The gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ by Gregory-John McCormick, Ralf Dellhofen (best way to read books .TXT) 📕

let him who is without sin cast the first stone!

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

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