Only love and death

if man is 5, then the devil is 6, and if the devil is 6, then god is 7

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And 8, my dear friend, is love and death. Only love and death. Only love and death. And if it’s only love and death, then I’ll be damned. Well, I’ll be damned. Yes, I’ll be damned. — In my dreams I see this tunnel. It starts with a bend and it ends with a bend, and between those two bends there is a small eternity of straight fast driving forward. A tunnel in which I can lie myself down and think of The Pixies. This monkey’s gone to heaven, I might think, while I’m contemplating this piece of biblical poetry: if man is five, then the devil is six, and god is seven. And know, fully well, that this is a fact of life, nothing but a fact of life, and only a fact of life (haha), and that I have been caught inside that trap which is all about realizing the spiritual facts of things in this age and time, when the ruling classes of our societies are getting themselves prepared for the kind of political game that is going to leave some 144.000 chosen people behind. — As the rest of the human race will die in the millions and billions, through wars, famines, floods, and other forms of environmental devastation. What we will have on our hands is the ins-and-outs of natural and artificial selection, that’s all. And that’ll be the brutal truth, they say. The brutal truth.

As I said: I see a tunnel. It is a tunnel of love and death, and I know that I can dream about love as much as I may please to do so. But I’ve stopped doing so. As a matter of fact, I’ve come to conclude that my 13-year-old daughter is the last person who is still with me, and that she is poised to leave me alone to my own fate. Just like the rest of my entire family has aready turned its backs on me, so will she. In 2007 my family has finally done what the rest of society did back in 2005. They were only a bit slow, that’s all. Now, in 2008, it seems to me like turning your back on me is only natural. My daughter will turn her back on me as soon as I am telling her that there is an official and an unofficial truth in circulation, as concerns my life and fate. My daughter is not going to believe a word of it, but conclude that I’m going to hell, and that “my dad’s gone crazy,” and goddamit, you little motherfucker: if you ain’t got nothin’ nice to say then don’t say nothin’ –

I have spent the last four years moving in and out of mental hospitals and losing touch with society more and more. Today I can only conclude that there is no way I will ever get well. Too much has happened to me along the way. Too many bad things. Only bad things. Evil things. Unbelievable things. Things that my daughter is never going to believe. — And there’s nothing I can do about that. Just accept it.

And I’m thinking about the condition I was in when, back in 2006, I was taken to the mental hospital by force only to receive the kind of treatment that might be due for an ill-behaved youngster to go through with. — I remember, before I was taken to the mental hospital I had spent as much as five full days awake without sleep. And before that last spell of sleep another three full days of no sleep. I was psychotic from lack of sleep, and equally psychotic from lack of belief in the future of mankind, thinking the best thing to do would be arranging for a collective suicide (quick! quick!) instead of getting our asses prepared for a slow ecocide. I was absolutely senseless with lack of sleep, and running around like a demon shouting in all directions a lot of hellish gibberish. No wonder I was brought to the mental hospital, I mean. But the treatment I received there was … pure evil …

Oh, I remember how Dr. Dickson found it extremely difficult to sign my journal. He simply had to tell me that the HIV diagnosis was good news in terms of the money I’d receive from my disability pension, and staring at me like some psycho from the movies as he said so. I was being ”killed.” No, not killed. “Killed,” I said. “Killed.”

And that’s not possible. — It happened, but that’s impossible, so now what?! 

Throughout the last half of 2007 it was communicated to me several times and in several ways: vocally and by use of non-vocal means of communication. All manners of communication, I say, except from that of putting it in writing. — Why? Because it can’t possibly be. Doctors working under the rule of the Norwegian state just do not “kill” people. They don’t! They just don’t! Okay?! So therefore: it just didn’t happen, now did it? Impossible! Of course it didn’t! I was “killed” but I wasn’t. ‘Cause it just can’t be. Not in a good country Norway, for God’s sake. I mean: Amnesty International can certainly guarantee it: things like these just do not happen in Norwegian institutions like Ullevaal University Hospital. It just can’t be.

What happened (really! it did!) may have had something to do with the spiritual side of being exposed to being with, and dealing with, a person who’d just come to conclude that all of mankind could equally just go and be quick about it, and have our politico-religious ruling class go ahead and organize the perfect mass suicide for us. I don’t know. But I know that a lot of spiritual shit is going on around me at all time. Now, I’m hospitalized again, and the workers here all tell me that they “don’t wish for you to experiencing bad things.” – While at the same time they’re all acting like the official truth about my bloody bodily condition, which is a lie, is the truth, and that the unofficial truth about my condition just doesn’t exist: it’s only about things that I got to hear last summer and automn, and not something that, in real life, has any bearing what-so-ever. How I am supposed to live with this is anybody’s guess. There’s no dignity in this, so I don’t think I’ll manage.

I can sense that I’m supposed to learn to live with the official truth, which is that I’m infected with HIV/AIDS, and that I’m just going to have to forget about the fact that a number of people — medical doctors and nurses — spent the last half of last year communicating to me the story of how I have been framed. My life is Madness then. And there is nothing I can do about that. The thing is: I’ve got a choice to make. A simple choice, that’s all.

They say “it’s from your own people you’re going to have it.” And my own people — the North Norwegian people — has nothing to offer, other than death. It’s just that they can’t kill me. I’ve got to do it myself, that’s all. It is what has been communicated to me again and again, by quite a few people. — So. I say: on with the extraterrestrial agents of mine! Let them come to me in my dreams! They’ll be keeping me alive for another while, I guess. While I continue to digest all the death that my people has in store for me. Now, that’s the spirit. –

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If you want to know what it is like to be working under a system that has gone evil on the world, you should definitely read up on Steve Milgram’s psychological experiment. -