Until you hang upon such a cross, you won't know a thing about laughter or loss...and you don't believe me now, but you will...you will, you wil you will you will...you will, you will - Titus Andronicus

Hey All, Best Read This First:

reetings and a warm welcome to my blog.

First things first

This blog contains words and references offensive to those who never made it through the maturation process.

The intellectually and psychologically impaired will find nothing here to enjoy.

If this applies to you, dear reader, you're welcome, and strongly encouraged to leave now. No hard feelings on my part.

I'm trying to make this clear to the 'boo hoo brigade". If you CANNOT grasp this simple concept. This page is NOT FOR YOU


*PS: I'm pro Palestinian, pro animal rights in a way that pisses many people off. You should consider fucking off now if you object to this kind of thing.

Cheers Kiddies.


PS This blog is not really fit for human consumption, it's best read as it was written, drunk on vodka or otherwise high as a kite...Enjoy...


The Cunta Cometh

Next week is to be a meeting of two great sick fuck minds, mine and Cunta's. I have to explain to this force of nature Juggernaut that I'm moving far far away. I'm praying the overall effect is out of sight out of mind. Forget me Cunta, so I can forget you.

The self consciously grand, overpriced hotel we are staying at is the perfect landscape for her inevitable raging insanity. All impersonal institutions unnerve me: hospitals, airports, schools, post offices, and yes, hotels. I just don't like them. The truth is, I live a rich internal existence, most external stimulus to me is just a chore and a bore. All of it: nightclubs, magazines, consumerism, false sentiment... all that puerile garbage is just landfill for empty minds. Like boob jobs and bleached hair, it's a sign that something necessary to emotional or intellectual functionalism is absent. They are also the signposts that one has arrived in a capitalist world that takes the commodification of body parts and low self esteem to callous extremes. Welcome to the Spectacle.

We only respect what we fear. Has anyone read Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra? One of my favourite lines from this play is: "A dog in office is obeyed". It's not the dog we fear, but the basis of his power, remove that, and he's just a cur we would toss a match to without batting an eyelid.

Well, my Cunta is a bit like that, I respect her because I fear her. Rationally, this makes no sense, she's just an old woman (she had me late in life) I don't know, explain it if you can, I certainly can't.

But I can tell you for sure, once you've met my Cunta, you met every psycho rolled into one.

She really is a sick sick fuck.

PS: Earlier this week, a friend persuaded me to inject speed. I've always regarded uppers with fear and loathing, I was right to. I've since devolved to even greater stupidity. I, not he is to blame, I'm a stupid retarded shit. I don't really care, nor do I want or expect others to.

Advice borne from bitter experience is the most valuable: don't inject speed. It's the white trash of drugs.

See you next time

Au revoir mes amis.

PPS: The above image is a still from FW Murnau's Nosferatu. This silent classic of German Expressionism is the greatest film of all time. I know absolutism is unfashionable in post modernist society, but great art transcends all strictures of zeitgeist. This movie is every observation of the angst ridden undercurrents of human society rolled into one.