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

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