The gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ by Gregory-John McCormick, Ralf Dellhofen (best way to read books .TXT) 📕
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- Author: Gregory-John McCormick, Ralf Dellhofen
Read book online «The gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ by Gregory-John McCormick, Ralf Dellhofen (best way to read books .TXT) 📕». Author - Gregory-John McCormick, Ralf Dellhofen
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
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