The gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ by Gregory-John McCormick, Ralf Dellhofen (books to read for beginners TXT) 📖

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