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, August 29, 2006

The Call of the Swan

I was plagued by erotic dreams last night, dreams of a savage animalist nature. I rode piggy back on goat men, wrestled with snakes got hugged by bears and mounted by lions. I woke again and again with hot belly, and blood screaming, attempting to gentle my raging body with my hands, but just worsening the fever. I poured water on the coals but it just intensified the heat like in a sauna.
I got up and walked across to the full length mirror I stared into my face and naked white body. I felt my breasts with my hands in an erotic trance and gazed into my own eyes in a rising helpless horror. There was a cracking sound like breaking ice and hair grew from my gentle cheeks, a fire grew in my eyes, turning them from blue to yellow. The fire in my belly bucked my spine like bellows, my mouth gaping wide my toungue lolling, I bent forward on all fours, my tongue became engorged, the cracking continued, I was massaging my breasts involuntarily, the feeling was lustful and compulsive. I looked down to my arms and horror of horrors they were thin and grey and hairy and terminated in clawed stumps pawing at my breasts scratching them and drawing blood. My mind was changing, I was losing sense of time and place, I tried to cry out, but howled instead. My sternum pushed out forwards and hairs sprouted all over my body. All I can remember now was my consciousness rushing down a channel that was filled with strong lustful drives, awesome currents ungoverned by reason.

I awoke in the pink dawn covered in white feathers and splashes of red blood. I was naked and sated, a feeling of ravashed pleasure mixed with revulsion and loathing. I was in the park by the ornamental pond. By my side was a dead swan, it's white neck throttled and punctured by scarlet fang wounds. The swan's neck lay spent and limp, its one upward eye blankly accusing the sky.

Friday, August 25, 2006

The fog clears

Lurching out of God knows where we tottered down cobbled streets of East London, through a swirling conundrum of fog, newspaper sheets flying like jelly fish and pressing against our legs and faces, old men moaning like the dead in needle bottle doorways. Our faces pale as ghost's, all the red had been sucked out of Timothy's face into her eyes that glared through the pre dawn gloom like the undead, lipstick smeared across her mouth like gazelle gore on a lion's.
With the silent collusion of the Zombie, hands on the moss slimey wall, we descended some steps into a man made gully of Thames smoothed stone and slime. Out of the mist like a vision the furtive cockle boat became saliant by degree, I hoisted the slimey rope and Timothy got in, me launching after her we drifted with an initial sloop into the out going tide....East...toward where the sun rises, to save us from this pall.
Grey mounds of whale humps and more fiercesome creatures rose from the waters surface like back boils on a corpse. From the distant banks we could hear screams of murder victims, police sirens and discontented rioting. We loomed near to a building on fire, with grim angry teenagers standing around with petrol cans. This pall must end.
Timothy wordlessly smoked while I oared on....East....East....East
We passed derelict docks and an obsolete battleship, a corpse of a woman floated past with one arm oddly aloft: a final wave goodbye to a world that didn't wave back. Timothy tipped ash into her vacant eye socket.
The sea started rising, rebelling, overthrowing, exploding....the emetic that covers over half the globe. It drew us in to a rolacoaster revolution, spiraling faster and faster out of control, til we were rotating round a fixed orbit, a great gaping wound in the sea, a worm hole the size of a planet, a walled abyss of grimy shattered mirrors. Timothy's pipe blew out and flew out of her mouth, her hair blowing fierce across her white face, mouth gaping open in rigid fearful dispair, only her red eyes burning with hateful life.
My heart shone in side me like a cord to the almighty. I was strangely elated. This must be the end. My scalp opened up and I felt at one with this fierce fierce flurry. I stood up in the tiny boat, now horizontal round the whirling wall of death, and looked down into the deep deep hole.
Resplendant! Glorious! Supreme! All perfection, all knowing, all existing, all being, all powerful light, light, white glorious warming life giving light. Here in the eastern ocean we had found what we were looking for, the whirlpool where the sun rises out of the sea. O! great nutritious egg yoke! O! burning raging fire of Father's pride! O! warm nurturing womb of the world! I love you sun! I love you sun! O glory be to the sun! Belos! Belos! Belos!
The grey ocean was reavealed as a dazzling vid screen carpet of purple and orange green and electric blue, maid blush, apple greenside, lip red, vulva pink, snake grey, pub sunset window orange, all life in all its glorious colour revealed by the lovely lovely lovely sun.
Timothy lay back in the front her eyes reflecting the sky, her cheeks pinked like a slapped baby.
We bobbed peacefully and I rowed us home, London transformed into the most beautiful city on earth. The beasts of the night crawled underground to escape the watchful ever present eye of the magnificent sun

Wednesday, August 23, 2006


It has become unadvoidable to air my socio-economic laundry due to the mamonomic ravishes of my "friend" Timothy. She invited me to stay at her ex council flat in Camden and suggested that I sign on the dole and claim housing benefit. This is when it dawned on me that I am an illegal immigrant. I always thought of myself as entitled to live in England and superior to those "illegal immigrants". A dirty starvling crowd smuggling in by bandits in submarines and luggage compartments and container lorries. When I first came to Britain I was under the so called protection of my junky grandmother and presumed that we were legitimate. I naturally thought that if this glamourous jaded adult said it was ok, then it was ok. What a fool to trust this mad ranting old hag when she was sending me out to work from our squat home and then sending me out to score scag from indiginous white folk to feed her insane addiction.
Now I was broke and homeless and Timothy was demanding rent. "It's easy, just sign on, I'll charge you a big wack of rent, like £900 a month. I'll write out the contract and everything, and we'll go halves."
It took me five hours to discover that I could not sign on, I was not allowed to stay in this country and that I was in danger of being sent back to Germany where my parents were murdered. Is it just me who sometimes feels like their blood is filled with iron filings?
I had still been seeing the flop haired fop once a week, and that was getting me fifty pounds. I didn't really mind, I quite fancied him, but the whole thing had gone really weird and he hates and dispises me now and is so angry with me for whoring around I often come out of there crying and spend three days money on getting drunk.
Since I couldn't sign on Timothy started really having ago at me. She had it in her head that I owed her £450 a month. I thought she was my friend and was helping me out. I said I had no money and told her the deal with Flop haired Fop. "You've got to go there every night, Helga, that'll be £350, then you've just got to make up £100, you can probly get that on the rob."
So now Timothy was making me cry as well. I'm alone in this world.
So now Timothy hatched this scheme. I'd butter up flop haired fop, work out his movements, get a key cut, and she'd hire a removal truck. We’d go in there one night and take every single bloody thing. Then go up to Chiswick and sell it at the car boot. That would be September’s rent covered.

Fuck Timothy