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

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