The gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ - Gregory-John McCormick, Ralf Dellhofen (best memoirs of all time txt) 📗

up! chomp! chomp! chomp! here comes the shark of depression! swim fast! - or better yet, don´t swim at all. close your eyes, relax, dream now, itchy.

 

morning, waking up surrounded by monsters, filth, smells of diseased perversion, the smell of hatred and frustrated retardation. loud unintelligent grunts out of foul mouths that cannot speak the language of social integration. the stink in this living hell is enough to make me wretch. i sit on the toilet, smoking a cheap rolled-my-own, trying to make sense of my existence, but never ever coming to any real conclusion, other than: life is a waste, people are shit, deviant social norms are the rule of the day. and to vomit so early in the morning does not help the feeling of helplessness and disgust to go away, i only lose more blood out of another bodily orifice that normally blood should not spew out of. blood should flow out of a slice across the wrist and/or neck, not explode out of an asshole or mouth as it seems to like to do with me. i know i am not a normal human being but this shit-blood is ridiculous. i think i am a very sick with cancer. as i wrote so long ago, i have cancer in my soul. make it stop, please?

 

it´s all so wrong. i´m so tired. i can´t sleep, i don´t want to do anything. i know i should paint, i need to write letters. but then again, what does any of it mean? very little in reality. to escape my relentless self-pity, that would be something of worth i could try to accomplish. but, as yoda says, "do, or do not, there is no try". so i guess i do not. self-pity at this juncture in my life seems to suit me. plus, i am tired as hell. i can´t sleep, don´t want to do anything. boo-hoo-hoo. in your heart, in your soul, did you find peace there?

 

another morning, faceless, cold. hands trembling now, the cancer doing it´s work hopefully. release me, release me now, my sweet disease. weather getting colder, always the worry that my beautiful finchee-sparrows will freeze, but that is anthropomorphic fallacy on my part. just because i am freezing does not mean they are. and i am shivering more from nervousness and whatever disease is running rampant in my system than from the cold weather. shit, it is 60 degrees fahrenheit, or 16 celsius. yet i feel very cold, like i want to curl up into a ball and hide underneath my filthy blanket. but then again i want to do this when it is super-hot. must be a mental anomaly, one of my few thousand or so. i am needy, i am sickly, i am perverse.

 

there was once a little rat named finster. he loved a girl rat named judy, but judy lived far away in a garbage dumpster, whereas finster lived in a hole-in-the-wall of an abandoned house. finster thought often about judy, and how he would do anything to be with her. so he decided to leave his hole and damn the perils and traps of the wicked world. finster decided that to live without love was not living at all. so he went to find judy.

 

carnival rides, circus freaks, candy-floss, chocolate toothpaste. the fat lady threatens to sit on me and smother me to death with her sickening fat body. she eats too much, and she is a flesh-eater. she visits mcdonalds´s and eats hamburgers and frenchfries, she loves frenchfries. phoney clowns try to make people laugh but they only succeed in frightening children. i take a drink out of a pint bottle of jack daniels i have in my back pocket, i light up an unfiltered camel. i stare at the fat-assed pig-humans eating their elephant ears and hot dogs and bratwurst, their fat pig faces with tiny pig eyes. they are death and ugliness.

 

everything is afraid of something. patterns of behavior in this test animal are obscure and bizarre, doctor. he seems to flourish in his own world, a world that he himself creates. the subject, we believe, calls his mythical world "itchyland", and he seems to spend much of his waking hours in itchyland, and all of his sleeping hours. this subject´s behavior goes far beyond our defination of anti-social. he has no connection at all to his social environment. we have heard the subject muttering obscenities to himself on a constant basis. these obscenities are so foul we shant repeat them, not in your esteemed presence, doctor, no no. but we can say that the subject´s obscenities indicate an extreme hatred for human beings in general. his thoughts are misanthropic in the extreme. we believe he is very dangerous, doctor. the only moment that the subject displayed any kindness or tenderness was when we witnessed him feeding his dinner and lunch bread to the sparrows. he was talking to the sparrows, and we believe he was also talking to the bees. he looked at peace for those few moments. we just cannot understand how the subject could care so much for birds and bees and not care in the least for human beings. yes, doctor, we believe he is dangerously sick and should never be allowed to roam free in our world. we believe his attitude will be infectious - that other people in this world will see that the subject´s attitude is one of logic and genius - that he realizes people are complete shit and not worthy of life or to even breathe air. we cannot allow this to happen! people of this world must continue to believe they are supreme beings, people of this world must continue to eat animals and get fat, lazy, and stupid. especially in the united states of america. people must never realize that they are very horrible, ugly, monsters that think far too highly of themselves and need to be wiped off the face of the earth. the subject poses a threat to the american way of life and must never be allowed to spread his anarchy and independent thoughts. never! never!

 

ick, shit, fuck, crap. another morning, waking up in hell. the smell of shit and piss and unwashed faggots. i hope i die today. may you all feel my pain. i am sure no one reading this could ever imagine the true hell i am in, unless you were actually in a michigan prison, in which case it is highly doubtful if you were in a prison that you could actually read anyway. you would be amazed that so many of these monsters cannot read or write or even talk normally. the speech of the monsters is some kind of super-lazy unpronunciated bastardized form of american with a larger percentage of straight out chimpanzee thrown in. i understand nothing of it, i don´t even try. there are three semi-normal guys i talk to in here, and that is it. it is a lonely existence, but i have no choice. i cannot bear even looking at the filthy monsters in here. they are the skum of humanity, the worst aspect of what, being human, is already a dubiously disgusting waste of space. it is unreal how low and base these monsters are. as if they could not possibly be of the same species as i am. physically only, perhaps. and not even then.

 

it is amazing as well how so many of them are really fat and slovenly lacking in any sort of body tone. they are slobs. the prison hardly provides enough food to keep a monster obese, but they manage it somehow. there are no mcdonalds or burger-kings in here, but these fat pigs are still digustingly ugly and flabby. i have to actually try hard to maintain my weight. at one point i weighed so little that the prison officials questioned me, whether i was on a hunger strike, hmm. altho a hunger strike is a noble idea, and bobby sands is a hero to me. but starving to death seems for me a bit too slow and painful. if or when i go off-line, it will be quick, ugly, and messy. i want to leave behind a really nasty mess. no "leaving-a-good-looking-corpse"-shit for me. sometimes i hold my breath, tho, just to see if i might pass-out or give myself a brain embolism. for me to be flailing and twitching on the floor, biting my tongue, frothing at the mouth, my brain exploding in a stroke like hot popcorn. this would be interesting, and definately ugly. a bit similar to how i perform at my concerts, too, so it would be good for a laugh or two.

 

i´m sick, sick, sick, sick. there is no escape. rats running away from loud noises and noxious gas. deadly dreams, assassination squads bent to my will. nighttime, yet. keep the door locked. beautiful russian woman wants to copulate on a train to belgrad. darkness falls, my dreams come soon, strange music flowing thru my head, destruction of the willpower, death on my back, death on top of me, the train rocks back and forth, full russian breasts, dreams of my death, little bottles of sekt breaking to pieces in my head, bottles of beck´s beer across the back of my head, i fall down the u-bahn stairway, brain damage.

 

morning, another morning. woken up with the screaming of a cop to go to breakfast. unlike most mornings tho, i woke up amidst a really nice dream, and an idea for a new painting - my head hanging in the air from a spike driven thru it, severed and bloody. it has been a long time since i´ve had a painting idea come in a dream. my nice dream: i was puttering around germany in an orange volvo, an older version...i was living in a strange house in a small farming village, all the people living in the village were older gypsy women, but i lived in a house with steffi, it was given to her by her mother after her mom saw a picture of us together? there was a bird that was following me around, he was some kind of mix between a sparrow and a pidgeon, and he kept flying around me but wherever i put my hand out for him to land on me, he would get very scared and his body would split apart and he became two birds. just before i was woken up, i was getting into my orange volvo - i had left the windshield wipers going, but the car still started. i drove out to the autobahn and was heading towards stuttgart, and i was happy, thinking that not matter which direction i approached the city, i could find a café or bar to go to. i really wanted a tall cold glass of beer. and i still want a tall cold glass of beer. maybe i should paint a picture of my little splitting birdy, too, ja?

 

changes have to made. set forth a plan. remove the scars from the frankenstein monster. pull the baby from the scalding bath water. stop eating the fish, you evil monsters. traces of glass and rat-poison found in baby food, the poisoner stuck a note in the jar of baby food, the mother finds the note which says the baby has been poisoned and will die, and the fault is because of a crooked police man that arrested the poisoner at some point. this is such a wonderful world, isn´t it? over 60 people blown up in a car bomb outside bagdad yesterday. the scars must be removed, the skies must be cleansed with a radioactive explosion of untold destructive capability. wipe the scourge that is man off the face of the earth, remove the scars from the frankenstein monster. stop eating the cows and lambs, you filthy human swine. what the hell did those animals do to you to deserve to be slaughtered and shoved in your