helga von porno

Tales of my fortunes in London involving philosophy time travel heroin addicted granny, prophesy, prostitution, murder, global conspiracy, friends, and personal finances. I am from east germany and fled to england when my parents where murdered and have been living here unofficially since.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Most Powerful

It came suddenly but fully, no noise, no light but a darkening in Londoner's skulls for a moment and a straining of the blood and it was there, on Trafalger square, a big green heap, shaped like a beehive, as liquid as a solid can be, tentacles, instruments, toungues, smoke, mirrors, orifices, gasses extruding and intruding with methodolgical menace. In tabloid speak a hundred foot alien had appeared out of nowhere in Trafalgar square.
Cars driving towards it in a five hundred metre radius were crushed to a pulp. Aeroplanes flying above it imploded and pulverised. First the police then the army were called. All offensive weapons in Britain melted and transmogrified into stinking crystals.
The agent of this death and destruction scarcely moved apart from a pulsating vibration like breathing or swallowing or perhaps both.
Jasmin It, anarcho police woman, blue eyes slightly too close together, blond tufty moheecan, unhealthy pallor, tiny tartan mini skirt, crooked teeth, cheap trainers with no socks, bruises and scabs on her bare white legs, track marks up her arm, was sitting in her squat with her feet up on the desk fiddling with a used needle when dozy Dave stumbled in to the room.

DAVE: Oi! Jaz! Yewl nevah gess wot! There's only a facking fousand foot alien that looks like the facking gerkin only greener in Trafalga Square. Giz a shag.
Dave stumbles over to Jasmin It and gropes up her legs.
JASMIN IT: Fuck off Dave you pissed cunt. I'm off to check out this Alien.

Jasmin is standing in Trafalgar Square in front of the alien, it is talking to her through a mouth on a protruding tenticle. No one else is around. The streets are deserted but for the wrecks of cars and buses filled with pulpy corpses with eyeballs squeezed out.

JASMIN: Why have you killed all these people? What do you want?
ALIEN: I eliminate any threat. They were approaching me and could have injured me.
JASMIN: But you injured them! You fucking injured them to death! They didn't do anything wrong.
ALIEN: I have learned your language, I have learned what a language is. You appear to be disagreeing with me. I didn't say they had done something wrong. I just said they could have injured me. This is motivation enough to fucking injure them to death.
JASMIN: It is wrong to kill people. You did something wrong. Your excuse is shit. That is what I am disagreeing with. I'm not asking for a motivation, I'm asking for a justification.
ALIEN: I have learned your language. "Wrong" and "justification" are words used in discussions between the weak and the strong. When you say it is wrong to kill people you are saying that you wish to deter others from killing people by punishing them. When you ask for a justification you are asking that I give you a reason not to punish me in this instance. But you misunderstand the situation. You are in no position to punish me. Not you as an individual or you as a species. I am the most powerful thing on this planet. I cannot be motivated by threats.
JASMIN: You have not understood properly. It is wrong to harm others. This is not a threat. You shouldn't harm others out of love. If you do not wish to be injured, you shouldn't wish any one else to be injured. That is love. Love is everything, the ultimate good.
ALIEN: Love is associated with reproduction. People love their sexual partner and their parents and children. I am not a sexual species. I am not related to the people I killed. I do not love them. A good is something which motivates preference. I am indifferent whether your species lives or dies. Love is not the ultimate good for me. My power is the ultimate good for me.
JASMIN: What if I were to ask you to do something for me? What can you do with your power? Perhaps it might amuse you to do something that I want? If I ask you to go back to where you came from, and leave us in peace, could you do that for me?
ALIEN: You tempt me with reciprocation. If I rub your back, you rub mine. But there is nothing you could do for me in return that I could not easily take for myself. Your species don't reciprocate with pigs. You lock them in cages then kill them and eat them. They are too stupid and clumsy to be of any help to you to repay your kindness. So you treat them with no kindness and take their lives for food. You don't even have self defense as a justification.
JASMIN: We don't all eat meat. Some people are vegans. Many people sacrifice their lives for others. It is rational to want things outside oneself. Otherwise you are doomed to have your only ultimate desire dissatisfied by your own death.
ALIEN: I am the most powerful. When I die, there is nothing left that equals my power. I am the most important being in the universe. Therefore self preservation in my case is completely rational. Though I see how altruistic behaviour could be motivated in a inferior sexual species such as yours. It is a pleasant thought.
JASMIN: A pleasant thought! You are enjoying talking to me! Preserve us and you may gain the pleasure of more such thoughts.
ALIEN: I learned your language. I learned what language is. However, in my case, the fact that the thought you expressed was pleasant does not entail that I am enjoying talking to you. My consciousness is multi layered like a flies eye. Relatively this conversation is taking up less of my cognitive capacity than regulating your heart beat takes up of yours. Far from "enjoying this conversation" I am not even conscious that I am talking to you at all. In fact, at this very moment I am also engaged in the complete anhilation of the human species. The American President Bush has decided to launch a nuclear bomb aimed at me. I have redirected it so that it ended up hitting Beijing. The Chinese have retaliated automatically and nuclear bombs hit all major American cities, this triggered a full scale nuclear assault from America to China. Russia panics.......
JASMIN: (Crying) Pleease, please please please don't do it. Stop it, make it not happen. We are good, we are good, we are innocent. It is Bush, he is eveil. Don't destroy us all because of him.
ALIEN: You are confusing punishment with self defence again. I don't punish you, you punish yourselves and each other. I simply deflected a weapon that was aimed at destroying me. But perhaps you will live, since no bombs will fall on Britain while I am here. Though I am leaving now. Goodbye.
The Alien vanishes. Bombs fall from the sky and the human species is completly destroyed by itself. Dozy Dave never gets to shag Jazmin It.

Monday, January 15, 2007


In the time of the ancient greeks a Trireme of Philosophers, Poets and Visionaries set forth from Athens to found a perfect republic. They came to an Island in a perpetual fog bank and called it Helgas. There was only one crime in the republic of Helgas: ownership. The philosophers reasoned that ownership adds no value to deeds or goods. If one owns the bread one eats it tastes no better than if one steals it, meat sold nourishes neither more nor less than meat given freely, sex with a free man is a good as sex with a slave, and love between lovers is no dimmer than love between man and wife. Wild nature is as beautiful as a walled field, and the ocean is as wonderful as a private swimming pool.
Free from the tyranny of ownership, the Helgasians thrived. After two hundred years of careful love, the island became a paradise, fruit trees bore fruit all year around, wild animals jumped into the communal pots, hot and cold fountains spouted from beautiful statues in every house.
They had one law enforcer, the most beautiful woman of the island who had to rule through love with the wrath of a Mother, the violent passion of a lover, and the respect of a daughter. At the time of our story the law enforcer was named Erotica.
Erotica sat with her sandaled feet up on her tabla rasa playing with her abacus when a boy came in bearing a message.

SWEET BLOND CURLY HAIRED BOY: "Erotica! There's a man told me to tell that some ownership is going down by the Oak."
EROTICA: "Would that be a handsome rougish man with a great chest and muscle bound stomach?"
BOY: "Yes,"
EROTICA (SMILING): I'm on my way.

In the dappled sunlight under some Oaks where Pigs snuffle and lambs gambol. Erotica is making love to a handsome man on a rope swing. Their atheletic bodies move in perfect harmony and beauty and their faces are filled with beautific passion.

HANDSOME MAN : It's you, Erotica! You own my heart!
EROTICA : No one owns your heart, you are free like the glorious wild animal that you are.


Erotica is looking through the branches of a tree down on to the beach where she sees that a ship[has landed. The merchants from the ship are selling female slaves to shifty looking Helgasian men. She runs down to the beach and charges the sailors with her sword of justice twirling above her in the air. Blood sprays in big arcs as she cuts seven or eight of them to pieces in a skilful and graceful fashion. The others flee into the interior. Erotica frees the slave women.

SLAVES: Thankyou Erotica.
EROTICA: No need to thank me, I do it out of love for you my sisters. No man should own a woman, welcome to Helgas, be free!
SLAVES: Those men from the ships plan to rob the volcano, they've heard that it is stuffed with gold.
EROTICA (ASIDE). They must have heard of the great plug that plugs the vulcano! We use it to heat our water and supply energy for our homes. For technical reasons that I don't need to go into it is made from gold and encrusted with diamonds, but since we have no concept of ownership it is of no special interest to us.


The men from the ship are scrambling up the side of the volcano with Erotica hot on their heels. They see a great silver chain at the lip of the vulcano and start to pull at it with all their might.

EROTICA: Nooooooo! You don't need to take that plug. Come and live in Helgas and live to your full potential. I will love you all and we can live in harmony, you can pry into the depths of nature and into the deepness of your own heart. You can soar like eagles and burrow like ferrets. You can swim like eels and wallow like bottom feeders.
DESPERATE PIRATE ONE: Pah! There are no rules on your island, so I shall do as I please. I will take this plug of Gold and own many pairs of shoes, and lovely tri pods with really intricate paintings on them by famous blind tri pod makers. And I will own shields dipicting the moon and the stars with blue enamel as the sky and very clever etching work on the sun so that it is quite quite realistic. Can you with your love and freedom and beauty match such riches? I don't think so.
DESPERATE PIRATE TWO: Pah! When we get this plug up, I'm going to buy the house belonging to my brother in law, and it is just a five minute walk from the Parthenon, and lots of fashionable sophists live in that area. And I'm going to buy one of the latest chariots with horses from arabia that can run as fast as the horse belonging to Jonsibiadas who lives in one of the better districts and own three salt mines. Can you hope to compare such magnificence with silly old namby pamby self fulfilment, happiness and wisdom? I don't think so.
DESPERATE PIRATE THREE: I am hoping to use the money to start up a syndicate that lends money to enterprises involving trade with Eygypt. Spices, papyrus, that sort of thing. I was hoping to grow from there and expand into salt and olive oil. I just need an initial start up fund. How can you compare such an oportunity with your meagre offer of a healthy joyful life among a happy community of natural human beings? Pah!

EROTICA: You fools! You blind miserable fools. I will cut off your tails!

Erotica cuts the head of the third pirate while the other two draw their swords. There is a barave and wonderful battle, with Erotica looking absolutely amazing. Meanwhile the camera pans around and there are several more pirates down in the mouth of the volcano tugging and yanking away at the plug chain. The great beautiful golden diamond encrusted plug lifts slightly at one edge and bubbling red hot lava gushes out until eventually the plug is shot thousands of feet into the air by a great gush of hell fire from the centre of the fucking world. Poor Erotica and the pirates are engulphed in the liquid flame that comes pouring down the sides of the mountian. Everywhere the beautiful men women and children of Helgas a running screaming away from great waves of molten fire that consumes everything, all the beautiful free edifices and artifices of the worlds only perfect republic. The Camera moves a long way off and you see the island as a whole tilt to one side and sink down and down into the waves. Eventually all that is left is a froth of bubbles like a sauce pan of poaching eggs.
Years later an abacus washed a shore on the banks of the Nile. The only reckoning of the beautiful paradise, the garden of Eden, the perfect republic that was destroyed by the possessiveness of men.

Friday, January 05, 2007

Episode Two: Francoise Lafollie

Francoise Lafollie. A Screenplay by Helga Von Porno. From a format inspired by Ultra Mahareshi Taj Mahal Ubank God.

Francoise Lafollie is sitting behind her desk in a Paris cop shop. She has a Platinum blond Afro that looks like a wig and a yellow satin mini dress. Her feet are on the desk and she is wearing roller skates. She is whittling a Voodoo doll with a flick knife. The phone rings.

Lafollie: Oui?.....Mmm hmm.........Oh la la....... Pigalle?.......... Texan terroist plot?......D'accord.

Parisian Streets. Francoise is roller skating very fast through the busy back streets of the prostitute area Pigalle. She is smoking a gulloise. She turns into an empty side street. Empty that is but for one handsome man with a five o'clock shadow.

Handsome man: Hey, beautiful girl, want some action.

Lafollie: Okay, big boy, this one is for free.

Lafollie unzips the man's jeans and takes out his oily gallic cock. He smiles. She flicks open her knife and puts it to his ball sack.

Lafollie: One false move from you and you be singing with the vienna boys. Sing true or sing falsetto. What do you know about the Texan terroists?

Man. Martigue.... Petit village....Boulongerie...

Lafollie puts her blade away and steps back. The man slaps her around the face. She pouts and stabs him in the heart. He dies.


On the Paris to Marseille train, the fastest train in europe. Francoise Lafollie has her head out of the window and her mouth open wide, the 200mph wind sandblasting her teeth and proving that against probability her platinum blond afro is not a wig. She is just reaching orgasm. A handsome man in a naval uniform that she has know for less than twenty minutes is making love to her with great finesse inside the carriage.

Lafollie: Oui, oui, Oh la la, Oh la la, Oui OUI OUI!

Sailor: eurgh, eeeeurgh, occhchkch.

Lafollie turns back into the carriage to compliment the sailor stranger on his prowess and love making skill only to find that he has been garrotted by a large chinned man in a stetson who takes off down the corridor. Francoise steps over her dead lover and roller skates down the corrider after the Texan. she catches him in the drivers carriage.

Texan: Well, I do declare, how d'yer like, Now what is going on?

Lafollie: You are a dangerous terroist, no? Where are your bomb?

Texan: Why I oughter... Well how d'yer like that. Here! Here's my bomb.

The texan terroist takes out a round black bomb from his chaps pocket. Francoise punches him hard in the face and he falls back on the driver. Francoise opens the door to the train and jumps onto the road, landing in down hill skate pose at 200 miles per hour (perhaps use a stunt woman for this bit). She looks back to see the front carriage explode derailing the whole train that whips round like a snake and concetinas crushing all the passenger into a savoury preserve.
Francoise has by chance landed on the road to Martigue, a little town outside Marseille.
She come across a little girl. she grabs her by the lapels of her cute little school uniform and starts slapping her around the face.

Lafollie: "Ou est la boulongerie? Ou est la boloungerie? Parle! Parle! Parle!"
Little girl, in tears, very frightened pointing to the boloungerie. "La bas!"

SCENE FOUR In the Boloungerie.

Lafollie. Je Voudrais un baggette at une pain au chocolate sil vous plait monsieur.
Baker lady: Voila Madame. Merci Au revoir.
Lafollie: Merci, Au revoir.


Francoise roller skates around the little town eating her baggette looking very beautiful and coquettish. She passes fountains and old men in beres playing boule and winks and giggles at handsome onion sellers in breton shirts, she rollers through cobble streets and pretty squares and bridges. There is the soundtrack of tango music played on a squeeze box. This scene goes on for about forty minutes.

Francoise: Merde! I forgot all about the Texan terroists. I didn't go to the boloungerie to buy bagette, but to foil terrible Texan terroism plot to destroy French Egalite and Fraternete. I must go back.

SCENE SIX. In boulongerie. Francoise is talking to the baker lady.

Francoise: So I am actually a police trying to save France from Texan Terroists.
Lady: Mais non! You are too sexy to be a police.
Francoise: Hah, yes, I love sex. I am a registered sex addict. When I told the chief he was very happy. Until I told him that I am only addicted to sex with handsome men, not fat pigs like him!
Francoise and Lady in unison: Hoh hee hoh hee hoh!
Lady: The Texan terroists are in the back room there. Bon chance Francoise!

SCENE SEVEN. In Back room of the boloungerie.
There are three men in Stetsons polishing a great big nuclear bomb. Francoise is whittling a voodoo doll with her flick knife.
Texan Tim: Waeel Haello pretty lil lady, what can we do for you?
Francoise: Put on these hand cuffs.
Texan Pete: aren't yew a hot little sinning fornicator.
Francoise: You don't understand, I am putting you under arrest. Anything you say I will take down.
Texan Tarquin: Panties!
Texans in unison. Hurr hurr hurr hurr

Francoise does a backward high kick and brains Tarquin with her Roller skates, righting herself quickly she stabs Pete in the throat and elbows Tim in the solar plexus. Tim bends double giving her time to knee him in the face and stab him in the back of the kneck.

Francoise: Voila, another case solved!

Francoise glides back into the boloungerie through one of those many coloured partition ribonny things looking really sexy. Meanwhile, Tarquin regains consciousness and goes over to the bomb and joins two wires together. There is an enormous nuclear explosion that wipes out all life for miles around. Including the beautiful Lafollie. The camera pans across the destroyed town and comes to rest on a silhoette against a wall of a girl in a mini dress, rollerskates and Afro in mid leap. A bit of platinum hair and yellow silk blows in the wind catching a sunbeam.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Frieda Fitch: WunderKop.

A Screenplay by Helga von Porno. Inspired by Ultratoshymoshywallah.

In a small village nestled among the woods outside Ingolstadt in Bavaria Inspecktor Freida Fitch sat behind her desk twiddling with a rubics cube. The phone wrang.
VOICE: "Is that you Fitch? It's me, Gunter. I think we have a case. Meet me at gate into the woods outside the village disguised as a slag in fifteen minutes and I'll give you further instructions."
FRIEDA: "Ja voll Gunter."
Frieda smiled. Gunter and her had a thing going on. It helped while away the empty proffession of village detective in the most law abiding village in the law abiding region of Bavaria.
Fifteen minutes later Gunter slide up Friedas mini skirt and pulled off her knickers. He pushed her up against a tree and she wrapped her legs around his hips.
FRIEDA: "Ach! Gunter! Ach! Aaargh! What are the instructions, what are the instructions."
For all his rough charm, Gunter was always short lived so Frieda wasn't suprised when his teeth clenched and his eyes opened wide after less than a minute. She was more suprised when he collapsed to the forest floor, bringing her down with him, a widening stain of blood on the back of his sequined Elvis shirt.
BEARDED WOODMAN WITH BIG BLOODY KNIFE: "Now it's your turn, slag kop! But not before I've finished what Mr Dead here started."
FRIEDA: "Oh no you don't! Take that!"
With her special training, Frieda sprang up and grabbed the Woodman's Beard and bit his tongue out whilst kneeing him in the bollocks. The woodman grabbed her waist and flung him far from her. Then he ran, bloody mouthed toward the village.

SCENE 3. Inside the Cab of a great big lorry full of explosives to be used for perfectly legitimate mining purposes.
FRITZ: Hey, Hans, look at all those pretty happy children playing so beautifully in that school playground situated on that bend in the road.
HANS. Yes, the look so happy and innocent.
FRITZ: Watch out. There is a bearded man with all blood coming out of his mouth running down the road.
The lorry skids, slides off the road and smashes into the playground where it explodes destroying the whole school. Little bits of children fly everywhere like a macabre snow of the wrong bit of Santas jacket.

Frieda, looking deshevelled and sexy in her slag disguise enters the village hostillry where she finds all the men of the village drinking. They all have beards. She twiddles with her rubics cube.

FRIEDA: Which one of you Bastards stabbed my partner in the back.
The men all look down at their feet.
LANDLORD: "Frieda, sweetheart, you are the last to know. Gunter was swinging both ways like a weather cock in a storm. We have all of us stabbed him in the back as you put it.

A mad frenzy grips Frieda and she grabs a Stein Glass and one by one kills everyman in the house. Just as she is smashing the last old man's teeth in a hand comes up from behing her and stabs her in the back.

Bearded Wooodman: Harr harr harr! Wunderbar! Gurgle spit. (mouth still full of tongue blood).
Frieda: "Ha! You didn't notice my special issue stab proof slag braz. I am completely unharmed.
Frieda bashes the bearded woodman to death and he joins the pile of bearded corpses.

FRIEDA. Another case solved.

Just then all the women enter the house screaming with fury. They see their men dead, like their children and rush at Frieda. They have incidently been practicing for the cabaret so they are all dressed in stockings and suspenders. In the confusion they all tear each other apart including Frieda. Only one woman is left standing, but just then an Anvil that was suspended from the ceiling decoratively falls down and smites her dead.
A plastic bag blows throught this village of death where not one person remains alive.


Friday, December 22, 2006

Herbert and the Ice Queen

Herbert strolled across the meadow with melancholy in his heart and sat down beneath an old willow tree, took out his lute and began to play the sadness of his heart. The sadness was so sad that the singing birds stopped singing and flew far away. The sky turned from blue to milky bruisey grey. The trees and grass crackled with frost like cut glass. Dawn approached dust and dust approached dawn like dancers in a square.
Herbert looked up to the hill where the Ice Queen stood stock still surveying the grey and dismal veil with unblinking stare. He had never seen such a statue of beauty so cold and austere.
He went up to her and greeted her grinning. "Hello maid, and what a beautiful maid you are." He tried.
She turned to him from her neck like an owl. She leveled her gaze on him. Placid, yet unforgiving.
Herbert was great at staring people out. At bard school he never was forced to look away or giggle. But he found his cheeks grew rosy and his feet needed visual attention.
Wheresoever he looked there was Spring but as the Ice Queen's gaze followed winter layed over.
"Happy Christmas!" He tried, and danced a gay jig.
Such uncompromising scorn had never been implied so explicitly as by the Ice Queen's silent response.
"I know, I will throw you a party, we'll have a great big fire and lots of lovely local folk, that should break the ice......"
Herbert's voice trailed off. The Ice Queen's cold blue eyes told you easily what foolishness this was.
Herbert disappeared into the wood. I watched him go. For I am the Ice Queen. I turned back to the vale and poured ice over the world with my steady impenetrable stare. In the periphery I knew there was colour and warmth in the world, but wherever I looked was ice and death and solid cold.
Herbert returned with local folk. The area was anarchist. The people of the wood were free. There were Bodgers and love makers, jugglers and drug takers, nude dancers and vegetarian cooks, singers and ranters story tellers and rugby teams, all manner of musicians bearing bassoons clutching cellos garroting guitars and banging banjos. It was a jolly jamboree and the fire grew higher and higher. But whenever the Ice Queen turned her gaze to the fire it smouldered sputtered and went out. Jugglers dropped their balls, Bodgers bungeld their chair legs, cellists snapped their bows and the organ grinder ground to a halt. Herbert wrang his hands and wondered how to melt the Ice Queen's heart.
Shouting came from the woods and a phalanx of Fascists appeared in formation. They destested freedom and battered the free folk in a disciplined and ordered fashion. They took them screaming and struggling to pre prepared pits in the wood, slit their throats and threw them in big open graves. The anarchists resisted, but only Herbert knew how. He drew his sword and sliced and slashed and slew and wounded and gashed and fucked up badly fascists who came near the Ice Queen. But his heroism didn't break her Ice. He got drawn into the melee, called to arms by a hurdy gurdy player.
A big black brute of a fascist set his maliscious attention on the Ice Queen. "I'm going to take the frosty wench!" He anounced and stided towards her like a walking tree.
A little boy, the son of a nudist, ran in between the Ice Queen and the Fascist giant. "Don't you hurt the pretty lady!" He squeeked at the fascist, and stabbed a stake knife into the fascists foot.
"Arrrrrgh!" went the fascist clutching his foot and hopping. "Right, you little bastard!" He growled, and brought his Axe down on the little boys head and cut him in two.
As the two little arms twitched their last in a bath of gore, and incredible thing happened, The Ice queen began to thaw!
It started in the corners of her eyes. Two springs bubbled up cutting streams down her icey cheeks. Then her heart glowed red with fury and fire lashed from her tongue. She screetched and screachy scream blast of fire and a great heat of fury poured from her like she was a pillar of flame and vengeful rage.
The fascists singed and recinded recoiled and retreated defeated.
The sun rose rosey rose and streams gushed from the mountainside and birds returned and sang their silly songs of love.
I collapsed back in the leaves and gazed teary eyed into the deep blue sky.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Absolute Truth

So much has happened. Cuthbert got a bullet wound to his stomach. Two of the new psychologists had medical degrees and we decided to treat him ourselves. We knew he had no chance to live, so we thought we might as well make use of this opportunity to strap a dying man into the thought amplifier. Christ save us all. I can't go into the horror, the collapse of safety. All I can tell you is that death is real. Two just dropped dead as their souls got sucked into the wailing apparatus. The others arrested on charges of murder and manslaughter. That chapter in the broadening of human understanding has closed and thank God we are plunged back into the soft and comforting darkness of ignorance. Only I managed to escape capture by the police. I jumped out of a window and fractured my arm. The others only knew me as Helga Von Porno anyway and there is no real record of my existence. And besides, they are all probably insane and ranting about blue pain and the great green light and other stuff the police won't be able to spell.
All I had was an ankle length white fur coat, a black mini dress and fur lined boots. I bunked the train to Leuchars and walked to St Andrews. My arm hurt like hell, and everything looked like hell, the wind battering the streets, faces tight with anguish and personal misery, rain and hail punishing the scurrying population. I had a paper to give to the Philosophy department on absolute truth in a weeks time. They paid for my lodgings in a bed and breakfast. I got into my room and lay back on the bed. I thought deeply and intensely about the truth. I was elevated by pain, loss and despair. I lay there til the next day when I emmerged to eat my breakfast. The Land Lord put his hand on my hip while his wife was in the kitchen. I punched him in the eye with my bad arm and the pain made me cry. I returned to my room and dissolved into pure thought.
The details are unimportant, but the train of thought is this, if you want to know something, then you don't know it. If you know something, then you don't want to know it. Move around a few symbols and you can know everything by wanting nothing. Of course, wanting nothing is not so easy. I lay motionless for seven days without food or water. I knew everything. The limit of my knowledge and the limit of the world was the same.
So lost was I that my physical location and embodiment became irrelevant, just another thing I didn't want to know. I found myself standing naked, the North sea lapping around the tops of my thighs. Looking out into the night, the wind howling, the rain whipping, the electric cold pain through me like a charge from the core of the world. I was connected and screaming. I wanted nothing and knew everything.
A Handsome man in an Aryan Jumper hailed me from the shore. I later found out he was called Mark. He waded out into the bitter sea and put his coat round my shoulders and took me in. He took me to his home and fed me warm tea and whisky. I could not answer his questions because my lips were too cold. He took me to his bed and held me close and tight. He held me as if he loved me, as if somebody loved me, as if someone wanted to sheild me from the horror of infinite knowledge. Desire awakened in me, and with it ignorance. I wanted to know this man, I wanted to know what he thought about me, I wanted to know what he would do if I kissed him, if I stroked his chest with my hand and slide it down to his belly. I wanted to know how it would feel if he were to make love to me, if we could make a connection, if I would be filled with love. Ignorance is bliss.

Friday, October 13, 2006


We, the new psychologists, found a sympathetic group of philosophers in Scotland. No psychology or psychiatry department would accept dualism or the existence of disembodied spirits, dogmatic fools.
Clarke has been imprisoned for corrupting the youth so we are on our own now. Cuthbert, Herbert, Damian, Alexander and I went up to Scotland to demonstrate the thought amplifier to the dualists there. We need LSD and therefore needed to deal with street people. The others, who constantly joke that I am a Chav, damn their priveledged eyes, allowed me to negotiate the purchase of a bottle of LSD.
The supplier found his role romantic and had romanticised his persona. He thought of himself as a kind of Rob Roy and wore a three cornered hat and a bearskin coat. Spotting Cuthbert's outrageous accent as soon as he walked in the pub he called us collectively "Sassenachs" saying that he hated us.
"I hate the English too, " I smouldered, "They've beaten my country in two world wars, flattening cities and killing innocent women and children. If it wasn't for those pesky English bastards, europe would be German now, and free from genetic illness and degenerates. So we are on the same side, brother Scot."
I could see Rabbie (the acid dealers name) was wrong footed. On one hand he was wanting to impress me for sexual reasons, but on the other hand, he wanted to distance himself from geneticide.
The romantic fool had us meet in the middle of Loch Lomond. O the romance of the freezing cold dampness. Everything was black, the water, the sky, the creaky rowing boat. I sat with my hands in my armpits looking out into the silvered blackness. Cuthbert rowed, and the others whined.
Rabbie emmerged out of the blackness underlit with one foot on the prow. The poser, he looked most impressive. He did a windmill pirrouette and passed the little glass bottle over. Damian threw him a leather wallet containing £4 000 and he snapped out the torch and vanished. I blessed his theatrics, the twat.
We rowed toward shore for about half an hour when we heard shouting from our broadside. Then shooting. We were under attack. The new psychologists grovelled and wept in the bilge. I stood tall.
Bullets hit my body and bounced off, making a pinging tin sound, like a dust bin round pound. A bullet hit my cheek and I felt nothing. No tear, fear hair tare hare ta ra ta ta.
The boat started sinking, the brats wailing, the bullets out of blackness assailing, failing to stop misstress metallic (me).
The ship was sank but I stood tall, head below the waves, feet dancing on fishes graves, and those snivelling chav dispisers clung to me, and I dragged them along with my strength, bullets bouncing off me. They clung to my arms, they clung to my legs and I dragged them out of there, under fire, riptide tugging me under, like Moby Dick dragging harpoon boats. I emmerged head first like being born, like a sea monster with five manly limbs swaying in the current, Cuthbert bleeding from a bullet wound. I strode on unstoppable like a low geared machine. Like a vice.
I dragged them up the weedy beach and they lay panting, shaking weeping ingrates. I strode on mechanical, straight as a crow, up the bank, middle of the road. To the hotel.
In my room I looked in the mirror above the sink. I itched the side of my head and felt a hinge. I felt the other side and there was a clasp below my ear, another below my armpit, and another on my hip.
I undid the clasps and my body and face swung open. I was hollow. I am made of metal, and am hollow. There is nothing inside. Bullets can't penetrate into that emptiness within. And nor can you. I am hollow. I am filled with nothing. There is nothing inside. And nothing is sacred. I am hollow. Iron clad emptiness.