars from the frankenstein monster. pull the baby from the scalding bath water. stop eating the fish, you evil monsters. traces of glass and rat-poison found in baby food, the poisoner stuck a note in the jar of baby food, the mother finds the note which says the baby has been poisoned and will die, and the fault is because of a crooked police man that arrested the poisoner at some point. this is such a wonderful world, isn´t it? over 60 people blown up in a car bomb outside bagdad yesterday. the scars must be removed, the skies must be cleansed with a radioactive explosion of untold destructive capability. wipe the scourge that is man off the face of the earth, remove the scars from the frankenstein monster. stop eating the cows and lambs, you filthy human swine. what the hell did those animals do to you to deserve to be slaughtered and shoved in your fat faces? obese american pigs, you stink from the depths of your filthy souls.

 

elect satan for your next president, the dark master would serve your purposes far better than any other devil-politician. father marron, exorcise the demon from me, take me, take me now, leave the little girl alone. ah, the window, i must fly out the window, i must be free from this horrible place. take me, take me, remove my scars, let me be free. no breath, no thoughts. i drift away.

 

it´s the day of crap. all pain, all loss, heart break over things i don´t even know, as if it hurts so deep inside but i don´t know why. maybe it´s some kind of celtic melancholy thing. lucky me, the lucky irish lad. i can´t sleep, i can´t breathe, until you´re laying next to me. my destiny. the weirdness, the shape shifting, strange diseases. there is no soap that can be bought that could ever clean the filth from my soul. all day long i see only sickness and depravity, ugliness on a scale that no normal person would ever believe it. and this sickness eats at me like a cancer, and i am sick inside, i am beyond reproach, and i am dying. i won´t go, i won´t sleep, and i can´t breathe until you´re resting here with me. faith and begorra, am i lonely. do i ever need you, lass.

 

keep absolutely still. turn the light off. please just turn off the light. that was a very strange writing for me. going back to my catholic upbringing. lucifer being the bringer of light. but on the other hand, the son/sun, son of god, light equally holiness. and here is little greggy begging for the light, being from lucifer or god, to just be turned off. i don´t want either form of "light", i just wish they would leave me alone. but then the obvious part of the song having to do with my gray-skinned alien friends. they themselves being another form of angel, and they transcend good and evil. they are the nietzsche wet-dream, beyond all good and evil. but even sometimes i wish they did not come to me, but i only thought to suggest that they turn off their "light" because i was confused as to their purpose in my life, i have since been informed to the best of my limited human comprehension what they want from me. but i also know, they knew what was coming in my life - shit, they may have orchestrated my downfall for all i know. but if so, it was for a purpose. they let me know that i play a big part in the world, which, in a small way is true, assuming that a few million have heard my music and seen my paintings or read my sick writing. but as i understand, there is more i must do that will shape minds and create change, and i have a sense that it will be my children who will do even more than i, or it will be my influence on them that will make a great difference. which also does not seem very far-fetched. to imagine what my kids would be like, having all their dad´s talent and also to be able to learn from my mistakes. they would be great artists and musicians, super-creative, martial artists, mathematics experts. i´ll teach them all this and more. guerilla warfare and vegetarianism. irish whiskey and quantum mechanics. my first son will be named conor.

 

so comes the sleepy-good-time. happiness only when my body is as close to death as possible without actually dying. filthy fucking day. don´t get off the godddamned boat. noise and hate and jesus-freaks and posturing loud-mouthed black monsters, standing in line to fuck each other in the shower stalls. sickness without limits, idiots that need to be shot. the scum of humanity, and then there is me. not one of them realize i am smart beyond what they could ever imagine, else they would destroy me. the monsters destroy what they don´t understand. and tho i am far from being weak or unable to defend myself, it´s best that i lay low and deceive all. let them think i am retarded because i do not talk to any of them. but i do have a bad temper and serious limits, and when crossed, i am loathe to do nothing. revenge is my specialty, and psychological terror is my forte. but to use such gifts as mine on these monsters is akin to shooting fish in a barrel. it is too easy, enough that it is hardly fun in my schadenfreude kind of sick delight. but i apply my skill enough to scare the shit out of the deserving of my attentions, and that in turn is enough to keep all but the very stupid from pestering me. and those are dealt with in worse ways, but the monsters learn. all base animals learn to avoid overbearing punishment. such pleasant words to write, i pour the bad energy onto this page and so am i cleansed. i retire to dreamland now, goodnight my sweetlove. goodbye, cruel world.

 

morning complications. so when m-manson sings "when you get to heaven, you will wish you were in hell", what does it mean to me, when i am in hell already? perhaps heaven to me is anything but this place, or more specifically death. what a bitch it would be to die and then find myself in the christian hell, being tortured for eternity. the torture i endure in this puke hole should win me brownie points with some metaphysical diety or two. the entire idea of me being in here, to be imprisoned so unjustly and kept in here illegally while very little help exists to get me out, only a few caring friends. the whole thing is so completely evil - so against what is "right", or what should be. i am far from evil or bad. i´m capable of being all that and worse, but i am not. there is love and kindness in me, and i have an ingrained program in my head that makes me want to do good, to love my girl, to care for animals. but the evil beings who control the usa and michigan government win over all, and i am fucked.

 

yesterday i watched a mouse playing in a small flower garden. he was running all between the stalks and leaves. then along came one of the finchees, and this one had a piece of bread in his beak. he landed near the mousey, and the mousey ran up to the sparrow to try and get the piece of bread. it looked as tho they would fight, but the sparrow kept flapping away just out of reach of the mousey. it was as tho they were playing a game, and it was cute. it made me laugh a little. i had a few cookies in my locker that were sitting on the bottom for a few days, and i noticed that one of the cookies had nibbles in it. one of the mousey´s brothers or sisters had somehow gotten into my locker and ate some of my cookie. i don´t mind, tho, not at all. i only hope the mousey enjoyed it. i will leave more cookies and bread out for the mouses, maybe i will have some real friends in here. yesterday i also talked to a bee that was flying from cloverleaf flower to flower, pollinating and gathering clover flower stuff for honey, to feed his commune of bees. i told him he was doing a good job, and that the baby bees in his hive will like his honey. i also asked him to tell brighid that i need her help, that i need to get out of this living hell. maybe, or probably, the little bee will carry my message to brighid. she listens to bees, and cows. once in a while she listens to me. or, she listens always but does not answer always. perhaps the bee will tell her that i am suffering beyond my tolerance ability. that i need help, i must be freed. or else the world will lose one more good irish boy.

 

oh, hello, hello my evening, time to examine my life. let´s take out the psychiatric scalpel and probe into greggy´s thoughts and feelings. without a doubt we will find some real garbage in there, so be sure we have the suction device turned up high. actually if you manage to slip and "accidently" suck out most of greggy´s useful and creative thoughts, it would be fine - these things are not of much use anymore, and from analysis of his writing and painting, we might actually be doing the world a favor if we "slipped". besides, it is obvious that greggy´s feelings and thoughts only torture him to no end. he is constantly in psychic pain, his soul is rotting with cancer, and that is a direct effect of his brain processing information he perceives from his senses. so in further elaboration, it may be best if we suck out greggy´s entire brain, and pluck out his eyes, plug up his nose and ears, cut out his cigarette-sick tongue. hell, let´s just chop off his bald head and burn his body in a barbeque. hey, we all love to eat meat and dead animals, maybe greggy´s carcass will taste like good irish beef.

 

my soul is a toilet where all the waste of this shitting world dumps it´s filthy crap. i deserve better, but no one seems to listen or care. give me magick, give me life, stop the madness gnawing at my brain. i had a stuffed doll when i was very very young, it was a kind of pinocchio boy, i called him "boy", but he had the name "knickerbocker". i still called him "boy". he was well-loved and needed by me, and he fell apart enough so that my mom had to fix him. she did a good job, and i really loved her for doing that. i don´t know where "boy" is anymore, and it makes me sad. he is gone forever. i don´t know where my mom is anymore, she is dead, and i haven´t felt her at all. i know she must be gone, because if she could, she would help from wherever she is. now i haven´t much of anything, my life belongs to the nazis of michigan, usa. i have some fairly adequate paints and painting supplies. i have some crossword books that my dad bought for me, may the gods bless my father´s soul, and i have the pen in my hand and paper to write this insane shit with. oh, i have some chocolate-chip cookies i stole out of the dining hall, i will eat them tonight as i watch stargate on TV. dad bought the TV for me too! and yes, i have my dad and brother, my friend/brother ralf, other friends. and i have steffi. i have these, but without freedom, everything seems to have no real flavor. good night all. sleep well.

 

creeping jesus morning, slow, conjunctivitis eyes bleary with weariness. ridiculous nazis prancing about, search and destroy, seek and fidelity, hide and seek, hide the salami. create the greatest painting you could ever create, itchy, the greatest ever made. that´s it, that´s it. it matters to me, francine, is that you? yes, mrs. easterhouse, it´s me. egg suckers, cunnilingus pleasure machines, beautiful women in black gothic dresses, pull up, pull up, we are going to impact the asteroid. what does she taste like between her legs?, the little snail asks. saturday morning waffle breakfast, reminds me of the anarchist-punk commune breakfasts i once went to, five deutschmarks for a bowl of müsli and beer, lots of pretty and dirty little punk girls, but lots of them were lesbians. that is, until they got drunk. the liter of jägermeister i added to my breakfast also helped. i remember listening to iggy pop, the first "stooges" album, really drunk at 09:30 in the morning. something about a girl named alexandria, she was a heroin addict. it´s all so blisteringly unclear. there seems to be a direct correlation between alcohol consumption and my ability to remember anything. perhaps, i have yet to test this theory, i´ve got a few more years left of drinking and hypothesizing to do. if i ever go free, that is.

 

night night night, sleep sleep sleep. my existence in hell will be extinguished if only but for a few hours, but it is a blessed time for this hopeless wretch. won´t you join my teaparty? i used to cart around a copy of "alice in wonderland" to pubs in berlin. people used to think i was crazy, i would draw pictures of scenes from the book. then i took some mushrooms. play more with claymores! time to urinate, time to contemplate. it´s getting so dark. i tried to work today but the police refused to turn on the lights. i had to paint in the dark. who the fuck knows what the hell i painted.

 

tragedy strikes in a drunken moment, laying in the street, all torn up. i was drunk once, ha ha, "once", long ago on the outskirts of belfast, i was walking home from the pub, it was 01:30 or so in the morning. a carload of english soldiers stopped me. a fight ensued, they thought they would get the best of me, thinking i was some helpless drunk paddy, but the fight ended up badly for them, there were four of them. at the end, two lay on the street out cold, the other two drove off and left them, assumingly to go get help. i ran away and hid in an abandoned factory building. i sat awake all night, still had whiskey. the bottle had not broken in the fight, miraculously. so i drank and smoked camels and expected to get picked up, but it didn´t happen. at 07:00 i snuck back to the pub and kept on drinking. strangest thing, almost the same thing happened eight years later in the republic or irland, down near skibbereen. that one was with irish boys, and altho a few went down, i also got hit fairly hard with a hurling stick or some similar kind of club across my right eye. it looked terrible, but my heart hurt more, getting in a fight with irish kids. i mean, 18 or 20 year old "kids" - i am an old fuck now. slugging it out with english shithead soldiers, well. i couldn´t give a flying shit but i could have been killed. so many times i could have been killed, and never was. and all for what? so i could spend and waste my life in this goddamned nazi michigan prison? i almost wish i would have died in belfast. or actually fallen to my death off that five-story roof in germany, or overdosed in detroit. jajaja, what is life for? goodnight, farewell.

 

morning back ache, a disturbance in the force, master yoda got pissed off drunk last night and smashed apart R2D2. he will be arrested and charged with droid-battering and serve 20 years in the michigan penal colony for social delinquents. master yoda will there be raped in his tiny little asshole by the gorilla monsters that make up most of the prison population. maybe he will even contract a fatal blood disease and die all together. poor master yoda. who will teach luke skywalker the ways of the force? aha! darth itchy, lord of the dark!

 

hurricane tropical storms hitting the usa, a price this country must pay for it´s evil and depravity. letting the population sink into immoral sickness, the CIA providing drugs to the masses to keep their minds off of how the government controls their so-called freedom. puppets and pinocchios and the evil fucks who pull the strings. george bush is no anti-christ, only a sorry excuse for one. if he were, there would be a new holocaust in this country to wipe out the wretched. and with these words i realize i am at the top of the list of the most hopelessly wretched. the whole suicide trip, if you will. travis bickle once said a real rain will come and wash the filth off these streets. i only keep wondering when that fucking rain will come. and strangely, i once knew a girl named elizabeth bickle. a strange one, i used to fuck under abnormal circumstances. i wonder if she was related to travis. i wonder if i am retarded. i am certainly abnormal. father dagda, sweet brighid, what i wouldn´t do for a bottle of bushmills right now. it is only 06:23 in the morning, but i´ve never turned down the chance to start my day off by getting shit-faced, clown-assed drunk. i´ve not had alcohol for over four years. my poor liver hates me now. i hate this world, i hate what it has done to me. i hate myself and what i have become. christopher columbus was not italian, he was a spanish catalonian. so much for the big celebrations by italians in america on columbus day. columbus should be scourged for finding america. his discovery caused the death and disintegration of the indigenous american indian population, worse than hitler...but the winners write history, so it is "okay" that the amis killed the indians and stole their country. columbus was a piece of shit. his discovery led to my ultimate demise. damn his spanish soul to hell, and may george washington rot in the pit as well. i hate this country and i want to go home to germany. this country keeps me imprisoned and gives no reason why i cannot go home. this country keeps me separated from my friends and the woman i love, for no reason other than the underlying fact that they make money to keep me in prison. there is evil in this world, and it´s name is america. i would not even use the ami flag to wipe my shitty ass, because i do not want the red-white-and-blue-flag of evil touching my soiled anus - 02. August 2004

 

03.August 2004. little sick leprechaun boy, puking out blood and shitting out the same. see the stars fall from the sky, see tears fall from his eyes. vomit is my best friend, let´s me know i´m alive. small bottles of absinth are floating around my head, around my crown of thorns. absolute insanity setting in and i still want to be normal, but it won´t be. the virus of deception is crawling thru my blood, growing, multiplying, infesting me. i am in so much pain that i do not any longer seem to feel it. i walk like a zombie, i think nothing, i say nothing, bunny rabbits evade me. bunny slippers cover my twisted gnarled feet. try to think of something simple. try to envision the end. i can go anywhere, i can do anything, i am the disease, i am the cure. i didn´t see it coming.

 

part of the problem seems to be that i cannot imagine my life ending with a fizzle. i expected a huge explosion. it´s better to burn out than to fade away. and i am fading. and it hurts. my heart is weakened. my brain has less use than a bowl of oatmeal. god is a german shepherd telling me what to do. there is nowhere left to go. someone is knocking at the door, and i am so goddamned afraid to answer it. fire in the sky, my dumb irish ass. they have not visited me lately, the spirits in flesh, the aliens. they used to come around all the time, especially when i took acid, haha. are there any better jokes i could tell? any wider i could smile? bet me. the smell, the touch of a female. the taste of irish whiskey burning down my throat. a dark cool room. i never asked for much, but i certainly never asked for this. goodnight my princess.

 

wake up, gnashing the teeth, cursing my existence. no escape. good intensions with bad consequences. this message is sponsored by his most satanic majesty. i can never have any type of normal day if i wake up and become irritated, and it is impossible to wake up in here without being irritated - seeing this sick perverted monsters, smelling the scent of diseased minds and impure desires, social sickness, shit, foul shit running thru the veins of these monsters. so i never have a normal day, i´m always waking up in the middle of hell. all roads are closed. dreams are destroyed. ominous clouds of black hate pouring over the horizon, 50 centimeters of urine rain from god on high drizzles over my soul, drowning me in the sea of total despair. this life is only for suffering, so at least i guess i am good at living life - i suffer every fucking moment i am alive.

 

do you know how to make the gods really laugh? tell them the plans for your life. the enemy is everywhere. we fight to stay alive, but we have forgotten how to live. if you can´t sleep, you can´t dream, and if you can´t dream, there is no point in being alive. i was born and bred into faith; any god that would gain my faith would do extremely well.

 

bracken, lichen, moss, algae. growing on my brain, little mushrooms growing on my tongue, but the little fuckers don´t have a chance in hell of survival, because i keep eating them to get that psilocybin rush of play-sure. disease is in my family, i am the carrier of all that has ever gone wrong in the human family. i have evolved into an ultra-sensitive brain-dead slug, slithering away from the great lab experimenter´s electrical shock machine. but i can´t slither away fast enough to avoid some serious soul-burning pain, so i must endure it all. the great lab experimenter has the face of michelangelo´s god on the sistine chapel´s ceiling. and the god-lab-experimenter is smiling evilly down on my slug-like quivering body, he enjoys torturing me. there is no real reason why he applies electric shock to me. he just likes it. and i have come to accept the pain. it is normal now. i live in pain, i live in sickness, i live in fear but acceptance of my life being nothing but a tool of pleasure for some twisted insane god to poke and prod at for his own sick enjoyment. nothing is real anymore, is it?

 

if you are not happy, take the low road, lad. take the low road. there is a preferable time to shut up and listen. rodents clicking their yellow teeth within the confines of my mind. i sit and write and eat malted chocolate milk balls. i´m upset about everything. i dread the waking day. purple blood. dirty shit-stained fingers. a screaming and crying retarded boy on an outhouse toilet trying to pull the constipated fecal matter from his ass. but the fecal matter is more than likely a toy car he shoved up there a week before. i pissed in the bathroom sink, i shit on the kitchen floor and used the drapes to wipe my ass. it´s a long trip, we will need a snack. this is not a boating accident. holy shit, there is stupid crap on television. sometimes a rose is just a rose, and sometimes when i shit on someone´s kitchen floor, it is no accident. was i wrong? jesus, i spend half of my life second-guessing myself. i have less than half of my life yet to live, and it seems i should stop shitting on other people´s floors and start shitting on my own. it would be marvelous to piss myself off enough to stop myself from being such a depressive mess. in any case, it´s time to wipe my shitty mind clean. time to sleep, the small death.

 

some fucking dancing bear selling stupid toilet paper. as if a bear needs to wipe its shitty ass. a morning on the toilet, the foulness or the goodness vomitting out of my ass, feeling as tho my soul is splashing down into the water, flowing into the toilet pipes, fading away forever. there is very little reason to think otherwise. so many fairy tales are made up about what the soul is, what mans purpose in life is, all that shit. so my little theory about my soul being the shit and blood blasting out my ass, and that i slowly am dying with each time i have a violent bowel movement - this is as just a viable theory as any other. actually, all the fairy tales, even mine, are literally a bunch of shit, or worth as much. nothing really matters, life is a waste.

 

more strange dreams, i was a jedi-knight stuck in a colony prison watching kurt cobain on my prison TV, a chinese girl playing along with the music of nirvana trying to learn "smells like teen spirit" with some interactive-type of synthesizer computer program hooked into the TV. i had a wookie friend that was trying to help me break out. it´s too bad i don´t have a wookie friend to help me in real life, he could rip the arms off of my captors and throw me over the 3-meter concertina-wire fences. storm clouds cover the skies, in reality and figuratively. i never have dreams of king cormac, i rarely dream of ireland at all, just weird jedi-knight stuff. there is deep-seated feelings in me about ireland and germany, but i don´t often dream of these places. most likely because i live in the memory of europa, i think about it during all my waking hours. that is when i´m not brooding on the waste of my life. frankincense and myrrh, i had my back turned. strings attached to my arms and legs, the puppeteer pulling the strings high above in the stormy clouds.

 

the mysteries of spirituality. taboo subjects. the worth of one soul tempered by the ability of a mind to process life, and the spirit´s ability to choose good and evil. if each soul were the same, it is the brain and spirit which determine the soul´s journey in life. in the end, tho, it seems everyone is miserable, and life does not seem worth it. for some of us it really does not seem worth it, especially when one finds himself wasting away in prison. i thought today, what a goddamned waste of my potential i am going thru - what a waste of my life. but the dark-loving retarded monsters shy away from the light, and these monsters will lock away the bringers of light wherever they can. maybe someday the bringers of light will find a way to snuff out the monsters. until then, my soul squirms in loneliness.

 

happy shitty fucked sick morning. sharp pains stabbing thru my guts with the unmistakable feeling that something is very very wrong with me. and all i can think is, i hope the end comes soon, quickly and as painlessly as possible. it is a funny thing, that when one´s life has ceased to have any real meaning, when life becomes a waste and one´s existence only consists of waking up, breathing, eating, shitting, and going to sleep, that the body would still exist at all - that it would bother to cling so tirelessly to life. why does the body not just expire? if there was a possibility that a man could die from loneliness and boredom, i would have been dead long ago.

 

i´m damned, i´m damned, i´ll burn in hell for this. something else. i don´t know why i did that. oh god, why did i do that? parasites, infestation, paranoia. see the birds eating the bread, greggy? see the fish swimming in the water, greggy? long ago when i was five or four, my dad would make toast with jelly in the morning, on saturday or sunday morning when he was not at work. i would sit at the coffee-table and watch cartoons. bugs bunny, usually. and he would make lots of toast with jelly, always asking if i wanted more. we would watch cartoons together and laugh. this is maybe the best memory of a long-lost childhood. the kind of memory that makes me smile but also makes me want to cry. it was so long ago, so very far away. and to think and see what my life has become now. how the possibility is very real that i will never be free again, at least not in body. i will never have a son that i can enjoy times like that with. i will never again have a happy moment in this life. these are very sobering thoughts. i think of how senseless life really is. that to experience this small moment of joy 35 years ago, and to carry it thru into adulthood, but all the while going thru a living hell, to end up wasting away in a prison at the behest of some sick nazi american government. in that light, the small moments of joy do not seem worth it. "to love and lose is better than never having loved at all". this is horse shit. to have any amount of happiness in one´s life only makes the inevitable misery one will absolutely encounter just that much worse. life is one long string of tragedies, and a child should never be allowed to feel as tho something else could be possible. it is a cruel trick, a farce. but i know my daddo loved me and wanted me to be happy. it´s not exactly his fault that life has taken a shit on me. life itself is at fault. all is pain and loss and melancholic sadness. there once was this clown who wanted to make people happy, especially kids.

 

could not hold it in. this morning, the war on terror and jessica simpson performs on us live in times square. the warnings about lightning. documents causing the most recent terror alert. anxiety is high. can´t hold it in, geriatric incontinence is a growing problem among our aging population. grandpa has to take his diaper off before he gives grandma the high hard one. shit stains on the bed sheets. baby chipmunk is nursing from a chihuahua mother dog. it´s cold outside. hell is visiting soon, the world is falling apart, watch america lead the world as it falls to ruin, just as rome did, and a sharp-toothed clown laughs and laughs. people are shit, and mass-murder is the toilet paper. allow no more animals to die to feed the fat faces of american swine. anti-depressant drugs are causing american teenagers to commit suicide. new suicidal ideations. less future cow-killers. poor julie woodward took "zoloft" at age 17 and killed her pretty-assed self. too bad, she would have made a fine meat-eating crack-whore out on the streets of detroit, where all of the finest of whores congregate, spreading the finest of diseases. i ate bran flakes for breakfast, oh no! altho i am not elderly, i sure wish i had some adult diapers! there´s no telling when shit will come flying out my ass from eating my high-fiber breakfast! i am a victimized american! i need to take pills to get my dick hard! i need adult underpants! i need anti-depression medication! i need a big mac and whopper to shove in my fat face!

 

i am a victim, take care of me! i´m american! give me what i want or i´ll blow up the fucking world! i know, i will take my anti-depression pills, and follow them with a handful of get-my-dick-hard pills, and then i will pay jessica simpson a million dollars to remove my adult diaper with her perfect white teeth before i give her the high hard one! it´s the american way! osama bin laden for president! big macs for all!

 

maybe the best thing to do is head on down the highway. isn´t there an ounce of sanity left in this creepy world? maybe i need to lose myself in the chaos of my mind. my soul is out of flux. i am hungry for the absolute certain knowledge that i am not alone. and yet, i am alone. so much is wrong with no way to make it right. i threw bread into the flower garden to see if the mouse would come and eat. i don´t know if he did, i couldn´t see thru the weeds. it takes trust. getting there is the hardest part. my will is gone, my flesh is weak, and my spirit is no longer willing. no more butt-talk at breakfast. the subtle flaws involved in living are amplified a thousand times with every day i am forced to remain alive. but it really is only me who is forcing me to remain alive. what the hell am i suffering for? i am alone. no mail came all week for me. i am forgotten. i feel absolutely terrible.

 

any way to speed things up? coax out the natives. make them understand. one way or another, is that understood, colonel carter? yes yes yes, general psycho. screaming headache, makes me want to vomit. but it is night, and night is good. soon the sleep will come, and the handfull of aspirin i took will ensure some momentary peace. how did you end up here, milla? in the name of the father. eight dollars for a delicious chicken meal. HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU PEOPLE EAT A DEAD CHICKEN??? does it not ever cross your idiot minds what you are eating? most probably not. you are blind, driven by primitive hunger and carnivore lust. you eat death, and your world reflects death. may angry chickens and mad cows infect your dreams. my dreams will be of jedi knight itchy and saving the princess steffi from the evil empire. and the evil empire also serves all its good citizens lots of juicy nerf-meat steaks, yum yum yum. maybe i will blow up the empire´s mcdonald-land combination hamburger restaurant and death-star. i´ll be stepping large and laughing easy then, won´t? i think i need to get some rest. i´m so very very tired. goodnight, princess.

 

we are going to kill a friend, yuri. we are going to kill ramius. understand this, young fool, there are dangers in life that are far deadlier than any creature in the forest. is it something deeper? something more emotional? the sun may rise, the wind blows, perhaps rain is forcast for later in the day. but one thing is for certain. the headaches will come, the shrieking pain in my soul will tear apart my sanity, the questions will come: what is this for? why me? how could this happen? i have so much to do in this life, how the hell will i do it now?. ah, but these are happy morning thoughts, are they not? normally a few hours must pass before i have such morose thoughts. but on weekends when i have not received any mail, i am certifiably depressed and sadder than normal. i start wondering why i bother to wake up at all. i start asking myself if it is possible to will myself to stop breathing. in the true spiritual sense i have willed myself to stop "living" - but of course, what i am doing is not life.

 

he knows we are here, that we are ready to shoot, but he is not going to provoke us. ah yes, waffles for breakfast, always a sad favorite of mine. waffles remind me so much of germany, but institutional waffles are not quite the type i had in germany, and certainly not with lovely strawberry marmalade and fresh butter. but the memory of better times still comes back to me. and a deep longing to be back in my adopted homeland. i know i must seem more patriotic and sentimental towards germany than most germans actually are. but if so, i offer no apologies. i love germany! when someone like me has to suffer and endure the likes of america after living long and happily in a better place like germany. well, it is understandable. provoke me not. do i know you? i doubt it. i run the gauntlet, i soar with the vultures. they have turned me into an organ donor, even my shit is processed and turned into delicious chocolate bars for easter sunday treats. angels cry when i cry, devils laugh when i laugh. i am a genetic mutation, the product of alien DNA manipulation, but the aliens have abandoned me and left me to rot in the prison run by nazis. maybe the aliens are afraid of the nazis, or maybe the aliens are afraid of me. nonetheless i do not see them anymore, and i am dying a slow sad death.

 

my ship is drifting in space, i am frozen in hibernation. i have such terrible dreams in my endless sleep. dreams about being held prisoner by amerikan nazis in a prison filled with monster homosexual retards, and all because i lit a pile of garbage on fire. i dream that i have been in prison for over four years and that there is no guarantee when i will ever be set free. well, i know eventually i will awaken and find myself with my wife and kids and cats and dogs and goats. i will be in ireland and free and able to drink my whiskey and stout and walk in the moonlight with my wife, hand in hand. yes, someday i will wake up, and this horrible nightmare will be over.

 

perhaps i will die in my sleep tonight, and find my soul in a heaven that looks just like ireland, with my beautiful german wife, with heavenly bushmills to drink by the barrelfull. perhaps i will die tonight, and never wake up to this nightmare reality i am stuck in. please, if there is a god or goddess watching over me, read my words and take pity on my tortured soul. please let me die tonight, please.

 

as i could have easily predicted, no god or goddess heard my plea or deigned to answer my prayer, i am still here in hell, i am still alive, i am still suffering. i am so wholly and entirely convinced that evil exists and is so much stronger than "god" - it seems as tho there is no good left in this world, if it ever existed in the first place. the proof is so obvious in my case. how i could be imprisoned for so long with no hope of ever getting out, to be separated from the one i love and the land i love, and consequently imprisoned with monsters whom i hate with all my soul, in a country that i equally hate with every fiber of my being. considering the life i had before this evil overcame me. the freedom i had to do all i wanted, the frame-of-mind i possessed to live free and clear of societie´s "normal" jobs and responsibilities. the luck i had with my band, playing all over europe and having my recording studio. my painting and writing. the girls, the money, the drinking, the psychedellics. berlin, paris, amsterdam, cork, dublin, ljubljana, stuttgart. it is so hard to imagine that it is all gone now, and i have no idea when or if i´ll ever have it again. yes, evil exists and has its inexorable grip on me.

 

if i wanted you dead, you´d be lying over there with the rest of your fucking family. kill him, slipping, slipping, edging into the abyss, i am staring into the abyss, dr. nietzsche, and the abyss is staring back into me. and i am the monster that i always knew i was. the big question remains, what to do with the monster. no, fräulein, not that. open that bottle at your own risk, but i should warn you, i do not relent once the whiskey takes over. but then again, you know who i am. i am the monster you want to love. i am the monster i need to destroy. attraction and death and sex and humiliation. all are one, as the monster is one. i am the filth and the ecstasy. i am not the schwarze monsters i so oft refer to in this writing. no, the monster in me is so much dark and destructive, my monster has the super-genius intelligence quotient, my monster has the charm and the wit. my monster plays psycho-terror games that have levels upon levels upon levels. not even i know how deep they run sometimes. so now it is time for the monster to sleep. the small death, the temporary escape. no one can take that from me, at least. not until tomorrow. gute nacht, meine schöne frau.

 

a video game system is blamed for the deaths of six people. this is how stupid americans are - they blame video games for murder. they will blame a video game or violent TV show or toxic drinking water for bad crimes before they ever blame the actual piece-of-shit who committed the crime, especially when that piece-of-shit idiot is some black monster faggot on crack. there are issues that americans will never address, and all this is part of the reason why america is falling, just as rome did. america parallels the same rise and decline that rome did, but americans are too naive and arrogant to recognize this. i really don´t give a flying shit, and i actually applaud the idiocy of americans that will surely lead to the fall of their evil, sick, and degenerate country. this writing is not a sociology lesson, and hardly a political discussion, unless it pertains to me and my situation. and my personal creedo of anarchy and chaos and the creation of some kind of system that will make me the king of the world, or at least the king of ireland, really has little to do with the sickness and decline of america. one can easily do their own reading and research. but actually it is easy enough to just read a non-biased newspaper on a relatively daily basis to see that this country is going to hell. and a good book to read is "the rise and fall of rome". for me, and what is the scope of this "book" - it is a bit like "the fall of itchy wiggle christ". my slow but sure decline into depression, despair, entropy. culminating in?

 

how many times do i have to wake up to hearing loud-mouth animals and all the sickness and lowest forms of what "humans" have evolved into? my guess is that humans, or what is masqueraded as humans in this hell, is actually de-evolved monsters or mutations of what was once something trying to be a human but which had failed miserably. it seems that when machines are broken, they are repaired or discarded. how many times i have heard the term "machine" applied to that of the human body. so when these machines are broken, diseased, perverted, dangerous, why are they not repaired or discarded? my solution would be to stick all these homo-retard monsters on some remote island on the other side of the world. that or just put cyanide in their mcdonalds hamburgers or kentucky fried chicken. the gods know that these filthy beasts could not live without their meat to eat. that and their unnatural same-sex rituals, which the CIA has not quite yet successfully used against these monsters by introducing the HIV virus into their "community". i like my cyanide-in-the-chicken idea better, this way it wipes out a whole segment of the population that gets it´s sick jollies by eating animal flesh. there is a lot of anger in me. but then, i doubt anyone would be happy to be woken up from a nap by the inane monkey-chatter of a bunch of retarded homosexual monsters. unless you, dear reader, end up in prison someday, and specifically a michigan prison, i also doubt that you can understand my anger. just believe me, it is bad.

 

he that increases knowledge, increases sorrow. these are very apt words for me now, altho they are usually recited at funerals, they apply quite well to me now. even tho my "life" as it is, is more of a death, or a living death. and the more i know, the sadder i become, because i know more and more every day i am alive, how horrible living actually is. i watched "mary shelley´s frankenstein" tonight, and the words were in the film, and i had many thoughts about life, and how easy it is to make a life not worth living. and the question of what life really is? how something so simple and innocent could make my soul soar in the heavens. things like feeding my finchees or seeing a mouse nibble at the finchee´s bread. or thinking about the girl i love. but all these feelings are so quickly destroyed by simply thinking of where i actually am, and how fucked and hopeless my life and freedom are. and with these see-saw emotions comes the knowledge. and i know my life is over, that evil has won, that evil will always win, that anytime change or sense is introduced to this shit-fucked world, it is squashed and imprisoned and eliminated. yea, my sorrow increased.

 

oh, hello beautiful day! welcome to hell! i am the super-intelligent retard that lives here. i am the alpha and the omega, i am the tortured one. all the culturally deficient violent retards inhabit hell, and i am alone, i am the only retard who possesses a soul. and my soul is being destroyed, exposed to the lowest scum of humanity. i spit on this word: humanity, to me it is synonymous with garbage and filth and death and iniquity. my life is stolen, my soul is stolen, my health is failing. it is becomming harder and harder to wake up these mornings, as if my body does not want to wake up to this living hell. but also it is because i am physically very ill and my body is dying - so it makes sense in many ways that i only wish to sleep and dream, to stay as the only way i can be as far from this hell as possible: asleep, it is an escape, and the only real escape possible without being shot by overzealous nazi cops with orders to shoot and kill escapees. then again, the only way to really sleep is to shove pieces of foam-rubber deep into my ear canals, and even that does not completely drown out the screams of the homo-schwarze monsters. but usually i am so wiped out from running that i can sleep through the sick insanity. but other times i cannot. i´m in so much pain at times that the most i can do is cry into my pillow. horrible strange pains all inside my guts. so hello again and guten morgen on this beautiful day in hell! KOTZEN!

 

to build a foundation for the rest of my life, HA HA HA. my head is pounding so badly, it hurts so fucking much that i think i must soon puke. and blood and bile will come out. a new chapter of evil. delicious streams of paradise. carnal knowledge of multiple girls, knowing when to let them touch each other and when to give them the irish python. cancel the queen´s visit. change the meeting place. vibrating frequencies. scientific gobble-dee-gook. i´m seeing flashes of color and strobe-like violence, the migraine is in full effect, the letters on this page are shifting back and forth as if i were on LSD. what are you doing with my book? are you enjoying my hallucinations and mad ranting? i´m afraid to take a shit for the loss of blood that will ensue. i am bleeding out of both ends and from very deep disease so deep in my body, my sick unhealthy body. let´s get to work. becomming engaged on the top of the eiffel tower. laying drunk and passed out with a half-finished bottle of cheap wine cradled in my arms like a baby, somewhere in montmartre, paris. i drank loads of wine in paris, i angered many people and delighted many others, drawing pictures in vincent´s café with colored pencils, sharing bottles of wine with tourists who wanted to watch a "real parisian artist" at work. very funny! little did they know i am and was only a drunk irish rover looking for free drinks.

 

it´s just a myth, it does not exist. i´ll scream! i´ll scream like a retard who has had his toy bear stolen from him!. they thought i was dead, they tried to kill me, but they failed. you can´t have too much money or too many good friends. i need ten women. i have no problems and i do not require make enhancement drugs. well, with ten women, maybe. the wind is up, unfurl the sails, here come the irish pirates! cäp´n ralf and itchy. obey, and you will share in glories far beyond your earthly ambitions. yes, my queen, winds of hellfire blow, send my destruction across the sea. i will retire for the night soon, having finished painting "the retarded boy and his pet squid". a masterpiece of my deepest fears. drink up, you scurvey squabs! i will soon sail the seas of my dreams, i will escape this living hell. i´m running out of lives, reborn each morning in this deep dark hell, and soon all my lives will be used up and i will not wake. i will be free, finally free, my torture abated, my soul will soar once again. this life has no meaning for me any longer, this is not life. how sad is it, when i nightly look forward to disappearing into my dreams to escape the grisly reality i am consigned to suffer? could any person on earth ever say that i am wrong to wish and pray for my own end? this is a fate worse than death, and one i no longer deserve. poopy poopy crap on me, life is pain and death is free, when i´m gone you just may see, you should surrender life and follow me. gute nacht, freunde.

 

a plane is a flat, two-dimensional surface that goes on to infinity. a plane is a very big metallic machine that could carry my skinny, sick, diseased-riddled body back to my home, europe. only there could i ever be healed and be whole again.

 

good morning everyone. sickness and happiness and questionable bowel distress greet you. everyone can sing and dance in the streets. castrop-rauxel once had a pair of phantoms skulking through their neighborhood, they were dressed in black with clown make-up and elf hats and carried large sticks. any closer examination would have shown that the phantoms were indeed drunk and consciously-expanded on LSD, and that they found it interesting to sit around a small campfire in the woods watching the polizei search house by house for them. who could those phantoms have been? at some point, i was left in a forest up on top of a small mountain, all my "friends" abandoned me. i woke up around six in the morning, highly disoriented. i fell down the mountain side while taking a dump. my head hit a big tree, which inadvertently stopped my fall but gave me a concussion. i had to knock and pound on the hotel door to get in. the old lady owner was not impressed with me standing there half-naked, bloody, muddy, shitty, and on the verge of puking. hotel managers love me.

 

peace, prosperity, and tiny green things that make the mind go splat-pitter-pat-poopy-cocca-doo-doo. ski down the white slopes of pharmaceutical hell-fire. blackened hulls of pirate ships that passed thru the darker dimensions, the good captain orders attack and destroy prerogatives upon all resisting imperial merchants. god save the queen, my pimpled skinny irish ass. no more questions. raise the flag of the kingdom of itchyland, the most free country on earth, the only true feudalistic anarchistic republic of non-animal flesh ingesting citizens, where complete freedom is the only rule. steal my potatoes, will ye now? how do you like a hobbling to your thieving wretched knees, english usurping pig? blueberry milk-rice for all, free of charge at any given time. a guinness tap in every kitchen. have you noticed how your boobs have started to firm up? dr. crusher and counsellor troi find themselves exploring each other´s bodies and it leads to erotic fulfillment, lesbian experiences being completely natural in the 24th century. oh holy creeping jesus, what the fuck has happened to my brain? i have been removed too long from the female species, and i need and love my girl so much it hurts. life signs are extremely faint, and the future king of itchyland is unsure how much longer he can survive. the entire land is mourning their loss, they weep for the suffering of their king. total destruction of sense and justice, the king is being held by the evil empire, the nazi republic of american michigan death fascists, haters of freedom, creative thought and justice. darth vader had nothing on the michigan empire. the dark side of the force flourishes in that place, and constantly infiltrates and beats upon the soul of good king itchy w.c., the crippled christ, the happy retard, the sex-clown of queen steffi. oh, where is the bushmills now? when the stomach does flip-flops, when drinking could lead to projectile vomitting, i would ignore all warning signs, i would run my powered wheelchair down the middle lane of the autobahn, laughing my fool head off, spewing golden-bloody puke in all directions, soiling my adult-diapers, my colostomy bag erupts. all in the name of doing what i was borne to do: disturb the world with the absurd and the unconventional. blame it on vincent van gogh, he talked to me before i was born, he told me to borrow some of his own creative energy from the pool of all creativity. i think i took too much as always, drinking it in like it was a liter of frozen jägermeister. do not educate me.

 

i like peanut-butter and chocolate together more than any type of happy-good-time dessert. any form will do, i.e. a peanut butter cookie with pieces of a hershey bar, which i enjoy often in here, it takes the edge off of hell, even if momentarily. but the best to me is chocolate ice cream with peanut-butter, which i have not had for many many years, alas. poor itchy, poor little boy. my body is 40 years old but my spirit remains a constant 5 years old, but that ever-young spirit cries for the loss of it´s freedom to soar. gods in the celtic heaven, remove the scars from my soul and free me from the grip of evil, even if it means my death, just get me the hell out of this pit of foul filth and putrid sick evil. oh, i will sleep tonight, yes of course, okey-dokey doctor lecter, my own clarisse is much prettier than yours and she needs no coaxing to love me. but as you, i miss mine deeply. where comes the respite and reward for love? can´t there ever be true justice? did the gods abandon me, or did evil win out after all? jesus wept, longinus laughed, pilate shook his head, and mary magdalene creamed her panties. what in the hell has happened to this fucking world? stop the ride, lugh, i want to get off. this place is no longer any fun for me, brighid, make him stop. i know you hear me, i know you don´t wish to see my suffering. help me, please help me.

 

the morning after, the big let down always. crapping out tears and falling all over my misery. tried and true, black and blue, terrible, terrible. greek olympic games, wish i were in greece. i like greek people. the women are beautiful too. i like skordalia as well, on warm crusty bread with strong white cheese. wish i were in greece. shit, i wish i were anywhere but here, antarctica, greenland, poland. HA HA, no, definately not poland, that is a stupid choice, stupid place. and so the morning wreaks its horrible charms upon my life, or what barely passes as a life. so many diseases, so many ways to die, one of them must find it´s way to taking me soon, this cannot go on. so many people die needlessly, why can´t i? now it gets cold in michigan, it´s the middle of goddamned august. i only wonder when the snow comes, the frozen white piss from heaven. cold death, cold torture. i can only be miserable. it is hard to write, i am still in shock from last night´s chemical psychotic episode. must be good reading, non? á bientot.

 

it is difficult to comprehend the sheer violence of past events. ah so, my day ends, after starting a new and rather disturbing painting, it is ronald mcdonald, the world´s favorite flesh-devouring clown, standing over a butchered sick cow with its intestines spilling out on the ground, and there is a bloody butcher´s knife in ronald´s hand. a nice comment for all my flesh eating friends out there. it is so appropriate that mcdonalds uses a clown to lure and entice children to eat that shit meat that mcdonalds serves to ten billion assholes a year. get the kiddies eating flesh nice and early, disregarding the sanctity of life in the formative years before their minds can fathom how wrong it is to feed off the death of animals to keep their own bodies alive. yeah, use a clown to suck the stupid children into your sick venal trap, mcdonalds. wealth, prestige, power, and importance, you can have it all. and when you can afford to eat at mcdonalds every night, you will not only be eating like a real american, you will look like an american: a big ugly fat disgusting pig. i´ll have a big mac, fries, and a coke. SUCK SHIT YOU EATERS OF FLESH. die the tens of thousands of deaths you inadvertantly caused by eating dead animals to keep your sorry ass alive. well, it´s time for bed now; enough ranting and raving from me, it´s time to dream.

 

3. The Gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ

homer simpson: "without the grease on my hotdog, all i can taste is the hog anus".

 

crackin´good morning, all. where´s me whiskey, ye filthy trollop? everything is cancelled, no good times, no whiskey, do not let the good times roll. we made it to friday, and today is friday the thirteenth. go to jail, go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.

 

something wrong? i don´t see anything wrong. i don´t see anything at all, and that is exactly what i like the most. not so much in the way of a dream, but what i don´t remember which is disturbing me the most. it can´t all be so bad, you say? you have no idea. when i cannot remember dreams. me, the one who laughs at my nightmares and tries to egg them on. when i can´t remember the dreams, it means usually that they were so bad that i cannot bear to think of what they were about. what the hell that might mean is perplexing to me, and it bothers me. nothing scares me so much, at least nothing that i have not handled in one way or another at some point in my sad life. so what in blazes could bother me so much that i would subconsciously suppress it? midgets in my dreams? clowns? angry vengeful jeebus on a crutch? maybe a bar-owner chasing me down after i didn´t pay my drinking bill? angry meat-eaters? ronald mcdonald?

 

my weapons do more than make a lot of noise, they will kill you. and it is another end to another day in hell, to be followed by more and more and more. and on this lovely friday the thirteenth i received no mail, just as i received no mail on any day this week or any day last week. i wonder sometimes what all these peep-holes who claim to care about me are doing, what is so important in their lives to forget about me and think i don´t need their letters, especially when i write to them. as if prison is not bad enough, i have to feel forgotten and alone and abandoned. i am looking forward to my funeral. jaysus, i am forty years old and alone and forgotten, more than half my life gone and rotting away in prison. whatever all those who "forgot" to write me the last two weeks are doing, i hope they are enjoying themselves. goodnight, whoever you are. danke.

 

beautiful good shit-fuck morning - saturday, waffle breakfast and faggot schwarze monsters everywhere, and me feeling so helplessly alone and forgotten. nothing on TV. used to be when i was young the TV had bugs bunny cartoons on all saturday mornings, now there is only shit, old movies and spanish stuff i can barely understand. funny, for me watching spanish TV, it is similar to how i look at my life and what it has become. i look at what is happening, i see what is happening, but i do not understand what is going on. i don´t understand because there is a missing part. with the TV i know it is because i don´t speak spanish, with my life. it is that i understand nothing - all i can think of, is that evil is winning in this world. evil is everywhere and especially in my life. evil keeps me imprisoned and evil helps the nazi state of michigan to keep me. me, a true lover of freedom, a man committed to the sanctity of life and the fight against evil. we have failed master, we have failed. and everything i learned as a boy, all the catholic shit about goodness always winning over evil, how jesus will protect the innocent and good - it is all garbage and claptrap shit. evil runs rampant in this world and it takes all it wishes to take, nothing opposes it. there is no god to hear my prayers, but here they are for your own enjoyment: FREE ME FROM THIS HELL, STRIKE DOWN MY ENEMIES WITH DISEASE, LET MY DEATH BE GENTLE, BRING THIS WORLD TO ITS FUCKING KNEES, RAISE MY SPIRIT FROM THE WHEEL OF DEATH: SAVE ME FROM MYSELF.

 

´tis unnatural, flying firey demons. ´tis the work of the devil, this voyage is cursed. midgets, horribly misshapen dwarves, giants, the evil english pendragon. death to all life, evil reigns, this world is shit, this world is death, people are shit, and i´m the stinkiest of all pieces of crap. i must die eventually. i can´t take this anymore.

 

let´s get the hell out of here. piss on it all, or, don´t piss on it if it is not from around here. there are so many absolutely stupid things in this world, it makes me wonder why i do not seem to "get it", or to understand. i know i have been "blessed" with a very high IQ, and a psychologist once told me that i would never feel as tho i were part of the human race. i would forever feel isolated. but maybe that is the part that i really do understand - the fact that i just cannot understand. i mean, what kind of retards watch all the idiotic programs on TV? what kind of moronic imbeciles listen to rap or hip-hop music? who are the stupid fuck-heads who actually buy all the products that are offered on TV commercials? it is the nameless mindless horde, the masses, it could even be you, dear reader. and that scares me a bit. i can imagine that if you are one of the nameless horde, that i must seem to you to be a raving lunatic, a true madman. you may not even have the ability to understand my genius. in actuality, only .001 percent of the world could ever really understand me. maybe another .1 percent of you might be able to just grasp my meanings. the rest of you idiots are reading this and thinking i am mad or insane. so be it. the evil nazis of michigan feel the same, so you are not alone. my intelligence is of an abstract-creative sort. i see things and process information completely different than any of you. only a few in history who are known to you had the same genius. vincent van gogh for one. my long lost and misunderstood brother vincent. where is he buried, by the way? near paris or in the netherlands? ah well. jim morrison was another. i know where he is buried, if he is buried there at all. i used to visit him every day when i was in paris, at pére lachaise. i took whiskey and wine and would drink for hours and talk to jim. i am obsessed in a way with the dead.

 

the night, the mystery, the waste of thought, the creative urge, the dead cow´s blood being painted by the psycho-boy. working, trying to forget myself, watching lara croft/angelina and having bad thoughts of things i should not. carnal pleasures. no longer an option with psycho-boy. migraine headache all day long, same as yesterday, sick as all hell and nothing nothing nothing i can do to stop it. i want it all to stop, i want the loneliness, sadness, pain, heartbreak. every fucking day the same. how much longer can i bear all this before i give up "with extreme prejudice"? ja, i´ll watch more angelina jolie and paint dead cows and psychotic clowns with butcher knives and take 21 aspirins a day. i´ll be just fine. life is great. ja, i am lucky to be alive. so much to live for.

 

i´ve got my life and i´ve got my wife, that´s all a man needs to turn things around. yeah, sure, and i´ve got neither a life nor a wife, only pain. so nothing will turn around. dragging around the corpses of my past. infinity is broken, the end is black and timeless. part of the whole, my parts in the hole. practice at agony. torture is my best friend. tried and true, black and blue. hunting boots and a tutu. little debbie turning tricks out in the warzone. once long ago i fucked a girl from germany who´s mother had sixteen kids from various fathers, her mother received the "mother´s cross" from adolf hitler personally. it seemed very strange, like i was fucking history. she was an aryan model, also, blond hair and blue eyes. we did it standing up in a closet at a party. hmm, what a strange life. once in awhile i have glimpses of my past and it seems like i was some other completely. you ate my ear, you killed my wife, you told the police. what kind of sicko would take a dead body? i miss my cats so very much. maybe i should think about getting that mole on my dick removed.

 

for the glory of the empire. all i need is fifteen more. do i have enough veneral disease films? hemorrhoids anyone? when was the last time i tasted a beer? i have no morale to boost. no choices left. say cheese for the camera. dogs lick their balls because they can. cockroaches maliciously burning down ghetto dwellings, they could not stand the sound of ghetto rap music, proving cockroaches are smarter than even the shit-heads who listen to that crap. amazing grace saved a wretch like me? NO IT DID NOT. religion is a lie, and you are as stupid as rap music listeners if you believe in the shit all the religious fucks are trying to make you believe. they only want you to believe so they can feel that they are safe in their own foolish beliefs. and if you think that young nuns in the convent do not play with each other´s pussies, you really are naive. and that seems like it would be a good movie, starring angelina jolie and jennifer tilly, ha ha. maybe i could be the father confessor, hm. ja, bad thoughts, must be suppressed. how long has it been since i touched a woman? so very very very long. for that matter, how long since i pet a cat or dog, or ate pizza, or saw a decent movie without goddamned commercials. so many things people take for granted that i never see or feel or experience.

 

i had a dream that the woman i love was crying, and i thought to myself, if only this were true, she would never be crying if i were with her, because i would always make her happy, above all things i do. but it is one of the things i cannot know. i am just a piece of shit in a nazi prison. amazing grace, suck my skinny irish ass.

 

oh god if you were only there. painting, fuzzy, crapping my thoughts out onto the paper-card shit i paint on. cow intestines and blood. sometimes this shit even takes me away from my actual hell. my medical report is not so good, i have had a migraine headache for four straight days now, and aspirin does not make it go away. it is a scary kind of pain, really unlike what i´ve felt before. it´s all part of my ongoing thing, that i believe i am actually very ill with some kind of very bad thing, cancer may hap. if so, i can only say it is a gift, altho i´m not crazy about the idea of my life ending in this shit-hole, to get away from here by dying would be acceptable, especially when i don´t think i will get out any other way. i have many things i want to still do with my life, but, i´ve done a hell of a lot already, more than most ever do. but spending any more time in here just is not going to do me any good. my soul is sick and getting sicker every day, it is no question that my body is following. so i feel like i must puke now, i will do so and sleep. g´night all.

 

saints preserve us, a spike in oil prices this fine morning in hell. lots of dead american soldiers, lots of kidnapping-hostage stuff. lots of good things for the usa in the news. hope those soldiers finally had an epiphany as they died, realizing how futile and worthless their death is. to actually die for the usa? well, the usa is killing me, so one could surmise i am dying for the usa, or at the behest of this land of black evil. today is also the birthday of my mother. she would have been 64. if you don´t know it, dear reader, my mom died of cancer in 1995. i have not been the same since this time, and never will be again. well, today is her birthday, so that is not so grim to remember. only sad. especially to think that all her love and work to raise me has led to me being held in prison for an indeterminate amount of time by the nazi state of michigan for burning a pile of trash. it is very sad.

 

ah, the baby-fucker michael jackson is praying in a christian church this morning, isn´t that sweet? he is in the correct religion for his abnormal and sick sexual appetites. altho when he was a muslim last year it was just as appropriate. all of those in prison are of the same ilk as the "king of pop". it is amazing that monsters like that are allowed to live and have their perverted way in this evil world, and i am imprisoned. it must be because i am so dangerous. and i am so against the "normal" ways of society. faggotry, child-fucking, meat eating, and more. i want to love one woman and have well-raised kids with her, i want to live in peace in ireland and raise goats and take care of animals. ja, i am dangerous. keep me in here, free michael jackson.

 

i have finished ronald mcdonald butchering the ebola-stricken cow. it´s the middle of the day, i´ve worked since seven this morning. thought i would be happier, but since no mail came again today, i´m very sad. this is now the third week i´ve got no mail. maybe it is better that i forget about everyone and stop caring all together, seeing as they don´t give a flying shit about me. i wonder, if "they" knew how bad they make me feel when they don´t write, would they write more, or write me at all? probably not. nothing really matters, anyone can see, nothing really matters to me. happy birthday, mom.

 

almost midnight. sleeptime soon, this day was hell, just shit my brains and blood out. crap-blood, shove off you puke-holes. i need a squishy, where are you, apu? crap-on-a-crutch, they´re milking rats. oh, jaysus-joseph-and-mary, i need to sleep. this is day five of my migraines, it is such a familiar pain now, i just don´t care. i don´t care about anything. just sleep and saying goodbye to this shit world.

 

morning of stupidity, night of disgusting monster sounds that make me want to vomit. screaming monsters acting like three-year-old handicapped babies who eat paint chips for breakfast and dinner. mentally retarded ghetto monsters, so unpleasant and foul, this one writing cannot understand the existence of such things. some hurricane destroying florida, more dead american soldiers in iraq. the hammer is coming down in america - so what? let it. idiots fill this evil world and i stand alone, a wasted slab of human meat among the nameless horde of retards, perverts, meat-eating mcdonald´s customers, killers, rapists, loud-mouths, faggots, stinking useless violent monsters. all hail the human race! this is what freedom has bred for you idiots, and may you suffer intolerably. i wish to disappear into the harz mountains and live with druid-wiccan punks, drink mead, grow magic mushrooms, and lay with unwashed woman-witches.

 

practically all machines have the ability to take over the world. we need unemotional androids to weed out the retards and confine them to a penal colony. put walls up around the united states, and never allow any of the monsters to come out, instill the death penalty for the smallest of crimes, especially "talking in a loud voice" or "using grammatically incorrect english". these monsters should be put to death. the androids could solve a lot of problems and allow normal human beings to live their lives unhindered by american retards. maybe a few of the androids could be made to look like the sexy girl androids on old star trek episodes. those stay in europe.

 

introducing dog-chow little bites. the only question is, will imagination be able to keep us? school´s out for summer, school´s out forever. tiny weasels with SS uniforms are jumping all over me. rabbits with serious heroin habits begging me for spare change. dirty french prostitutes telling me stories about henry miller´s strange sex habits and ask me if i want to try some. i left many an empty bottle of wine at jim morrison´s grave, jim never answered me when i talked to him. i did not ever have sex with a french prostitute, and actually did not see so many, not like henry used to describe. the girls were there, yes, all along points of the champs élysées, wearing neon-fluorescent leotards and looking kind of nasty. but these types are in every major european city, especially berlin. but berlin has much more. sex with french girls is not all americans try to make it. but then again, my experiences are not at all normal, and what i think americans believe is very tainted. all americans desire is big macs and MTV, and to have the government take care of their lazy fat asses. french whores, teenage thai girls in berlin, irish catholic school girls, there is a lot of confusion in this world.

 

in this life you have to take what you want - you sure as hell are not going to get it sitting around waiting for someone to give it to you. i gave the girl the weekend off. bang-bang, surprise, mai-tais from a horny blond. so the night has fallen and greggy is burned out, he has been working since 07:30 this morning, no real breaks, 14 hours of painting, my neck is screaming bloody murder burning pain of wicked hellfire, the migraine pounds like a sledgehammer, six days now of nausea vomit puke headaches. death creeps slowly into my brain, i paint sickness into my pictures, sickness that wells up and vomits out of my creepy dirty soul. i need people to feel what i feel before i am gone from this shit world. or perhaps they will feel it once i am gone, long gone. just like vincent, but i think i´ve sold more in my life than vincent did in his life while he was alive, ha ha. i doubt that my work will sell like his did once i die. nobody wants to pay 20 million dollars for a picture of a retard drooling and spitting up on himself, but then who the fuck knows? i have very little of a grasp on what people want or don´t want, and i certainly don´t give a flying shit. what i write or paint or play is a mirror of the dark sickness of my soul. if my spiritual deformity is marketable, so be it. ask captain ralf what my soul is worth.

 

dripping sweat, dreams of strange girls, one hurting the other and then making her have orgasms. fire and creative thought. french girls, anais nin and uma thurman keeping company. save that burning wretch from the wicked flames of hell. if anyone suffers, it is me. i buried my treasure in a place no one will ever find. i watched a girl pee in another girl´s mouth once, they seemed to enjoy it, or at least showing me what they liked to do. and then i wonder where all these strange dreams and thoughts come from. most of my life with women has been more bizarre than any dream i could come up with. two mexican girls in 1984, two sisters even earlier. that started most of it, sane for the strange girls in highschool. who the hell knows. i´m a deviant, probably, but then again, opportunity always seemed to knock. i answered the door. i can´t help it what girls wanted from me, altho i do not understand it. i can´t stand myself most times, especially now.

 

i fell, too. i´ve been wondering. carry on as i do. i understand it all now. the soul is crippled. i want to walk. can´t explain. leap-frogging lives. so much happened in the past. i see in my past lives, the death, the struggle, the magic. the sigils forever attached to my soul. what did i do, vincent? what did i do, adolf? am i a monster of the only real enlightened being left in this world? why does the world seem so ugly and used and filthy to me? because i saw it in other lives, i lived, now i die. no mail again today. goodnight, and pray for my quick death, all you shitheads out there.

 

ah, your shithead prayers did not work for me, dear reader. fuck, shit, horse-shit, pig-shit. waking up again in hell, head pounding, of course. my eyes as red as pickled beets, eyes full of junk from my subtle but irritating conjunctivitis thing, perhaps it is a genetic irish thing? in detroit a woman is charading as a gas-worker, breaking into people´s houses with a gun, blindfolding people in the houses and stealing their money. another monster is arrested for killing a 92 year old woman and leaving the knife in her chest, over 230 murders in detroit so far this summer. more dead ami soldiers in iraq and afghanistan. and i say to myself, what a wonderful world. christ on a crutch, and people just let this shit go on and on. this is the price of "freedom"?

 

mysterious al-qaeda terrorists are stealing police uniforms and will commit heinous acts of terrorism upon unsuspecting american citizens. what a goddamned shame that is. i watched a few years ago as the planes slammed into new york twin towers. i felt a slight thrill, and then nothing at all. i really didn´t care then, i don´t care now. americans are evil, the usa is evil, and they get all they deserve.

 

amis are using the internet to buy prescription medicines from some companies in ireland, among other countries, ireland! HA! this is interesting. but i don´t know how to feel about it. altho i do not like to see ireland trading anything with the usa, i find it a matter of pride to know that the lower-priced medicine being provided by the irish is helping some old people who cannot afford the high-priced and over-priced medicine in the usa. but on the other hand, old people can´t afford a computer for the internet, so most probably it is more middle-aged americans taking advantage of irish lower-priced medications, and the money the amis save is being used to buy more fucking big macs and whoppers to feed their fat faces.

 

the guilt works like an aphrodisiac. night, alone, yet surrounded by faggot filthy monsters. it´s just me in here, just me. little itchy the devil, son of the archfiend, painter of extraordinaire, HA HA. worked all day again, migraine head-slam-ache and all. it´s seven days straight now of headaches, coming up on 4 weeks of no letters from anyone. altho i doubt there´s a correlation, there´s a connection. probably painting 16 hours a day adds to the neck stress and therefore some kind of added bonus to all the other shit that makes my head scream in shooting horrible agony. shit, i could go on for endless pages about what could or does cause me migraines. but in the end, i still think it is some kind of nasty-assed cancer - a tumor in my brain the size of a grapefruit, eating away all my consciousness. maybe that is why my feelings seem to be dying, or why i have no real desire to bother staying alive. herr tumor in my noggin is eating my soul away. i am death, i am come to destroy the world. this is the trial for my life - i am paralyzed with fear, because i am faced with having to examine what the hell i have accomplished in my short 40 years. or worse, what i have not accomplished. and then there are all the "i wish i could have" shit. faith and begorra, but there are at least half a million things i wish i could have done. but i´ve had no time. i´ve been playing the drunken chemical-laden irish punk-rock singer for the last 20 years. or more? no time or money for the cottage in ireland with goats and horses. i basically counted on these years, the ones i´m stuck in this nazi-land prison for, in which to get my life settled down in ireland, get my wife situation settled, start on the kids. what a kick in the balls this shit is. homer simpson visits the porno-bush. jennifer tilly dives on a woman. let go, let go. i won´t leave, i won´t go, i won´t sleep until you´re lying next to me.

 

it´s the morning. welcome to hell again and again. dirty, filthy, pervert monsters slurping and burping and leering in their black homosexual way. the sun rises, golden light fills the azure sky, but there is only darkness hovering over this place. some shithead talked his girlfriend into killing herself, choking her to death, eventually, the police considered it a suicide, then the shithead went to see some movie about jesus, and suddenly went to the police and admitted to killing his girlfriend. he will spend the rest of his life in prison. yes, yes, yes, this is a wonderful world. more dead in iraq, more dead in detroit. and i could care less - the sick abomination monsters in detroit die, the fine good americans die for "freedom" in iraq. the world can use less of each-type, and a few other types as well. besides, "god is on the side of america" - any good soldiers fighting and dying for america get to go to a beautiful white heaven, licking the nut sack of their jeebus for eternity.

 

there was once a nasty little leprechaun. his name was jack. jack the leprechaun went around spitting on people. he did not like people. after awhile jack was not satisfied enough by spitting on people, so he climbed to the second floor of a hotel in stuttgart, germany, and jack pissed on people walking on the sidewalk below. jack laughed his skinny irish ass off, and kept pissing. when he could not piss on the helpless germans below, jack began to vomit on them. he stuck his tiny leprechaun fingers down his throat and puked and puked down upon the people. he could hardly puke for how hard he was laughing. the people below kept looking up, wondering what was coming down on their heads. this was germany, after all. there was no chance that something so crude and obnoxious as a maliciously vomitting leprechaun could be raining urine and vomit down upon their heads. this made the whole process even funnier to jack. eventually even the puking wasn´t enough, so jack stuck his ass-cheeks out over the window sill and started shitting upon the people below. this was also very funny, and it was quite messy and sickening to the germans. urine and vomit falling from the sky is one thing, and can be perhaps explained as dirty rain or the ejection of a jet aircraft toilet flying overhead, but when little tiny pieces of leprechaun poop starting plopping down on their heads, they took action. the angry germans started to hunt down jack the leprechaun. they never caught him. but all the while this happened, an irish man in a black leather jacket was shoplifting sekt and winebrand across the street. good distraction!

 

apollo, please - you know so much of love - please don´t hurt them. i am the god of nothing, i will be patient no longer. flowers, poppy plants, magic mushrooms, dreams of blankets and red sweaters. i shall love you for time without end. how in the hell does food turn into crap? the answer is simple: the food is crap going in. freddy krueger told me to do it, mommy. my soul is the punching bag of the gods, i hear them laughing. what i feel, what i know, would break your heart. how i know how useless and futile human lives are. see the ants going about their business, human? you self-important human?

 

the ant is no more aware of you than you are of what the gods have planned, or better yet, not planned. they don´t care, and just because some hopped-up philosopher came up with the idea of sentience, it still means nothing. humans are only large stinking self-deceived ants. ants are actually more sensical. ants only kill what they need for food. most ants are vegetarian. ants do not pay money for big macs and whoppers. ants don´t get fat. ants don´t hold the world hostage for oil interests. i wish i were an ant. i wish i could stop being human. i wish all of this would end. yes, i am the god of nothing. i am the god of entropy. feel my wrath.

 

oh creeping jesus, what pains i am enduring. eight days straight of headaches, nausea, pain, hell. judas got the short end of the stick. watching the exorcist on TV, all cut-up and editted for the american audiences, so there´s no FUCK and SHIT words, no tits, no sexual contact or commutations, so it is all safe for good, clean, pure amis to watch. since i know the movie i can fill in all the good stuff on my own: linda blair shoving a crucifix up her pussy. and in my sexually starved mind i wonder how nice it would be if i were shoving a crucifix or some other monstrously large and ungainly object in her crotch, but in this time, not when she was little. she must be my age now anyway. whether or not linda blair would be interested in the monster in my crotch is a matter of conjecture, tho HA HA. t´would be interesting, but it would never happen. i´m too much in love with an equally spooky girl, i doubt she would approve. ja, demons and witches and god failing man. the tired old stories, only reflecting those writer´s feelings who are brave enough to question almighty god. and then there is me, one who knows that god has abandoned man, more specifically me. what is happened and keeps happening to me is pure evil. probably orchestrated by god himself. he allows this to happen to me. he doesn´t want me out in his world fucking linda blair, drinking irish whiskey, no no.

 

this was under regan´s pillow, did you put it there?. she was heavily sedated. pickles, ankles, belly-button piercing. a night, this night, the same as all the rest, just like many many more that are to come. no mail again, and i have gotten to where i hardly give a shit at all. only deep deep deep inside, it hurts like hell that i am forgotten. christ shitting in the desert, but am i alone? chocolate pudding, chocolate ice-cream, chocolate candy bars, and then there is shit, and in my case, lots of blood to go with my chocolate. and stomach pains, bloody vomit, ulcers are back. painting a skeleton with roses, "blumen für dich, meine liebe", but i paint and wonder about the whole LIEBE thing. especially when she does not write to me. i am possessed by a demon and i need an exorcism, i need a high-colonic, i need freedom, i need to be purged of my painful life. church approval is rarely given, no shit, father carras? the church crouches behind pomp and circumstance and arms-length ministrations because it cannot tell people that god does not care about them. they only teach their flock to pray so that maybe when the whip comes down and god decides to start fucking people in the ass, he might not fuck those that prayed to him so hard as he does those that don´t pray. well, i prayed once, long ago. the more i prayed, the worst my life became. god doesn´t care about any of this world. this world is a shameful waste, and if i were god, i would be wholly embarrassed of this mess. free will, my bleeding ass. well, i know some girls, who liked to get me to fuck them in their ass, so maybe that is my way of playing with god. but my version feels better than what god does to me. so, when god fucks me in the ass every day, that makes him a dirty faggot, correct? - goodnight, freaks.

 

and it is morning. SHIT. oh, cute. the amis have decided that they will continue to keep a "significant force" of military robots in my precious germany. as always, without asking the germans if the american soldiers are even wanted there. but i can safely tell you, dear reader, and i assume that most who read this are german, there is absolutely nothing that you can do about it. in a distant way, germany is, as a whole, in the same position as i am in, being held captive beyond any choice by american force. how does it feel? happy that your stupid daughters are getting raped voluntarily by monster ami schwarze soldiers? hm?

 

hey kids, rock´n roll, rock on. you fucking hippy. i watched this silly movie the other night called "a night at the roxbury". altho it is not the greatest piece of cinematic artwork ever made, it had some songs in it that were these "dance-disco"? songs i used to hear in germany all the time when i was sitting around in cheesy kneipes or especially in turkish imbiss shops, this "baby don´t hurt me" kind of shit that seems so popular in germany and europe in general. it was sort of depressing but comforting in a way, even tho i hate that music, the memory of what or where i was when i incessantly heard that music brings back good memories. when i mention stupid german girls, i don´t mean to preclude the not-so-stupid german girls who are forcibly raped against their will by ami schwarze jungle poodle soldiers, i know that happens plenty. not to mention the prostitutes who take money to get raped by schwarzes. it´s a cause of deep rage for me, and for others, many others, i know in germany. i hope that the german people will do all they can to stop the schwarzes-raping innocent german girls.

 

ah, an american is being held hostage in iraq, ha ha! i hope that the nice ami is enjoying the finest of iraqi hospitality, perhaps drinking his own urine for lack of water.perhaps amis will think twice about invading countries now? no, they will not. amis never learn and they will continue to overrun the world with their special form of nazi world domination. yoo-hoo! let´s get a big mac!

 

ah, michael jackson raping little boys. another ami schwarze, altho that sick queer tries to hide the fact. while that piece of shit michael jackson is getting his nose cut off his face to hide his african roots, the doctor should go south with his scalpel and cut off that sick schwarze queer´s dick and nuts. that is, if that piece of shit still has a dick and nuts. well, he is raping the little kids with something. if i could choose, i would have that monster killed outright. one of the biggest problems with this world is that people are afraid to admit what the real problems are, and even more afraid to do anything about the problems. pieces of shit like michael jackson should be executed and all child molesters should be snuffed out completely. any monster that rapes any other person should be immediately executed. no exceptions ever. of course this world would never do what is correct. and you don´t want to know what i think should be done with all the meat eaters.

 

captain kirk? yes, yeoman janice rand? captain, i am in my cabin with the queen of the amazon women´s planet. yes, yeoman rand? well, captain, the queen is requesting that i put my tongue inside her pussy and wriggle it around. and what is the problem with that, janice? you should accommodate your alien guest to your full capacity. yes captain, of course, but there is a problem, captain. what is it, yeoman? well, captain, the amazon queen is presently fist-fucking my pussy, and i find it difficult to see how i can lick her pussy while she fist-fucks me. ah yes, yeoman, this is where a captain´s experience comes into play. yes captain? what should i do? well, yeoman, turn your body around using the queen´s fist in your juicy cunt as a fulcrum, turn your body around 180 degrees. oh yes, captain, i see. yes, yeoman, you should be able to easily lick the queen´s pussy and still have her fuck you with her fist. yes, yes, captain! it will work! i´m so happy - i didn´t want her to stop pleasuring me. of course not, yeoman, carry on. yes, captain, yes sir, oh and sir? yes yeoman? captain sir, would it be possible to send that cute young female planetary biologist to my cabin? the queen expressed her desire to taste that young woman´s asshole and possible eat her shit. well, yeoman, normally i do not allow shit-games on board the enterprise, but in this case i will make an exception. oh, thank you captain, thank you! my pleasure janice, carry on. after this point, captain kirk took out a sharp stiletto knife and carved a tribal design into his forearm. he dipped his fingers in the blood and smeared the blood on his lips. he gripped the knife tightly and headed for the cute young female planetary biologist´s cabin. he was going to give her an order that she would certainly find herself going beyond the call of duty to perform. mr. spock cried alone in the corner and pissed his pants, enjoying the warm sensation until the urine cooled.

 

a terminally ill patient offering himself up for sustenance. so here we are, together again on a night, a friday night to be exact. again i have no mail for the week, 21 days or more with no mail, nice. it is such an empty feeling. and to add to that, my headaches have taken a new turn, i have extreme vertigo - dizziness that i cannot control, and my left eye is completely bloodshot red. i am extremely nauseous and my head is pounding. it seems it is much worse than a migraine, it all rings true to being something like a stroke or a brain tumor. but if so, i´m not sad. i´m happy, because soon i will be free.

 

it is time to say goodnight. it is time for sleep. i worked hard all day on the happy grim-reaper bearing flowers for my "liebe", so i deserve my rest, i deserve my sleep and my small escape. i deserve freedom and love and to live my life just outside this living hell, but the gods deem not to grant me such grandiose gifts. instead they deem to torture me and sicken me and keep me in horrible head pain. i would not be surprised if the gods are not behind me getting no mail from my friends and my "liebe". there is something, some deep dark evil force behind me remaining in prison. i should have been out of here years ago, but the nazis of michigan will not release me. i do not know how. i will ever get out of here. no one can help me, or the ones that want to help me cannot, or will not, one thing. i get the feeling that i will die, in prison, in a great deal of pain. i have a better feeling that i will die in here than any feeling i might foolishly have of ever being released. goodnight, friends.

 

there was once a god that took much pleasure in torturing a very bright and intelligent human being named grégor. the god did not want grégor to spread his intelligence and creativity over the world. the god was afraid that people would figure out that grégor was correct in his way of thought, that the gods, all of the gods, are shit and deserve no worship for the pain they inflict on humanity. so the god made sure grégor was locked away and tortured for the rest of his short life, and the world never knew what they missed. praise jeebus. this is shit, and this is shinola. both are black, and both stink. praise jeebus, he saved a wretch like me from teaching the world what a load of shit he is.

 

deductive reasoning, that´s the name of the game. fucked and freaked and fresh, sick sad saturated stupid senile saturday morning, awaiting soggy waffles, and the once-a-week phone call with my dad. i keep thinking and wondering when the headache will come, i feel tinges of the pain creeping up on me now, t´will be soon i suspect.

 

i don´t trust you, i trust nothing. how i poured my heart and soul into that relationship, and all for what? we must live with our memories, good and bad. froggy came a-courtin´, but the bitch turned out to be a not good dirty italian slut. she sure left a bad taste in my mouth when it comes to my opinion of italian girls. the only two italian girls i ever fucked were both lesbians. coincidence, i assume. but then again, the whole european woman thing. so many bisexual women. i don´t blame girls for liking women. men are pigs, i try to be less of a pig than most, so maybe i am easier to be with. i used to drink a lot, too.

 

christopher reeve as superman in the movies just does not cut it. now he is a messy crippled carcass in a wheelchair. i think it would be funny if they made a new superman movie with crippled chris flying around in a super-powered wheelchair. for when super-crippled-man wants to fail his enemies, he can open up his colostomy bag and dump all his intestinal sewage shit all over them. that would be a funny movie, and would give christopher reeve a job. the handicapped need to work, too. people can´t be expected to keep supporting the wheelchair-bound members of society, they must earn their own keep. besides, who is going to pay for the super-powered flying wheelchairs? so many retards in this stinking retarded world.

 

best you stop doing that, you vicious brute. the bottle of whiskey tipped up and a mouthful was poured into his cigarette-sick mouth. he lit a camel and smoked half of it, staring at her laying naked on the bed. he had awoken a bit earlier to find her masturbating in her sleep, her fingers deep in her crotch, moaning. he didn´t quite know what to think. it was erotic, yes, but disturbing. he knew that her recent shopping trip to san francisco with her girlfriend the hair salon owner had resulted in the two women having sex together in the hotel room. he didn´t quite know what to think of that either. he was a bit angry because he always wanted to fuck the hair salon girl - now his wife had had her. he smoked the rest of his cigarette and took three more pulls off the whiskey bottle, and thought. his wife had always been a prude, very reserved in bed, and to boot she had some kind of obsessive disorder. she was pretty and had a great set of tits, but the bad side outweighed the good. he had many affairs with many girls just to satisfy his need for exciting sex. he could get the old in-out-in-out from his wife, but it was very boring. now he could not figure out the lesbian affair with the hair salon owner girl. he understood it, yes. the hair salon woman was beautiful. even a girl not inclined to sex with another woman would want to fuck the hair salon girl. maybe his wife is a lesbian, he thought. a prude that would never admit to her desire for women, but could not pass by the chance in san francisco. yea, that was it. he drank some more and smiled to himself. i´m a regular sam spade, he thought.

 

i had a shit fetish girlfriend once, a 16 years old punk rock girl. she was into anything and everything, and especially other girls - specifically older women. the girlfriend i had before her was turned on by little girls, seven year old little girls, to be exact. that one had a seven year old cousin that she used to shower attention on, she would have the girl over to her house and give her baths, with her in the tub with the seven year old girl. she used to touch the little girl´s pussy and told me she kissed it a few times, but never went farther because kissing the little girl´s pussy made her have an orgasm immediately. she used to have me fuck her in the ass while she thought of her little cousin. it was disturbing in a way. eventually i left, but learned later that when the little girl cousin was 12, my girlfriend of the past was having full sexual relations with her. she told me the girl came to her bed one night and started licking her pussy. strange, maybe, but not so in sweden. these were all swedish girls.

 

captain ralf dellhofen "caught" an english sailor off the coast of belfast. ralf was fishing again, except his form of fishing involved no fish, only slimey english faggot sailors. upon capturing the sailor, captain ralf hauled the skinny dirty queer down into the torture chamber deep within the bowels of "the heart of gold", the good captain´s pirate frigate, charred black from hellfire. the limey faggot sailor was immediately put in chains. the faggot cried like a little girl and begged for mercy, but his cries went only to anger captain ralf. "shut your cock-hole, ye perverted english son of a diseased whore!", the captain bellowed as he brought his buckler sword down in a vicious slash across the homo sailor´s legs. the faggot screamed in total agony as blood spurted out the wounds, which were now only stumps where the good captain severed the legs at the knees. the faggot´s legs lay in a puddle of blood next to his convulsing body. "avast, but you´ll bleed to death soon if i don´t stop the kroovy from leaking out of ye, ye dirty scum-hole!", the captain proclaimed as he grabbed a burning torch. ralf burned the bleeding stumps until the blood stopped leaking out. the sailor went into shock, quivering and spitting up vomit, but he was stabilized for the moment. "now you will feel the real pain, english boy-toucher, as i give your body and soul to the tender mercies of cole, the cruel one with the poison ink. you´ll be thinkin´me a kind-hearted pirate after cole is done with ye".

 

you filthy little gerbil, you bald-headed butchering nazi. strings from the puppetmaster pulling me, showing me what to do, and oh, how many terrible things i have done. these are the hands that have done so many terrible things. i met a girl who was to end up being my wife once at a café-bar place in stuttgart, she was picking me up after i had been on a drunk and ended up somewhere on the outskirts of münchen. i rode the trains and s-bahns and u-bahns to get to the bar, but where i was living in stuttgart was far outside the city and i could not get there without a ride. this girl showed up at the same time that i walked out of the toilet after fucking a girl that had previously lived in another apartment with. that girl was a young 18 year old who claimed to be a lesbian but whom i ended up in bed with along with her girlfriend many times. so as i met the girl who was to be my wife and had this 18 year old coming out with me from the toilet, i was a bit flustered, but i was used to it.

 

besides, the future-wife had some guy with her, some woman-beating creep from some faggot band that was supposed to be her boyfriend - this guy, one axle, had no idea that i had been fucking my future-wife for months. so all of us sat outside at this bar, and it was very strained. future-wife could tell i had feelings for the 18 year old, and the 18 year old could tell i had feelings for future-wife. while all this subtle mind fucking was going on, another girl that i had been currently fucking walked by the café-bar, saw me and the girls, waved at me and said she would see me tomorrow at "our" bar, which was a different place we would meet before we went on our suck-and-fuck spree. i then got dirty looks from both girls i was with. and this destroyed my plan to bring together the 18 year old with the other bar-girl at the next suck-and-fuck, which was possible since they both enjoyed other women as well as my manly attentions. it was not a big loss, as i did not need to be with both at the same time, altho i remained an option since the 18 year old was not with her girlfriend any longer. i was kissed deeply by the 18 year old before she left, pissing off future-wife. i was dropped at my house without much more said. i was alone and home with a case of cheap white wine. i called up a girl i knew who might come over for a drink.

 

strange strange day. i had something really unusual happen this morning, i awoke and started having feelings like i was on acid. a sense of euphoria and heightened perception. i did not have the usual headache, but i was also filled with a great need to write crazy shit, so maybe an apology is in order? - i haven´t a clue. i don´t know what i wrote, i don´t know why i was feeling that way. around 11:00 i went back to sleep and dreamed really fucked-up shit. then i woke up feeling groggy and tired. eventually the headaches came. tra-la-la, the headaches came. and are with me now. sweet blessing is the night for this sorry wretch, for soon sleep will be upon me, and all the filthy faggots which are only schwarze retards will be gone from my vision. i will see only my dreams and desires and freedom. today on my weekly phone call with my dad, he told me that soon this will all be over with and i can look back on this time as only a bad memory. i sincerely hope he is right, but i am not sure he is totally right. i believe it will be all over for me soon. but i doubt where i am going to go that i will have any memory of this living hell. not in the sense that humans have memories, in any case. i will be pure spirit and in no need to ever remember the torture i endured in the last years of my life. but, my dad is rarely wrong, and i trust him, and i want to believe him, so i will keep to his words and hope that i will be out soon. to be out, to be free! what it means to me - countless things. but mostly it will mean: love. i will see my love. i will see my friends, i will see my germany, my ireland, my europe. i will taste whiskey, irish whiskey, and fine german beer, fine euro-cheese. i will smoke russian cigarettes and chew, swallow, and gag on magic mushrooms. i will lay naked with my girl for days on end. i will LIVE again, and not die slowly as i do now. so far it is only a dream, yes, but such a dream.

 

what is this mess? what is that stench? buffy, jodie, what´s that stench? who´s that doll with mr. french? missus beasley, so nice and sleazy. goodbye is so difficult. i keep saying goodbye to myself slowly, every day, in quiet moments. i am the walking dead, the monster of frankenstein, i am the creation, doctor f. is my own sick ego. i reached too far into the flames and my soul has been burned. sweet melodies come to me in the quiet times, and thoughts of what it would be like to be with a girl. goodnight, all.

 

ah, 06:00 in the morning, barbra streisand being chased around by a dark german shepherd doggy. at one time i would have been enamoured by miss streisand - i thought once she was quite beautiful, but now i am more interested in the doggy, haha. only ´cause i really hope to have a dog just like the one in this stupid movie one day. and for girls and what attracts me, streisand is not quite it. gothic or punk girls with dark hair, intelligent, uninhibited, faithful, moral. these things i find attractive. what i find unattractive in girls - well, it varies, because each person can be ugly in their own right, physically or esoterically. but overall i cannot stand fat girls of any sort. obesity is disgusting to me. stupidity is also a bad thing with me, especially when it comes to social issues - a girl who does something stupid because other people do it or for no reason other than she does not think of the reason - like wearing certain clothes or listening to stupid music or acting a certain way, this i cannot tolerate. but, most gothic or punk girls think for themselves, so i find this attractive. same goes for irish girls in general, but they generally hate me - i drink like a fish, i am irreverent as all hell towards the catholic church, my world does no revolve around what a woman thinks of me. but occasionally irish girls are not so strong-headed. not often, tho. i´ve been with many women, yes, and every type. i don´t know if i find one race of girl more attractive than another - other than my obvious attraction to german girls - or a preference if you will. girls from india are intriguing to me also. it has been so long since i have talked to a girl. i used to get letters from the one i love every week or more - but she does not write very much at all anymore, so i have lost contact with females pretty much alltogether. all i have now are memories and fantasies, and watching women on TV, which i find very frustrating to say the least. not only because of my past and the extremely ironic way that i went from having more sex and girls than i could handle to having nothing at all. but also because i love women, i adore them, i want to be with them, and more than anything with my "liebe" - so to be apart from women is probably the worst part about being where i am - it is the torturous aspect that drives me closer and closer to wanting to end it all. i don´t hope for freedom any longer, only for a quick and relatively painless death. good morning.

 

you are slaves, not substitute life forms. nothing to report, captain kirk, there´s nothing even out there any more. i can do whatever i want without credit. liberators, nobody made it. you like it, ensign fuck-a-lot? there are pleasures awaiting in the holo-suite which any female klingon would be happy as a clam to engage in. the bene gesserit sisterhood does not condone lesbianism, but it turns it´s head. dirty dirty dirty minds, failing to see the light of salvation thru procreation. the church wants more mind-numb christians to feed the coffers, to be sure that the pope gets to eat his big macs every night in his golden silk underpants. it is a breeding plan analogous to what hitler planned. why has no one figured it out? the church bans all forms of birth control. a woman has an unwanted baby and it goes into a church-sanctioned orphanage. grows up to be a boy-touching priest. at least the mormons don´t hide the fact that they instituted a breeding policy. i don´t know what this place used to be, but it looks now as if people have been using this place as a public toilet, just like that nun´s cunt.

 

where did the initial burial take place, dr. frankenstein? um, i´m not quite sure, i was drunk on absinth at the time. but you did unearth the corpse of the young and pretty nun, correct? yes, yes i did, i had to make myself a wife. but why the nun? don´t you have any reverence for a holy woman, a bride of jesus? well. not really, you see, i don´t buy into that stupid shit, besides, she was no bride of jesus, she was getting other nun´s fingers shoved up her pussy since she came to the convent at age 7. oh my god! you monster! such blasphemy!. blasphemy my ass, she wanted it as much as the mother superior did, so at least i know she was untainted by any other man, and the corpse is that of a sexual creature. my nun corpse has made a most excellent wife for me and she is a most excellent fuck. oh, i cannot hear this any longer! i must report you to the ingolstadt authorities! i must report you to my mother superior! my order of nuns will not stand for this blatant slap in the face of the church of rome! tut, tut, tut, young sister, why don´t you see for yourself my creation. behold, the bride of frankenstein! but, doctor, she is naked, and she is quite beautiful. naturally sister, she is the creation of my genius! please, allow yourself to sample my bride. but, doctor, i never, well, um, maybe this once. oh! oh! ooooh! - and the good doctor looked on as the investigating nun fucked his bride. it looked favorable that he would soon have two brides.

 

allah be praised! my work is done! i have finished the latest juggernaut i´ve been toiling over. lo, there do my people call to me and bid me take my place next to them in the halls of valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. such a rush comes over me when i finish a painting, this one: "blumen für dich, meine liebe" was quite a bitch. so my work is done and i will send it and my previous 11 other paintings to captain ralf in germany. ah, to think that my work rests in the vaterland is reward enough, they are in a better place than i am. but ralf must sell the paintings to help get me out of here? but i am wholly pleased that they go to my germany.

 

so it is nighttime, i will sleep the sleep of a man who worked hard and well. milla is on TV again, "5th element", hmm. too beautiful. i watched "red corner" tonight - bai ling is also incredibly beautiful. i see chinese movies and people and i know i have a connection from a past life. i don´t quite know what to think about chinese girls. they are mysterious. almost everyone i knew was very smart, too. i have much respect for the chinese. my teachers were chinese, and i have the utmost respect for them, especially dr. wang and dr. yang. once i thought to take a chinese girl for a wife, at the suggestion of my teacher. it would suit me, so the suggestion went. maybe my total chaotic frame of mind would be balanced with a sensible chinese girl, i don´t know. it didn´t pan out, whatever the case. i did keep it in mind for the future, tho, and i am sure if i ever am married to the girl-of-my-dreams, she is a balancing aspect to my chaos. it is hard to say, especially when she never writes. not only her, tho - nobody writes me much anymore. 4 weeks and no letters. shit. and here i sit torturing myself by watching milla jovovich and bai ling and who the hell knows what girl. i must stop it, and relax, and try to sleep, but i´m geeked up from finishing my painting, naja. tomorrow is another day in hell. ´til then, dear reader - g´night.

 

one day a real rain will come and wash all the filth off the face of this stinking earth. and a happy good morning to you, too. can any of you imagine what it is like to wake up in hell every morning? in an enclosed world filled with schwarze faggots and child molesters, loud-mouthed assholes screaming hip-hop shit? not being able to go to the toilet for fear of being gang raped by schwarze predators lurking in the toilet stalls? this is my world, my earth, and yours too, if what i write means anything to you. maybe you can understand my madness.

 

to see the human condition in all its deformity in this pit of hell, it makes me wonder so very often how it is humans ever survived - because if this hell is any indication, humans certainly did not evolve, at least not much further than some low-brow beast dwelling in a cave and beating deers over the head with a club for dinner. a sort of venison big mac, circa 8.000 B.C., ha ha. it is just so unbelievable to me, that humans are what they claim to be, some type of sentient enlightened being. i can believe that cave men of the past were more enlightened to their world than modern humans - a cave man was in touch with nature, one with his environment. the filth and scum that is the modern-day human is such a waste. i know that to use these monsters in here is not quiete fair if i want to say "this is humanity" - but these monsters in here are a product of humanity. these monsters are created by your society. and since americans so painfully enforce the law that "all men are created equal", guess what chuckles? according to the usa, you and everyone you know is equal and the same as any schwarze homo child-raping predator in this prison of hell. and since the usa now owns the world, this applies to all of the world, even my beloved comrades in europa. but this is only what the usa enforces at the point of a gun - it does not mean it is true, and i do not believe it for one second. i will die before admitting i am equal to any of the filthy schwarze monsters in this place. i would rather die than ever say those beasts are equal to me. i think they should all be shot, but then again, i´m not the one holding a gun to the world´s head. it is the usa, land of the "free" - ja, and if you believe there is freedom in the usa, i would like to talk to you about some vacation land in siberia i have for sale. i thought it strange back in the early ´80s when i first came to germany, how much germans strived for american culture - mcdonalds, blue jeans, ami-made cars and motorcycles. i´ve done my best to discourage germans and other europeans from buying into the american way of life, and hopefully this book will help even more. but i would like to suggest that you, as an enlightened european, open your eyes and see the usa for what it is: the next rome. rome fell when it freed the slaves and embraced christianity. the usa has done this shit also. think of your child or mother or wife getting raped by one of these schwarze predators screaming rap lyrics. and think before you buy your next big mac.

 

what a wonderful world, i say to myself, what a wonderful world. fat americans have a new "diet", where they only eat meat, thinking they will get skinny and beautiful. funny that so many of the models that americans use to compare themselves to, to see how they only wish they could look, are european. heidi klum comes to mind, there´s many others, i don´t know their names because i don´t pay much attention to models, but i know lots of them come from germany. so ja, go for it, you fat slob pig americans, eat more hamburgers and hot dogs and you will get hot and skinny like europeans, ha ha. well, continentals at least. there are a lot of american-like fatty english people. they eat boiled-salad sandwiches and kidney pies. kotzen! so if "you are what you eat" is true, it makes sense. english people as a whole are not very pretty. the food they eat in england is absolutely ghastly, and they are a ghastly bunch. but then again, it may have more to do with inbreeding, and inbreeding from a questionable breeding stock to begin with. look at prince charles - there is a walking shifted-chromosome mismatch example. but he is a shining gleaming hero for all retards of the world - prince charlie gives them hope that retards can become the king of england, so they can be content with their sewage-treatment plant jobs. i hope you have a lovely day. eat a boiled-salad sandwich, you dumb fuck. well, even that is better than eating a big mac.

 

i picked out the poison for envelopes. terror threats across the usa, uncle osama laughs, HA HA HA. when does that one perfect person finally complete me? such disappointment, no mail again, no mail again. i am completely forgotten. i am celebrating today, i have finished all my painting before the cutoff date to mail my shit - altho i must send my stuff to captain ralf, and since he is one of the few i care about who did not mail me anything for four weeks, i am not sure he is even there to get my paintings, so maybe all my work for the last 3 or 4 months will get lost. but then you would never be reading this if that were the case because all this writing shit is going into the same envelope. i seem paranoid, no? the fact remains that i have no mail, tho. i feel so fucking lonely and alone and forgotten. it´s really terrible. so i better get back to those envelopes now since my painting is finished. i have a nice new batch of chain letters, complete with a curse. you´ll be getting yours soon.

 

there once was an alcoholic bum named burt. he lived in detroit, he was white, divorced, 51 years old, and he lived in a refrigerator box behind a polish donut shop. when the donut shop threw out their donuts that were not sold, burt took the donuts out of the trash, ate some of the jelly-filled donuts, and sold the rest on the street corner. usually burt made enough money to buy himself a bottle of very cheap scotch whiskey, but he bought whatever he could with whatever he could make - wine, beer, even little one-shot bottles of gin if donut sales did not go well. burt´s life was simple and sad, but he had no choice - he could not stop drinking, ever, and he had no skills to get a job. besides, he was too old to get a job. america is not kind to the old even if they have enough money to live on, and to be homeless and jobless and old in america is analogous to a slow death sentence. burt had no real reason to live, but he was too much of a coward to kill himself. besides, he could not fathom using what little money he made from selling rotten old donuts to buy a package of razor blades to slit his wrists. he would rather have bought more booze. burt lived on alcohol how any other person lived on food and air.

 

when winter hit, burt would sleep inside the trash dumpster. it was a tricky situation, because he had to be sure that the donut shop people did not catch him in the dumpster. they would call the police, burt would be arrested, and burt would be put through the system yet another time. going to jail in itself was not the bad part, hell - the cops gave him food to eat and it was warm - but in being in jail, burt was unable to get booze, and that was unthinkable. any length of time away from booze was a total living hell for him. so burt avoided getting locked up, and after 15 years of living on the street, burt was getting quite good at avoiding the cops.

 

years ago, just before burt turned to the streets, he was married to a beautiful woman. sylvia was her name. sylvia was petite, with brownish-blond hair, a pretty face and shapely body - especially her tits. burt liked her tits very much. sylvia came from romania, burt met her at a church dance. they dated for six months before they married, and they married just before sylvia was kicked out of america. sylvia received her green card after her and burt were married, and soon after that the trouble began. burt did not want to admit it to himself, but there was always the small thought in the back of his mind that sylvia married him only so she could stay in america. he had heard that many women did this, especially ones that came from former communist-ruled countries, but burt could not believe that his sweet sylvia only married him for a green card. it just was not possible. no. eventually burt woke up to the truth when sylvia stopped coming home after going out with her friends. he thought of tailing her, to find out where she was going and spending her nights, but instead he stayed home and drank whiskey. he loved sylvia, and it was breaking his heart that she was out all night, night after night, but he would not get in her way if that was what she really wanted to do. he loved her that much - to give her all she wanted, even if what she wanted was not burt. so he drank, and he drank a lot. one morning burt woke up on the couch, the TV still blaring out some goddamned jesus shit - it was a sunday morning after all. he had gone through at least two bottles of whiskey the night before, and countless cans of beer. he had passed-out or blacked-out and only woke up that morning because he had to vomit very badly. burt shambled into the bathroom and heaved up his old booze, blood, and guts into the toilet. it was hideous, and tears streamed down burt´s face as he hung his head low, his face close to the water. he could see a reflection of his face in the toilet bowl water, and he did not recognize himself any longer. his life was going to hell, his marriage was a sham, he would soon lose his job because he could not make it to the ford factory on time due to his heavy drinking. it was ending. all of it. after running his head under the shower for a while, enough to wash the vomit splash from his face, burt made his way to the bedroom. at first he was happy - he saw sylvia laying in the bed, naked, her beautiful tits bared above the cover sheet - but then burt saw that sylvia was not alone. there was another woman in the bed with her, and that woman was naked as well and had her arms wrapped around sylvia. burt just stared for a moment or two. it was erotic to him to see his wife with another woman. he knew the other woman, too. she was marta, another girl from romania, one of sylvia´s friends. then the terrible thought hit burt in the head like a sledgehammer. this was the end of his marriage. sylvia was a lesbian now, she had a beautiful girlfriend and a green card - she did not need an alcoholic slob like burt any longer. trying to repress a sob, burt grabbed some of his clothes as quietly as he could and slipped out the front door. he didn´t leave a note, but he did leave his house key. he wouldn´t need it any longer, and sylvia would get the message that he was not coming back.

 

the winter was very hard, even to detroit standards, which was usually very very cold. nobody was buying burt´s rotten garbage-picked donuts-shit, nobody was out on the streets at all because of the cold, so burt had no money to buy booze. he laid in the dumpster surrounded by as much insulating trash as he could cover himself with, but he still shivered uncontrollably. booze usually kept him warm, or at least fooled his body into thinking he was warm. without booze, burt just twitched and jerked in the deep freeze. and burt remembered. all the memories came back, all the bad times in his childhood, all the bad times he went through in school, his parents dying, losing his job, losing his money, losing his wife. the few good memories burt had about his sorry life were wiped from his mind years ago. booze will do that to you. shaking from alcohol withdrawal or shaking from the horrible bitter cold, it didn´t matter. burt was freezing to death and he knew it. he had to get out of the garbage dumpster and find shelter before he went into shock.

 

burt managed to crawl out of the dumpster but fell on his back when he hit the slippery ground. just another slap in the face - it didn´t matter. nothing mattered. he thought about where he could get warm as he shambled up warren avenue, pulling his tattered coat about his body with trembling bared hands. he needed a drink so badly it felt like he was going to die. maybe he would die, it didn´t matter. nothing mattered anymore. donut-money would be a long time incoming. a long time before he would drink again. it didn´t matter. nothing mattered. burt saw the city bus speeding down warren through the slippery ice and snow. it would not be able to stop quickly. "i love you, Sylvia" he called out in a clear voice as he stepped into the path of the speeding bus. "i love", and it was over.

 

23. August 2004. fool me once, shame on you - fool me twice, shame on me. it is better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven. dave rutabaw is an idiotic scoundrel of the lowest sort and i disapprove of his very existence - i have considered ending it on many an occasion. superior ability breeds superior ambition. the chamber of ages, the vault of tomorrow, sadness for the end of things - murderers!that is what life is all about: loss - but that is what we use as an excuse to go on.

 

ah, the happy night, the death-sleep, the dreams, coming soon to a semi-psychotic manic-depressive irish prisoner near you. i see my death on the horizon! hooray! beautiful. it is my honor to write these words to you, dear reader. you are witnessing my end, one way or another - it´s the end. celebrate with me, my sickness, my sorrow, my dreams, my nightmares. in need time to think. drinking, i need a drink, i need to be burt the alcoholic. i need to take a shit without screaming in utter horror. tomorrow i see the "doctor", who is only a butcher with a cheap license, but a butcher who can give me drugs that might put my migraines headaches to rest. i can´t take them much more, i can´t keep food down, or what does make it in comes screaming out in vicious pain. maybe i will shave my eyebrows before i see the "doctor". i should tell him to cut my brain out so i can stop thinking so much. or at the very least give me a full frontal lobotomy so i can become a drooling retarded idiot, not to think anything, not to feel anything, never to love or care or want or even cry. although i don´t do any crying - i am afraid that if i started crying, i would never be able to stop. goodnight, my pretty.

 

a string of deadly bombings in iraq overnight. what is it that the usa not telling people? 43 million americans without health insurance. i guess a lot of them will die, especially after having heart-attacks because they are fat from stuffing their piggy faces with big macs. 5 iraqi people killed by bombs, 3 ami soldiers, bombs being dropped by warplanes on the holy mosque, i would bet that allah is pissed off. i have been in an accident of some kind, my milk does not taste as it should, i must reverse my chance of bore-loss, i´m post-menopausal. this is the age of war, severe storms on the horizon. how long do these stupid amis think that the muslims are going to put up with american interference? how long before a dirty nuke is exploded on american soil? is a war over oil interests worth all this death? certainly, to rich fat americans. what is bizarre, is that higher gasoline prices do not affect the rich. america is an evil land full of obese horrible monsters. avoid this place.

 

see the dancing weasel, see the bunny rabbits frolic in the fields, see the happy children playing. sunshine, flowers, rain. the green fields of éire, the kleine alpen of bavaria. see greggy sitting at a café outside, the alps looming large nearby, so close they seem as though he could almost touch them. he is drinking a cold kristal weizen mit zitron. that morning he was playing with the goats, and soon he will ride a horse up into the mountains. he is at peace. he is happy. he does not realize just how bad his life is going to become, but he does enjoy what he experiences. if he knew then the hell his life would one day be, he would have changed things. for one, he would have never gone back to the usa to let those nazis put him in prison with the worst faggot monsters on earth. he only has memories of his past, of the goats and horses, germany, freedom, life. he does not know what the point is to staying on-line, he keeps looking, but it looks grim that anything will ever get him free. his life is over, the memories are fading. he must accept it.

 

nobody steals from me, least of all my own cargo. i was napping and had sad dreams, first about robert palmer - he died, i guess, and i thought about a song he did that i always liked called "johnny and mary", not many people know the song i guess. i dreamed about an interview i saw once with him, and he taked about his wife and kids, how his kids didn´t really know what he did, only that he went into a room of his house and made strange noises. i thought it very sad they don´t have their dad anymore, he seemed like a good guy - not the usual musician asshole. then i had a dream about my missing friend archie - he has a daughter also, but i dreamed he was in prison with me, away from his daughter, and he was crying. all these dreams made me want to cry, too, at least in my dream. guess i think a lot about children, the ones i don´t have, specifically. perhaps it is better that i don´t have kiddies. it would be terrible for them to have their dad in an evil nazi michigan prison with no hope of getting out, or at least the nazis will not say when i can get out. i can only think that i would be a really good father to my kids, i mean - i am just a kid myself inside, and i understand children - i would play and laugh with my kids like i was one of them. so it would be terrible for them to have me taken away, especially for an indeterminate length of time as the nazis do to me. in a way, it is worse than dying, being put in this nazi prison. at least if i were dead, the people who supposedly care about me would be able to grieve and move on with their life. with the nazis of michigan, no one knows when or if i will get out. and it is amazing that the nazis are allowed to do this. god bless america.

 

this is your opportunity to own a high-profit turnkey business. to be a part of a winning team, call 1-800-FUCK-YOU. it is amazing how much a life can change. i´ve had many thoughts lately about how i used to eat - not so much, but the quality of what i made. i started working as a chef when i was 14 and i see food preparation as an art. it is just amazing sometimes, to think of the indian dishes and chinese dishes i used to make with so much pleasure, to share with another. and now my only culinary delight is chocolate, if i can afford to buy any from the prison commissary. the "food" that the nazis give to eat is so horrible, i will not soil my writing by describing it. i am a vegetarian and this makes it even worse for me in here, because americans as a whole do not understand vegetarianism, and the nazis in this prison definately do not understand. so i am fucked. i still have horrible headaches. i was at the doctor today, they did nothing but give me acetaminophen. i took it and my headaches got worse. i am sick to my stomach and my head hurts so bad i am seeing distortions in my vision, like LSD hallucinations. i am dizzy. i really want to die right now.

 

50 years ago, france was liberated by american forces from the bad bad nazis, and 50 years later the nazis are in michigan, usa, controlling the government and prisons, and torturing a very sad irish boy, refusing to let him out and keeping him with no reason other than to keep him - because they are evil and it gives them pleasure to torture the irish boy. there is a big stink about how the ami soldiers torture the poor iraqi prisoners, and yet no one says a word about how the nazis in the usa are torturing the michigan prisoners. west nile virus is running rampant over michigan, the giant sink-hole is growing, opening up the pit of hell in the detroit area, more ami soldiers are dead, blown up by muslim extremist bombs, detroit is the murder capitol of america, the entire city is going to hell, satan is rising up out of the pit, laughing heartily at the evil and chaos he sees, all of michigan belongs to the prince of darkness, the governess of michigan takes the evil lord into her bed every night. death, disease, murder, mayhem, all that is wrong and evil reigns true and pure in the state of michigan. i am a prisoner being held beyond my release date for no reason. i could do so much good in this world - in my europa - but the evil nazis of michigan will not release me. michigan pays for its sin. satan hath come.

 

the nasty little leprechaun went about urinating on everything. wherever he pissed, magic mushrooms grew. the leprechaun picked the mushrooms and gave them to the forest goats. the forest goats were very good friends of the leprechaun, the leprechaun protected the forest goats, and he played with them every day, riding around on their backs and laughing. the forest goats would get crazy when they ate the magic mushrooms, and they would drink guinness from silver buckets and dance and sing in the happy irish forest.

 

hello night, hello from this silly wee man. does the day have any idea the hell it has put me thru today? does the day care that i still have no letters and i feel absolutely horribly alone? does the day care that my head hurts so goddamned bad that i could not paint or write or even THINK today? does the day care that i am suffering a fate worse than death? no, the day does not care, not at all. only the night cares, because the night brings me sleep and escape and forgetting. nothing is worse than having an itch you can never scratch. i´m not in the business, i am the business. i need it all to go away and never return and for the goddess to take me in her arms and tell me it was all a bad dream, all a mistake, and i will never feel this kind of pain again. but i know i will never feel the goddess taking me in, i know i will suffer and suffer and suffer. stagnation, entropy, slow death, the disease of wanting to die and not dying. it´s all mine, all mine to experience forcibly beyond my wish. thank you, life, good night.

 

a night in hell is over, now a day in hell awaits. what cruel and filthy god invented the schwarze monsters that lurk in michigan prisons? what is the purpose of these monsters other than to torture me? i feel that there is some sick twisted god, and he is laughing his insane head off every single day, watching me being tortured by the monsters he created. i am being held for no reason in this prison, but if i had my way, i would never allow any of these homo-faggot filthy schwarze monsters out of prison. never. in fact, i would have all these loud-mouthed hip-hop monsters destroyed like sick mad cows. my life is a complete living hell. there is nothing i can do to change my situation. there is a burning rage inside my soul, a fire that will not be doused. what the fuck is all this for? why must i be tortured like this? is the christian god laughing now? is that him i hear laughing at me?

 

some fat pig council-woman of the city of detroit died from a bad stomach surgery procedure that was to make her stop eating. now her family will bring a lawsuit against the hospital for 100 million dollars. there is so much wrong with this. first, that some slob obese beast must have surgery because she can´t stop shoving food in her fat face. it is beyond disgusting - but this is america, land of the pigs, and where surgery and subsequent death is preferable rather than the fat slob just not eating all those fucking big macs! and then there is lawsuit against a hospital, it will hurt the hospital and possible endanger or hinder the lives of innocents, like sick children or old folks. and for what? because of the death of some sickening worthless schwarze pig? it is beyond thinking. that pigs life was not worth spit, and yet her fat pig family will live rich from her death and children and old folks will suffer. this is america, dear reader, stay away.

 

some kid died in iraq, he was an american marine, and the marine corps sent 3 soldiers to the kid´s father´s house to say the father´s kid was dead. the father went nuts and set fire to the car the 3 marines came to the house in, and the father set fire to himself and burned to death. the kid was the father´s first-born son. the family of the dead kid is on national TV calling for an end to the war, but just as the mother of the dead kid started saying "the war must end", the TV station cut off her interview. for those too young to remember or know, this is called "propaganda control". the usa will not allow any subversive anti-war statements to be made about what a horrible thing the war in iraq is, or what a fucked-up nazi government is in control of the usa government. the usa learned this propaganda control from a certain german named josef goebbels, he was hitler´s propaganda minister. the usa learned a great deal from the nazis of germany, especially how to control all media and how to imprison any person "they" do not like for as long as they want to keep that person in prison and give absolutely no reason for keeping that person. this is what is happening to me, and nazi-land usa can do it, because nazi-land usa has the guns.

 

there was once a little sparrow. he was a happy sparrow, he had many friends and lots of food, because every day an irish boy fed the sparrow and his sparrow-friends all his bread. the irish boy was in prison and did not get any food that would keep him alive for long, but the irish boy still gave all his bread to the sparrows. the irish boy did not really care if he lived or died, and giving his only food to the sparrows made him feel happy,if only for a little while. the one little sparrow saw the irish boy every day, and altho he was happy that he had plenty of bread to eat, the little sparrow could sense the sadness in the irish boy. one day he saw a tear in the irish boy´s eye, and it made the little sparrow´s heart ache terribly. the little sparrow flew next to the irish boy with his piece of bread and set it down next to the irish boy´s foot. the little sparrow wanted the irish boy to feel happy as he felt. and the little sparrow´s completely unselfish act melted the little irish boy´s heart and stopped his sad tears from flowing.

 

the "dave matthew´s band" dumped 800 gallons of their tour-bus toilet water, a torrent of filthy human waste, down upon a tourist boat filled with ami tourists in chicago, usa. all the tourists became sick and started vomiting, and now the tourists are bringing a lawsuit against the dave matthew´s band. i think it is hilarious, and i have to give dave matthew´s band my congratulations, "what a nice shot, man!", ha ha. pour shit on more tourists!

 

night night. perfect time, goodbye time. ralf finally wrote me, so it was a good day for me. now i just battle my headache with a handful of aspirin and read my star wars book. also my bukowski story in german, captain ralf sent to me.

 

it is hot, even now at 23:00 Uhr, bad sleeping weather, but very appropriate temperature for hell, which is where i am. "the waterboy" is on TV, bobby boo-shay´s girlfriend in the movie is torturing my loins. i´ve got to stop watching this fucking stuff, it only causes sexual anguish. who is that, mama? it´s the devil, bobby. she looks like a grufti queen of death sex. i want to die.

 

hot humid sick morning. unemployment is rising sky-high in america, police and prosecutors are being fired from their jobs in detroit, and gun violence and murder is at all-time high in detroit. this is good news - detroit is going straight to hell. the entire city is a warzone, people die violent deaths every day, citizens afraid to leave their homes. beautiful! just like saigon! hey ami soldiers, you think it is bad in iraq? come to detroit for a vacation! killer schwarze crack-heads are running wild in the streets, they will kill you for a dollar! life is cheap in detroit city! come here for fun and death and drugs! bring your guns! this is the price of freedom. just as rome fell, so goes america. and i could not be happier to see this whole fucking country self-destruct and go to hell. get pissed, destroy.

 

i am ill today, more so than normal. i feel a cold coming on. this makes my tortured existence even worse. and i think i hear jeebus laughing at me from up in his judeo-christian heaven. i wonder if the hell that the creeping christians describe is actually heaven, and the heaven with jeebus is actually a horrible hell. maybe the actual hell is a great place, with streams of irish whiskey and satan is a happy little leprechaun, and chocolate is free and plentiful, magic mushrooms grow wild, dr. timothy leary is the bartender, milla jovovich is my personal "assistant". i want to go to this place. i want to go now.

 

you´ll excuse me, i must go tend to a dispute. who cares? i am so fucking goddamned brutally sick today. i have a severe cold, the only kind one gets in this cesspool of a prison. so i feel like i want to die from the cold and want to die from loneliness and want to die because my useless life is going nowhere and i am rotting from the inside. what if i wanted more than just weapons? how about you girls? it´s a death trap, a fusion reactor full of disgust, ready for meltdown and total annihilation of my private little hell. dreams are coming, lieutenant colonel samantha carter is coming, ha ha. sexy smart blond girl with a machine gun. lovely, makes for great itchy dreams. at least it is a nice TV show, this "stargate". allows me to live vicariously thru the characters. samantha carter meets an alien named itchy and very many nasty good-n-fun things occur. what a shameful boy i am. but i am a prisoner, and so far from reality that my dreams and fantasies are more real than the hell i really exist in. goodnight.

 

morning two of having a cold, miserable. ostrich farm on the spanish channel, and some mexican girl with big milk factories that i would insert strange objects into, but i am far too sick today, ha ha. i am really a mess now - can´t really work, but can´t sleep either. i will probably do my crosswords all day. all the faggots and loud-mouth jungle-schwarze-püdeln, are the same, irritate the shit out of me to the point of needing to puke on a normal day, but now that i´m sick, it is worse. but there is no escaping from those monsters. life surely is not worth this suffering. i feel even too weak to express it in words. i only wish to collapse in a shaking quivering mess and die, let the monsters, faggots, morons, loud-mouth uneducated retards take this world. they are the creation of jeebus, and the usa points their guns and makes these monsters equal to all - it is time now to just give up. maybe the virus in my body will mutate and kill all these monsters, infect them and make them suffer for the destruction and irritation they have brought upon what could be a fairly decent world without them.

 

sickness, death, entropy, uselessness. sick all day, i was. can´t do much of anything, can´t think straight, taking far too many chemicals to combat the death-symptoms. chemicals make my head go a little funny. want it to end, want it all to end. vampires: los muertos is on with the master vampire looking so much like my last wife sabina, ha ha. maybe this is very appropriate - that witch sucked all the life out of me. i doubt i would be in here if i had never met her. well, what is done is done. hey vampire, i can smell you. so i am sick as hell, it is night, i will sleep my sick sleep, coughing and sneezing and sputtering kashl kashl kashl all night long. no peace for the wicked, i suppose. chemicals bring strange dreams. i am strange, i am sick, i am itchy. goodnight, anyone who gives a fuck.

 

grrrr...arrrrgh...SHIT...brrrr...rzzthflpzzz...caaaa...FUCK. jeebus can only give me a common cold! he is too inept to strike me down with one of the more interesting diseases, that fairy fuck-head wannabe. SNEEZE, COUGH, SNEEZE...QRRSHHHH...FFFFFT!...fuck this world.

 

the sick night of my miscontent. stinking foul faggot retarded poodles of the jungle irritating every sense a real human has. i can only surmise that there is a god and he is laughing his judeo-christian ass off at me, laughing at my pain and suffering. i do not have lip fungus. small animals and bugs placed in a blender, pureé until smooth, and you greedy hungry flesh eaters have a milk shake, just like mcdonalds, you sick fucks. the simple pleasure. i am so goddamned sick, but i am only suffering, not dying. no, god will not allow me to die as i only hope would happen, i must suffer, and suffer more, and more. one step forward, three steps back, three steps back. i wonder how andy gill and jon king are doing? i had once so many friends, now i only have a few. but they are good. why can´t i just burn out instead of fading away like i am doing?. where is the attraction to life? what is the reason that i must suffer so much of this shit? i´ll bet god knows, but he is not telling his secrets. he is suspiciously vacant from this life, but if you listen closely, you can hear some chuckling in the distance. and perhaps even a "hey, watch this one, HA HA HA HA!". goodnight, peep-holes.

 

yet another morning i find myself waking up in hell, complete with black foul demons and ceaseless noise. i have not had a single moment of quiet peace for four years. my mind is riddled with decay and holes, like some kind of rotten swiss cheese.

 

dark hell, the hell of noise and ghetto idiot music, the hell of stink, the hell of the smell of homosexuality and gross perversion, the hell that i am stuck in for an "indeterminate length of time". and if god and jeebus are not laughing, the fucking nazis of michigan, a.k.a. the forth reich, are laughing their godforsaken evil asses off at the hell they keep me in. i am much more than this, i am better than this, but there is no way out. do not ever believe for one single second that "life is fair". use me as your best example. maybe mass suicide is in order, if only to protest the unfairness of life. maybe if a few thousand of us like-minded intelligent humans just decided to snuff it, the laughter from god on high would end. or at least the nazis of michigan would stop laughing. we would take away their fun in torture and human suffering. corpses feel no pain.

 

once there was a little goat named tralfaz. he lived in the forest in the wicklow mountain region of ireland. tralfaz was a happy little goat, but he was lonely. one day tralfaz saw a small man with black hair and black eyes running thru the forest. the little goat heard gunshots in the distance, and yelling. he quickly figured out that the black-haired man was being chased by the english. ireland had just declared independence from england, and the english soldiers were hunting down irish insurrectionists. tralfaz did not like the english. he had heard that the english eat boiled salad and kidneys and goats like him. he also heard that a vast majority of english men were homosexuals, and that english women had to look for irish men to fuck them, but irish men would not fuck fat english cow-women with their nasty rotten teeth, so that was why so many english women were angry and mean. this was not a good race of people, the english, besides the fact that the english raped and pillaged his beautiful green ireland. after the black-haired man ran past, tralfaz waited until the english soldiers with their guns were close, and he jumped into their path and started butting his sharp horns into their butts. the english started screaming and yelling at tralfaz. they had stopped chasing the black-haired man and were now intent on killing tralfaz for ruining their hunt. as they were busy trying to kill the mad butting tralfaz, the black-haired man snuck up and pulled out his 10-inch long fighting dagger. he used his stealth to sneak up behind the english soldiers as they tried to kill tralfaz the goat and he viciously slit their throats and left them bleeding to death, one by one on the forest floor. the black-haired man made quick work of it, finally screaming out "CORMAC ABU!!". as he finished off the last english soldier, decapitating the soldier´s head completely and kicking the bloody head in the air like a soccer ball. tralfaz was unhurt, the english soldiers never could get a good shot at the crafty little goat, and the black-haired man was also unharmed. "hello my little friend", said the black-haired man, "i am grégor", and tralfaz gave a happy bleat, and grégor and tralfaz were friends forever.

 

i bet you clean in the middle of this ring, the ring of fire. people chanting, shouting, cheering for the leader on high. the people are puppets. the leader requires free-thinking anarchists to conquer the world. too much to think of. we need to settle this. it is night, time to dream, time to die a small death, and pray to whatever unholy god will hear my prayer to please kill me in my sleep. but it won´t happen, because LIFE IS ONE BIG DISAPPOINTMENT. and i for one am sick to hell of it all. suffering is good for the soul? then i should have the best soul on this sick planet earth. i´m still sick, coughing my lungs out, lungs filled with pus and corruption and blood. nice stuff that my human body produces. i thought once that my shit was scary until i came to this place. now my body regularly produces substances that i am certain have no scientific name yet, but "corruption" suits well. and these substances of mystery come out of every hole possible in my body! yoo-hoo! jeesus, my shit is boring now! when it even decides to come out, which is every 3 or 4 days, maybe. ah yes, my body reaches the autumn of its years, and yet i still retain the mind of a child, albeit a child with a very high IQ but no common sense whatsoever. disease and pestilence! women wrestlers kissing each other and touching various body parts in a suggestive manner. this is my life, i´m bored to tears, i want to die, for now i sleep and dream of being on high, leading the masses to take over the world. i fell into the burning ring of fire.

 

as predicted, i am awake and, unfortunately, still alive, still sick, still miserable. this morning one of my friends goes home. he is one of three friends i have in here. altho i often do not have many friends at all, the ones i have are usually special, so this will be sad. and also, michigan is basically non-discriminating in who they will put in prison - they don´t care as long as they fill their prisons and get their blood-money. but still the majority, the vast majority of prisoners are outright retarded schwarze homosexual predators. i had a stupid beagle dog i picked up as a stray, it shit and pissed all over my house, and even that dog i consider to be smarter than any schwarze faggot monster in this prison. but there is among the population a minority of whites, and among those i can speak to maybe one percent. so for me to have a friend is very rare. i lose one today, very sad.

 

oh, what´s this for then? i have one of those in the shape of a squirrel. partical dreams, curdling milk. diseased faggot monsters stink like rutting gorillas. i´m so sick, there is green-yellow shit coming out of my lungs, the color that i so love to paint with, now it is spewing out my chest, goody goody goody for me. here is a real clue for you reader: i am so sick that i skipped my chocolate treat tonight. so that should prove my true illness in case you don´t believe me. i never miss my choco at night, unless i don´t have it, which is often enough, but tonight i do have it, alas, i just can´t get into it, and altho i worked my ass off tonight, and i deserve one small morsel of goodness in a hershey´s chocolate "kiss". i just can´t do it tonight. what i could go for now is 1. a fifth (750 ml) of strong peppermint schnapps, and 2. a fifth of jägermeister, and for dessert, 3. a fifth of bushmills irish whiskey. that would make me feel much much better. so i will sign off now, this signifies the end of our broadcast day, g´night.

 

a judge will decide whether or not to throw out a case against a terrorist cell in detroit. good morning america, get me my bottle, bitch. arnie schwarzenegger on TV, president arnie, haha. fun fun fun in iraq, lots more dead ami soldiers, dying to protect the oil prices and mcdonald-land security, your god-given american right to order a big mac with french fries. i wonder how many people know that mcdonalds french fries are cooked in rendered animal fat?? mcdonalds is clever, they use every part of the animal to feed your fat face, piggy. nothing will ever change in this world, evolution has stopped. a dirty little secret that the ami government is keeping from being released, but which a few more enlightened governments have leaked out, as well as students of genetics at MIT - the anthropologists cannot find the skeletons of the missing link between pre-man species and modern man because there is none. man as he exists today appeared on earth about 100 thousand years ago - they can find no evolutionary connection. there are neandertal skeletons of the time, and some sources believe that modern man interbred with the neandertals and created the schwarzes. whites and asians were created by an outside source, and the best theory going is that cro-magnon man was genetically altered by aliens, and that the aliens have been among man for most or all of his existence on earth. the pyramids at giza lend credence to the theory, not only because of the genius and architectural near-impossibility of the building, but of the inscriptions on the walls. it makes sense to me. neandertal rap-music stinking faggots everywhere, de-evolved violent raping monsters. help me, my alien brothers.

 

ah, a splendid morning, an off-duty detroit police officer was shot and killed last night in front of a stripper club. and on the other side of the city a crazed black drug fiend was running thru a neighborhood shooting off a gun, killing one and wounding two. of course that is a slow night in detroit, but then again the news often does not report every murder. they don´t want anyone thinking detroit is a bad place, HA HA HA. but to see a detroit nazi police man get killed only elicits feelings of satisfaction in me. those pigs getting something back for their cowardice and corruption. if a giant hole opened up underneath detroit and sucked the entire city and all its fucked-up occupants, it would be doing this world a great favor. and nobody would miss that godforsaken city. there never is any real threat alerts in detroit warning about possible terrorist bombings or some such shit. there is no question why that is: even the terrorists do not give a flying shit about detroit! it is the nastiest city i´ve ever seen, and i have seen many. what happens when monsters are allowed to govern themselves. america claims to be the land of freedom, and look at what happens when they give freedom to a race of neandertal monsters. so went rome, and so will go america. enjoy your big macs while you can, fuckers.

 

nighttime finally. kung-fu movie on TV, some blind guy with a flying guillotine and wearing a nazi baby-bib, excellent stuff. i´m still sick as all hell, coughing up corruption from my lungs and screaming in pain from a pounding headache. doctor butcher has prescribed a heavy migraine medication for me, but i don´t get it until the next few days, so i live with PAIN in the meantime. which is nothing new to me. super hot sticky air making breathing even more hard to do despite my lung corruption, geil. chinese people make good movies. now the blind nazi-bib guy is throwing exploding grenade balls. cool shit. wish i had me some of them grenade balls. or the flying head-chopper guillotine for that matter. it would make life interesting around this living hell. i worked hard today despite my corruption sickness, also. i paint now a nasty picture of a retarded superman shitting on people. real choice stuff. vincent would be proud, HA HA. so i bid you all a good night, and can safely rest knowing that no matter where you all are or what you are doing, you will have a much better sleep than i. here´s to my small death in dreams, prost!

 

sick puke bloody diseased crippled no-death morning. why did i not die in my sleep? why, jeebus? because i am so necessary for jeebus to get his jollies torturing. a hurricane the size of texas is about to slam into the usa, 145 mile-per-hour winds - jeebus likes to torture the evil usa, too. i am not evil but jeebus likes to torture me anyway - he does not care. and all importantly: HE DOES NOT HAVE TO CARE. siberia, the north pole, i wish i were free, i would make my way north like frankenstein´s creature just to escape all humanity. what a disease my life has become. what a living fucking horrible hell i am stuck in. the nazis of michigan keep me captive and no one can help me get out, if nothing is done i will be here forever, or until i die, and my best bet is on the latter. everyone dies sooner or later, and i am hoping for the sooner. but seeing as i have not the smallest amount of luck, i will probably live past 100 years. the michigan nazis holding me captive would just love that. poopy-pants, death-cult, brain fever, pizza with feta cheese. think happy thoughts, greggy. happy flowers and puppies. the black loud-mouthed monsters are not real greggy, they are just an illusion. all is well, all is well.

 

there is a devil, a small little devil. he lives inside my stomach, and he pokes the side of my stomach with his pitchfork and makes me vomit blood and shit blood. the devil also whispers messages to me, telling me that no one cares about me and that i am totally alone in this world and that i will be alone for all my life because no person on earth could possibly understand me. the little devil tells me to drink whiskey and cheap wine and beer and liters of jägermeister. for this i forgive the little devil and would love to do as he suggest, but i cannot, so i guess that this is another small torture he has for me. the little devil who lives in my stomach makes me hate all the schwarze monsters because the little devil hates them. altho the devil is evil, he is also very smart, and he does not like stupidity and retardation. he hates the schwarze monsters because they are beyond even stupid. evil beyond evil, yes, but stupid beyond comprehension, and that disgusts the little devil. so i guess that i don´t mind the little devil in my stomach so much, i think as he does, and i will puke and shit blood no matter what anyway. i am the little devil, i am him, he is me.

 

there is no hope. life is hell. i must have done something really bad in my past life to end up being punished and tortured this way for no good reason in this godforsaken life. this is the end, beautiful friend, the end. ja, jim, why can´t you help me? who don´t you? please?

 

EEK...shit-fuck-cunt-lick goddamned day is ended. piss on it all and piss on life and piss and shit on all existence. finished my superman painting. satisfaction and more headaches. this whole world is wild at heart and weird on top. it´s just shit, all shit, shit, shit. that´s right laura. and then there´s isabella rossellini. what am i doing here? - it´s the question i often find myself asking myself. and the always inevitable answer after it is far too late: never get off the fucking boat. but i have got off the boat a few too many times, which, one led me to my current demise. what a bunch of horrible shit is this disease-riddled world. even dreams are not touching the horror. i´m not fooling myself in the dreams, i keep waking up. my head has been cut off by the flying guillotine, thrown by a blind chinese old man with a nazi baby bib. my head rolls on the floor, blood spurting out my neck, and i am laughing my last laugh, my last mocking laugh at the world, for i have escaped your hells, i have said goodbye forever, and i thank graciously the crazy old blind chinese man for what he has done for me.

 

so, superman, do you feel so super now? how is life treating you, guy? i´ll bet you would not win in a fight with the chinese nazi-bib old man. he would kick your ass hard, superman. you with your "truth, justice and the american way" bullshit. the chinese guy would cut your goddamned ami head off. hey superman, do you fight for big macs and crack cocaine and big cars and murder and prostitution and rape and obesity and reality TV and kentucky-fucky-fried-chicken? is that the american way you fight for? yeah, i thought so. so go suck an egg, superman. nazi chinese baby-bib head chopper man is my avatar, my hero. he cut off my head and made me happy, he took me away from all this pain and loneliness and heartbreak and entropy. watch my head roll roll rock-n-roll. die with the best of them: jim, kurt, sid, darby, ian. see ya soon, guys.

 

dead fuck shit piss morning. how would you enjoy having to wake up and see, and smell, schwarze monsters every single fucking morning? hey, come to a michigan nazi prison and you will get so much of this shit that your mind will eventually break, as mine has. unless you are one of those complete retarded morons who like schwarze music and believe that all men are created equal. HA HA, you uninformed idiots. if you only knew the truth. the evil inherent in these monsters, the ingrained faggotry, lack of any manners or hygiene. men are equal? i am not equal to a faggot monster. but this world is so beyond "the truth" and "common sense" anyway. it is no question that all of this is going straight to hell, and the more the world goes through its death-throes, the more suffering i see, the more bombs and dead soldiers and obesity deaths and murders that i see, the more i will laugh my ass off in malicious glee. because this world had a chance to do something with itself - to evolve. but instead it chose to stagnate and wallow in false pretenses like "freedom" and "equality" - it is all a load of shit, and in the end, not even the strong will want to survive. evolution of the human species is ended. my alien friends can come pick me up any time now. get me the fuck out of this fucking place, off this sick perverted diseased planet. destroy, destroy, destroy, help me.

 

i´ll be just a minute. burn some bodies while you are waiting. i don´t care if you are crazy, doped-up, or mad at someone for hurting your feelings, you have got to stop with the clown make-up! i´m so sick i make up friends, i talk to myself, i´m so alone, it´s really not like being here at all. no replicant will get past security, so i guess my samantha carter android will have to be smuggled into the country. it´s all becoming so clear to me. my little mouse friends love to eat the bread i throw for my finchees, the sparrows. i think there is enough for them all, and the mousies seem so happy, running around in between the plant roots like it´s a playground maze. i am happy when i watch them, at least for a moment. it is night, i am still sick as shit, 8 days now of having a severe cold. cool shit - perfect, prima. piss and shit all over me, jeebus. my head feels funny, i´m thinking strange thoughts, i started a new painting tonight, some kind of ku-klux-klan monster thing, i don´t know what it is. i don´t know what i am doing anymore. g´night, shitheads.

 

holy crapping christ, it´s sunday, time to go see jeebus for all the creeping christians. pray to the holy ghost while you suck your host. you´ve got the biggest greenest thing hanging out of your nose. there´s no disease like the disease of jealousy, and all the world is sick of me! ha ha, ja, i doubt anyone is jealous of me right now. the bus is full of innocent children, the children represent all the good things that ever happened to me in my life, but the bus is being driven by the crazy chinese blind man with his nazi baby-bib tied around his neck, and he is laughing maniacally, laughing at the insanity of the world. the children in the back of the bus, which are me and my few good moments, are screaming in terror, and the crazy nazi-bibbed chinese driver pulls out his flying guillotine and starts whipping it aimlessly into the back of the bus, hitting random versions of me, slicing off my head and killing my past, killing everything that was me, eleminating all goodness that every was me, leaving only bloody decapitated messes strewn about the seats and floor, sticky dark red blood splattered all about. only one child remains, a small black-haired 5 years old boy sitting in the back, he did not get hit by the flying guillotine, he could never be hit by the flying guillotine, the memory he represents, the total goodness of that child´s memory is too strong to be destroyed by a crazy old chinese nazi-bib bus driver. that memory is of the little boy eating toast and jelly with his father on a sunday morning while watching cartoons. the old chinese nazi-bib driver gets a flash of this memory and is totally incensed. he is driven crazy with anger by this thoughts, this one good thought that he cannot destroy. the little boy has tears in his eyes but he will not cry, he draws strength from the memory he represents. the crazy blind chinese nazi-baby-bib sociopathic memory-killer must put an end to this goodness that infects his bus of the damned. there is no room in this wicked ugly world for good things and good memories. no, this world must be filled with ugliness and unfairness and diseased spirits bent on crushing all hope. so the crazy nazi-bib head chopper screams, "THIS IS THE END NOW, GREGGY, SAY GOODBYE TO ALL OF THIS, HAH HA HA" and he drives the bus over a cliff, it falls 1000 feet and explodes, killing them both.

 

i can see the end. i can feel it as my senses and thoughts go numb. i am starting to not care anymore about what happens to me. this is a sign that my spirit is dying. once my spirit was as bright as a super-nova, now it is a sputtering candle that will soon go out. when that happens, i will become one with this corrupt filthy retarded world. i will become one of the mindless masses, the big-mac eating stupid fucks, yea!

 

there´s a distinct possibility that "human" beings are a total mistake to see the shit that i see everyday, the lowest forms of "humanity", the monsters and their stupidity and diseased faggotry. i cannot believe for one second that i am anywhere near these monsters in the evolutionary chain. maybe i am not, or, maybe the monsters are the norm and i am the mutant freak. it is a mistake that these things are allowed to exist. my brain, which is not a normal brain, cannot tolerate this much more. i am sick within and without. i want to die in my sleep tonight. i hope i die tonight, i hope i die, i hope. i can only hope. goodnight all you fools who don´t understand a word i am writing.

 

police in detroit looking for a gunman who opened-fire at the city airport, killing 2, including a bystander waiting to get a taxi. haha, i bet that guy is wondering down in hell if he should have really come to detroit! haha, now nice, take a plane to detroit, step off the plane, and get your stupid ass shot. welcome to detroit, you stupid son-of-a-bitch. 1000 days after the twin-towers osama bombing, and uncle osama is still running amuck. i think i heard that he was seen at disneyland eating a big-mac and drinking coca-cola. or driving a taxi in new york city. another hurricane hits the usa, this is punishment for american evils in the world, so was the twin towers bombing, osama being the hand of god, allah be praised. but america has yet to feel the real punishment. it is just beginning. another morning i wake up in hell, another morning i wake up and my prayer for death is not answered, another day of being completely irritated and angered by the stink and smell and stupidity of schwarze faggot monsters, it is my ultimate punishment - but for what? lighting a pile of trash on fire? 4 years and counting in prison for that? only in the nazi state of michigan. god hates me, praise allah.

 

it´s as though life has passed me by, left me destitute on the side of the road, penniless, sick, destitute, estranged. it is always so hard for me to remember, what my life was before all this happened. going from ultimate freedom to no freedom, from drinking the finest irish whiskey to drinking nothing. or, drinking coffee made from the cheapest coffee-powder made. to be a man who loved women, who loved to lay with women, to be surrounded night and day by monster schwarze faggots. it is as though some sick twisted god decided to play a joke on me, by taking away all that i loved and replacing it with everything i hate, and i mean HATE. so what can i do? i can´t get out of here, the nazis of michigan will not allow it, altho i could have been let out of here 3 years ago. it is a nightmare. i can do nothing. i paint pictures, that is what i "do". and i suffer. i wish i were back in germany. i think of this every day, many times a day. i wish i were playing in my band and touring around europe and recording new albums. but it looks like it will be a very very long time before that ever happens, unless i get some help by some kind of miracle. yeah, a miracle from the same god that plays sick games with my life. maybe i am the modern-day "job" from the bible, and that god and satan are betting on my misery, to see when i will crack up. the only problem with that, is that i really do not think satan would do such a shitty thing to me as destroy my life. god has a track-record of fucking-up all kinds of things, and mayhap god has it in for me, he enjoys it when i suffer. so he must be ejaculating in his big god pants right now, watching me write about my suffering in the dark, surrounded by monsters, sick with a severe cold for 10 days and with no medicine to ease my pain. ja, god is cumming in his pants watching me writhe and twist in agony. and i suspect there are more than a few of you ass-fuck human peep-holes out there who also are enjoying the fact that i am in prison and not out in europe, playing music and fucking your women.

 

i had a dream just now, that a little flying saucer was hovering near my knees as i was standing in a sniper´s nest, waiting to shoot any english RUC that were on patrol in belfast. i was afraid the UFO was going to give me away so i stomped on it, and it broke and fell to the ground. i looked through the pieces and found a tiny little alien inside, barely alive. he was frozen into a strange tortured position. i picked him up and ran home. i put the alien into a glass of water and set him on the floor. i called my dad to see the alien and asked him what i should do. dad didn´t really know but he thought it was right that i put the alien in water. we talked about the possibility of the aliens being able to time travel and dimension shift because they were able to shrink their component elemental atoms. then i picked up the alien and felt that the water was getting warm, and the alien was a sort of reddish jelly color, and he had fingers of fluorescent green with a black line outline around his body. strangely like my own paintings, ha ha. i put the alien/glass of water on the table and my dad lifted him out of the water. the alien began to move slowly and cling to my dad´s hand. dad handed the alien to me, and it clung to me like a scared kitten. the alien had eyes that were like the usual black almond-shape, but inside the black was a normal kind of eye, a bit scared but also trusting. it was interesting to me that this alien trusted me.

 

maybe because i saved it. and yet i was the one to stomp on his ship. somewhere else in the dream a sword arrived to me in the mail, along with a pair of leather dueling gloves. i have no idea what that meant or was about, except i remember that in a dream last week i had ordered a sword by mail. and it arrived in today´s dream. this is typical of my "dream world", everything is quite connected in some way. my dreams are quite intricate and very realistic. this is a product of my mind being wasted and subdued by my imprisonment. i have no real stimulation, so my mind makes up its own strange dream world, complete with plots and intrigues, irish guerilla warfare, LSD experiments, magic-mushroom farming, goats, beer, whiskey, sex with strange girls, me singing at concerts, playing guitar and keyboards, storming castles, living in underground futuristic caverns and shooting laser weapons, me as a jedi-knight and slicing bodies in half. so much happens in my dreams, and they all connect. it is the only place i can go to escape.

 

the bedbug has got a thing about hacking people up. dirty money spent to shut people up. bio logical research funded by anti-social investors to discover a virus that will successfully target and eliminate unwanted elements in society. freedom given away for nothing to a race of retards is a freedom unquestionably abused. can i offer you a drink? did punky act peculiar in the last few months? punky went to church a lot. punky got his goddamned head chopped off by the mad chinese blind man wearing a nazi baby-bib. there is some sickness in this society that can be so easily cured with the right kind of virus. airborn, death from above, death from within. a bottle of bushmills and a rottweiler by my side, dreaming of europa. a bottle of the pharmacist´s wine and an airedale terrier by my side, sitting on the bank of a river in germany, my conscious mind so completely expanded that i can only stare at the water and mumble things to myself, "burpy burpy burp" i used to write stories back then, stories about a clown with sexual problems. trident missiles are being launched from off-shore american nuclear submarines, the world as we know it is coming to an end in a bright white flash of brilliant light. i have finally found my peace.

 

oh, hello kitten! hell-o from hell. hot sweltering night, makes the monsters even more obnoxious and irritating and stinking like unclean zoo cages. i´m still sick, ten days now, with no sign of this cold wanting to go away. isn´t it lovely? it is all just the same to me now, sick or not sick, i´m in hell, i am being tortured every fucking second i am in here - i only can wish that my sickness will progress and grow to something that will kill me. but even that is doubtful - i am quite resilient, and nothing seems to be able to kill me. not overdosing, which has happened myriad times; not falling off rooftops, or PA towers, haha. not any sickness or disease i have contracted, and i´ve had some doozies. not assassination attempts, there were two of those. not car crashes, at least three i remember. not drinking alcohol, certainly i can never get enough of that. nothing seems to be able to kill me. so this chicken-shit cold certainly won´t. it just irritates the shit out of me.

 

good morning america, how are you? i hope you die and topple into the pit of hell where you belong. hurricane frances is ripping apart florida. a detroit city council man is arrested for picking up a prostitute, he loses his job. a black council man wanting to pay a white woman for sex, of course. MTV tells this story very well. which party is the worse of the two, the more morally corrupt, is a question that may remain unanswered. just another example of how diseased and socially decrepit the usa is. i would never, ever, for any reason, ever raise my kids in this godforsaken country. i will raise my kiddies in ireland, where there is a modicum of sense and morality to the society. the usa culture is so polluted by the ghetto-schwarze mentality. it is diseased, morally corrupt, venal. nothing is safe, and the nazis are drooling to put anyone they can in prison and keep them there. to hell with this country, to hell with it! i understand osama´s thinking in wanting to destroy this place - shit, he would be doing the world a favor. there would be far less wars in the world, for one. do you think that an ami soldier thinks about how he is dying to save big american corporate oil interests? does this cross his mind as he lays in an iraqi street with his legs blown off? or do you think that america brain-washes the soldiers into believing that they put their life at risk and die to "preserve freedom"? everywhere on ami TV, the latter is the case. the networks pump out american propaganda like crazy, night and day. i can only imagine what the hell the nazi american military regime is drilling into the heads of its mindless drone-robot killing-machine soldiers. YOU WILL DIE FOR FREEDOM, SOLDIER, AND YOU WILL LIKE IT! and all the while this is happening, some twisted grossly obese pig is sitting behind his desk in washington d.c., he has a big fat cuban cigar going, a bottle of chivas regal opened, and 15 big mac hamburgers sitting in front of him waiting to be devoured. he will watch his child-pornography DVD´s after he is done with his lunch, and then check to be sure that the price of oil are remaining where he desires them to be. he must maintain his quality of life at all costs, this is needless to say. soldiers die for him, but that´s what soldiers do, after all. they die. freedom is the best propaganda ever invented.

 

it´s a great deal of trouble to go to, to evolve to the point of having real emotions. humans caught in giant glue traps, wailing for mercy an release, but the hand of jeebus lifts the glue trap up off the floor and throws it into the giant garbage hole of the abyss, laughing all the while. i am there, in your mind, i am in you and i am losing control. total aggravation without any emotional release will lead to really interesting cancerous lumps. i finished my ku-klux-klan monster painting, i call it "antidepressive death-mask", very fitting if not entirely inspired, but it´s a good piece of work. at least i worked my little ass off on it, and that with a severe cold. i´m proud of myself, a little, but i started sketching for a new painting i will start tomorrow. never resting am i, must work, must work. see jodie foster in "the panic room"? how about see jodie foster fuck nastassia kinski in the panic room? what the hell is on the TV? i think i am falling apart inside - mentally, spiritually.

 

stuff is dying, but i keep kicking out these paintings, one after the other. is my sickness bleeding into the paintings? in lone relationship, there is a fire line between pleasure and pain. plain implies growth, but when is enough pain enough? pureé the insects and slaughter the lambs, put on your nazi-bibs and get ready for dinner, americans, celebrate your freedom, and for dessert you can smoke a bunch of crack cocaine! don´t choke on the kentucky fried-chicken bones, and don´t flinch from the big ass-fucking you will esoterically receive from the next big happy-bomb that will go off on your sick putrid soul-less lives! eat meat! love the bomb! o-kay U-S-A! erin go bragh! free ireland! g´night.

 

we have no devil, captain kirk, but we understand the habits of yours. we will torture you to death. star trek in the morning, what a beautiful day, the ultimate way to start a morning - the only thing missing for me is a bottle of bushmills and a few packs of camels. kill those klingon monsters, captain. a distress call. i am sending a distress call. beam me up captain kirk! michigan nazis are holding me captive in a faggot-schwarze-monster prison. i want to raid engineer scottie´s scotch whiskey cabinet and get stinking drunk with yeoman janice rand and whatever other girl-toy she has with her. they need mr. wiggles! beam me up, captain! please! i´m dying in here, please.

 

we are creating a break between two points by altering the space-time continuum, narrow beams of sub-atomic particles shot directly into my brain, i control all space and all time, i am the mad chinese kung-fu master with the guillotine that flies and chops off your heads, and yes, i am wearing a nazi baby-bib. i am the superman, i am the alpha and the omega, i am your god. i ate jeebus for breakfast and i shit him out at noon, and it didn´t even bust my hemorrhoids! i see your head and i want it to come off, my fingers itch to throw my flying guillotine, i am marie antoinette with a tiny chinese dick, i am henry the eight without a big fat belly and at least i have a dick where henry had none, i am monsieur guillotine, the madame is busy riding up and down on my huge irish trouser-python. i kneed superman in the balls and slapped him down to the ground, he cried, i laughed, and my flying guillotine did its foul deed. i will travel to all ends of the galaxy into whatever time i desire, i am the god of space-time, i will travel back to the new republic and fight luke skywalker. his jedi skills are no match for my kung-fu and flying guillotine, i will beat luke skywalker in mortal combat and take his woman, the lovely red-haired mara jade. she will be the new gormlaith, the new queen of ireland, and i will be king, yes, i am the king of ireland, son descendent of king cormac.

 

mara jade will enjoy the pleasures of the irish trouser-python along with madame guillotine together. maybe i can take skywalker´s lightsaber and fashion myself a new type of spinning death-wheel flying guillotine. mara, queen mara, will help me, and we will practice the new spinning death-wheel weapon on captured viking and english soldiers. how dare they tread upon irish (our) soil! no no no, can´t have that.

 

don´t leave me, please, for god´s sake, please help me. i start my medication tomorrow. i will soon be rid of my migraine headaches, perhaps. until then, i sleep and dream and fall endlessly into the dark pit of entropy and insanity brought on by extreme loneliness. no mail. i´m still sick. shit. goodnight, mara jade.

 

even more hurricanes hit america soon! more exacting punishment for the evil that ami-land perpetuates. what is good about it for greggy is that hurricanes in florida mean cool weather in nazi-land, which is michigan, land of nazis, the disneyland of hell, the worst place on earth.

 

i used to like very hot weather, but no longer. i once enjoyed the sun, but now i really don´t care. in fact, i don´t care much about anything anymore, it just hurts too much. my life is destroyed and i´ve lost all i had on the "outside" - my life is inexorable altered by this horrible existence and there is no indication that anything will change. so i really don´t care about anything like the sun or warm weather or flowers or love or?. i am wearing shit-tinted sunglasses, i see every thing in this world coated in shit. i care for very little anymore. i care for my finchees, my little sparrows. yesterday i gave them a special treat, pieces of toast with peanut butter on top. they went crazy with delight, they really loved it. this made me happy, but even then, i find myself not feeding my finchees as much as i used to. i´m losing my will to live. as if i had internal batteries, and they are very low in power, and there are no replacement. but then i have long accepted that my life is basically over with now. it is changed forever. naja. it was a good run while it lasted, greggy, but nothing goes on forever without change. what pisses me off, though, is that my life is not ended because of my decision to end it - my life is over because the nazis of michigan have stolen it from me, and no one is able to help me or challenge the nazis. i am totally alone, miserable, sick. and i say to myself, "what a wonderful world"!

 

nighty night night night. "resident evil" is on TV, featuring the ever sweet milla jovovich, erk, eeep, umm, hm. painful to watch. started my migraine medication tonight - it´s supposed to make me very sleepy, but so far nothing. typical. my body and brain can withstand massive amounts of tranquilizers or narcotics or whatever before any kind of effect takes place. the years and years of heavy recreational mind-altered substances are to blame. my drinking is the best part, or the worst, however one sees it. i can drink any man or woman alive right under the table. two liters of irish whiskey and i am just getting started. well, anyone who wants to challenge me is welcome, but you must wait for the nazis to release me. for now, i watch milla and dream-sleep-die my little death. g´night, mutants!

 

the morning of my miscontent, mourning my life, more deadly shootings in detroit last night, hurricane ivan killed 25 in jamaica and is headed for florida.

 

erp, eep, ort, bingle bingle butt-dee jumper, nighttime and medications make me groggy and not wanting to write so much. it is a strange feeling and i will go with it. the vet/doctor prescribed benadryl to go with my headache medicine. quite a nice little cocktail. am i serious? ja ja, johann. dream time.

 

these stars are well within reach. sinus misery. prescription strength sinus relief. pull out a hershey´s bar. saturday morning again. drugs drugs from last night still at work, feeling a bit groggy, almost drunk. only dreams can be escape. plane crashes at a busy intersection. laughing hyena on the nature show on TV. Vultures, cheetahs. hyenas are only wild dogs. still, they make more sense in their life than most "human beings". razor sharp teeth. i had waffles to eat for my breakfast. waffles every saturday morning. hyenas can hear anything. habitat fragmentation, distortions of the mind. hallucinations reaching a critical level. the lights come on, so it is time to work? or i may just sleep - nice pills make this possible. who the hell knows?

 

precious night, the night is my savior. finding it interesting to mix medications that i can buy for my cold, and what the nazis give me at night for my migraines. some strange exotic effects are produced with the right combinations. jayusm i am a walking-talking pharmacy, aren´t it? often have i wondered what is going on with my liver. my liver has had to strain and remove so many ilicit chemicals over the years, not to mention the voracious amounts of alcohol. it is a wonder that my liver still works. maybe it is some kind of super-liver, or maybe genetically, irish people have better livers? i don´t know, but i do wonder how my liver has survived this long. actually, i don´t know how i have managed to live this long at all. i have been so very very neglected of my body and mind. i´ve done drugs that more people than not only would believe as a legend. my liquor, wine, and beer consumption alone has kept the alcohol distilleries in business from my purchases, or, at least that alcohol that i actually bought ad did not steal! i was a very bad boy at times, with my shoplifting and running out on my bar tabs. plus how i just didn´t give a shit if i lived or died. funny, i still don´t care if i live or die. and actually wish the latter would happen soon.

 

erp, loneliness on a sunday night. sometimes i feel so lonely that it seems my guts are being ripped apart inside, thousands of tiny razors spinning ten thousand rotations-per-second, slashing apart my innards and my soul alike. my insides are a pureé of blood and organ tissue, plus the little pills i´ve been swallowing lately. i´ve been painting like mad, already on the fifth of this series, that which i started only two weeks ago! usually it takes me one week to finish a single painting. but lately i´ve just been working as tho the devil were at my heels, ha ha. well, that is a bad analogy, because 1. the devil has no need to chase me, he is already in me, and 2. if the devil were to chase me, i would stop and invite him to get me out of prison and take me to the nearest bar so i can get stinking rotten drunk on irish whiskey. i wonder if drinking will ever allow me to forget about the living hell i go thru in this place. i kind of doubt it. maybe absinth could do it. i certainly will try, but the scar on my spirit and soul left by the tortures i endure in here are such that i am certain i can never forget. maybe if i made myself my own little "home-electro-shock-therapy kit", that would maybe erase the scar of pain and torment, don´t know. nonetheless, i won´t have to worry about forgetting this place any time soon. i must continue to survive in hell. or, i can choose not to survive, which has crossed my mind a great deal as of late, especially on lonely nights like this. i wonder what the hell i bother to live for, because being in here at the behest of the michigan nazis certainly is not "life" - it is pure torture. i suppose i live only to paint - which i certainly have done quite a bit of. just as vincent was prolofic in his madness - painting, i find myself unable to stop working. every moment is spent with a brush in my hand. but, there was a time when even vincent had enough of this world. and the entire world was a torture chamber for him. mine is this prison. my heaven is europe. i sleep now, i dream, hopefully i die.

 

a new study shows that the anti-depressant drug "prozac" causes children taking it to be suicidal? - what kind of parents would give their children any anti-depressant drug? i will tell you what kind of parents: american parents. typical american thought, is to fix any problem by throwing drugs at it and hoping it will go away. a car bomb blast in bagdad, iraq, has left 47 dead, including a bunch of iraqis that were to be new police men. yeah! fuck die polizei!

 

i am still sick with a cold, 18 days of this shit. migraines are not so bad since the medication. hmm. i was suicidal before my medication, i still wish i would die in my sleep, so i guess my migraine medications is not as bad as "prozac". ja, it is not as tho i will take a hand in my own death, i only hope and pray that i will close my eyes to sleep and never wake up in this shit world again. that is not so suicidal, and it is not such a "bad" wish to have, considering my circumstances. i hate my life and i do not feel my life is worth living in this michigan nazi prison. as always, tho, my hopes, or "prayers" if you will, for a quick and painless death and ergo and end to my torture will not be answered. in fact whenever i really need something, god or jeebus or satan or who-the-hell-knows-what-god will not answer my prayers - in fact, usually the opposite will happen. it is the big joke with the gods, to do always the opposite of what i ask. "haha ha, make itchy suffer some more!". i can only think that my wish to get out of this life is more sane than any asshole who goes on clinging to life needlessly.

 

a morning in hell, some nonedecript morning, meaningless, stupid, nameless. i think it is thursday. hurricane ivan hit the continental USA, winds at 115 miles-per-hour. this is nature giving back in force to the USA for the evil that the USA allows to flourish. i laugh, haha ha. it is 20 days now that i have a cold, the symptoms still quite severe. my lungs keep clogging uo with corruption, brown and green slimey mucous that i cough up in violent spasms. i can do really nothing, and the prison will not do anything. i might die! halleluja!

 

in detroit last night, a pair of black teenagers are 13 and 17 decided to take a car by hijacking it at gunpoint. the owner and driver of the car was a church deacon named reynolds. this reynolds handed over the car and asked the teenagers not to harm him, but they shot him dead and left reynold´s body bleeding in the street. the black teenagers took the car and bragged about what they did to their friends. detroit police were informed and the teenagers were arrested. the teenagers both will be charged with murder as adults and will spend the rest of their useless lives in prison, maybe. the michigan nazis tend to let out these schwarze monsters so that they will commit more crimes and give the peon public in michigan the reasoning why the nazis do not let anybody free from their draconian gulags. my question is how these schwarze monsters are even allowed to get to the point where they can get a gun and kill a church deacon just to get his car for a joy ride. the underlying reason is simple - give these monsters freedom when they are unable to comprehend how to live in a civilized society, and the monsters will abuse that freedom, unceasingly breed, and overrun the same society that set them free. this is exactly what is happening in this stupid evil country. i could care less, and in fact i laugh everytime i hear of these kind of senseless crimes committed by the monsters. it is the usa i laugh at, the usa getting what it deserves. the only problem, is that i am caught inside the system of the usa, and the nazis of michigan are loathe to let anyone out of their prisons. their answer to all crime is to lock the most minimum of offenders up into their prisons and never let them free. i am fucked with a capital "F", and i can thank all the pissant monsters and the absolute criminal warzone that they and their ilk have created in the usa for the idiotic "justice" system that the michigan nazis have in place. i set a fire to a pile of garbage. for this i have as much time to do as a second degree murderer. and people wonder why i wish my life would end.

 

a car bomb blew up in baghdad last night as a police escort passed by, five peep-holes were killed, including police men and women, many others badly injured. there´s a quirk of language - "badly" injured. is there a "goodly" injured? "injured really well"? maybe the car bomber thinks he injured the baghdad police men really well, haha. it´s a shit morning, i´m still sick after 22 days of having this cold. i feel like a piece of lung garbage that i keep coughing up. maybe i have something worse than a cold? maybe my prayers are answered and i will die from this thing i´ve got. is it a virus? is it the bubonic plague? i really don´t care either, well enough that i pass out of this horrible existence and start over in whatever passes for heaven or hell in the next phase of my soul´s journey. is it possible to hate one´s soul enough to kill it forever? so that no more incarnations of it can come back? i´m sick of life. i´m sick of this horrible world. i just want out of everything.

 

something new and exciting! a fresh new taste! the rancid shit spewed into your mouth by a vengeful sadistic god. all i need is a chemistry laboratory to reach my ends. more mixing of pills, creating itchy´s version of a chemical cocktail, a pharmaceutical mish-mash of drugs that probably should never be combined under any circumstance, yet my body and brain love the effects. i forget everything, the edges of reality don´t seem to sharp. i am at peace, albeit chemically. but who is to say what is right and wrong? william burroughs or pope john-paul II? if it feels good, do it! that´s what doctor angus says, and he must be right, he is on TV. the only thing worth any consequence is my ability to defend my spirit. i´m crippled, i need an electric wheelchair. don´t shoot, i am unarmed, i am crippled, i am disseased, i am a leper, i am a leprechaun, my legs are gone, they were blown off by a landmine in vietnam, i have schrapnel in my skull, i have stomach ulcers, i want to sleep and never ever wake up in this stinking piece of shit of a life. goodnight, badnight.

 

a bright beautiful happy good morning to the world, from hell! so this is all my fault, is it? according to some assholes, or blind assholes, yes, it is my fault that the nazis won´t let me out of here. well, someday, something really terrible and beyond control is going to happen to a certain asshole or two, and then i will laugh and tell that asshole "it is your fault". tja, fuck you, asshole.

 

why don´t you go to the pool and take a swim or something? you sound kind of funny. i did it, and i can´t undo it. i will have waffles for breakfast, and i will think about germany as i eat them. i really don´t know why. the same unknown reason why i think of ireland when i have oatmeal for breakfast. strange. i suppose i must want to be in those place so badly that i am forced to associating even the most far-fetched ideas or in this case foods, with places i once had those foods. at a time when my life was relatively happy and free. but in germany and ireland i would normally be drinking a beer in the morning with my oatmeal or waffles, or whiskey. there´s a nice thought: a big cup of hot milky irish tea and a big water glass full of bushmills irish whiskey. that is truly the breakfast of champion punk rock singer -songwriter-musicians! or, maybe in my next incarnation as an abstract / neo-impressionist painter, i will drink absinth in the morning - fuck the tea! altho, a hot milky irish tea is one of the great joys in life - but if i am neo-impressionist perhaps i am a neo-vincent, so the absinth is a must. isn´t it funny how i make strange excuses or bizzare plots in order to rationalize how i want or need to drink alcohol in the morning? fuck it all, say i, i hate this life, i hate my life. i wish it all could end, but i wish i had a bottle of absinth or bushmills to drink before it all comes crashing down like shit from the ass of god.

 

the good, the bad, and the ugly - and the insane. the creature that goes bump in the night. the flower that does not bloom, but withers and dies on the stalk, never realizing its potential. i am a cricket, cheep cheep.

 

i´ve been away from writing for a few days. it seems that the medication i am taking, or what i am given by the nazis, against my constant migraines is also a medication against depression, and it is medication that makes one sleepy. so what has in fact happened is that my migraine headaches are gone, i sleep much better, and i don´t feel so depressed. jesus, i sound like a goddamned TV commercial, but it is true. only one thing, though - i may be less depressed but i still have thoughts, many many thoughts, about my futile existence in this hell. it is only that, i do not feel so bad about suicide or entropically wasting my life away. normally one would have deep feelings of loss and sorrow that would accompany suicidal thoughts or plans, but it do not. it seems like a rational idea and i´m not particularly moved by the thought of snuffing it. very interesting, no? some psychologist should study me, ha ha. sociopathic lack of emotion when faced with the dilema of ongoing existence. maybe my malady could by called "the itchy syndrome" or perhaps something more noble like "the count of monte cristo psychosis". no, in effect my "sickness" is probably commonplace. and i´ve read that many people with exceptionally high IQ scores or "geniuses" are prone to suicidal thoughts due to having to exist in a world full of fucking morons. so it is no surprise that i have such foreboding thoughts, especially when i am forcibly locked in this godforsaken prison with the skum of humanity all around me, each one of them a certifiable retard, and worse, most of them perverted child-fucking homosexual deviants that i would not hesitate to put to death if given half a chance. i can say without a doubt that if the michigan nazis decided to give every prisoner in here the old zyklon-b poison-gas shower to kill them all, no one would miss these monsters. and what leads me to want to end my existence is the sickening thought that i may be one of these puke-faces.

 

artichoke hearts for want-to-be snobs, ugliness supreme, superficial pretenders, faking orgasms to keep that lifestyle, what kind of monster is this? answer: the american princess.

 

but dead men tell no tales. lies live on forever. thinking that he does not know what she did with her girlfriend. there are so many terrible lies that are preserved forever, only to avoid embarrassment and save face. but lies live forever, sweetie.

 

snails crawling out of their shells, slugs squirming on the walkway after the rain, a piece of dog shit covered with hungry slugs, devouring the refuse of an animals butt. what is the difference between this and what human beings do with their jobs and their striving to "get ahead" in their sordid boring existence? answer: not much difference at all. and i admire the slugs more than the humans - at least slugs are ugly and creepy and shit-eating but they don´t care - they go about their business and are happy with their existence. humans are ugly and creepy and shit-eating but are constantly trying to hide their true nature. people are shit, people eat shit, people deserve shit. eat another dead cow, you fat pig american swine, feed off of the death and torture of animals that you do not possess the courage to slaughter yourself.

 

think about where we are in the solar system. power supreme, the ultimate in death, tolled out to whittle away the diseased in the human system, forming a perfect form. so much potential and so little will to carry out what needs to be done. and here i sit in my prison, with a nuclear bomb of hate and disgust and loathing for the human system, and human beings in general. i hate myself because i am one of the skum, albeit i am cursed with brains enough to know truly what pieces of shit human beings really are. good night to you all, my fellow skum. a pox on you all, good night.

 

saturday morning, 06:30. waking up in an anti-depressant fog, wanting to sleep more but i am compelled to go eat waffles for breakfast, it is the only day of the week when waffles are given to the animals in here, me being an animal. animal yes, but i´m not quite a monster - maybe in some respects, yes, but in most not, and i am far from being what these blasted shit-head monster child-fucking schwarze pig homo-faggot monsters are in here. there is such a vast difference between me and them, and i really don´t care why. many bleeding-heart liberal social reformers want to explain it away and blame inequality and society for the great divide between races, but i just know one thing for certain: evil exists in this stinking horrible world, and there are many forms of evil - stupid evil and intelligent evil being the two main forms. i am surrounded daily by stupid evil, and the intelligent evil runs the government of michigan and keeps me imprisoned with the stupid evil. and my only form of escaping this all-pervasive evil is death, be it by disease or by my own hand. and the latter is only a question of time, and how much i can withstand before i give up completely. a piece of my soul dies every day in this pit of hell, and i am afraid of becomming just another soul-less monster like that which i am imprisoned with. it seems that, that is exactly what the intelligent evil wants from me - to erase my soul, turn me into a monster, destroy any vestige of what i ever was - turn me into a "good american" - and that will never happen - i will die first.

 

night sweet night. i almost puked watching this stupid goddamn TV commercial with a dancing cartoon bear and some kind of perversion of a children´s song, all in order to sell toilet paper. then i laughed about some retard schwarze in detroit getting knocked in the head then shot 15 times in the back, all over a few dollars. the old chinese man, the cackling kung-fu master of the flying guillotine is laughing his insane ass off in my mind. maybe because he realizes that the world is just as bleak and sick and fucked-up outside these prison walls as it is inside the walls.

 

death and destruction, get the antidote ready, the dancing toilet. paper bear is jacking off on the daisies. head for the treeline and disappear, the RUC is on our ass, seamus. i remember the old DDR before the wall came down, "east germany" - the toilet paper there was really harsh, but it didn´t give a shit, ha ha. strange sex with communist girls. they had a desperation to their fucking that could not be found in other girls, or at least west germany girls. then i heard that a girl i knew well who lived in siegen died two years ago from heroin overdose. her name was steffi, i had some very strange times with her and her girlfriend, lots of drugs, lots of sex. now she is gone and i am sad in a way, but happy for her. she was chasing death and she caught him. i find myself wishing i could join her. maybe i have to put on my running shoes and start picking up the place a bit quicker. i think i see kurt cobain waiting on the other side, he´s got a handful of acid and a fifth of bushmills and he is telling me to come over. the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. but from where i am at, i don´t even have grass on my side. just horrible ugly filthy schwarze schwull monsters with loud mouths and five meter high barbed wire fences. ja, i should start chasing death myself. maybe i´ll see my friends, maybe i will stop suffering.

 

and yet another morning, waking up in despair that i did no wake up dead, waking up with unadulterated hate in my mind for the monsters i am forced to be imprisoned with. it is not so much the fact that i am in a prison that makes my existence so horrible, it is the monster loud-mouthed faggot schwarzes that make my existence a living hell. if i were alone and able to paint all day and not have to see the sick skum of all humanity, i would be able to handle my existence. but the nazis know how to torture me, and as always, what i am going thru now will undoubtedly only get worse. and idiotic americans beat it into their citizen´s brains that "all men are created equal" - but that is supposing that these faggot monsters are "men" - whatever god may be listening to my thoughts, answer my prayers: please kill me.

 

somebody is ripping me off, i´d like a private table in the back, i have many drugs to take, i do not want anyone to see me, they might not understand. i once took a handful of thorazine, sent to me by a friend who worked in a mental asylum, he stole the thorazine from the psychotic patients. i only remember my head hitting the table at some bar, and i was frothing and drooling from my mouth. when i woke up it was three days later in a strange girl´s bed. i didn´t know what happened and i was quite afraid to ask. the guy who stole the thorazine for me went on to work the cartoon "ren and stimpy", hm.

 

it is night and i will retire soon to my laying position and sleep the chemically-enhanced sleep of my migraine/anti-depressant sleep. i have strange dreams with this stuff, the other night in my dreams i was with three naked women. it was interesting to say the least. then there were some star wars dreams, i am always a jedi knight, but perhaps leaning toward the dark side. always i am cutting up enemies with my light saber, hmm. sex with three girls, violent science fiction dreams. what else? it´s no wonder - my existence is so mundane and boring, my mind must entertain itself. so now i sleep and hope for more dreams, i need a break from life, and my medication ensures that i will sleep a good ten hours or more. life is a waste of energy.

 

a good and happy morning to you, all you sadists and nazis and faggots of the world. i puke blood upon your souls, i split your heads open with my big sharp axe, i watch your brains splatter over the ground and i dance a happy irish jig. i dreamed i was in germany again last night, and i was travelling around europe, i went to venice with my brother, we invented some kind of flying paper plane that flew forever. i dreamed also of painting and of being lost. always my dreams end up with me in Köln for some reason i can´t explain. I don´t even like Köln that much!

 

there are bald-headed cancer victims on TV, bitching and griping about how their hair fell out. i shave my head every day, and i am in prison bitching and griping about how the nazis won´t release me. i think i have got it much worse - the cancer victims might win an escape from life, i must suffer. besides, i look good with a shaved head - yul brynner kind of good, or jean-luc picard. but picard is a putz, i am a skinhead jedi knight.

 

if the contest were based on looks and talent, i would have won the contest hands down. you are the bitch who cheated me out of a quarter million dollars. something stinks in the bowels of humanity. handicapped retards are running the world into the dirt. dirty urine is flowing from the water faucets, and you fools are drinking it. mcdonalds is offering a new item, the big shit royale, it is a bread bun with a piece of stinking shit in between, ketchup and mustard and pickles piled on top, and any down-trodden european who buys a big shit royale and eats the whole hamburger will be given a free plane ticket to america, where they can live free with all the other slaves and retards in the usa. ronald mcdonald can be found at the nearest elementary school molesting small children sexually and giving them free hamburgers if they promise not to tell their parents where ronald was putting his "mc heinrich hot dog". yes, something stinks to high heaven in this great free country. kill the muslims to keep oil prices low. give your hyperactive children heavy anti-depression medication to calm them down and don´t be surprised when your ten year old kills itself. best of all, keep the anarchist irish boy named itchy locked up in prison for no reason and give him anti-depression medication to be sure he does not kill himself and ensure that he suffers endlessly in the pit of hell you call prison. the answer to every american problem: feed it drugs and meat. the answer to life: death. i sleep now, i am tired of being awake but not tired bodily. but i can sleep, ´cause i was a good boy and i took my medication. goodnight, retards. feed the worm moist vaginal mucous. the nazis are laughing.

 

slime, filth, puke, shit, disease, and morning. death in the morning, living is death, waking up alive is dying another horrible painful death, cursing god and all his devious sick plans to torture me yet another goddamned day. i had such dreams and now i have only sick schwarze faggot predators and noise and stink of diseased minds and impure thoughts, failures in evolution.

 

someone told me that i was extremely arrogant and condescending with my attitude regarding my high intelligence. i told that someone that they were entirely too stupid and retarded to even understand how superior my intellect really is, and i laughed.

 

another night after another day of work - painting and painting and painting and some kind of creativity involved in there somewhere. suddenly everything i believed was all blown into pieces, and all my dreams shatter, all my reality of who i am and what i´ve become slams me on the head and my brains splatter all over the toilet, my brains came out through my nose, the old egyptian way with a sharp pointed hook, except the pieces of my brain were laughing at me, ha ha ha itchy, you are a prisoner and no one gives a flying shit and you could die in prison and no one will ever know. there are no dreams anymore, there are only realities, and reality sucks. the female black widow spider bites the head off the male after she mates with him, so what happens when two female black grufti spider girls mate with each other? does one bite the other while getting her breasts stroked? - didn´t the last thought of the end of my world count for something? cannot my energy be transformed into action as i was taught it could be? can´t i end this madness within and without me? no, and i only go to my dreams and tonight i will cry a little bit. i am missing someone who doesn´t care about me, i feel very sad. but not depressed. i can´t be. goodnight, grufti girls.

 

it´s morning, 09:00, some nameless wednesday - i was "napping", which is really no less than a coma-chemical sleep - strange dreams that almost disturb me - erotic and bizarre, a dark haired evil girl that constantly wants me to fuck her and eat her pussy, she was a spy in a house full of strange people, and a tornado was blowing, but i knew it only meant that the aliens were coming, so i ran across farm fields to find the aliens, and they gave me a psychedelic grape that i was to use when i needed their help, so i thought to use the grape to get out of prison, and i ate it, and all sorts of time-shift changes happened and i was thrown into a strange world where i was in a house with many women and i was kissing them all and having sex with many of them, then there was another house i was supposed to buy and it was inhabited by a strange old woman and her retarded son, and i took to painting on the walls with silver paint and other psychedelic colors, and laughing very hard ´cuz i was making pictures that i knew would really make the retard go crazy, and the strange dark-haired girl was there again. i do not know if these dreams have any meaning, i´m still in a kind of drug-haze as i write this, but i sure wish i had a magic psychedelic grape to eat.

 

i am A-okay. this is weird. night of the jackal, purple visions, pranks played on my subconscious mind. cream of vegetable soup the color of blood. spent the whole day painting one thing - 14 hours of purple watercolor in some chaotic-psychedelic pattern with pink filling in spaces. 14 hours of this! i am some kind of fanatic psychopath, completely obsessed with my painting at times. well, most of the time actually. maybe i have some kind of obsessive-compulsive disorder. then again, i really think i have to have this disorder in order to paint as i do. so i have o-c disorder along with a grocery list of other psychological maladies. i´m not a well man. i often believe i know exactly how vincent felt. we have a great deal in common. goodnight, retards.

 

and again another morning in hell, full moon bright in the sky, cold and promising to get colder, the michigan arctic winter will come soon.

 

a child daycare center in detroit was visited by a nice schwarze with a gun who decided to shoot a bunch of kiddies and two women, a little girl was beaten to death by the gunman also. in iraq, muslim insurgents blew up an army intelligence center, killing one american and wounding dozens. what a wonderful world i am missing by being imprisoned. i wonder if i am the only person who notices that there is hardly ever any news from ireland? there is a news blackout put on by the english to discourage the IRA from gaining any world support. but what about the republic of ireland? hmm. i had some sad dreams last night, i woke up in tears. it is very early and i want to work on the purple-pink painting. it is some kind of celtic devil or bull of both. but the nazi cops will not turn on the lights, they do this supposedly to keep the prisoners calm and sleepy, but in reality it only gives the faggots darkness in order to commit their foul and unnatural deeds. i missed breakfast, opting to lay in my bed and think. sometimes i just lay and let all my thoughts flood through my mind, one thought after the other, almost like a dream but usually it is only bad or sad thoughts, all interconnecting to one another. a girl told me not long ago that it seems i should have some kind of good luck coming, because in the last years i have had nothing but bad luck. if it were not for bad luck i would have no luck at all, blues, despair, and agony on me. ja, some good luck seems to be in order, but in reality i believe i am only stuck in a slow progression towards the final days of my life, i cannot take much more of this torture, but i think i must also leave this world with these words and with a few hundred paintings, just like vincent did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4. The Gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ

night night night, all my fears on fire, all my dreams ready to flood my mind. worked since 09:00 til now, 22:30 or so, the celtic bull-devil thing. it seems silly to me, but, well, i am silly - silly and disturbed and casually frightened of my impending end. then again, i was thinking today about how i just don´t care much anymore - i´ve been in prison so goddamned long that i´m starting to not care anymore. i get hardly any mail, no one seems to care much - why should i care then? life is a terrible frightening experience and i don´t want to be scared anymore.

 

dirty hopeless mindless suck-ass morning of lost dreams and a wasted life. carnage, burning, rape, pillaging, bubonic plague on the rise once again, black rats spreading the disease among the unclean. this is my morning in hell, my torture, my memories of this life and the lives i led before. 80 people dead in the US army attack on muslims insurgents. the killer of the little girl and two women in detroit at the child day-care school still is on the loose. i lived as a european in many of my lives, during the dark ages, during world war II? - i am hurting so badly to go back, to live and die in europe, hopefully to die in my home, ireland. i dream of my past lives. horrific bombing in baghdad killed hundreds of children. soon detroit will face "devils night", the night before halloween in which the schwarze "devils" will set the city of detroit on fire and commit random and rampant acts of violence. although it is quite apparent that the schwarze devils do not need a specific night to commit acts of violence, the burning and gunfire becomes a bit more elevated on devils night in detroit. i hope the entire goddamned city of detroit blows up and sinks into a giant pit to the depths of hell itself, to deliver all the filth and skum of detroit to where it belongs. i am all for a new plague that will wipe out all the idiots and morons and rape-hop music listeners and the predator faggots and the violent retarded pieces of shit that have no business being alive and free in the first place. a "stupid-killer-plague", yes, that is the answer. i hope the CIA is reading this.

 

a dirty hopeless night to accompany my dirty hopeless day, but as always my medicated sleep will rip the filth of the day from my tortured mind and i will have peace, assuming of course that my nightmares are not too intense. there´s a monster-woman thing called "wraith" on "stargate:atlantis", a sci-fi TV show. it´s a fairly good program! and this monster-woman is quite hideous and yet beautiful, and she sucks the life out of men through their chests. i could only think - i am strangely attracted to this wraith woman and would like to insert unnatural and abnormally large objects into her body, my dick included! and also that i know a girl or girls that can suck the life out of me, probably even better than the wraith-woman. and those girls are humans and real, not science fiction. quite a scary concept. but i only know crazy girls.

 

today i finished my celtic devil-bull thing, i´m quite satisfied. and i started a new thing almost immediately, a perplexing representation of a woman in the form of the venus symbols - and i´m not really sure how to feel about it. i find women, most women, to be very beautiful, mysterious, and confusing beings. i´ve never been able to figure them out, and they always end up hurting me, but i always go back for more. i don´t know exactly why i am painting this "venus woman" picture. there must be some deep freudian thing going on in me. but then again i have not had the carnal pleasure of a woman for four years, and my balls are turning blue and i´m half-crazy from the lack of sex. so maybe painting a strange venus figure is not a mystery. i just miss women and i revere them with my brush and paint. i´m such a hopeless romantic, ha ha. goodnight, ladies.

 

saturday morning, the second day of october, the year of your lord 2004. funny how i never thought i would be alive past the year 2000. i have a distorted psychic sense that i tend to ignore because it is so confusing and often i do not want to know the future or what someone else is thinking or doing, but the psychic sense i do have. and i am especially "good" at seeing future events or the possibilities of future events, since the future is not ever certain. and i could never see past the year 2000 when i "looked" into my future - and now i know why, because i ended up being imprisoned by the lovely and vicious nazis of michigan. and oh, do i ever regret coming back to america. i should have stayed forever in my beautiful europe. but the time for regrets is over and done with. i saw an astrologer who did my star-chart, actually two different astrologers did my chart and both told me i had very unique chart that showed the star of david, and it predisposed me to a very controversial fate in life, that i could be very influential in the world - but also that the chart meant that i have a strong psychic sense. i went into a hypnotic trance and tried to view the future. i didn´t see myself alive past the year 2000. i also saw a very cataclysmic event for the earth, namely a nuclear holocaust started by a pakistani or indian leader. strange stuff, but i know the first part came true. my life is ended now, the nazis of michigan took it away and i really doubt if they will ever give it back. i am dead in spirit, dead dead dead.

 

snick-snack fucky ducky creeping jesus crawling across the floor begging for mercy. get off the cross, loser, someone else needs the wood. is there dirt in one´s soul? and if so, is there a soap that can clean it? - i know the answer is LSD, of course, but i feel myself in need of soul cleansing - yet i am in a place where i can get nothing of the sort, but it is possible to get the old devil every night to take away my migraines and relieve my depression. although chemical anti-depressants are something that makes me nervous. okay, so i don´t feel depressed but i know i should be depressed. the energy of depression is a reaction to my experience in hell. so where is the energy going? hm? perhaps it will come roaring back in a tidal wave of suicidal madness when i stop taking the elavil? - maybe the depression is erased by the elavil, and the energy of depression is dissipated in side-effects? - there are some side-effects, that in certain, but nothing so bad that i even notice. my whole day, every day, is a journey through hell, so any measley side-effects from brain-altering chemicals are barely noticed. it is enough just to try to get through a single day without killing some schwarze schwull monster or killing myself or? - i just want to be free, i don´t want any goddamned elavil or dreams or cookies or chocolate. i only want to be free. i deserve to be free. but i also am coming to expect that this is the end of my life and there is no hope for freedom. i am dying inside. my soul is withering, i am becomming an empty shell. goodnight, satan.

 

crap. headache again, the medicine is not working and i feel like total shit. i sleep soon, though, so it doesn´t matter. nothing matters, actually - nothing at all. some commercial on ami-TV promoting what some asshole considers a "new and funny" show where men dress as women and try to live their life as a woman. it makes me want to vomit to see this shit - and it is yet another attempt for america to shove the homosexual agenda down the throats of the world. homos and blacks, the TV gods command that all you stupid viewers accept and love the immoral, sick, and evil shit of this already diseased world. and you do it, too, you stupid fucks. goodnight, retards.

 

death, disease, dying spirits, faltering courage in the face of entropy. what is life but one long struggle? a bunch of bad events, one after the other, and only death is the final release from all the pain, torture, heartache and loss. i myself will be most pleased when my final breath is exhaled. in fact, may this notice be read when whoever-it-is finds my body, lifeless and cold. you will know why there is a smile on my face when i am finally dead - i am happy and finally free. may that day be soon.

 

another sick fuck day has passed, one of the many that have passed, another like the many more that will come. i saw bits and pieces of this movie "flatliners" tonight - it made me think a bit more about death than i usually do. what came to my mind was how many times i almost died because i injected too much of one drug or another. many times this happened, and on several occasions my heart stopped and i stopped breathing. but i always came back for some unbeknownst reason. maybe if i did not i would not have to go through all the shit i go through now. and i honestly wish i would have died from an overdose - at least i would have gone out with a bang, instead of slowly dying in this faggot schwarze torture chamber prison. and i would have gone out with a strange smile on my face at a young age, whereas now i am aging beyond my normal years, i look at least ten years older than i am, and it is getting worse. there is a dead look in my eyes that mirrors the death of my soul. but, contrary to popular opinion, it is very difficult to die from an overdose of cocaine or even heroin. albeit i have a very high tolerance for any drug or alcohol beverage, i never could get myself past the brink of life into the true happyland of death. and i think i really tried. shooting up an entire gram of coke or a whole quarter gram of heroin still never earned me the death i truly wish for now. hell, i used to drink 2000ml of irish whiskey every day and rather quickly each day, and that did not kill me. so maybe nothing can kill me, or maybe it was not destined for me to die yet - no kismet for litte itchy, no no no. the gods above or a really pissed off jesus decided to torture my skinny ass in the worst way possible before letting me die. but i know someday i will die. may it be soon. goodnight, my executioners.

 

it is 06:30 in the goddamned son of a bitch morning, i am fighting the chemical fog of medication, trying to stay awake and alert, trying to ignore the noise and the schwarze faggots lurking about. today i heard a saying: "the second i committed murder, i surrendered my right to exist" - and i thought about it. murder, and at which context one take that saying. murdering some one who deserves death seems as though a favor to the world. what about the murder of animals? what about the majority of you peep-holes out there who eat animals that you so ambivalentely choose to ignore the fact that the animal you eat was murdered by someone else, and that none of you actually murdered the animals yourself? oh, sorry, you call the murder of animals "butchering". it makes you feel so much better about it all. but i will tell you, i have seen more soul and unconditional love in the eyes of a cow or goat or chicken or pig than i have ever seen in the eyes of a human being. and humans are the worst monsters on the planet earth, capable of atrocitiesand ugliness that no animal could ever committ. and yet humans run the show on planet earth. so which one of you eaters-of-innocent-animals deserve to live and which deserve to die? why can´t humans be "butchered" like cows and other innocent animals are "butchered"? because you meat-eaters have a soul? because you have higher intelligence? bet me on that one. i look at your filthy hoards of humans and i only can think, what a hopeless bunch of retards you all are. throw a rock into a crowd and one will hit a retard, faggot, or child molester for certain, and usually more than one of those maladies, or something worse that i cannot even fathom. i tend to block out the horrors of humanity, opting not to even think about how fucking horrible humans really are. i see only faceless, stinking, loud-mouthed blobs getting in my way and irritating the living shit out of me. if i had my way, i would exterminate an incredible amount of people, based on such things like whether the designated to be exterminated eats meat, has an intelligence below 100, bathes regularly, listens to schwarze music, is a dirty queer, has loud mouth, watches MTV, is an american. shit, it is just my bad luck that everyone is not more like me, this would be a much better world. but the world has too many people in it anyway. earth is running out of breathable air. goodnight, peepholes.

 

happy crappy morning, sick fucks all over the world. you wake up in your beds and are able to eat your breakfast and drink your morning beer, or whiskey in the morning, as i used to prefer, and pet your cat and stand on your balcony naked and scream out a big "ha ha haaa!" at the new day. you can do all this, but not me. i wake up in coldness on a hard plastic mat, surrounded by homosexual schwarze predators screaming things i cannot even begin to understand, nor would i ever want to, and i smell the most foul odors of unwashed bodies and rampant faggotry, i am visually assaulted by scenes of neandertal faggot apes groping each other and leering suggestively amongst their diseased horde. this is every single morning for your humble writer, me, a poor irish lad in a prison filled with the dregs of society, the worst scum on the planet earth are found in the michigan nazi prison system. i implore you, my reader, to never entertain thoughts of going to the usa for a vacation or for any reason, and i beg that you never buy products made in the usa and do not watch usa-made television shows or cable channels. boycott everything that is american - not only in protest over the american "justice" system, or for what these evil fuckers have done to me, but boycott all usa culture because it is the right thing to do. the usa is a land filled with evil and corruption, lies and propaganda, and the usa is trying very hard to take over the world - and they are succeeding at this! if nothing is done, and if the world continues to turn their heads ad fail to recognize the deep evils that exist in the usa, the entire world will soon be dominated and overrun by the usa and the american culture. and you, dear reader, will be in great danger of being put into an american-style prison for an indefinate length of time just as they have done to me - and when the americans want you in prison for any reason, your life is forfeit - you can kiss goodbye all your freedom, all your possessions, all your sanity. and not only this, try to imagine how you would feel if your child, being wholly influenced by usa culture, starts listening to idiotic schwarze hip-rap music and screaming the inane mindless words in your face. what if your sweet little daughter gets married to a stinking aids-ridden schwarze? what will your grand kids look like and act like? what if your wife gets raped by schwarze ami soldiers who even now invariably are present in your safe european home? think long and hard on this, reader. when you do, you will agree with me: boycott all from the usa.

 

another night of ugliness with horrible shit all around me the entire day, trying to slough off the evil and utter stupidity that clings to me like stink on a polish road worker. i´m so sick of this existence, i´m so sick of being alive and trying to make it through each goddamned day, knowing only that tomorrow i will wake up in the same shit, the same horrible faggots and loud screaming retards. i am so apart from the scum in this place, it is as though i am not even of the same species as the monsters in here - i am an alien, an outsider. and i would not want it any other way - if i were one of these creepy sick monsters, i would kill myself quickly. but i am not, and i cling only to a small hope that i may one day walk out of this shit-hole. but that is a small hope only, and it gets smaller every day, until i may have to end it all anyway. i only hope that those few people who keep telling me not to snuff myself out will understand that i just cannot take it anymore, and that i am not living in here anyway - my life ended when the nazis put me in this living hell. don´t forget, two shots apiece in the head. please deliver to me a better reason to live. or don´t, so i can get over this horrible existing for a hope that will never come. goodnight, my well-wishing audience.

 

and another and another and another goddamned fucking sucking piss shit eating night in hell, in hell, suffering mental torment at the behest of the michigan nazi prison system. eat my ass you dirty queers who keep me in this faggot heaven. i am afraid of touching doors or water fountains, for fear that i might get AIDS on my hands from all the sick fags in this place. i only wish the AIDS virus worked better and quicker - ninety percent of the prisoners in this hell would be dead and my life would be easier. i don´t give a flying SHIT about compassion or understanding. those days are over, no more "mr. nice guy", no more happy-go-lucky itchy, no more ha ha ha over beers at a cozy little outdoor beergarden. i am finished with all that shit - i am going to be ugly, to reflect all the ugliness i see. fuck this world, fuck me, fuck everything.

 

i find myself increasingly unable to write in the morning. the migraine medicine kicks my litte ass and i am by all intents and purposes a chemical zombie for the first hour that i am awake. then i start painting and all thoughts of writing are put out of mind. writing is something that i find interesting, but it is hardly a passion of mine. i guess my passion is music, but i have no real way of playing music in here, and i prefer to write and record music more than perform it. i like the darkness and confinement of my recording studio - if i have a case of beer, bottle of bushmills irish whiskey, a carton of camels and a week of no commitment, i can record an entire album -although, only a case of beer and one bottle of whiskey is a bit shortsighted of me - that amount would only last me a day or even less - i drink bushmills like water - i drink beer like i breathe air - so to make an entire album i would need seven cases of beer and seven or ten bottles of bushmills - and three or four cartons of camels. hell, throw in a chinese prostitute or two of them and my life would be complete - i´d get the girls to sing and play the instruments - i´d just sit back and get fucked and fucked up - have the chinese prostitutes bang on trash cans and torture small animals to record the screams. "einstürzende neubauten", haha ha. funny only to me, i know, only because it will probably irritate blixa to no end. he does not have a sense of humor, but he´s stil one of my favorite musicians. but i doubt blixa would appreciate my approach to making a music album. ja, it´s all a dream, or a memory of my past. i long so much to be in my studio, to be closed in and alone and able to make terrible, ridiculous, and nasty sounds. i wish i could paint in peace as well, but i do the best next thing - i have headphones on and i keep the TV sound up all the way to drown out the noise of faggot schwarzes screaming night and day. my life is a living hell, i haven´t tasted bushmills for four goddamned years. i am dying. goodnight, my sadistic torturer.

 

as always, whatever i seem to believe never comes to pass. it is morning, i am awake and writing! albeit i am in a chemical fog of the unknown, i´m up and writing against all i wrote last night. this is typical grégor stuff, i always believe one thing is true or real and then the exact opposite occurs - this especially happens with my belief in people - the ones like girls almost always. i think one thing and they do the opposite. exhasperating, yes. but i expect no better from life. life deals me a vicious blow every day i am alive, life has always shit all over me, i´ve never had an easy time in my fucked-up life and i never expect it will be any better. i am doomed to bad luck, misfortune, heartbreaks and pain. fuck you, life.

 

new terrorist informations obtained shows that the al-queda wants to target schools in the usa. this seems to me to be effective, as it is making american authorities scramble like mad chickens. as a sympathizer of the underdog and very interested in guerilla tactics and psychological warfare, i must say that the al-queda terrorists are doing a good job - they are no idiots. israelis celebrating some jewish holiday in egypt were the target of three explosions that killed 40 and injured 160. what were israelis doing in egypt? i thought their whole "thing" was about leaving egypt because of the oppression of yul brynner the pharaoh? is yul setting off bombs and blowing up vacationing jews now? i thought yul was dead from smoking camels? but he´s back, and this time he is REALLY PISSED OFF! i like yul brynner, he was a good actor, and i share a similar "look" as yul with my shaved head and heavy eyebrows. shit, i could be a terrible pharaoh setting off bombs! this is my future! but i have no quarrel with jews, only with american nazis and english oppressors in ireland. actually i really don´t give a flying shit about anything or anyone - only my freedom. but it is fun to imagine myself as a pissed off bomb-wielding pharaoh. i often like to imagine myself as the new king of ireland, too.

 

black plague, pestilence, disease, sadness covering the entire world, death of young lives much sooner than what fate had in store, fire breathing dragons clawing out my eyes to drink the eye-pus. taxi driver on TV for the hundreth time in five month, i watch it nonetheless - robert de niro and the cute crazy blond women who i can´t remember her name but whom i would gladly introduce to mr. wiggles, ha ha. blond girls scare me, but i´ve ventured into blond-girl-world a few times, never to a good end, though, the blonds i knew were crazy girls, mixed up bisexual girls that had no grip on reality. and seeing how i have no grip on reality, my being with a blond girl or girls was a bad mix. someone should have a grip on reality in a relationship. my last marriage to a schizophrenic brown-haired italian girl, sabina, did not go well either, she had no clue what reality is or was. we drank a lot and had strange sexual practices. it was fun while it lasted but the lack of reality destroyed us in the end. que sera sera, haha. so i will sleep now, the pill is hitting me hard, i am laughing about one of the saddest points of my life, breaking up with crazy sabina, or "sabinsania" as she has come to be known in my circle of friends. goodnight, you deviants.

 

saturday morning, another, just waking up. foggy in my head, cold michigan fail weather, filth and diseased appetites of what are supposed to be humans surrounding me - just perfect. just like it always is. strange dreams again last night, woke up thinking loud thoughts, "the story of my life" ringing through my brain. can´t shake the thought that something is terribly wrong in my life. bad mojo, bad luck, it follows me like stink on shit. what did i do in a past life to deserve this horrible god somewhere that can see into my heart, know that i am a just and gentle man, see that i don´t deserve this fate of a living hell in faggot schwarze heaven? what happened to balance? what happened to universal truth? did the nazis of michigan completely wipe away all sense of reason and justice in this world. it is so difficult for me to understand how balance can be destroyed, especially when an avatar of balance like myself is being tortured and kept in captivity for a relatively small offense, and a vigilante deed at that. fighting against evil, i am condemned to live amongst the evil, shit.

 

another mindless senseless morning. superman in a wheelchair whining on the TV, although i did not hear what he was saying, i think he was complaining to the US government that some nasty and mean little irish bastard in prison is making bad paintings of him in all his paraplegic glory. another fine example of american one-sided politics: the schwarzes in detroit want to make an area of detroit an exclusive refuge of schwarze-only owned business and use tax dollars to pay for it all. and these idiot schwarzes claim that the usa is prejudiced against them. this is so stupid, i know i need not explain, but i had a little laugh to myself thinking about the kind of business that would be in their "african town". some very dilapidated old buildings, one sells crack cocaine, the next sells prostitutes, the next sells cheap beer and crack-pipe paraphrenalia, the next sells crack-cocaine and prostitutes, and so on. ja, well, i doubt that anyone who reads this has any idea what i am trying to say unless they visited the usa, and especially detroit. it is all a bunch of sick bullshit that shows once again how the usa punishes the white race over and over again. who cares, right? i will move back to europe one day and i sincerely hope i will never hear the word "detroit" or "usa" ever again. i´ll wash my mind of this puke-hole country and hope osama blows it all up to hell.

 

it is finally getting to freezing at night, zero degrees celsius in the freezing hell of michigan, cold weather, cold hearts. in detroit this fine morning, a 15 year old schwarze mother is arrested for allowing her father to beat and kill her baby, the same baby that was the product of the mother being raped by her father - another blow for evolution, apparently. this is such a sick-fuck world, and so many people cling to life as though it is precious? as my favorite band ever wrote in a song: life is cheap. that is the band "flipper" from san francisco. i really don´t understand how these monsters in the usa can live and breed, and yet nothing is ever done or said about it for fear of being labelled a racist. but this kind of nonsense has been going on for over 30 years in the usa. ignore the problem and hope it goes away. but it never does go away, and it only gets worse. besides the fact that i have to see it and live it, i am still overjoyed to see the usa go down the toilet. the culture is gone, the money is going, the great social experiment has failed, and i could not be happier.

 

if i could hold you, if i could scold you, if i could mold you i would break you apart. song idea! C D C B C x 2 / C D C B C, ECF - break, CCC - you apart.

 

as freddy nietzsche said: talking much one´s self can also be a means to concealing one´s self.

 

my body is an instrument of my mind, not just a vessel for my mind.

 

as dangerous as what i do not know are the things that i have learned which are not true.

 

it will not be correct for the lesser humans and monsters to think that the knife can only cut the throats of their betters. those bred to the positions of servitude and slavery must be reminded that no law or piece of paper with scrawling upon it does not elevate them to positions of equality with those of us who have been touched by the gods. nothing is failsafe, everything will go wrong when given the opportunity to succumb to failure. nothing is worth all the pain and irritation that life serves on a silver platter. a steaming bowl of diarrhea soup placed in front of me, life is smiling it´s easy grin and spooning up a particularly stinking and rotten turd for me to eat. this piece of shit is my daily bread. and sometimes i feel guilty because i am guilty. but what sin have i ever committed that compares to those committed by those with pure evil in their hearts? only the outcome is the same, and the righteous nazis are always ready to throw any body, evil or good, pure or corrupted, into the abyss, all together and rotting away. death to the nazis, death to the monsters and retards, pharaoh, let my people go free - or just let my sick and frail body out of this hell, paraoh. please? goddess brighid, hear me, free me, take me away from the clutches of these perverted evil monsters. hear me, brighid, help me.

 

many days have passed since i´ve written in this journal. weeks actually. writing in this thing is perhaps a little bit like looking into my own personal abyss. it is a scary place, what is me - i doubt i could ever see everything that was, is, will be in me. george bush won the election, he will be president of the fourth reich once again. jassir arafat is dying. ami soldiers are still getting the shit kicked out of them by terrorist armies in iraq. so, not much has changed in the world, not much has changed in me. i do not have to clean the faggot-tainted toilets anymore, the prison has been benevolent in their torture of me and granted me the gift of a job working in the prison library. i should be grateful, yes?

 

death to all artichoke hearts. freedom for the animal care-givers. sprinkles of female urine upon my lips. disappear into the fog, all you missing people. do not report into work. pray for nothing, it makes it much easier on jeebus. keep a clear head, destroy your destiny, history is bunk, i´ve got no past. infected workers attacking freedom. goodbye yellow-brick road. take a bite of the shit sandwich, greggy. pour three glasses of whiskey while you watch the chinese girls bring each other to climax. they want to know how open i am to "water sports", i almost spill the bushmills laughing. one performs cunnilingus and gets urine let loose into her mouth. the whole moral of the experience, is that bushmills, when being drank quickly, can make girls go pee-pee.

 

crazy horse, the great american indian chief, fed from the breast of every woman in his tribe when he was a baby. every woman in his tribe was called "mother", every older man was called "grandfather". altho this story is supposed to elicit some idea of the family mentality that was once present in american indian tribes, i found myself wonderingif óle crazy horse continued to feed from all the women´s breats into his adulthood? i am constantly plagued with filthy sexual thoughts. it never really has changed - one would think because i have been denied sex for four years and counting, that i would be understandably obsessed with women and sex. well, i am in a way, other ways not. there´s nothing i can do about it, so i do not obsess. i think about it, and often quite ridiculous thoughts come to mind. but in reality, memories i have of my bizarre and disturbing sexual past are quite enough, i need not make up or imagine anything more. except maybe that if i were crazy horse, i would have been quite happy to feed and suck on the prettier indian women´s tits. american indian or indian indian, don´t matter much to me. tho i had an american indian half-breed as a girlfriend long ago, i never was with an indian girl from india. maybe someday - tho i did have a very fine and wonderful girlfriend in berlin when i lived there, she was german but she had lived for a long time in india. she was a bit spooky, and she came over to my apartment at 04:30 in the morning on the same night i first met her, she made me a tea from magic-mushrooms - we were both very high and toasty. she was beautiful to me, but i lost touch with her and i´m quite sorry that i did. i have friends trying to find her to this day, ten years after this happened, but no luck yet. maybe she will read this and find me? stranger things have happened.

 

a wild cougar feeds on the carcass of a dead mule, but greggy failed to make it to breakfast to eat his bran flakes. i ran two miles and shaved my head and showered, so i don´t feel like such an animal, but i´m hungry like the cougar. many ami soldiers were killed as well as 40 iraqi civilians, the amis are trying to take over some city in iraq, and they are failing, so it seems. some mel gibson vietnam movie was on last night - the amis got their asses kicked in that war, too. i truly believe that the usa will forever suffer failure until america finally falls for good, just as rome did. the usa is an evil horrible place, and the gods will punish it to death. or just bad karma will bring it down, it doesn´t matter and i am quite unsure of what to believe anymore. gods, devils, karma, buddha, who the fuck knows? ramses the pharaoh had 200 wives and 100 children. maybe one day i can procure my island on the irish coast and declare myself king or pharaoh - i´ll have 300 wives and 1000 children. i´ll build a spaceship and fly my hoard to mars. or to vulcan - i´d like to get myself a few of them sexy vulcan wives. or maybe i will die in my sleep tonight - some kind of brain embelism, some such shit like that - what the fuck does any of this matter anymore anyway?

 

christmas time again - only seven weeks away and then the world will celebrate the birthday of jesus of nazareth. well, the muslims getting blown up in the mideast won´t be celebrating, nor will the jesus - but they are celebrating the death of arafat, so it is something like christmas time for israel. and i certainly will not be having a grand christmas, it is only another goddamned godforsaken day in here - for me at least. perhaps the dirty faggot schwarzes celebrate the birthday of jesus by performing an extra amount of unnatural acts on each other - since it is fall time, going on winter, the homos are starting to rut in the toilet stalls, being animals and sick monsters that they are. thank the gods for the AIDS virus that is wiping these predator monsters off the face of the earth. AIDS first appeared in schwarze faggots in africa that were raping monkeys in the ass - maybe jesus decided to create the AIDS virus to pay back the predator schwarze homos - or maybe the CIA in amiland decided that those monsters are too vile to live. who knows, who cares, everybody dies eventually anyway. christmas time, AIDS, jesus, death, war, raping monkeys up the poop-chute. and i say to myself, what a wonderful world. the three wise kings from the orient no longer bring gifts of frankincense and myrrh and gold to the manger where the baby jesus rests. the three wise kings now bring crack-cocaine rocks, dirty injection needles, and vials full of the AIDS virus. one of the kings has a second job at night, he pimps his mother and brother off to the citizens of bethlehem. this world should be destroyed, kill the sick, perverted and diseased.

 

i did not shit for five days - i went to run this morning, got thru two miles, then nearly doubled over in agony, my stomach and guts screaming in pain. i barely made it to the toilet and then had a total religious experience, complete with moanings of "oh god!", "jesus", "oh shit!" and other words of exasperation. i lost a lot of blood as well as fecal matter and water and only the gods know what else. i am dying, i think. or at least, something is not right in me. i fail to see whether it really matters. when the mind and spirit are not well, the body follows quickly behind - so what is wrong with my body, whatever it is, is only a product of the sickness in my mind and spirit. perhaps if i am able to be free one day, i might be able to heal my mind and spirit. those two have been thru an awful lot of shit over the years, most of it bad, most of what i´ve been thru would be enough to drive any 50 people to suicide - and here i am in prison, my crowning glory of "the worst thing that ever happened to me" - so maybe i will bounce back from this horrible experience as i have bounced back from all the other shit i have been thru. but i have doubts - just as with the death of my mother - i have never really recovered from that loss, and i tink i may never recover completely. this prison experience just may stay with me forever. i can see myself having extremely nasty nightmares about this godforsaken place - shit, i have nightmares every night, and i´m still in this living hell! - but, i am a great believer in the therapeutic effects of alcohol and hallucinogenic drugs, so it may be prudent for me to seek "therapy" immediately upon my release, if that day ever comes, which i doubt - but hope springs eternal. and even if my soul and mind are completely crushed, there is always this small bit of hope inside me. it is untouchable, and it is the reason i have not killed myself yet. when that hope dies, then it will be time for me to say "adios, muchachos" - but in the meantime, that little bit of hope is also a form of torture, because for what is keeping me alive is also subjecting me to the horrible daily torture of existing in this prison, the worst place on earth. the worst conceivable place for me to be in. prison is worse than even poland!

 

creeping jesus, crap, crud, christ on a cross. dirty fingernails on the hands of the punk-rock street girl. much more to come. hungry families are getting what they need this holiday season in detroit: they will starve to death, they will suffer the sins of the father in the land of sin and homosexuality: america the beautiful, the cruel, the tyrannical monster. no sushi-bar where you are going, boy, only steel bars. Jassir Arafat finally died in paris last night. paris? what the hell was he doing in paris? i used to enjoy paris myself. the wine, the women. i passed out drunk many times in montmartre. i heard some ami tourists say once, "look! there is a real paris artist!", while they were pointing at me! ha ha, ja, i am an artist, and a fine conniseur of cheap french wine.

 

bodies being dragged behind a pick-up truck, chained to the bumper, getting the skin burned and ripped from the bones, screams and blood, pain and fear, and laughter streaming from the driver of the truck, he is happy, he is enrapt in his job, his job is to destroy, he is the destroyer, and when he has gone ten miles, when the bodies are dead and stripped of all skin and any semblance of human quality, he will hunt for more, always more, filthy, venal, stinking people, sick, dieased, ugly people, human beings that do not deserve to be called human beings or people, the skum are all diseased perverts, whores, prostitutes, nasty bitches who take their clothes off for the camera of their pimp, the jungle poodles, the faggots, the shit-steppers. the driver will find them, he will destroy them, this world needs to be cleansed of the filth, and he is the destroyer, and he will never stop cleaning. he will only stop at the clown store to pick out his supply of pancake make-up and a few cases of bushmills irish whiskey. the clown is born, and in his goodness, the world will have to make room. there is no living space that can fit the clown, so he must make room, the sick must fail.

 

war hero or war criminal, it is all a matter of your point of view - but it is my guess that i will be tossed around in the hands of the michigan nazis until i am safely in the clutches of the nazi who wants most to torture me to death. but, a hunter who stands beside a tree hides half of the forest from his eyes. so i need to step away from my mental tree and see the entire forest. ja, good luck, itchy.

 

a black prostitute woman who was high on crack cocaine was run down in the middle of a busy street last night in detroit. the street was very near my old house, where i unfortunately used to live. i find myself thinking it was probably better that the whore was run down. i am at least ambivalent about any kind of violence in detroit or the entire usa. i find myself hoping uncle osama strikes the usa again soon. maybe it is natural that i see all americans as nazis, and therefore my captors. kill´em all.

 

there is a destination for everyone. what is yours? what is mine? where the hell is the game of life leading me or anyone else? perhaps i am being a bit nietzschean, but what if i am god. what if i am being tortured and kept in this nazi-american prison as sort of sick test? jesus was tortured and killed, and then made into a god. maybe i will be made a god once i am finally killed or driven to kill myself. who the hell knows? in the end, despite all that one believes, none of us really know. you play the game of "faith", and hope you make the right choice. what if being "good", and doing all you can to get to heaven is just a sucker´s choice, and you end up in heaven that is full of shit, and filled with a bunch of sick whining assholes like all the born-again, try-again, christians? what if evil and selfishness are what gets you eventually into hell, and in hell are all the sinfull delicious pleasures that one craves but denies one´s self throughout life? what if when we die, his satanic majesty lucifer rewards me with a small cottage in the hades-version of ireland, and my cottage is next to a river filled with whiskey, and rosanna arquette and jennifer tilly are waiting in a big feather bed for me, waiting to pleasure me for endless hours? could this happen? WHY NOT? my idea, or fantasy, is just as valid as any fucked-in-the-head christian or jew or muslim ball-licking dog. i can´t think that jesus, if he is real, is very happy with me. besided, if heaven is filled with the kind of assholes i know who call themselves "christian", i really don´t wish to spend eternity with those ass-fucking losers. if hell is populated by beautiful women, and i can have friends like kurt cobain, sid vicious, jim morrison, and ian curtis - all suicides, and hence condemned to spend eternity in hell according to christians, who only want to scare people into not committing suicide so that they can collect as much tax money as possible from the living-but-suffering bodies, the pope needs to pay for his solid gold toilet somehow, well, if the people i respect and the women i crave sexually are all in hell - i want to go there. i would be in much better company, and "old nick", or the devil, satan, lucifer, or as i sometimes call him, "dad", would probably reward me for my nefarious deeds done in this life and in my past lives. as the saying goes, it is better to rule in hell rather than be a slave in heaven. besides, if jesus exists, i expect he is REALLY pissed off at me.

 

it is a dark and cold saturday morning, something like 06:00. a funny strange thing is, that i wake up normally, usually, and i go to breakfast and all, then i come back and go to sleep for an hour or so, and i can´t for the life in me remember anything i did when i wake up - it is as if i did not get up and go to breakfast at all. i have only two guys that i could call my friend in here, cole and cheney - and cheney usually goes to breakfast with me, and he swears that i actually go to breakfast and talk normally, or, normally for me, which is some kind of mumbling and cursing under my breath at all the stinking loud-mouth faggot jungle-poodles. but i do not remember going to breakfast or even waking up. this is the effect of the bizarre medicine i take for my migraine headaches. the pills create a "functional zombie" effect on my mind for the first twelve hours after i take the medicine. i must say that the shit is working quite well, despite the zombie effect. i do not have migraine headaches anymore - but i am missing half of my day! every day i take the pills. i suppose it is a good trade-off. i think too godddamned much anyway - maybe it is a good thing that the drug is kicking the ass of my hyperactive mind. besides, removing half of my waking life in this hell-hole prison is a total blessing - it is time and torture that the michigan nazis cannot have or take from me, altho they are the ones who are inadvertently giving me the zombie drugs. a base form of irony, i guess. there are many ironic factions to my sordid existence. this life really sucks - i´m not so happy, or "luck to be "alive". well, i will go eat my saturday morning waffles, come back, go back to sleep, and i will not even remember writing this. good morning, deutschland, how are you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5. The Gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ

mostly cloudy, always mostly cloudy in the cold frigid hell of michigan, rain pouring down forever, jesus taking a piss all over michigan with his circumcision dick, piss down all over the evil michigan nazis. a nice US marine soldier was caught on video tape shooting an iraqi citizen who was unarmed - as if it is perfectly fine for US soldiers to shoot iraqi citizens as long as they have a gun in their hands. it doesn´t matter either way to the united states - if some poor dumb country gets in the way of the usa, the nice ami soldiers will come and blow the heads off of that country´s citizen´s heads. god bless america, god is on the side of the usa, the "new führer" george bush has proclaimed this - so if george bush blows up a third world country or orders his stormtroopers to kill unarmed slobs, it is all okay, because god wants it that way, and jesus needs to piss some more.

 

dirty day, disease-filled life, love is in the air - bombs falling from american planes to murder the innocent. the nazi state of michigan is closing down 40 schools, the children have no other options so they will not have an education - but michigan is building four new prisons, and had made no plans to change a single thing with the nazi michigan prison system. the annual budget for michigan to maintain their prisons is 1.9 billion dollars. enough money to feed a third-world country for ten years! - and michigan plans to build more prisons and keep the prisons full and make room for new prisoners - and michigan has closed 40 schools in order to maintain their draconian prison system. i do not understand how michigan is able to get away with this. usually in america when there is such a terrible injustice done, it is ended quickly. but much has changed in amiland. this is not the country that i grew up in as a boy. the nazis are in control of the bombs and planes and prisons, and the world just sits by and watches. probably because no other country wants to get the shit blown out of their land by an angry america. and altho i really do not give a flying shit what happens to this nazi america. i am in a prison in nazi america. and it does not seem as tho i will ever get out of this place. if i do get out by some miracle, i hope that this goddamned nazi american with all its schwarze-loving faggots gets the holy wrath of the gods poured down upon it - i hope uncle osama sends a nuclear-bomb-of-allah to blow this entire stinking piece of shit country off the face of the earth.

 

hunting season started yesterday in michigan thousands of hunters went to northern michigan to kill deers. on the first day of hunting season, there were two accidents, where two hunters were accidently shot and killed by other hunters. when i heard that, my heart was lifted with joy. the "hunters" who go out to kill deers, innocent and gentle deers, are the absolute scum of the earth. well, they are in the same filthy cesspool of immorality as child-fuckers and schwarzes who rape white women - and i sincerely hope that many more hunters are shot dead, either by accident or on purpose. humans, despite the filth that exists like hunters and rapping-schwarzes, are supposed to evolve, to become more than sick violent raping and killing machines. unfortunately there is filth like these hunters to hold back human evolution. someone should hunt the hunters.

 

it is 06:40 on a cold saturday morning. i woke up angry after having dreams about christmas - i guess the anger just is covering up feelings of despair and hurt. i´m spending yet another christmas in prison, this will be the fourth year. it is not yet december, today is november 20, and the ami television is showing commercials and TV programs all centered around christmas. it reminds me of christmas when i was a boy, happier times than these. when i paint my twisted nasty pictures, i keep the television on and put headphones on my head with the volume turned up very loud, this is to attempt to drown out the 24 hour noise of the faggot schwarzes screaming and rutting for their unnatural acts. so it is quite difficult for me not to notice that so many christmas things are on the TV, altho i hardly ever watch the programs or commercials, i still hear them, and this makes me quite sad, or, more sad than i normally am. hell, i´ve been depressed and sad for over four years, since i was captured by the michigan nazis and put in this pit of human waste. and christmas time is the most difficult time to bear. my catholic upbringing plays a part, altho i do not believe in the whole "jesus christ" issue. it is more that christmas was special when i was a boy - my mom and dad made it special for my brother, sister and me. and now i am stuck in the worst place on earth and i am completely alone. my mom is dead, thank the gods that she is spared from having to live when her son is in prison. my dad and brother do not really care that i am here, i haven´t talked to my sister for eight years, and i have gotten no letters for almost three weeks, it feels as tho everyone has forgotten me. with all that, i watch christmas-happy-time commercials and TV shows, or listen to them more like. and it hurts me so bad i want to cry - and the hurt leaks into my dreams. my existence is a total horror and i really "hope i die tonight, i hope i die, i hope". death is preferable to this pain. last night, "the wizard of oz" was on TV. maybe i should not have even watched it. i´m sure it brought on the emotional turmoil and pain i feel now. when i was a boy, i always saw "the wizard of oz" at my grandma + grandpa´s house around this time of year, it is considered a "holiday" movie. so i have sad memories of my grandparents also. they were so nice to me, i loved them very much. now they are gone the way of my mother. shit, yesterday was an emotional nuclear bomb. i hope i have no more christmas dreams. i much prefer my science-fiction crazy killing dreams, or nasty girly sex dreams. or death.

 

who would have thought that a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickness? a heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much people love you. you are an awful man, not well bred. no respect for anyone, not even the dead. respect is never given, respect is earned. life is not a spectator sport. i am barely existing on this side of understanding. never question the treachery of a human being, expect it and you will never be surprised - smile when faith is kept, but never allow your eyes to close when you smile. i need an ice-pick lobotomy, a psychological surrender. don´t let my baby wait no more, doomsday is knocking at my door. recognize the obvious - bow to the inevitable. the blood of the martyrs compels you. lugh lamhfada: celtic god of sunlight, shine your light upon my tortured soul, protect me from evil. ho-ho-ho! ha-ha-ha! and a couple of tra-la-las! that´s how we laugh the day away in the merry old land of oz! SURRENDER DOROTHY!

 

what will you risk for what you believe? and what is your belief worth if you will not risk anything in its defense? do not expect to be applauded when you do the right thing, and do not except to be forgiven when you err - but even your enemies will respect commitment - and a conscience at peace is worth more than a thousand tainted victories. nothing but commitment is absolute.

 

one cannot refuse a goddess when she offers to take you into her bed. to be angry is easy, but to be angry at the right man, at the right time, for the right reason, is difficult. i am a toilet of sadness. the sorrow of my solitude is sweet. may the blessings of the almighty bomb be upon us, and the heavenly fallout, now and forever, in a world without end, amen. resist temptation, or suffer the consequences. my life was on the line and they saved it, thank god for life alert, i owe my life to it. the thrill is gone, the thrill is gone away - you know you hurt me, baby - and you´ll be sorry someday. love hurts, love wounds and harms, love hurts.

 

stout fills the belly when there´s no food to be had, and it dulls the pain of living.

 

a sharp knife is nothing without a sharp eye. through fire, with wrath, for our homeland éire, to the death.

 

thinking about what you can´t control only wastes energy and creates its own enemy. only fools admit to being afraid of nothing. today is a good day to die, yes, but today is a better day to take revenge. lay me down in the cold cold ground, where before, many men have gone. what a wicked thing to say, that you never felt this way, what a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you. in the end, all that matters is what you have accomplished. the bigger the smile, the sharper the knife. conquer your fears and you will conquer death. worry about your miracles and i´ll worry about mine.

 

life is just a dream on the way to death. happiness in 9/10´s perception and 1/10´s reality. it is time to sleep, the murderers have won, death is near, death is welcome, to sleep forever, death is welcome. when words fail, place your faith in deeds. i didn´t hear you leave, but i wonder how it is that i am still here. i cannot breathe until you´re resting here with me. be ashamed to die until you have won some kind of victory for humanity. the reason we fear the unknown, is because we are afraid of what we will find in ourselves. a rose must be made with the sun and the rain.

 

for it is written: touch neither my servants or my property. all i want is to find my way home. look down into the abyss and experience the hell that i live everyday. what´s the difference between a job and my life? after ten years my job still sucks! there is no guilt, there is no blame, there is only what is meant to be. peace of mind, peace of spirit, peace of soul, goodbye my love.

 

there is no right, there is no wrong, there is only popular opinion. i have the agony of foreknowledge and the impotence to do nothing about it. the pervert in the park has a present in his pants. the second i committed murder i gave up my right to exist. free your mind, surrender your dreams, for i have many more to replace them.

 

sometimes your heart takes you places that can only have a bad ending, but if you follow your heart, you also go into the unknown, and you can never go back once you go. you can´t become something until you dream it first. in times of trouble some people find comfort in hate and fear. i am the angel of death, the time of purification is at hand. at least i know who my father is, you pig-eating son of a whore. the road to hell is paved with good intentions. i can see everything. fear profits a man nothing.

 

the night is alway darkest just before down. burning the soul in a greasy fire with onions and garlic. death to all sick pieces of shit, death to the unenlighted and less-evolved. just as those who fucked monkeys up the ass and caught a deadly disease which spread the disease among the other sick pieces of shit, so should go the rest of the rabble - OFF WITH THEIR HEADS! LET THEM EAT CAKE! where is my spear? the spear i thrust into the side of jesus? man, did i fuck up on that one. i have no diseases, i have no wish to live. do you wish to file a report on a UFO? don´t be so stupid, jar-jar-jub-jub. dance monkey, dance for your banana, dance monkey. and the monkey gets his revenge on the sick pieces of shit humans who violate monkey ass. something died inside me to make me so bitter - or maybe i am just more aware of how horrible humans really are. i cannot be human! perhaps i am of alien origin, perhaps my soul comes from some place far far away. there cannot be any way that i am part of all of "this" - the human race, the scum, the monkey-fuckers, the child-molesters, the queers, the schwarzes, the violence, the hate. when i see all of what humanity is, it makes me hate. i want to kill myself only to get away from all these monsters. oh god, save me from myself.

 

bloody goddamned morning, draining my soul of precious essence and vital bodily fluids, sick dreams, disasters of global proportions. small dirty thoughts, maybe this life is only a bad dream, maybe heaven is death and release from the pain - holy shit, i hope it is true. i really need all this to fade away. a detroit woman hacked up her husband with an axe, a schwarze killed two police officers, shooting them to death during a routine traffic stop. muslim extremists in iraq are holding a group of people hostage, one extremist is already dead. i got a mojo box. a few girls i knew had one of those, also, ha ha. the US embassy in iraq is under attack. one would think that ami-land would take the hint, that some countries do not want the usa in their country and they do not want the "american way of life" - but the usa is famous for not giving a shit about any country´s opinion or desire. this is the season of joy, it´s christmas time again. i wrote a song about the christmas season. shit, i thought i had it bad back then! now that i am in a real hell, my past christmas times seem like heaven.

 

the profit is all in the pain. i am nothing, i am useless, i am a tear in the rain. i recognize no authority except that which is in myself. a grief shared is half a grief, a joy shared is twice the joy. it is better to live two weeks as a tiger than a whole lifetime as a lamb. only a fool fights in a burning house.

 

only two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity. and i´m not sure about the universe. albert einstein! the best of intentions are not good enough, a man has to know his own limitations.

 

the point os to get a meal, not become one. what holds the world together, as i have learned from bitter experience, is sexual intercourse. henry miller! evil attempts to maintain power by misleading the innocent and suppressing the truth.

 

only the rain will know when the flowers will bloom.

 

Grégor Sean Mac Cormac, 01. December 2004

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

6. The Gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ

all this talk about god is childish evasion. desperate lies whispered by a frightened, lonely mortal, such as myself, out in a cold, dark, enternal night. there is no god. just as simply as that - there is no god. there is only chaos. vincent van gogh, paraphrased from his time in the borinage!

 

sickness and death, fairly groggy at first, deem the infidels unworthy of life. blind luck to be alive for so long, kill me, kill me, kill me. stop at nothing. how many different ways can i tell you the same story? for reasons unknown, the dreams of my childhood have failed to come true, boo-hoo-hoo. i am fairly certain that no one has their dreams come true. even the spoiled brats who have everything they could want never get what they truly need. it seems there is some kind of inborn dissatisfaction circuit built into the human brain. maybe retards are happy, i´ve never seen one that was unhappy. only maybe if you take away their candy or coloring book. shit, i throw a goddamned shit-fit if my candy is taken away. but then, my idea of candy goes far beyond just chocolate or m+m´s. i mean, mushrooms, LSD blotter acid, micro dot mescaline. these all are a type of candy, are they not? well, they are to a retard like me. but my candy of any sort is rarely taken away from me - i eat it before anyone has a chance to take it away! and i guess i am not so vulnerable or weak that anyone would try taking much away from me. but i could use some of that non-sugar based candy about now, it has been quite a long time - four years to be exact. who knows what life will bring me?

 

time is the fire in which we burn. earth is hell, and heaven is any place we end up after our bodies die. the flesh, our bodies, are prisons binding our souls to this time, this place. when my soul has one foot in the spiritual realm, i am always half the way out of hell. even as i walk among the prisoners on earth, they believe me to be some kind of retard because i am not entirely bound to my flesh prison. if i actually cared what anyone thought about me, i might stay a bit more bound to my own flesh prison. but since i do not give a flying shit what anyone thinks of me, i am retarded, and happy.

 

i firmly crap on this horrible world! damn you all! if i suffer, you must suffer also! you dare to torture a god?

 

sometimes i get questions about how i paint. why i paint, what makes me choose which subjects and so on. i suppose at some point i should write something about it, but i´m not so totally sure that i know for certain, or if what i come up with in my head is quite accurate. to be sure, my work is very intricate - i use very small-gauge brushes for almost an entire painting. it is the very intricate nature of my work that displays my own view that life is a very tedious pursuit. the work i put into a painting is tedious and painstaking - just as i find my life to be. there is very little real joy in my painting, neither in the final physical outcome or the toil i put into the work. i work on average 16 hours per day. and to some this would seem unbearable, that to work so hard every day with very little joy and more than a little bit of hate would seem like madness. until one can realize about me that painting is one of two activities i do that i can do without completely annihilating my higher senses - playing or recording music being the second. anything else like manual labor, eating, sleeping, showering. i find all that a worse tedium than painting or music. if i remembered what sex felt like, i imagine that i would group sex with painting and music - i once enjoyed sexual congress with beautiful girls a very interesting and exhilarating experience, and i devoted quite a bit of time to sex, but since i´ve not touched a girl for over four years, i do not remember enough to be accurate, and to digress and try to pretend i remember is useless. for painting, though, i pour a lot of emotion, mostly hate and anger, into my work. i enjoy working, so maybe that means i enjoy hating things. and for those who know me well, you probably could say this is true. but i enjoy love as well. i love being in love. but that, toom is remiss in my life. i love no one, no one loves me that i know of. maybe that makes painting easier for me. at least, lately it does.

 

there is a second part to my painting - and for those who know me well, they know i am not such a hateful person, so they might wonder how i could paint so much with hate. but it is more a type of inner hate, a total loathing for everything, a hate for the tedious boring horrible existence i lead. inner shit that i do not often display, but it serves me well when i create - but the other side of this is that often people buy or receive my paintings and they are very happy with these little monstrosities - my painting created in hate is bringing some kind of joy to others! so it follows a form of taoist balance - an esoteric trade-off if you will. i don´t hate my paintings, i only use my frustration with life to create the paintings - a type of angst, the prickly needles of a tortured man digging into my bruised and battered soul. ha ha, i´m fairly fucking profound, na?

 

25. December 2004, it is christmas time again! on this cold horrible winter death in michigan, i find myself still in prison and in a fragile state of mind - seemingly always am i on the verge of tears and/or the verge of incredible self-violence. i don´t know who i am anymore, i don´t know much of anything except PAINT. more and more i find myself in complete empathy with vincent van gogh. the life surrounding him and myself was a horrible nightmare - he and i had no love, no joy, no living - only painting. he and i only paint. at the point where our lives diverge, vincent had at least freedom - i am a prisoner in a living hell, filled with horrible faggots and rapists and the most incredible amount of retarded, ignorant, bestial, venal monsters on earth. vincent ran out to the fields to be alone and paint - i am in a steel jungle, completely surrounded by monsters, i am never alone, i am constantly being watched and leered at. but vincent and i share one ability - to escape into our painting, to suspend reality and cast off the shroud of human disease. so it is christmas once again, i am stuck in prison, i am so alone i could die. but in a few short minutes i will pick up my brush and begin again. i´m working on a very large self-portrait of me next to a window with bars, it is very abstract and full of simple and complex analogy, this one will go into a "prisoner art exhibition", some such shit where sicko people get to view and buy artwork by prisoners - i sold a few paintings last year, and this year i will sell more, for very much money - i am probably the best painter in the show - this seems arrogant of me to aver, but. prisoners are a bunch of simple-headed morons. none have my ability or vision. i´ll see this paiting for 300 dollars. and that will be more than vincent ever received, but i will never have vincent´s ability. there is some irony in all this somewhere, but for now, merry christmas to you all.

 

when i was 15 and still living with my parents in the usa, i was hired to play christmas music on the piano at my high-school friend paul´s house - his father, who was also my psychologist, one dr. cotter, was having a large party for his family on christmas eve. there was a close relationship between me and the cotters, i felt as though i were one of the four sons they had, i spent most of my time at their house - and dr. cotter was trying to help me deal with problems i had, and still have, trying to cope with a world that is largely less intelligent than i am - i have a really high IQ and some other physical abnormalities with my brain, namely a larger than normal "corpus callosum", the connection between my two brain lobes, and it predisposed me to having extremely abstract thoughts - in fact, i´m not even sure that i can even imagine how normal people think or perceive life. but i digress. on this one christmas eve in 1979, i was to plunk out some tunes for the cotter clan, and i was to be paid handsomely, paul and i ended up drinking a barrel-full of wine and beer and whiskey, whatever we could find. the doctor was irish, and his wife italian, and so there was quite a bit of alcohol being served, both genetic races being easily predisposed to alcohol consumption and not adverse to younger members of the family drinking the same. in fact, paul and i got knock-down shit-faced drunk - and we ate a ton of food, specifically heavy pasta dishes, my favorite being mrs. cotter´s special mostaciolli - i think i actually played the piano that night - i´m not entirely sure! and if so, that night was my first paying musical engagement! i remember paul getting sick in the upstair toilet, he was puking and shitting, and sitting naked on the toilet with the window open all the way, snow and cold air blowing in. then one of paul´s older brothers drove me home, it was very late and my parents were asleep. i crawled into the entry-way toilet and began puking myself - my head was swimming, and wine, beer, and whiskey were rocketing out of my mouth along with an inordinate amount of italian food. while i was puking i must have passed out and fell over on my back. i woke up in the morning to the knocking on the door of the toilet, it was my mother telling me to come open presents for christmas morning. as i came into consciousness, my mouth was completely filled with mostaciolli and alcohol and stomach acid. i moved my head aside and puked up more onto the floor. i realized in a clearer moment later that i could have died, choking on my own vomit like jimi hendrix did. but obviously i´m still alive, barely. the rest of that day was a blur, i know my parents knew i was hungover like a dog for christmas. they didn´t seem to care much. and that is my christmas story, 25 years later.

 

i must tell you, dear reader, that most of my childhood and ten years were spent with the belief of both my parents and myself that i was some kind of hopeless retard. not until the before-mentioned dr. cotter tested me thoroughly did it become apparent that i possessed some extraordinary intelligence. up ´til that point i was an extremely awkward child, often in trouble for terrible things and not a very popular child with other children or adults or my family. i was very weird. and the strange sense about me was interpreted as my being retarded. i was not especially good at schoolwork, i had serious issues with authority figures, i excelled in driving my mother crazy to the point of her resorting to beating me. my parents called me "monster-baby" when i was very young, and i grew to be "monster-adolescent" and "monster-teenager" as well, fulfilling their expectations of what i was deep inside. even now in my adult years, many people consider me a monster. the only thing i was any good at was playing the piano. i had an aptitude for drawing, but that was never explored to any great degree - i was not prompted to create artwork, after i drew a picture of my third-grade teacher, one mrs. mctaggert, naked and horribly shriveled with light-bulbs for breasts. i only started serious painting again around age eighteen - when i left the nest for good. the music obviously stayed with me. i also was interested in theatre, and apparently i mixed acting with music and became "itchy wiggle christ" - but most of all, what psychologically formed my present personality - the monster that is me - is believing and being treated as though i were retarded during my formulative years. dr. freud would have a fantasy-dream-patient in me. to think i am a retard and then be told i am more "intelligent" than 99.999% of the world is quite a shock. and my intelligence is not an "einstein" type, although i am good at math and physics - my forte is creative and abstract thought. it is hard to say if it is a gift or a curse. more times than not, i put things together in such a bizarre fashion in my head - i see connections in every event, synchronicity and serendipity everywhere. and this leads me to very much paranoid thoughts, delusions, interferences, innuendo. i´m a fucking mess, actually. but i can write and record some fairly strange and deliciously nasty songs, and i can paint disturbing pictures that make people for the most part very nervous and uneasy. ja, i´m a fockin´ genius! ha ha.

 

there are not enough colors for me to use - i sense that there are more colors that cannot be perceived by anyone, but i know the colors exist. i´ve seen them before, especially in my dreams and when i have ingested hallucinogenic substances. another answer to those who have asked me that question - yes, i´ve taken a lot of hallucinogens, especially LSD and magic-mushrooms. a conservative guess would be that i´ve been on over thousand trips. and i see the colors that cannot be seen when i trip. i am becomming more and more aware that the colors that cannot be seen actually want me to use them in my paintings, but it is impossible at this point of my life as a prisoner in the michigan nazi death-camp. but let this writing be my witness, i want to use the colors that cannot be seen! it makes me quite sad that i want to use them, they want me to use them. but it is not possible. c´est la vie, non? the nazis win this battle - but they will never win their war against me - i will be free one day soon, one way or another. shit, ian curtis did it, kurt cobain did it, sid vicious and jim morrison and darby crash possibly did it. so can i do it, if it becomes clear that my physical body will not be released from the evil clutches of the michigan prison system. and i know that for what may come and for what the nazis have done to me already for these four long years - the karma that will go against these evil bastards in the end will send their filthy souls to icy freezing hell for eternities on end. their souls will suffer, and i will piss on them from my celtic heaven, and lugh and brighid and dagda will laugh with me. and ian, kurt, sid, jim, and darby will be with me, we´ll all drink ambrosia, which of course is guinness stout in celtic heaven, or murphy´s stout if we are in the cork area of celtic heaven! ha ha. a good irishman drinks only murphy´s stout when in the cork area, it´s better than guinness. and me and jim will take heavenly magic mushrooms, jim will fuck pam and i will fuck anais nin, life will be grand, to be certain. but for the moment, i hope to live and to be free physically from this rotten existence in prison-hell, or schwarze-schwull-heaven. i still have things to do before i die and party with jim morrison. i have many more pictures to paint, and for this, i know vincent smiles down on me - he knows what i must do, and he applauds my tenacity to keep on living. vincent is in celtic heaven, too - painting off in a bright yellow field of beautiful sunflowers. vincent shares an absinth with kurt sometimes, they are kindred spirits. and i will be with you. soon enough, vincent, when all my pictures are painted. peace be with me on this cold winter night. brighid, hear my prayers to you, goddess. save me.

 

so here we are, getting ready for new year´s eve. well, you are, whoever you are - i am sitting in the dark at eight in the morning, waiting for the nazi cops to turn on the light, but i only can hope - they do not turn on the light for some bizarre reason. the pervert perform their unnatural acts in the dark, and the unnatural acts are supposedly against the law in this hell-hole, but the nazi cops do not care. the sick perversion goes on in plain sight, and the cops turn their heads - if they don´t see it, it does not exist. but i must see it, smell it, the stench of schwarze homosexuality, rape, diseased minds. this is my hell, this is the worst place on earth that i could ever be forced to exist in. very often i wish i could die, just to escape this horror. my friends beg me to not snuff myself, but i think none of them realize how bad my life really is in here. otherwise if they really cared they would understand. i think only captain ralf is the only one who cares, he does not wish for me to snuff it, but he is working very hard to try and get me out of here - so he has the "hope fever" - hope that i may be free someday. sometimes i have the hope fever also, but more often, especially around holidays i enjoy, like new year´s eve, silvester, i am cast deep into the bowels of my old friend depression - mister depression swallows me whole and slowly digest away my hope fever. mr. depression reaches out and makes sure nobody writes me letters, mr. depression reaches out and hardens the hearts of the pharaoh nazis who decide to let me rot in this hell of sin and homosexuality, mr. depression is my torturer, my friend, my nemesis, my life. sometimes i really feel like giving up. to let mr. depression win, to drag the razor hard across the throat of the intelligent-retard-boy who is crying in the dark, wishing that all of this were only a bad dream.

 

there was a big underwater earthquake near thailand a few days ago. i am very sad for the deaths and destruction, at this point 40.000 people are dead and many still missing, washed out to sea by the giant tsunami tidal waves. the strange thing is that i felt the earthquake happen, i was standing outside and i commented to cheney that it felt to me like the ground was shaking. i thought it was some kind of acid flashback - but it turns out i felt the ground shaking at the exact time that the earthquake happened. i know i have some psychic ability, so this is not so bizarre to me, but i think i felt more the disturbance of chi energy than actual ground shaking. maybe i felt the people die. i felt something for certain, hm. sri lanka was hit very hard, that made me the saddest - i want to visit there one day. i have great respect for indian/hindu people. i think i may marry a girl from india, it was in my dreams.

 

more on my dream - of how i think i may marry a girl from india. in my dream i was meeting the girl´s family, but they did not seem to be actually from india. everyone was very happy, and i seemed to be well accepted, as if my position were honorable? altho i´m not sure that the position in life of "punk-rock singer" is considered completely honorable! - but the girl i was to marry did have on a sari and headdress as hindu women wear. and she seemed completely comfortable to me, yet i did not see her face clearly - only very kind eyes. so i´m not sure if this dream was prophetic or a figment of any desire to marry a girl in a traditional manner, with much "honor" and acceptance involved - to have the girl´s family like me. maybe it is prophetic, because any girl i´ve been involved with has had a family that hates me. i can´t imagine i would dream a wish in this regard, because i generally don´t give a flyling fuck who likes me or hates me. but i think women from india are beautiful, and maybe i will marry one someday. there is another side to this, that is the "mushroom girl", a very lovely girl i spent a few months with in berlin, she was/is german, but she spent much time in india. i really liked her, even loved her, and maybe my dream was some desire-wish to see my mushroom girl again. that would be nice - but then again, i am so desperately lonely and starved for female companionship. any good memory of a girl i used to love is all i have in the department of female interaction. i haven´t talked to a real woman in four years. i don´t even know what that big thing between my legs is supposed to be used for anymore, ha ha.

 

besides the poison, there is the antidote.

 

let us not despair, we who are vincent´s friends. vincent is not dead. he will never die. his love, his genius, the great beauty he has created will go on forever, enriching the world. not an hour passes but that i look at his paintings and find there a new faith, a new meaning of life. he was a colossus, a great painter, a great philosopher. "he fell a martyr to his love of art" - irving stone, lust for life.

 

vincent is buried next to his brother theo at the cemetery near the catholic church in auvers, france. if i am ever free from this prison, if i make it out alive, i will visit vincent - this i swear, and this i will do the very first chance i get - if i am ever free again.

 

"no excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness" - aristotle.

 

let me scribe to you of madness and entropy. madness in itself is not bad - i´ve been half insane my whole life. and tho it has hurt me and hurt others, i wouldn´t trade it for anything. i can do things with my madness that most anyone could never dream of doing. to be insane and then to use that insanity to create is a great gift. but i know another side of madness - entropy. the existence of nothingness, the exact opposite of existing. and this is creeping into my soul a bit more each day - entropy, darkness, nothingness. i feel my soul rotting away, my spirit failing. i am lost, locked away in a prison and no real hope exists that i will ever be free. my life is becomming entropy. and this type of madness is not to my liking. i am fading and i am afraid, and i am so very very lonely. tonight i called out to vincent to help me if he can. i hope wherever he is, that he can hear me, and that he will help. i´m not as strong as vincent was. i can´t see the good in everything. i need him to help me. i need the goddess to help me. brighed, hear me. get me out of this living hell. i need you both. i am not strong enough to last on my own anymore. i´m so very very afraid. please help me.

 

today is new year´s eve - silvester. it is another of my favorite holidays in which i find myself still in prison. i´ve missed so much since i´ve been gone from the world, and i feel as tho the deepest darkest death, the death of all life, is creeping into me. i am starting to stop caring about anything. the entropy is taking me. in this horrible year 2004, there has been war, death, and disaster all over the world. thousands of dead american soldiers, dead for a war that no one can say exactly what the war is about. only the ami war-mongers know, and the best guess is that the US must protect oil interests. oil to make gasoline so that cars can continue to pollute the atmosphere. human beings are monsters, maybe entropy should creep up the ass of all humanity, kill us all, wipe out humans forever. but perhaps america is doing the job of entropy after all. it is only a matter of time before the dirty-fission atom bombs start going off. mutants will be everywhere. fun time!

 

all is quiet on new year´s day. i want to be with you, be with you, night and day. but nothing changes on new year´s day. it is the first day of january 2005, it is 06:30 in the morning. there is no "you" particularly in the "i want to be with you" quote - assuming that bono meant that line to mean some kind of girlfriend. there is or are plenty of girls i would like to be with, but my guess is that angelina jolie, milla jovovich or jennifer tilly are busy today, ha ha. "pussycat, pussycat, i love you, yes i do. you and your pussycat eyes" - nah, i am alone on new year´s day. i am surrounded by 1000 leering schwarze pervert faggots, but this only increases my loneliness, i talk to none of these retards - i can´t even understand what they say.

 

i found i could not continue writing, it is the fourth of january now. i felt quite disgusted on new year´s day. it is quite difficult to describe to you, my dear reader. i will try: when i was a boy, holidays were good times, my dad would be home, whereas he was almost always gone at work, and for the most part these were happy times. now i spend my days, and all my holiday times, in the presence of the most foul, unnaturally perverse monsters of all humanity. so it is very difficult for me, especially on holidays. it is not to say that all my holidays as a boy were the greatest and most wonderful of times, and at rare times it is not so terrible in this prison - i mean, the schwarze-schwulls have to sleep at some point, and i tend to find times when those monsters are asleep or not near me, and then i can paint or write letters - and i realize to you, my reader, that it does not seem to be such a great thing to just be able to paint or write or even read a book without being annoyed by noise of faggotry - but to me it is a blessing - a short moment of peace when i can take a breath. but these times are very rare, as i said. sometimes weeks go by and i find myself without a moment´s peace. such as it was on new year´s day - i could not write in peace because of the faggots "celebrating" - and it digusts me - how these animals can celebrate anything in here - i mean, they are in prison. but as is the case, this prison is a better home to these monsters than any home they ever had outside - but for me, this place is hell incarnate - the worst place i´ve ever known in my short 40 years. even a cold hard bench in a hauptbahnhof in berlin is a better life than this. i wish it could all end very soon.

 

some few days into the new year, nothing has changed, it´s all the horrible same mess: i am being tortured daily, sometimes hourly or minute by minute in this goddamned living hell. the world is falling apart. death and destruction in iraq, some more in thailand, the earth taking out its vengeance on about 100.000 people in sri-lanka plus thailand. is this the end of the world? armageddon is coming soon? jaysus, joseph and mary, i sure hope so. sometimes i think that the only way i will ever get out of here is when the world finally comes to an end. i am quite the pragmatist - my means to an end of my incarceration involves hoping that everyone, including you, dear reader, get blown up and destroyed in one final cataclysmic world death-throe. only so that i can die, too - so i can be free, finally free. quite selfish of me, yes? well, i´ve been accused of much worse things than being selfish. i´m the fookin´son of satan, so i´ve heard.

 

dirt, filth, facist faggots, world politics. i dreamed of money and drinking guinness. at one point in the dream i was buying a pint for an irish midget, the bartender was indian, he tried to charge me 17 dollars for the pint, i started to complain because he handed me back three dollars in change from a 20 i gave, but the change was all little coins from strange countries - india, japan, china, guatemala, etc. so i started to complain, and i was very forceful. suddenly a cop came, and it was another indian, i mean, from india, not the native american "indian". and the indian cop spoke to me in italian! and i answered him back in german, and i was pushed out the door without giving the pint, expensive as it was, to the irish midget. i was taken into some maze of strange alley ways, i kept asking in german "what the hell did i do?", but the indian cop would say nothing. finally i woke up singing "the cars" song, "up and down", the same which i recorded myself. there were other strange things in the dream, lots of irish things. i was sitting in the pub before the police incident, drinking a lot, and some of my past wives were around. something about driving a cadillac. very strange dream. i wonder what dreaming about money means? what in the hell am i doing here? i woke up in prison! i´m surrounded by vicious schwarze faggots, i am dying inside, my soul is fading. i am dreaming.

 

i have been thinking about dying lately, and how i should be sure to arrange my last will and testament. i think a great deal about dying, i´m not sure why, maybe because i sense the end of something, but i am not sure what, perhaps i will die, perhaps i will be released, perhaps i will develope some really painful and crippling form of cancer, maybe i will be crowned king of irland and given a great castle and 33 wives and 55 cows, a goat, some horses, and a kitty-cat or two, maybe an evil haitian voodoo priest will shoot me with a blowgun dart dipped in curare, and i will be turned into a vicious brain-eating zombie, i would really like a schwarzwälder kirschtorte at this moment.

 

can i talk to you a moment? what´s your name? jesus wept, and itchy suffered. i have been, as of late, giving serious thoughts to finally forming the church of the most high pope itchy wiggle christ the 666th. of course, i am the god, the martyr, and the pope all rolled into one. my followers would all learn my street-fighting martial arts, and be proficient in weapons, especially knives. knives will be important to both protection and for rituals and prayer. the "religion" will be a mix of taoism and wicca, with celtic/druidic influence. i will have actual "churches", which will be halls of ritual as well as training dojos. no one will quite know where the serious religion begins and the farce and comedy end. just as in "real" religions. not even i will know the reality or farce - that is the mystery!. and actually, as the most high leader of the church, i should be the most confused member of all members! each member will begin as a monk or a nun, then once they reach black-belt level they will become a priest or priestess. leaders, or owners, of each dojo will be a bishop. members of my immediate circle of administrators, managers, and musicians will be cardinals. all practitioners of the church of i.w.c. will learn martial arts, zen/taoist mind control, chi-kung and magic, and each member will choose a proficiency in one or more of the following: music, art, or intellectual thoughts, mathematics, strategy, literature, languagesm etc. the network of the church, music, art, martial arts, and anything to do with commerce or management will be handled by S.T.A.B., the "Shock Therapy Anarchy Bureau". once a person becomes a priest or priestess, they will receive a tattoo, signifying their allegiance to the church. the church will be the ultimate crowning glory of my existence on earth, and if all goes well, i will create many churches worldwide and many followers who will be the best they can be as a human. which isn´t saying much, actually. but we must all work with what we have, right?

 

it is funny and strange, "the fifth element" is on TV again, and one of my dream girls, milla jovovich, is in this movie, and one of my favorite actors also, bruce willis! what is strange, is that last night i had a very nice-and-nasty dream. i was drinking bushmills irish whiskey and having a party in a seedy motel room, and my girl milla was there, and also jennifer tilly, another of my dream girls! and we were laughing and jumping on the bed, then we all started having nasty-potty-fun sex together, and at one point milla and jennifer were laying side-by-side, kissing and touching each other, and i was standing over them on the bed drinking the bushmills, and suddenly i had to puke. which is strange because i do not puke up good whiskey - that is true alcohol abuse! so i let it go and vomitted the whiskey on jennifer´s and milla´s breasts, and they started laughing uncontrollably and rubbing the whiskey puke into each other. at that point i woke up, or i woke myself up - and i really started wondering about my sanity, ha ha. okay, well, i´ve been through situations like my dream for real, and actually much stranger situations, but not with girls like jennifer tilly or milla jovovich. a few "famous" girls, yes, but not movie stars - just strange musician girls. i´ve found that girls who play in music bands have the same strange desires that i tend to have, or at least the same ideas. i think i am really a fucked-up individual. but no more than all the rest of you peep-holes. i just am aware of what i am more than you all.

 

stranger than strange. i am confined to my bed by order of the ever-lovable michigan nazis, so i am sort of in a double prison. one inside the other. but i rarely leave my bed ever, so it makes really no difference. it is a bunch of shit - again, and no real surprise for me. always when things seem to be getting easier for me, a bunch of shit from the ass of jeebus falls on my head and i must wear that holy turd like a hat. i am a walking toilet for the gods. today is some kind of schwarze holiday, maybe butt-fuck day or something. all it means to me is that i get no mail. typical amis using any excuse not to work.

 

i am sick again! - this time it is a virus or influenza, really ingrained deeply into my system, giving me such symptoms as an infected sinus, pus coming out my eyes, coughing, lungs filled with mucous and corruption, upset stomach with vomitting, and my old friend diarrhea. not to mention the overwhelming feeling of slow death creeping into my soul. my energy is down, i keep blowing out golf-ball sized hunks of neon green shit from my nose every five minutes. i wake up in the morning and cannot see because of the pus filling my eyes. and i have been in this condition for over a week now, and there is no indication that it will ever end. with all this going on inside me, there is a horrible nasty snow storm going on outside, it is dumping 25 centimeters of snow every hour, wind is blowing hard, and the wonderous temperature in michigan is a frigid, minus 20 degress celsius. all i can think of doing is to lay in my bed, on the hard plastic mattress that feels like lumpy bricks. i want to pray that i die in my sleep, but i´m sure that somewhere, some god or demon is having quite a good laugh at my misery, so there is no point to pray for death. at least some entity is getting its jollies off watching me suffer. and i am sure there are more than a few people who will read this in the future, those people who hate me with a passion, who will enjoy reading of my suffering in prison. i know there are quite a few of you out there - but it is understandable. i am dangerous to this world.

 

i create ideas and inspire many people to go beyond their mundane pre-planned lives. i want some people to "break the mold" and EVOLVE. but evil forces do not want anyone to go beyond the robots that society wants them to be, evil loves the boring, the trite, the empty entropic morass of existence. when a soul does nothing to grow in this world, it stagnates and never ascends beyond humanity - and evil likes this - there are more unhappy, bored, and disheartened people on earth to create more entropy - to actually de-evolve our race. so those who hate me are in tune with evil - you know who you are. many of you are happy i am in prison and hope i stay here. well, that is not going to happen, you dirty fuckers. eat my shit! or better yet, drink my diarrhea! i´m getting out of here, someday soon! HA HA!

 

forgive them father, they know not what they do. and jesus wept. i am dreaming yet awake, the heavy migraine medication is still coursing thru my head, and i should be sleeping, but for some fucked-up reason i want to go to breakfast and eat waffles. normally i miss breakfast, i never go anymore because i am completely "blotto" in the morning. my brain cannot wake up at seven or six-thirty or whatever. plus, i have conjunctivities in my eyes, and i am practically blind when i wake up - so being blind and brain-dead and stumbling thru the dark and the goddamned bitter minus 20 michigan cold winter morning does not quite seem to be such a great prospect. i´d rather just lay in bed and dream of freedom and pretty girls. but against my better judgement, i am awake at 05:50, waiting to go and get the saturday morning waffles. only on saturday will the nazis allow waffles, altho i could eat waffles every day. i guess waffles remind me very much of germany, where i had some of the best waffles of my life. prison waffles suck, but! the memory and comfort that they bring me is the prize i am going for here. it is a sad state of affairs when i grasp at the smallest of tidbits only to bring back the vague memories of happier times. even at my worst times, when i was a free man, it was better than my best of days in this shitty hell of schwarze-schwulls and diseased perverts and nazis on michigan state pay who take pleasure in making my life a living hell. i could not be much lower than i am at the moment - my spirits seem to be failing as of late - the unholy michigan winter has been brutal, the sun is hardly ever out. i´m very depressed.

 

after three weeks, it seems as tho my latest influenza virus has decided to vacate my already weak body, damn it! the fucking thing didn´t kill me this time! i was really hoping i would just die this time. at least the goddamned virus made me feel like i was going to succumb to the grim reaper. why did he not take me? am i not a nice guy? am i boring to be with? i would think that the grim reaper would find me good company - i have a very dark sense of humor, i am very accustomed to people dying all around me, i drink alcohol and take drugs which should have killed me 20 years ago. well, at least influenza likes me.

 

the difference between genius and insanity is measured only by success. hear all: trust nothing. if you are not fighting the enemy, you are helping them. when you overindulge the body, you starve the soul. curiosity did not kill the cat - hesitation did. itchy copulates with aradia, first witch and daughter of diana: psychosexual reproduction.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

7. The Gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ

i don´t know, i told you, they all look the same to me. i need a link to a human female, my soul is starving, i´ve not talked to or seen a real live girl for four-and-a-half years. i paint pictures of me as a monster psychosexually cavorting with a beautiful witch. i am lost, lonely, surrounded by sickness and filth. help me die, or bring me back to life. please, brighid, hear me.

 

dirty filthy sunday bloody sunday fucking ass-munch morning. the delights of the few, the pain of the many, dreams shattered and laying broken across the universe. disease, a pox be upon you, young grégor, and know this: even tho i, who am your god, know that nothing really hurts you all that much, i will inflict upon you pox and plague for all the remaining days of your life. i answer you, "god": you are only one god among many - you are the god of the jews and the christians, and apparently the muslims as well, but what-the-fuck the muslims believe in i cannot quite tell - i have shunned and forsaken you, mister god, just as you have shunned and forsaken me for all my 40 years of pain. you can do no more to me than what you already have done - the sickness, the loss, the pain - you have driven me into the depths of hell all of my life, but i have survived, and my survival is due to forces other than yours - the very forces in which you and your gaggle of followers on earth have tried so very hard to extinguish from human memory - the fact that other gods and goddesses exist and it is they who protect the few of us who have always believed there is something wrong with you and your organized religion of earth. yes, i tell you now, "god", i am onto your lies and deceit, your tricks to pull in all the suckers, your threats that you are the one-and-only god and all other gods must be forsaken. why would you demand that your followers forsake all other gods but then say you are the one-and-only god? this is double-speak, a lie, a false truth. you are not the one-and-only, you are jealous and afraid of the other gods and goddesses. and you should be, for they are compassionate, powerful, and helpful to us who know your filthy sunday lies. eat shit and die.

 

i spit my last breath at thee, oh damned whale! i dreamed of death, and when i awoke, i did not know whose death it was. brighid, i hear you, i feel you, your gentle firm touch upon my soul, help me so that i may help you - with this i pledge to you my life and soul. into the fiery pit of hell i walk, cast down by the evil of man, but i only feel your gentle touch, the cool soft breeze of your whisper. i am yours, brighid, now and forever. a greek army on persian soil, a german army in mother russia, the black army of the americas marching over iraq - bitter hatred, foolish greed, oil for blood - who is god and who is man and who is teaching who is speak? choose glory for yourself and slice open the throats of untold millions. the life you extinguish with your modern weaponry could have given birth to a maker of peace, one who could have saved the life of your progeny - but pope george bush orders you to kill, so you kill, and all the while the usa protects and defends its inhabitants: the slaves and the weak, the greedy and the ugly, the violent drug-addled filth that have destroyed the urban centers of america, living and dying by the crack cocaine and the handgun of cowardice, the middle-class filled with materialistic white anglo-saxon protestant serfs, making mediocrity and sloth a way of life, giving birth to retarded children who are more in tune with violent video games than reading, writing, or arithmatics. this skum and filth are what you kill for, young naive american soldier, so shoot well and true, be sure to kill all those bad guys in iraq that are trying to save their sovereignity. god, your god of the jews, is on your side, just as both george bushes have said. kill in the name of jesus, kill in the name of crack-cocaine, kill in the name of violent rap music, kill in the name of black-on-white rape, kill in the name of mediocrity, kill for the white-bread middle-class, kill for jesus, kill for jesus, KILL FOR JESUS - GEORGE - BILL - CLINTON - BUSH- HILLARY - THE - LESBIAN - OJ SIMPSON! KILL TO KEEP THE MICHIGAN PRISONS OPEN! KILL TO KEEP THE TRI-LATERAL COMMISSION AND THE HOLY ORDER OF MASONICS IN POWER! KILL FOR YOUR GOD: MONEY! KILL FOR MCDONALDS AND OBESITY AND A DEPLETED OZONE AND WHITE-MEAT CHICKEN MCNUGGETS! don´t die soldier, the world needs you.

 

the price of gas in the usa is one dollar, ninety four cents for one gallon, a gallon being about two liters or so. this price is still ridiculously low compared to european gas prices, yet the amis are going out of their minds, assuming they have a mind, that is, because the price is so high. there is no real solid reason why the gas is so expensive, but here is my rede on the situation: the usa government/bush/tri-lateral commission/etc. is keeping the prices sky high so that all the amis with their crappy cars FREAKOUT over the prices - then the US government maintains the war in iraq and afghanistan, letting out subtle hints that if more control were maintained and excercised in the mid-east, then the price of gas will go down and then all the fat-piggy americans will have more extra money to buy macs and whopper-burgers. in this way the idiot americans do not complain about the american army marching all over the world like the twenty-first-century nazis that they are, controlling every country, being the world police. this seems to be a sound theory to me, but then, the american government really does not give a flying-fucking-shit what any ami or any person in the world thinks or does - if there were a revolt in the usa, the government would simply crack-down on the population, declare a military state, and use the "national guard" to police the people and control the prison camps, which would surely be instituted - hell, in michigan alone there is already a fine prison camp system, i should know - and the national guard are really not more than a not-so-secret army that the US government keeps ready to crack-down on the ami peep-holes. the usa is so very very close to becomming a military police state. maybe george bush will grow a little square hitler-moustaches when he declares himself the "supreme overlord-führer of the fourth reich" and begins to take over the world in not such a secret manner as he is doing now. ja, who cares, right?

 

what depths a man can be cast down into, and he is so soon forgotten. so many can fall but only few are ever elevated. i am the flea on the ball-sack of a rabid rat, and i am a diseased flea at that. sadness, pain, loneliness, and loss are my only companions, i hate myself too much to ever be my own best friend. i can think back with longing and pain about the times i was once elevated and lauded. those were the days, my friend, i thought they´d never end. but the fall comes too quickly and it is always inevitable - shit, just ask saddam hussein or adolfus hister-hitler or sid vicious or jeffrey dahmer. or just ask me, i can tell you of the fall, of the pain, the entropy that follows. just write me a letter, care of the prison i am dying in, i´ll write you back and tell you all about LIFE.

 

i awoke this morning sick with another cold virus creeping through my already weakened sickly body. green-yellow mucous dripping out my sinus cavities, heavy little to alleviate these symptoms, as the prison considers any drug that may help one get through a cold virus to be contraband and illegal for prisoners to have. only these shitty yellow allergy pills are allowed, and they do very little but dry up the mucous, making it clumpy and difficult to blow out my nose. ach, woe is me, that i should suffer this much more in an already intolerable existence in captivity at the hands of the michigan nazis. but this is my lot in life - to suffer - and perhaps i can only imagine that if i were free, i would most probably be suffering all the same - albeit i would be free and able to take drug i could find to hide from the life of suffering as i am so wont to fo, or in the least i could down a big bottle of bushmills irish whiskey. this i have found to be the greatest cure for the common cold, and bushmills serves so very well as a cold remedy - i am able to get stinking drunk, forget about life in general, and more often than not i am cured of my cold when i get done with my drinking spree. altho i have found that LSD often serves to cure the cold virus as well, and LSD coupled with bushmills or five bottles of mumm trocken sekt, a very dry and delicious german champagne, often cures me of every virus, diease, discomfort and mental illness that may be lurking in my 40-year-old body. well, actually my 35-year-old body, since the last time i injested acid and alcohol was before the nazis incarcerated my sick ass. it was new year´s eve, in the apartment of one girl named carol, whom i´ve known for many years and had a strange relationship with. only too late did i realize that i loved this girl, that i could marry her and be happy the rest of my days with her. she did not feel the same as i, obviously - if she had, i may not be in prison as i am - but to attempt to breakdown the reasons why i ended up in prison involves a great amount of conjecture and second-guessing. and even tho i still feel strongly about carol, the same can be said for all the girls who were either my wife or girlfriend - i cannot think of any of them without feeling a strong sense of either love or hate. there are no ambivalent feelings for any of them, but, that is me - i voluntarily carry around my emotional baggage. but i have memories, and memories are all i have now. so maybe it is good that i cling to emotions and thoughts of carol, the mushroom girl in berlin, gerry, sabina, others. lots of shit led up to me coming to prison, maybe all of my experiences with girls and more have led to my demise. maybe i would be better off as a butterfly. maybe i can dream i am a butterfly.

 

now we are cooking. now our souls burn in eternal torment for the sins we committed in our physical lives. so now that you burn, can you remember all the innocent animals you ate during your lifetime? do you still believe that your life is worth more than the life of the animals you ate? and as your body took in the dead flesh of the animals to keep your physical body alive, and you spent your life committing one evil act after another, did you ever once think about the incredible amount of bad energy you have created? the unhappiness you have caused? or do you believe that you are separate from the world you life in, that nothing you do, good or bad, makes any difference at all? i cannot tell you what is right or wrong, i cannot say you "should" do this or you "ought" to do that. i am as lost as anyone else. but i can tell you that i feel better when i remain still inside, i try to be a good man without expending too much energy. no good deed ever goes unpunished! and i avoid doing evil or being near those who commit evil deeds. it seems to make my life easier - but of course, everywhere i look i see evil and those who either unwittingly or purposely commit evil deeds, especially the eating of dead animals. i am not of this earth, i am not of the human race, i cannot be - or i may be insane. i hope i die tonight.

 

here he is, your daunting hero, early on the dark sunday michigan prison morning. i wonder how vincent had all the time he did to write his brother theo all those letters? - i have a very difficult time finding time to write in this makeshift journal/gospel/whatever it is called. i am working up to 16 hours per day at painting, and that does not seem like enough. there is never enough time, i guess. much of people´s lives are spent ignoring or hiding from the fact that we all die, then when we die, we realize there has not been enought time to do what needed to be done - at least most evolved people feel this way - there is a shit-load of absolute retards that have no clue that they are even alive. so if scientists define life as "awareness", does that mean that all these retards are dead? they may as well be dead, they are only taking up space and littering the environment, especially a good one-third of the american population. it seems that humans should strive to evolve and breed in order to create a better generation of ourselves, but instead it seems that the idiots and retards are the ones who are over-breeding at an exponential rate, populating an already crowded planet. i see the very retarded of this bunch every single day in my current location, and this makes me embarrassed to call myself human. and a very sick human at that - i´ve had a cold and flu now for five months. i hope i die tonight.

 

is it possible that i have grown so old and so set in my ways that i have outlived my usefullness? time is of the essence, and life is too short. just because i can do a thing does not necessarily mean i must do that thing. suicide is a daily thought - but i fear i have always this little bit of optimism that stops me from committing the act. either that, or i am such a pessimist that i fear making a mistake during the act - this would be my typical dumb bad luck - and i would end up a cripple or a retard or some kind of mess. when i don´t have every hope of being completely successful, i opt not to do the dirty deed to myself. but playing the optimist - thinking i could be out of this prison very soon, is such a long shot. it may never happen, and this is getting too much to bear. and i feel depression setting in and my old "SAD", seasonal affective disorder, the goddamned winter michigan weather, no sun and colder than a well-diggers ass. i´ve not so much to be happy about. no chocolate kisses or lollipops here, not even 99 red balloons. whatever happened to nena? i used to think she was very pretty. now i don´t know what i think - i just want to sleep the sleep of the dead. goodnight, seven of nine.

 

good morning, europa, let us drink the aged wine, let us quaff the bavarian morning beer, let us sup upon the irish magic mushrooms, let us drop ten hits of that killer austrian acid, let us drink the new wine and toast the soul of jim morrison.

 

morning death, ice falling from the skies onto the frozen michigan tundra, death from above, gods little joke on all these wannebe eskimos. who in a sane mind would want to actually live voluntarily in michigan? only retards and prisoners live in this fucking place. i have no choice, otherwise i would get my ugly ass out of this shit hole on the first plane out of this diseased land. iceland is not as unpleasant as michigan! iceland is beautiful! iceland has beautiful girls! michigan has a bunch of fat slob snow-cows for women, mcdonalds eating overweight pigs who want so badly to have men and society accept them for who they are. they are FAT AND UGLY! even american commercials try to paint fat ami women as being something beautiful. well, they will die quicker than most. eat up! big mac with fries!

 

blue sickness, internet tazer guns wielded by crack-cocaine crazed schwarze puppies. dreams of circuits and broken connections making me weep and laugh as i try to wake up, but the haze of my migraine medication does not quite want to let me be fully alert. something has got to break inside me soon. valentines day has come and gone, and i sat alone painting a psychedelic retarded child the entire day - not as tho i could have done anything if i had a girl waiting for me out in the wicked wicked world, but it would be nice to write a letter or paint something nice for my "love" - but i have none, i am alone, i am surrounded by monsters = pedophiliac rapists, crack addicts, homosexual schwarze predators, aids-carrying diseased perverts. i haven´t touched a woman for nearly five years. i am lonely and afraid. maybe i should die.

 

deep dark caverns of pure depression, documents detailing my last days as a heartened spiritually corrupt animal, kept behind cross, which is doused with gasoline and set on fire after i exhale my last slow breath, weeping, asking for just one last sip of guinness before i leave this shithole of a planet - guinness being one of the very few reasons left to even try living in this shitty world - bushmills irish whiskey is another. i don my final suit of armor and take on all you vicious spirit-murdering monsters, you sons and daughters of diseased perverts, my holy sword shall lop off your heads, i will dance like a retarded idiot under the spray of your blood, my trusty airedale terrier johann will lick your blood off the dance floor. and most probably he will puke afterwards. i spit in the eyes of maker of this world, the fiend who allows vigilants like me to be locked away with the same monsters i tried to burn away, so feel my scorn, my spit, my hate, and know that i know, you know that i am the winner in the end - break my spirit, crucify me, set my corpse ablaze, but you fuckers will never be able to steal my soul. i am immortal, and i will be back, and i know who you progenies of the disease are. i´ll find you.

 

the heavenly guardian against evil, the blood being shed from his sword, wicked nasty filthy potty people being put to the razor edge, i am on a cliff top, watching it all transpire, and i am laughing m fool ass off, drunk, naturally, as humanity is finally destroyed once and for all. holy-shit, but was this a long time in coming - the king of heaven slaughters the six billion, then he approaches me, "do you have a cold beer for me, itchy?", says the king. "of course i do , my friend, and by the way", i say as i hand the king a cold guinness draft, "thanks for cleaning up all that shit down here". "ho ho ho", the king of heaven laughs, "it was a fairly disgusting task, but someone had to do it". "ja, t´was that for certain, but it was getting pretty bad, you know?", i asked. "yes, itchy, the world was turning into one giant trash heap filled with horrible monsters called human beings, they had to be slaughtered like diseased pigs!", the king extolled. "so what´s it goin´ t´ be now, king?", i asked. "well, itchy, i´ll tell you, first we are going to finish the rest of this case of guinness, maybe i will conjure up a few bottles of bushmills also". "hooray! yoo hoo!", i interject. "then, my little irish friend, i will create you a new woman that you can repopulate the world with. you, itchy, will be the progenitor of new man, and this will ensure that no more retards or filth will walk upon this earth ever again!", the king said. "well, king, sure and that this plan of yours is grand, and i´m honored of course", i coyly answered while i kicked a small rock around with my big right toe. "but do you think you could possibly make two new women for me, seein´as i´ll be doing a large amount of propagating, as you said?". "ho ho ho!", the king of heaven laughed, "of course! of course! two women for king itchy! how about i make them look like angelina jolie and jennifer tilly? would that suit your purpose, itchy?". "yes king, they will do nicely! that´s a good king!".

 

 

 

8. The Gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ

ah, the national news: george bush has fired his chef, and he needs a new chef. the president is a little bit overweight. the vice president, mr. cheney, has expressed his desire that the new chef can cook veal in a passable manner. so he likes the taste of butchered baby cows - isn´t that special? peep-holes eat animals, i know this, but i just cannot seem to accept it or understand it. am i the one who is fucked-up in the head? i know there are other vegetarians in this world, but they are few and far between. i only know that captain ralf is a vegetarian. i would guess that not many vegetarians who want to talk to me - i´m not the typical veggie-head, i´m not a pot-smoking, tree -hugging, snow-boarding hippy. i am a vicious bald-headed, anarchist punk-rocker who drinks irish whiskey like water and takes enough acid to get ten people knocked on their ass. well, fucked-up michigan nazi prison. eat meat, eat shit, i don´t care.

 

a foul saturday morning, far below freezing, dead winter death snow pollutes my senses. i´m not a goddamned eskimo. what simple dullard retards decided to build a community in michigan? insane french people, according to books. all these mornings of waking up in prison, surrounded by the total scum of humanity - and now the very little real hope that i will ever get out of here, it seems yet another peep-hole has promised to help get me out of prison, but actually was only trying to steal music and time from me. there are many of such peep-holes in this world - what the hell is wrong with you? is there not enough free peep-holes in the world that you must try to steal from me? it seems not. and it seems that captain ralf needs to take up his mighty pirate buckler-sword and chop off some heads. but then again, when one scumbag is decapitated, ten more scumbags will step up to take his place. this world is cold, freezing, filled with horrible assholes, perhaps i am not missing so much, but i would certainly prefer to make my own decisions as a free man. free to drink absinth, free to watch the movie "natural born killers", my favorite, as many times as i wish. i liked to watch that movie as i painted, naked, with a case of cheap white wine on hand. those were the days, my friend.

 

ditty-shitty, wet-and-pretty. one former girlfriend of mine, referring to my then-current girlfriend as "the one with the pretty pussy". shit, i have had the strangest girls in my life. i often think that the strange ones seek me out. if "opposites attract", as the saying goes, then am i normal? ha ha ha, no real chance there. but i can say that relatively "normal" girls are often quite disturbed in my presence. there is something about me that unsettles most "normal" peep-holes. perhaps because in their normal world, strange individuals such as myself represent change. change is not good, even for strange ones like me. but this still does not explain why so many strange girls have crossed my path. perhaps normal men, or women, do not want the strange girls, so i end up with them? well, actually, i tend to gravitate towards the strange girls myself. they are always the most interesting, exciting, imaginative, hmm.

 

"i may not be all i want to be, but at least i´m not who i used to be" - this is a quote from some asinine christian on ami TV. sunday morning religious programs for the shut-ins and the too-lazy-to-go-to-church crowd. it seems a bit insidious, that christians constantly begrudge a person´s past and want to change a person against what they really are. we are what we are - our past is what we are, and the past cannot be changed. to worry over what happened in the past seems useless. even the act of regretting what we have done seems inane. it seems a person would be better off trying to accept what they have done and move on, if the past is regrettable. there is always room for a improvement in each and every one of us. but to completely deny one´s past seems like idiocy. yet to deny the past and "see the light" of jeebus and the christian-judean god. it is a temporary fix, but enough to keep the money of those with a "guilty conscience" flowing into the coffers of the church. the church only cares to keep the money flowing in. it is only the strong-willed who can slough off the bonds of organized religion and see ourselves as beings in no need for guilt and shame. if all were natural, the weak religious types would die off like an extinct animal. but, "the weak shall inherit the earth". so, what do i get?

 

do or die, i must try. must be free. had a dream where i was a prisoner-in-transit, i overpowered the cops who were driving me, and shot them in the heads with their own guns. i looked around at the area, i started to run thru a forest, then i came upon a type of slum-suburb which was populated by cambodian death-squad members and their families. there were bodies strung up vertically, legs and arms tied and pulled tightly. some of those bodies were still alive, but most were dead and badly decomposed. many houses had more than one body, and the bodies were displayed in the front of the houses as if they were some kind of trophy. many bodies were cambodian, but i saw a few caucasians, and these were wearing prison uniforms, like the one i had on. i became rather freaked-out and panicky. somehow i found a knife, like a marine k-bar, and i was intent to use it if any of the cambodians caught me and tried to string me up. what happened to the guns? i don´t know. then i found the house where one of my prison-friends live, one joshua cole, who is famous in america for being the "date-rape-drug-killer" - and altho the press and prison is completely wrong about his case, he was in this house none the less, which is strange because cole has no chance to get out of the michigan prison system - if they won´t let me out because of a small trashfire i lit, they certainly won´t let cole out. but in my dream, cole was there, and his house was a kind of hippy commune, many strange people hanging around. but cole found me a room where i could sleep and plan my flight back to germany. it was very strange and did not feel right, so i didn´t sleep. then i asked cole how he got out of prison, and he mumbled something about the fucking michigan nazis, and i figured that everyone in the house was an escaped prisoner. so i started to get out of the house. cole gave me some civilian clothes, he said was from his mom. and i started to get out of the house, but then some more cops showed up, and they were cops from my prison - and they looked pissed off! i heard them talking about the cops i killed to escape. it was very strange, i thought for certain they would catch me and give me to the cambodians to be tortured. i had to hide in a toilet, i started to make my final stand. and then i had the sense enough to wake myself up, otherwise i would be in a shoot-out or knife fight with many cops - and probably die. so i woke up in prison, shit.

 

the plantiff stands before the judge, and the judge passes sentence: the defendant shall be given an axe, and with said axe, he shall lop off the head of the plaintiff. he then can chop up the quivering, convulsing, bleeding body into tiny, squishy, little bits. the judge further proclaims: i have had enough of plaintiff and their mealy-mouth complaining! to hell with them all! anarchy reigns in the land of the strong and intelligent! let evolution take its course! bury the weak! and the clouds darken, lightening flashes, dancing, drinking, glasses clinking. the song is over. there is intense sobbing sounds coming from behind the closed door of the last toilet stall. dreams will be the end of me, my brain is bleeding, help me, help me, help me, drown me in a pool of my own tears. if i had a dollar for every cubic centimeter that i have cried, i would be as rich as saddam hussein. sometimes i think i want to suffer.

 

so many dreams burn up upon hitting the atmosphere, and with these dreams burn all hope. we are mindless trash moving about a polluted planet in an unspectacular section of a very plain galaxy. why in the hell should anyone care so much about petty problems? people are shit, and i am the stinkiest turd of them all. constantly obsess about my problems and my lot in life, i keep thinking what a waste my life has become as i sit and slowly rot to rancid pieces in this horrible nazi prison. what i need to do is stop worrying and obsessing and just patiently wait for my impending death to come. i might even say a prayer to the previously deaf gods to grant me a quick and relatively painless death. going out in a blaze of glory might be impressive to some, but what should i care? as long as i am dead and no longer a part of this miserable tedium and suffering, i don´t care how i die, just as long as it is quick and without undo pain. maybe the reason i haven´t killed myself yet, is because i am in great fear that my suicide would be wrought with pain. hell, i´ve screwed up every thing else in my life. undoubtedly snuffing it would go wrong, i´d end up some dribbling-drooling vegetable in a wheelchair, like the now-dead superman.

 

"i still go on having the most impossible, and not very seemly affairs from which i emerge, as a rule, damaged and shamed and little else" - vincent van gogh

 

"the cafe is a place where one can ruin oneself, go mad, or commit a crime" - vincent van gogh, writing about place du forum café, arles

 

i am on the treshold of eternity.

 

sunday happy morning, opening my eyes in hell. death and destruction all over the world, sick perverts and criminally insane faggots all sleeping, dreaming of the children they will rape or drugs they will sell. i alone am awake and aware of the horrors that are so prevalent in the human race. so few humans are actually humans of worth. to think that i alone am the only prisoner in the 1000 monsters housed at the prison i am in. it seems incredible, but only because i don´t want to believe that humans as a whole are horrible, evil, dirty monsters. i´m not perfect, but i am consciously aware and responsible for my actions and thoughts. well, the way that big industry is polluting and raping the environment of the world, there will be very few, if any, humans or monsters left on the earth. that is a disturbing yet comforting thought to me.

 

there is a show on TV, something about divers going in to swim with "great white sharks". these divers talk about how unpredictable the sharks are, how at any moment the sharks can turn on them and attack for no reason, how the sharks need no reason to attack and will search "intelligently" for ways to gain advantage over a diver. and these divers seemed so afraid. i can only think, these divers should coming to michigan and get put into prison with the "great homosexual schwarzes" - because the monsters i am surrounded by seem to possess much of the same attributes as sharks, except for apparent intelligence - the monsters are not very smart at all - but the vicious nature, the unpredictability, the predatory nature. it is all the same as sharks, except the schwarze monsters don´t bite or try to eat their prey, they desire only to rape and demean their prey. this prison is worse than any shark-filled ocean.

 

jolted from a dream about "jackie", the girl in "that 70´s show", some quirky american comedy. she´s very pretty to me, just my type of girl. small, exotic, dark. one would think that a man such as myself, who enjoys greatly the company of women in every aspect, would have constant dreams of beautiful girls, etc. in my current state of being denied the company of women due to incarceration in naziland, USA. but actually, i rarely have such dreams, i ´m not so sure why. i suspect, that for once, my seriously deranged mind has seen to not torture me with visions of beautiful girls and sex in my dreams - for once my mind is being kind to me rather than the otherwise constant torture in which i, or my seemingly conscious state-of-being, go thru at the hands of a very vicious, unrelenting and gleefully malicious brain. but this is only a suspicion. there could be something very much more malicious involved, knowing what i do know about my mind. my mind is always up to something, always dredging up memories that it knows tortures me. there seems to be a constant state of repressing regret for the many sins i´ve committed in my life, legal or illegal, moral or immoral. there is no end to the amount of guilt my mind inflicts upon me. and i´m not sure that i have actually committed sins that are so spectacular that i should deserve constant torment from my mind. most of my sins are in fact of the quite mundane sort. ja, there is the pyromaniac fire that got me into this prison, and there are a few other transgressions of note, which i will understandably bypass at this juncture, but in reality, i´ve been a fairly decent human being, and have done some fairly "good" things in my life, more so than most peep-holes i know. but maybe i have not done enough? perhaps that is the question of the ages: what is enough? maybe one must give and do good until it hurts. but then, as always, "no good deed goes unpunished". maybe just doing the little good i have done in this shitty fucked-up world, i have been punished. what this has to do with dreaming about a sexy girl on an ami TV show, i don´t know. another trick that my mind plays on me so maliciously - constant memories and images of completely unrelated things. maybe i am schizophrenic? yoo-hoo!

 

jayus fookin´chrysler, it is as cold as my ex-wife´s heart outside! the second day of march, 2005. one would think that springtime would be just around the corner, but not in michigan. no no no, we must have snow. 100 cms of white shit on the ground, the temperature well below zero celsius. probably minus 20 celsius, i don´t know, i stopped paying attention to the weather, i only know it is FOOKING COLD and gray and horrible. white snowflakes fall from the sky and i can only surmise that it is frozen angel piss. hell is not hot and filled with flames, hell is a cold, frozen, michigan winter spent locked up in a nazi death prison with a gaggle of faggots and illiterate retards. i guess, life could not be much worse for me at this moment. i´ve not received mail from any friends or enemies or those in-between. shit, i would even appreciate another "hate-mail" letter, just to know that someone thinks of me, albeit in a very negative manner. and yet, not too many people think highly or positive of me anyway. i am a germ, a pestilence in this world. my worst crime being that i too-often make peep-holes think to much. nobody wants to think too hard about existence or the actual "worth of life". i tend to throw around these questions, and i tend to answer them based on my experiences - and usually the answer is, that there is no good answer - life is a waste of time, goodness is repaid with evil, everyone you know and love will either leave you or get sick and die. and maybe the only true joy that any human can actually feel, is the joy upon breathing their last slow breath, because they know that all this horrible shit in this world has come to an end - the pain is gone once life is snuffed out. and this certainly is not kind of information or idea that a person wishes to hear or read when they are trying their hardest to just get by in this world. there is this overwhelming desire for humans to reproduce. i´ve often wondered why? is it to gain some sense of immortality, knowing that one´s seed has been sown in human flesh? or maybe there is a dark purpose, because life is so fucking shitty, horrible, and filled with REAL PAIN, that a potential parent wishes to inflict life-pain on the flesh of their flesh. it all sounds biblical. like the book of job. but this time, it is "job, part II" featuring itchy as god and satan´s favorite punching bag.

 

perfect days projected, my enemy is vanquished. the leper drank the ooze that ran off his scabs. strange elations watching the image of the vanquished fade quickly from my mind. no love lost on that death. child molesters deserve nothing less than constant torment for all eternity. i bleed for the lost kittens and dogs, but the child molesters i would see doused in gasoline and set on fire. the day is won, just this one quit victory for me, the lowly suffering vigilante prisoner. do the leprechauns and faeries know i am in hell? can they help me? can anyone? or is it soon my time to say goodbye to this wicked wicked world?

 

didn´t i see the sun setting on my life, long ago? when i was in my late teens, i had a vision that my life would end when the century turned over. and i´ve been in prison since the century turned.

 

emotional octopus eyes. dirty humans, none worth the life of one beautiful octopus, or that of an elegant kitty-cat. i am a dream, being lived by a hollow shell of a wooden man, i am a puppet being manipulated in a dream by a psychotic puppeteer. i am a piece of dog shit on a sidewalk, and every peep-hole that walks by steps into my mess, my stink follows them all throughout their life. i am not surviving, i am not flourishing, i am walking through and endless haze of misunderstandings, heartbreak, and loss. if i am a dream, then this dream is certainly a nightmare. not even a noble octopus could dream what my life has become, my friend the octopus is beyond all the horror that is my life. if only i were a sleek and clean siamese kitty-cat, living in the care of a beautiful witch woman with long black hair, perhaps she can look like jennifer tilly, ha ha!, i would take cat-naps on her breasts and drink delicious goat milk. but even tho i were a cat, i would have to be a vegetarian cat. tho i also believe this is not so possible. it has always been a bit disconcerting to me that my dogs and cats had to have animal protein to live. but the joy that my animals felt when they were fed their cat-chow and dog-chow tended to overcome my trepidation. and animal food, it is not so full of meat. i don´t know. sometimes a vegetarian has to just accept some things and not think so hard about it. i am an octopus, swimming through the deep blue warm ocean, just off the coast of corsica.

 

hello all alien-abductees. i wrote many times about my own experiences with my friends from the skies. i´m not so sure what i´ve written about this subject in this book, i´m not sure about anything i´ve written in here actually. many times i write when my head is so groggy and unclear but full of thoughts, actually writing this stuff down is analogous to taking a shit, except my thoughts are the turds and what i write on this paper is the smear of shit on the toilet paper. to answer the questions, yes, i´ve been abducted by aliens many times throughout my life, the earliest was, from what i remember, when i was five years old, the last time was just before i came to prison. there were many times in between. it seems to me that i cannot even come close to describing it all, or even to describe a single event, at least not in this forum. perhaps one day i will write an entire book about it, because there are many influences that the aliens have given to me, some good and some bad. i definately think they influenced my painting style and choice of subjects. i paint retarded-looking aliens very often. my only problem with the aliens as far as what my life has become, is that those dirty fuckers have not visited or tried to get me out of this hell-hole prison. but then again, no one else, human or otherwise, has visited me in prison, shit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

9. The Gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ

when god doesn´t make sense, humans seem to suffer whether their god makes sense or not, in fact it seems more likely that humans suffer more just trying to figure out how their god could be so wicked or without conscience. it seems a better plan to accept that life sucks in many horrible ways, and leave the god part out of the whole mix. to suffer is the lot of man+woman. if there is a god, he is certainly a cruel master. either that, or satan is more powerful than the bible lets on. because this world is going to hell, there is so much bad, so much evil. i am a good example - i should have been let out of prison years ago, but the evil nazis in michigan are enjoying keeping me in prison - it´s not legal, it´s not right, but it is happening nonetheless, and there is nothing apparently that any person is able to do about it. god never answered any prayers of those who pray for my release and an end to my needless suffering, in fact, it seems that god wants me to suffer - because all attempts to fight the evil michigan nazis have failed. satan is winning or god is winning - it makes no difference. and the more credance i give to whatever human or ethereal entity that is causing me to suffer only gives that entity more power. when god doesn´t make sense, did he ever?

 

i once met a girl after one of my concerts, it was in bonn, germany, at some really strange little club. i was ill again, as i am normally on tour, with basic congestion and sore throat. as a way to keep myself energized and able to play a concert every night or so, i ingest speed, but because snorting speed makes my vocal cords constrict, i have to dilute the white speed powder into a beer and drink it down, and on this occasion in bonn i did not change my "habit", in fact, i ingested quite a bit of speed, so much that i was a super-wired frizzle-fry speedy freak. my brain was on fire. so there was this girl laying on the stage long after the concert was over, all the guys taking the equipment down and stepping around her - she was a mess, obviously on some heavier drug than i was. i had to do an interview, so i left for awhile - the interviewer was a very cute little punk girl - she took me to her car and we sat in the car seats, she asked me questions which i answered into a hand-held tape recorder. we talked quite a bit and ended up having sex. i wondered if the interview was just a front the girl put up to get me alone in her car and ravage my body! i went back into the club, and the other girl was still laying on the stage, but she was laughing at apparently nothing. i had to talk to this girl, she seemed crazy - just my type! she was young, thin, a very nice body, she dressed something like a hippy with punk accoutrements. she told me her name was alexandra, and that she wanted to "be" with me. it was strange, but really no stranger than most of my encounters with girls on tour. so we went to my hotel together, somewhere in the shuffle, alexandra´s girlfriend tagged along. at the hotel, me and alexandra went at it in my bed while the girlfriend watched us. it seemed a bit as if i were putting on a show, and i caught a glimpse of the girlfriend touching herself while me and alexandra had some very sweaty and rather exotic sex. for a girl that was passed out only hours before on what i eventually found out was heroin, alexandra surely livened up for our little encounter - she wanted everything. i went my way on the tour, and was in bonn again six month later. someone told me that alexandra died from an overdose. i was quite sad. more loss in my life.

 

this is how lonely i am for the company of women: as i watch TV, and when a commercial comes on that a pretty woman is looking into the camera, i suddenly get the feeling that the woman on TV is looking directly at me. especially if the woman has dark hair. this is behavior that could be possibly considered psychotic. i believe i am attracted to dark-haired women more than any other, and to women from india or china especially. i´m not sure why. of all the women i have been in a relationship with or just had sex with, i have never been with a girl from india, and only three girls of asian descent - korean, thai, and japanese. on the surface it seems i am not particular - if a girl is nice and has a good soul, i can become attracted to her from this alone. but i wonder if there is a deep desire in me that wants sexually and for a relationship an asian woman or indian. it seems that a girl from the far east would be more complimentary to my personality than a european girl. but then again, i do not pick and choose. when i like a girl or love her, it is not her ethnic heritage that i like or love. i don´t know. one thing, i think i am scared to death of irish girls. in particular blond irish girls. i had some bad experiences with these, both american-irish and true irish blonds. irish girls are crazy to begin with, maybe the blond ones are even crazier still. but i had much fun with them, too - i had fun with all the women i´ve known, and only one exception precludes me from saying that i do not regret being with any of them - that would be my first wife. i still shake my head and wonder why i wasted my time with her. but she is long gone, and i have many memories of better women than her to bury the hell my first wife put me through. one american irish girl , with a bit of czech in her, too. one carol brennan. she is the one i will regret to my dying day that i did not treat better, did not ask to be my wife. shit, i still "pine" for carol, and i´ve been in and out of her life for nearly 20 years. well, my life is completely full of regrets, with not too many things i do not regret. seems i fuck up my life at every turn.

 

you have no heart, no feelings, no soul. i hope you rot in hell. these were nice words by some court people, saying this to some guy who was convicted of killing his wife and unborn baby, hm. this same guy will be put to death. in my position, i would say that this bozo is luckier than i am, at least he will die soon. i have fifteen more years of torture to endure in my living hell of a prison if there is no other way found to get my out of here. i wish i were dead most every day, but the prison makes it very difficult for their scum-bag inmates to "snuff it" - but there are ways. i just saw on the news that ireland now has a better and stronger economy than the usa, and that irish citizens have a larger per-capita income than americans! this is amazing news to me, and i am in awe, and very happy - i got the shivers when i heard this. i´m surprised, also, only in the way that when i lived in ireland, it was very difficult and expensive, and i was often broke. but this is amazing, and not surprising, in that. i´ve always known that the irish could flourish - we are strong people. i might be dead from the torture i endure every day in this living hell if i were of some other race of people, but i believe that my irish blood keeps me strong in the face of absolute horror. but then, i am smart enough to realize when hope is gone. i don´t know much more, tho. well, i like chocolate ice cream and gorgonzola cheese pizzas.

 

strange dreams again last night, music business oriented, i was talking with trent reznor and his mother. often my dreams are so strange and disturbing that i wake myself up and start my day just to get the hell out of my own twisted mind. but the dreams only come back next time i sleep. always in my dreams, i am in these differing compartments, like independent apartments, that are all interconnected, but each has a completely different setting, aome with plants and sofas, others full of flames, others like an abattoir torture chamber with blood on the floor up to my ankles. and usually i have a musical soundtrack playing, not always songs i know, but songs i make up in my head - in fact, a great deal of songs i write and perform in my albums and concerts are songs that come directly from my dreams, "theater of life" is one of those. probably i was dreaming about talking to trent because i am missing my own vocation in my life, that of a musician, and trent is one of the only musicians i think is worth a shit nowadays - also marilyn manson, u2. very few others. i´m not real impressed with the music world at this point in time, all the good bands are gone - bands like devo, cheap trick, pink floyd, gary numan, nirvana, the doors.

 

another saturday morning, but now i forego my usual trek to breakfast, where i could have my waffles - i am of late not eating much at all due to a deep depressive state and my unwillingness to go out in the brutal michigan cold. so my body eats itself, and instead of shitting food out my ass, i puke blood up out of my mouth. i´m at the point now where i don´t care if i am sick or healthy, happy or sad - nothing seems to matter - i am lonely beyond all measure and i want to end this loneliness. say goodbye to all of "this". and since these writings just may be among my last in this life, it seems that i should put down some important shit, but i don´t know what could be so important. my life is fading away, fading to black, and maybe it is just better that nothing is put to pen and ink - it´s better to burn out, than to fade away - just ask sid vicious and kurt cobain. i could not imagine either of those two heroes of mine fading into mediocrity - and hell, even my ultimate hero, vincent van gogh, knew when to check out and snuff it. and i must admit that i have put great thought to exactly how i am going to do the same, but i am not at liberty to take advantage of all the many ways that all my heroes had to snuff it - the ever-caring prison does not make it easy - there are not even places to hang oneself in here. the michigan nazis are hardly stupid, they know when they take away all hope of a prisoner to leave their hell-hole prisons, a prisoner of any self-conscious thought will opt to snuff it rather than allow the michigan nazis to take away their life for no good reason other than to keep the michigan nazi big-budget-money-machine prisons going strong. the nazis need bodies to fill their prisons so they can continue living the high life in their large homes, driving their fancy expensive cars, eating mcdonalds for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. it seems incredible that this shit goes on, but it does, and no one does anything to stop it. only a very small number of good-hearted people try to stop this, and these same people have even tried to get me out of this living nightmare, but it is not possible - the nazis have me and they are not going to let me go - so i am forced to make some final decisions that seem sad, but in reality, to snuff it would be a wonderful gift to give myself. well, we will see. every day is different, and it seems that if i continue to paint, i am doing something, and i have a reason to go on. it is a shame that my paintings don´t sell very well at all - otherwise i might be able to afford an attorney to get me out of here, but even this eludes me. it seems that there is an overwhelming evil force that stops every single attempt that is made to get me out of her - and there is no force "good" enough or powerful enough to free me. i sit here in the dark, my heart is heavy. maybe i should lay down.

 

immortal obligations. we will just have to do something about that, won´t we? as of late i have been plagued with many bad memories floating up into my conscious mind. i don´t know why. i keep feeling guilty about stupid things i´ve done. why can´t my mind be filled with the pleasures i have had? it is probably a human thing, to always opt to torture one´s self whenever possible. do you believe in magic in a young girl´s heart? goddamn, have i been a wreck lately. i´m so sick of this prison, all the faggots and asshole schwarze-fuckers. the noise is unbearable, my head hurts all the time. blood comes up when i cough. i am rotting away, from my soul first, and my body rots close behind. why don´t i just die and get it over with? because of my indomitable human spirit?

 

do you think you cheat again? my head is on fire, don´t bother to put it out, suspicious, frankincense and myhrr. live up to promises, lies make the baby jesus cry. disease is my friend, eating disorders? my stomach eats itself and shits blood out of my mouth. i want to amputate my fingers so i will never be able to play that evil music again. would that make the baby jesus happy then? sure and the world be rid of the evil little leprechaun that i´ve become if i just let my head burn and my hands bleed out all my life blood. smiles for the billions. i´ve been having strange dreams again. sadomasochistic grufti lesbian girls, chinese girls, i don´t know what is wrong with me.

 

blood war, drinking blood out of the wrist of a scantily-clad punk girl. how will the hotel ever clean up this mess? do you think we will be charged for the damages? no, sweetie, we´ll tell them we want to stay another night and not to clean our room, and by the time they figure out we are not coming back, we will be half-way to berlin. plus, we won´t have to pay the bill. but what if they do some kind of DNA check on all the bodily fluids, vomit, and alcohol we spilled all over everything? well, if they haven´t caught me yet, they never will. hey, i´m thirsty, can i see your wrist for a moment?

 

the mind in that beast is the same as ever, still devious, still full of hatred. i am naked, my hair is dyed bright neon green, i am standing outside on the balcony of a hotel in amsterdam, i am very drunk and consciously altered from a bag of psilocybin magic mushrooms and a few tabs of acid. i am screaming as tho i were being tortured to death. the police break into the hotel room, a pretty blond policewoman comments how she likes my hair and it would be a good idea for me to stop screaming. i agree.

 

princess diana former bedroom is up for grabs - you can stay overnight in her ancestral home in england for a mere 56 thousand dollars a night. what a bargain! perhaps one has a chance to diddle princess di´s ghost, some kind of metaphysical pervert sex. some retard woman is being starved to death. the family who owns the retard is named "schindler"? are these the same people from "schindler´s list"? does this new schindler family have a new list of retards they want to starve to death? i certainly would not want anyone keeping me alive if i were knocked on the head and turned into a retard. shit, i can hardly stand being alive now, when my mental and physical faculties are still intact - i think very often of starving myself to death in this prison, similar to what bobby sands did - but i hang on for some reason i don´t understand - maybe i am already retarded. i certainly don´t feel so smart, but i´m not in need for anyone to feed me, altho i am lax in my own attempts at feeding. i find it difficult at best to maintain my nourishment standards, me being a strict vegetarian in a world full of sick flesh eating monsters. i´m sick all the time, probably because i don´t get enough nutrition. but i really couldn´t care less. i really have no care whether i live or die at this point. just as long as something happens. i´m bored as all hell, i feel as tho i am a car, with satan driving, his hoof is pressed on the accelerator pedal all the way to the floor, but the transmission is in neutral - i´m all revved up with no place to go. and maybe i have 1000 different thoughts going on in my head at one time, maybe i am a genius, maybe i am a decent artist, but none of this matters to me very much when i am stuck in this prison with no real hope of ever going free. so, in a sense, i am just as bad off as this retard that schindler is starving to death in florida, and maybe that retard is luckier than i am - it does not know whether it is alive or dead anyway - death is no big loss - but i know i am alive, and i know i am suffering. i only wish i could get schindler to kill me somehow. gurgle-gurgle-drool-coff-errrrreee.

 

it´s all too much. thinking that there is a purpose to my life, a destiny. and then it is all destroyed - no purpose, no reason, just NOTHING - all that i had has been seized and stolen by the nazi prison devils. it leads me to believe that my purpose to exist - that is, to spread knowledge of anarchy, chaos, and true freedom, not the phoney bullshit "freedom" that the usa pawns off to the world, that my purpose has been recognized by real evil - the powers that be, the illuminati, satan´s tool on earth - and they do their best to keep me locked in prison illegaly. i rot, my soul withers. satan, laughing, spreads his wings.

 

how many diseases can one man endure? is the clown the ultimate figure of the essence of my soul? perhaps, or more likely, a manifestation of my ego, to use a freudian context. frighten and entertain, seemingly my two best qualities. perform for the barely-evolved chimps, MANKIND. dream a little dream with me. if you use your nose to sniff household cleaning products to get high, you could get brain damage or die. so please, all you nice americans, take a deep breath as you clean your toilets, hmm. it is funny, that between european toilets, on the whole, and american toilets, it is european toilets that are much cleaner. especially german toilets. i´ve never seen a filthy german toilet, even in some of the really seedy establishments that i tend to haunt. but i have seen american toilets that have made me want to puke just to take a piss in them. maybe it says something about americans, but then again, it is no secret that americans are extremely ugly assholes. i put on my clown make-up and dance naked under the irish moon. dream that i was never born, dream i don´t exist, kill me softly in my dreams.

 

the game is nothing - the playing of the game is everything. a man who walks backward, staring into the past, is likely to trip and hurt himself. i am the fire, burning bright on both ends of the candle, and soon the flames shall meet, and i will be extinguished. i am a dream, a whisper of truth and light, just a tinge of memories, and much sadness and loss, i´m a ghost, and it will take but a wind-of-change to carry me off, to dissipate my meager-form into the clouds of mediocrity and low-brow insanity. my ear shall be removed with the quick slash of my trusty razor. i am the painter, pouring my soul into every brush stroke, burning with a passion to have just one soul in this wretched filthy world understand my pain. i am a malnourished prisoner who suffers from extreme migraine headaches, so much so that i weep bitter tears while i vomit blood and bile into a diseased toilet, then i return to sit on my bed and close my eyes, and let the hallucinations play in my twisted head - dreams and visions of desire and need, friendly aliens and sexifull irish goddesses. i am entropy, nothingness, infatuation with emptiness.

 

 

 

 

10. The Gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ

good morning, deutschland, it is easter sunday, 2005. i will rise from the dead.

 

yesterday was vincent van gogh´s birthday,the 30th of march, he would have been 149 years old! well, i "celebrated" this day in the best way i could. a chocolate candy bar and a cherry tart, sort of a "poor man´s black-forest cake". and i talked to vincent, as i tend to do often. ah well. maybe someday, if i am ever free from this hell-hole, i can throw a really BIG party on vincent´s birthday. it would be fabulous to celebrate his 150th birthday next year. i would buy a few cases of absinth, a few cases of cheap french wine, a big keg of heineken beer, and serve poffertjes and edam cheese - whatever other french and dutch items that vincent may have enjoyed. then i would hang a bunch of vincent´s prints around my house. and i would go to the train station and find some homeless people and invite them to my vincent party, just as vincent would have done. i think this would be great! i only hope it is possible. there´s so much i owe to vincent - i would never have started painting if it were not for my reading about his life and seeing his work. vincent is the one artist that i am actually in awe when i see his work.

 

i fell into the abyss while i was looking into it. i´m only waiting for my body to go SPLAT on the sharp rocks of satan´s cellar. holy mother of god, do i hope that happens soon. i am sick again, or, physically sick again - i was only healthy for ten days this time before the latest malady hit me - some kind of lung infection that makes it difficult to breathe and produces green creamy mucous-ahit when i cough, along with some blood from my lungs, i think i am coughing so hard that i burst some capillaries in the lung tissue. i am completely miserable. no, i am a chihuahua puppy-dog, i go RUFF! RUFF!, YIP! YIP!, and i bite ankles of the postlady that comes to deliver mail to my mistress. as a cute and cuddly chihuahua dog, i live a comfortable life, i get plenty of food and treats and loving care. i am the happiest doggy in the world. RUFF! RÜLPS!

 

tornados, snowstorms, troops in iraq, the pope is dead. all the same retared shit. nazi death-squads stomping thru my migraine head, disease in my blood, black blood of death pouring out my ass, green neon mucous pooling in my lungs. i´m not a healthy man, this is not a healthy world. i´m not a free man. i think i am dying in here. we all die.

 

shit is clean compared to what is happening to me. this has to end sometime soon, i´ve written enough to let the world know what is going on in my head, i´ve written enough to piss a lot of people off - this seems to be my greatest talent. i´ve already gotten so much negative feedback from my paintings, that i´m starting to have creative "burps", where i am painting and i suddenly lose all drive to continue. i guess i don´t take critism very well - or maybe i am afraid that what i am painting will be used against me by some nazi fuck-head in the american government. but i also am afraid i will never get out of this godforsaken prison. a funny thing tho, whenever i do get these creative burps, i mix a bunch of different colored paints until i have a color that looks like nuclear baby shit, and then i start destroying what i am working on at that time by making it look like it is covered in baby shit. this is the kind of stuff that i find quite hilarious. but i have a very sick sense of humor. well, this is the end, beautiful friend. these last few pages may be the past i ever write. i think i should cover myself in my nuclear baby shit paint, set myself on fire, and run around screaming in frenzied agony. i am baby shit. i got a poopy butt.

 

never question the treachery of a human being - expect it, and you will never be surprised - smile when faith is kept, but never allow your eyes to close when you smile.

 

i need an ice-pick lobotomy. psychological surrender. recognize the obvious, bow to the inevitable. hear all, trust nothing. the more we are willing to risk, the more alive we are - the only regrets are the chances we never took. my thoughts are storm-tossed. if you must go, then go.

 

the black spot of yin lays in the sea of yang - this is compassion laying within action. the white spot of yang in the sea of yin - this is confrontation laying within inaction. all are combined to guide the well balanced individual. once you learn this lesson, forget it, and LIVE YOUR LIFE. fuck all these words.

 

all the anxiety, all the pain, all the loss, all the fear - it is all for a purpose not yet known to me, but known to the goddess. never give up, never surrender.

 

in times of trouble, some people find comfort in hate and fear. is there anything in this life but grief? there are no secrets in the house of pain. the woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but i have miles to go before i can lay down and sleep. we are not the masks we wear, but if we don them, do we not become them? with everything that has happened to me in my life, love just seems like an invitation to pain. what i do in this life will echo throughout eternity. your gods have deemed you to be unworthy, and the time of reckoning is at hand. MURDER! DEATH! KILL! BE WELL! whisper your way to success. why be a god if there is no one to worship me? wherever oppression reigns, people of conscience are called to acts of civil disobedience. life free, die well.

 

adventures inside the stink-eye. we see the world thru our hopes and desires, but the truth of the world is just out of reach and just out of sight. death to the opposition! find them! kill them! burn the truth! burn the truth! the lie is love! love the lie! in the time of war, justice falls silent. each day infuses us with the knowledge which we take into tomorrow. where is risk, there is also hope. adaptation is compromise. to never die and to conquer all: THAT IS WINNING! when you are a king, all that matters is victory - that is how your reign persists. if you want to win a war, you must serve no master but your own ambition. he who studies evil, is studied by evil. be careful what you wish for - your wish just may come true.

 

a man who is always looking over his shoulder is waiting for trouble to find him. 100 percent paranoia is 100 percent awareness. a robin red-breast in a cage puts all of heaven in a rage. a faceless champion of the hapless human race. questions silenced on the tongue fly to the heart and there take root and grow. the world has got enough noise, i´ve earned my peace and quirt, and i expect it. the average american eats over seven pounds, 3.5 kilogramm, of potato chips every year.

 

may those who love us, love us, and for those who don´t love us, may god turn their ankles so we´ll know them by their limping - old irish toast.

 

goodbye, jean-luc, i´m going to miss you - you had so much potential, but then again, all good things must come to an end - but the trial never ends. holy moses, i have been deceived - now the wind has changed direction, and i have to leave - bernie taupin. to be better than someone is to be worst of all. when you are desperate, you do what you have to do. there is a big difference between knowing the path and walking the path. i see hell in your eyes. in the end, we are alone, and there is nothing but the cold dark endless eternity. next time, i might send you something wet. keep your eyes open. so many people in this world are deprived and unlucky, it seems wrong to be cheerful.

 

the burden of the white man: if you go courting trouble, sure and you´ll be finding it. death smiles at us all, the most we can do is smile back. let the dead rest and the past remain in the past. i believe in coincidences - coincidences happen every day - but i don´t trust coincidences. thou who camest into my heart as abruptly as a knife. a woman can have a strange effect on a man. when the mind overpowers the heart, the soul will suffer. you can´t ride two horses with one ass. broken promises, twisted dreams. anger in the face of love. nothing reveals humanity more than the games it plays. free advice is seldom cheap. the gifts given to me must be honored. truth is in the eyes of the beholder, i never tell the truth because i know there is no such thing. from the moment we are born, we are all shipwrecked, struggling between hope and despair - we can´t run from our demons, whatever they are - wherever we run, they will follow close behind.

 

that which is beautiful is not always good, but that which is good is always beautiful. honor the martyr who falls under the sword, but pity the warrior who kills all his foes. life is the performance, not the rehearsal. when one attacks a barrier, one can encounter the danger of the barrier collapsing on top of one´s self. the tree of crucifixion calls me in my dreams. and the emporer ordered the decimation - the beheading of every tenth soldier. what men don´t understand, they fear - what men fear, they destroy. he who laughs last has not yet heard the bad news - bertolt brecht.

 

things fall apart, not all of it can be put back togheter, no matter how hard one tries.

 

the five basic forms of torture: blunt, sharp, cold, hot, loud. the righteous shall walk a thorny path. the placebo effect - where does faith take over?

 

i clutched the clot of blood upon the day of my birth! i am TE-MU-JIN! fear me! i am whipped-cream head! only a fool fights a battle he knows he cannot win. i will destroy your families, i will empty your breasts, my blood-brother will boil your generals alive in french-fry oil. just as there is one sun in the city, there should be only one master on the earth. the streets are slippery from human fat. piles of human bones lie at the gates of my once-fair city. some things are true whether you believe in them or not. you must measure your successes and failures by what is within you, not by what anyone else thinks. the burned child dreads the fire. love is a trick that DNA plays on the human mind to replicate itself. there are far worse things than death in this life. she is a loathsome offensive brute, yet i cannot look away.

 

if i had a house in hell and a house on earth, i would live in hell and rent out my house on earth.

 

if this is the end of this gospel, then i am saddened. perhaps it signifies the end of other more metaphysical things as well. i will have the chance to be free from this prison in a month or more, but this chance relies on the judgement of my nazi captors - so i expect "no chance" more than "a chance". and perhaps when cross over the bridge, i may set fire to it, thus snuffing out the pain, the loneliness, the heartbreak, the depression, the agony that has become my existence. for those who care, i hope they understand - this prison is killing my soul, and it hurts more than any pain i´ve ever felt, to have my soul die, and my spirit crushed, only my body existing, and my body is wracked with annoying illness as well. i cannot endure much more of this. and i curse the fuckers who did this to me.

 

well, i tend to get melodramatic when thinking of the length of my stay at the "hotel michigan". and there are people who are doing their best to get me out of here, so i have hope beyond that of relying on the michigan nazis to release me. the ever-present dream in my mind of once again being in deutschland - this is keeping me alive and sometimes mentally removed from the horror that is prison life. i can see myself sitting in a quiet german café, preferably outside where i can watch people walk past, drinking a perfectly poured half-liter of warsteiner, die königin of beers!, smoking russian cigarettes and drawing nasty pictures on a sketch pad. all this with nothing better to do, with captain ralf of the high seas drinking something different every time he orders! perhaps a few nice-and-nasty punk girls from the hauptbahnhof that me and the captain invited for a drink. throw in a pocket full of acid and/or mushrooms and this was and is my ideal life. may it be so, very soon - as the goddess wills it so. holy shit, do i need a drink.

 

553 men wanted for molesting children, raping, and murder were arrested last night in amiland. bombs going off in iraq are killing arabs and american soldiers indiscriminately. michael jackson is on trial for fucking a little boy. some teenage kid shot and killed a bunch of fellow students and teachers at the kid´s high school. america, land of the greed, home of the slaves. marilyn manson was blamed for influencing some other kid´s shooting spree, i wonder what some kid influenced by my music would do? perhaps he would start drinking whiskey and sitting alone in a dark room, ha ha. maybe i have no substantial influence on my listeners and readers, but i can hope that a few of you take into consideration the ideas i present about evolution - that it is time for some of us humans to evolve, at least in our minds. holy shit, it is 10.000 years since we as humans jumped out of the trees! yet, the world is still a fucking mess, and seemingly the greatest atrocities are being performed by those who wield the biggest guns and claim that "god" is on their side. maybe there is not much anyone can do to fight those in power?, but you can do one thing to further your personal evolution: stop eating animal flesh! YOU DON´T NEED TO EAT ANIMALS TO LIVE! but, why live in this world anyway?

 

what i suffer each day is worse than death. look at what your god has done to me. one only hates those who have gotten close enough to touch one´s heart. when god ordains it is time for a man to die, he directs that man to the proper place. better sometimes to miss an opportunity than to encounter disaster. give me one firm place in which to stand, and i will move the earth. confidence breeds distraction, damn straight ye brunch-eatin´poppinjay. of all trails in this life, there is one trail that is the most important to walk: the trail of becomming a human being. if you want to stop being hunted, you must become the hunter. chance favors the prepared mind. the green fairie that lives in the absinth wants your soul, but you are safe with me.

 

the birth of man is the birth of sorrow - chuang tzu.

 

things don´t often work out the way we plan. good does not always triumph over evil, and sometimes, the path that seem the clearest are the ones that cause us the most pain - keith francis strohm.

 

i´m often wondering the same as the "creed" song, what is life for? and in my current position in life, it would seem appropriate to question many things, including life. if i am merely the result of random collections of primordial goo - the latest mutation of some kind of monkey-man, then my feelings and emotions are all NOTHING, life is NOTHING. if i am some kind of genetic product of alien DNA experiments, then all the shit i am going thru seemingly has a reason, unless the aliens are some kind of evil malicious sons of bitches who get off on watching me suffer. i believe, but i don´t know, that there is an afterlife and/or a spirit world. there are gods and goddesses, angels, devils, demons, saints, all. there is a god or goddess unique to every person, or an evil entity, which would seem to be the most prevalent because of the great amounts of evil people in this world - maybe they are being driven by demons, i don´t know. maybe they are just worthless pieces of shit with no conscience or morals. i don´t even know why any of this matters. i only know i need out of here.

 

how much tragedy is too much? when does the mind break? i live in the past, i poison the future. undo the memories, stop the dreaming, fear the inevitability of pain. some weird hillbilly woman strangled a pregnant woman and cut the foetus out of the pregnant woman´s belly with a kitchen knife. the baby is still alive, the hillbilly is dead in prison, the pregnant woman is dead in the ground. this is america. i saw some supposed joke on TV about white women who fuck NBA players, schwarze, and i thought, "yea, this is america". and i am so happy that i have nothing to do with this godforsaken land of sickness. when or if i am ever let out of the hell that is michigan prison, i will go back home to europa, my land, the land of my fathers. let america fall to ruin, let america turn into one big warzone schwarze ghetto, let america be the place where white women give themselves so readily to cock-sucking basketball players, let america have its kitchen-knife welding hillbillys, murdering and crack-smoking schwarzes, rapist predator homosexual prison schwarzes, let america fall to ruin. we will laugh, because the malicious glee brought forth will be a better joke than one about white women.

 

my entire life as i knew it was gone. spring is here again. i should start feeling better, but! the sun can shine in hell, no matter how nice the weather is, no matter if i get thru a day without coughing up blood or having nuclear radiation green nose-pudding collect in my head or globs of brown-vomit-mucous hacking out my lungs, no matter if i wake up with a song in my heart after sleeping all night without being woken up by the creeping-faggot-schwarzes who use the night to prey on their victims, no matter if i can get thru a day without some type of massive irritation. nothing matters as long as i am still in this living hell. my soul will never find peace in this place. can you, my dear reader, imagine what it is like to exist in a place where not a single moment goes by without hearing some loud-mouth-monkey screaming violent rap words? or having to look at the absolutely worst pieces of human shit on earth 24 hours a day without end? i keep my eyes on my painting work or i just close my eyes a lot. maybe some of you would not mind it, you do not possess the sensitivity that i have, or that a small percentage of the world possesses. but at least the few people i know who try to help me out of here understand the hell i exist in. i wish captain ralf were here to chop off the heads of schwarze-schwulls with his pirate sword.

 

a potty-mouth poem for your pleasure:

 

i am crippled, i am sickness

i see life thru dead and retarded eyes

i cannot move my arms

i cannot move my legs

my shit squirts into a plastic bag

i had no reason to live ´til the doctor hooked me up

to a machine that gives me a whispering wheeze of life

now i am the machine

the machine is now me

the doctor instructed into my ear:

you can´t lose!

no no no, itchy, you can´t lose!

i am a true survivor

 

no crashing car can destroy my brain

i rejoice in orgasmic ecstasy

as a rubber tube pumps nourishment down my throat

a diaper catches my piss and shit

a big-breasted nurse wiped drool from my lips

they will tell me, if i come out of the coma

i am lucky to be alive

the pretty nurse erotically licks my lips

and wets my ear with her pink tongue

and tells me:

you can´t lose!

no no no, itchy, you can´t lose!

 

when was it that i became so ugly?

when will it be that i become beautiful once again?

 

you can´t lose!

no no no, itchy, you can´t lose!

i am a true survivor

i am a true survivor

 

please don´t let me die...

 

 

if you destroy everyone who stands in the way of your dreams, you end up alone with no dreams at all. american jerks are going home, we will sleep one-thousand years, when we wake the world will end. ninety-nine aint enough - all or nothing - get down. enemies often appear as angels. i am morally ambiguous, and i don´t give a flying shit! if god chooses, i will love thee better after death. living under constant threat of attack brings its own attendant dangers.

 

if anything bad happens to me in here, you can all contact me in the spirit world. i´ll be hanging out with jim, kurt, sid, and ian. for now, take a drink of bushmills irish whiskey for your suffering friend in prison. this is the end, beautiful friend, the end.

 

itchy wiggle christ

25. April 2005

(from prison in the usa)

 

 

 

 

closing words

this book is free of charge for all friends and fans of gregory-john mc cormick, alias itchy, of the detroit band shock therapy.

 

i worked a lot of hours realizing this book. i beg you to respect, at least, the work i have done to free gregory from prison, and the work i have done to make this book happen.

 

i beg you further to not copying this book and/or selling it without having any assignment of permissions. all copyrights on this book and the paintings shown in this book, belong to me, ralf dellhofen. in case something bad will happen to me, i assign all copyrights to my best friend, fabian schlupp. fabian is absolutely incorruptible and he loves gregory and his music. don´t even try to contact him! i have reliable friends all over the world, who keep their eyes open. i give a flying shit on each and every police officer, attorneys or judges, if someone is starting to fool me. remember, that i am poor and sick and i have nothing to lose anymore, anyway! if necessary, we solve the problem with unauthorized/illegally copyright-fraud or sellings, without having my permissions, by punishment "the old irish way", together with the boyos of my ship crew...and my buckler sword!

 

all other friends and fans, who honor gregory´s literary remains, his music and arts, shall live their lifes in peace, harmony and success.

 

all the best, wherever you are, whoever you are!

 

captain ralf dellhofen

18. November 2017

(from leverkusen, germany)

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Imprint

Text: Gregory-John Mc Cormick (Itchy) / Ralf Dellhofen
Images: Gregory-John Mc Cormick (Itchy) / Ralf Dellhofen
Cover: Gregory-John Mc Cormick (Itchy) / Ralf Dellhofen
Editing: Ralf Dellhofen
Translation: Ralf Dellhofen
Layout: Ralf Dellhofen
Publication Date: 11-19-2017

All Rights Reserved