Ghouls of Lisboa Part 2

This literary text was deleted after writing and posting it on the early morning of 30/6/2019 by the fascist regime of the German government under Angela Merkel and her Nazi Secret Service BND under the fascist criminal Bruno Kahl. Obviously they found themselves portrayed in here with their French occultist friend Macron. They are responsible for the fascist takeover of Europe, backed by Donald Trump and the CIA . Under the neverending regime of Angela Merkel artists are secretely persecuted in a way that closely resembles the Soviet Union and the German Democatic Republic, DDR, where she was trained as a secret service agent. "OIld friends" are often used for this i.e. "Dr. Stefan Römer", a major CIA agent in the art and media scene.

This blog is not listed in the Googe search engines because Google is part of a secret service operation to destroy artists for the US and German regimes. 

Ghouls of Lisboa Part 2

The camping ground outside Lisboa was under strong fire by the AOI from Germany, lead by a toad like woman who before served as a uniformed dish cleaner in some KGB dungeon during her course of studies in Moscow. That paid well: the camping ground in Lisboa, where she, her cock sucking and rug munching chief of secrete police and the AOI found ot that the last remnants of old freaks were maybe housing was a military radiation ground in 2018. „Hail Salazar!“ the Guardia Nacional officer shouted while standing of his pick up patrol wagon with an iroquese brush on his head. „Let's raid the fucking lefties in the project again!“

Opposite of the Lisboa Camping Ground is a terrain covered with a typical seventies housing project for working class people – most of them from the socialist, anarchists and communist party. Some of the houses were absolutely run down and the entrances blocked and sealed, windows covered with planks. AOI and Portugese police were going to ruin it all, since they still had well visited workers pubs there and cafes where I got a small cup of wine for some cents only. So they send in their A-Team look-alike police forces on pickups as in a Mad Max movie driving around the whole night with sirens and flickering blue lights searching for people like me and switching on the gigantic telephone masts that were sometime as low as people heads in Portugal.

I was hiding my backpack and sleeping bag under a huge plastic sheet in the middle of the mediterrenean forest around the Camping Ground that was stretching quite far, I marked some trees too find it later and went back to the restaurants of the Camping Ground where the were able to serve some good Portugese food. The waitress gave me a horny eye before and all the time and I was wondering what was happening when I got back there, since I expect nothing good these days when younger women do this with older men. Except when quick money comes out of it the easy way an all parties split happily ever after the good old fashioned seeing thru.

She was sitting there behind the cashier desk and gave me a look as if I had just pissed on her Bacalhau with legumes. In those cases I immediately close up and treat them as pieces of furnuture and that's what they are: little commodes in AOI offices around the world and wardrobes in police offices. I ate that fish, plugged in my notebook to the power line and went to the toilet. When I heard the door slamming again while pissing in that smelly porcellain. „What you do ere, buying women an give them cocaine, par blue?“ I looked around and saw a hooked nosed face of a elderly French bigot who was watching me with disgust the day before when I was writing o the terrace. „No, I wait for gay rug munchers from Paris who could not score enough young boys in Tanger to hook them up on Portugese dogs with tight sphincters, By the way you looked good last week when they made alive broadcast from Paris Rue Cadet when you were feating on dogshit as a market introduction of your new sacrament.“ He stared at me with such a disgust, same as Mitterand, when Kohl served him Pfälzer Saumagen as main dish to really piss him off in Bonn in the eighties. „The woooman complained about you that you look at her before with the AOI, maybe you stop writing ere better forever.“ He paid her for later testifying anthing he wanted for the AOI that was the game, that was obvious and so boring that I resisted any answer and grabed his cell phone in a kind of Blitzkrieg against the arrogant Grand Orient shitface and threw it in my piss that was gathering in the sink of my pissoir since it was clocked. It was covered in the liquids completely and looked peaceful down there when it moved around very slowly in my and other mens piss, dangling around, that had gathered there. „Anything else from the Grand Masters?“ I asked and went out, grabbed my things and left while she tried to look away, playing the shy one since I had never talked to her. It was raining cats and dogs when I went out of that fucking place. The cuisine was still good there. Portugese housewife kitschen.

Back in the woods I felt like in a rain forest in Malaysia, that was the closest resemblance that crossed my mind. I had just felt a little piece of bad old Portugese black magic with a typical Mulatto woman, who would have sworn that I had eaten her babies for 50 Euros bribe from a French Mugface. The forest had changed its apperance and vibe totally. Moistness and fog was omnipresent and swapping slowly inside me, despite of the ridicoulos umbrella I opened. My torch was showing a scenery I had never seen before, huge brances were coming down on me, dripping wet, nothing seend the same as in the morning. I searched for my backpack and stuff and got totally lost. My marks on trees were lost, all the small paths I remembered lead into more strange things I had never seen before and the rain intesified in the dark and was running down my neck. I did not give up and ran into another direction, after starting from the beginning again ang ended at exactly the same worng group of trees as before: no plastic with my backpack and sleeping back hiding under it. So I went back again and heard some voices suddenly „Are you looking for your things my dear?“ loud and clear. „yes I am fucking lost in that fucking rain forest“. „We can lead you to your belongings, just follow us“. „So who are you by the way“. „we are the fairies here and know evertyhing and alos you because you was here before“. Ok I thought at least some positive magic in that fucking country with Grand Orient noses everywhere and and snitching hookers on camping grounds, evil dolls in empty houses and such. The voices were loud and clear, no whispering in it. „Go left now, ok, now turn right an go on“ I did and asked: „What do you want for this, is it free of charge, since you are unknown spirits to me, I did not give you anything before.“ „You must not talk to any other woman ever after this when you got your things“. What would you have done in this situation? I agreed and they led me on my way back to my belongings bin the npouring fucking Portugese rain of cats and dogs and Portugese fairies. The Spanish have none of this as far I know, but I wondered if the Portugese ones keep on being as good as they seemed. At least theye were absoluteley loud and clear and kept my on my way for quite a while now. I had to crawl under hanging branches, climb over a nature stone wall in the forest and after another „now left“ I stood in front of my bags. „Thank you, that was great“ I said, now you may leave. „Remember: we are the only ones, don't talk to other women.“ I did not answer an they left me with my bags.

I found a place to sleep nearby under a huge tree and covered myself with my plastic foil from the pouring Portugese rainforest rain and that went well. Those fairies left a remarkable vibe behind I did not know before, quite energetic. I slept well and woke up the next morning, sat up and looked into the rising sun in perfect weather. I looked around myself and thought, wow, they still have some good nature here when a bleak whiff hit my left nostril that wasn't so good. SHIT, that it was. I stood up, dressed and walked around. About less that five meters way from me i ran into a real shit place. Fresh human shit turds with toilet papers thrown away around it.- I couldn't believe it. Where was I? I was about more than hunderds of meters away from a main path in a forest and cked it out: they had really scatted around me in that rainy night in about five meters distance, what the fuck. I had never experienced such a contempt and disgust for that animals who did this. So forest was spoiled and desacrifized and downtrodden now. That was a kind of ritual place of scatters or whatever and the saddest thing in that is the toilet paper with shitstains on it, not the turds in different colors intself. It is the ultimate obscenity for me: a shitting place with shit stained toilet papers in different colors. Difficult to beat that in obscenity for me.

I packed my things together, my knife ready to use if the shitters party by for an ass rape or whatever. It was quite obvious that they fucking and fondling each others asses to realy get into the caviar to get it out and created a little ritual around me. Men off course, these animals were male who did this. I checked the area and was wondering about the many small paths everywhere without any reason. Not were I had slept but further outside. I did some serious boyscouting then to get the clue of that mess and crawled inside the dense parts of the forest and found a wall of nature stones in some terrace someone build a hundred or twohundred years ago. I checked out the wall and took out a stone that did not seem to fit. My torch found a kind of jewlers box inside. I took it out and opened it: there were some childrens toys in it like little cuddle figures and many small hand written leaflets and papers most of them in French with strange messages and time and date notices. I was so disgusted, without an official reason that I did not know what to do. I took out the childrens toys and buried them and put the box back, put in the stone and was about leaving that horrible space when I heard footsteps. I hid in the woods nearby and a young man with a mountain bike on his shoulders crashed thru the bushes and branches, throwing his bike on the ground shouting „merde, merde!!“ and grabbed at the stone immediately. He took out the box and opened it. „Qu'est-ce-que c'est“ he shrieked and looked around him on the floor. He read the papers on top and threw them on the grond, trampling on them. Then he placed the open box on the ground, took down his pants and shitted in the box. He closed it with his turd inside an sealed it with the stone in the wall and went away.

I felt like in a theatre or candid camera, but it wasn't. There was something so bleak and perfectly constructed in that reality I had just witnessed that I felt the world around me slipping away. I grabbed my things, curious that none of the mysterious cophrophiles watched me and went back to the Lisboa Camping ground. Now I realized how many small paths were build into the forest and I realized some strange folks on mountain bikes and BMX bikes everywhere. In the end it was just trees between a network of paths for only end: they lead to always the same: meeting someone here and that should not be avoided. Not avoided at all,there was a secret message behind it – that this is the only reality they, the AOI accepts. Even for the price they shit you on your head while you are sleeping in something YOU regard as nature while THEY are changing it to a matrix.

I arrived at the camping and was welcomed by the full set of AOI personell choreographing the stage for me. The long haired agent form Hannover was there staring at me with a a look of sheer disgust in evil eyes, while the Grand Orient Master from France was dining with his wife and doing the scene for him. She asked him in French if I was the pimp from Germany trying to buy out the Mulatto women in the restaurant cum camping shop. That bored me to such an extent that I steped in the kitchen like a raiding police goon and sweettalked to the Mulatto waitress: „How much did that French peodophile pay you ta talk shit about me? By the way, it was you who stared at me, as if you would like to fitten the pipe already here in your kitchen. I did not talk to you at all, remember, always regarded you as a cashier in all aspects and waited for the price.“ „ Just a job in Paris, I hate Portugese men“. „The only good people I meet here are Fairies and people in the concentration camp, just across the road, you asshole“ I said and went away. I passed the table of the French couple who left a mobile phone for me there and were already gone. I grabed the cheap cell phone, full of hatred for the frog eating motherfucker. I looked around outside and the Hannover AOI crew was staring at me – without saying a word as usual, alllong haired, full freak show from AOI Hannover. I could not see the French couple ad wöked to the bus station, whe he was sitting with his so caled wife. The phone was ringing. I took the call and a French voice told me „ You can not harass and attack and harass Monsieur Lafitte all the time, this is Interpol Lyon“. „ Right, you are AOI France, the Grand Orient.  Did you bury the children in the forest before or after shitting on them, you French fucking Grand Orient piece of shit from Paris, that phone smells like kikeshit, you hear me?“ Klick it made and just had time enough to throw the fucking piece of shit in the direction of Monsieur Lafitte who was just climbing into the bus to the centre. Baang, it burst into pieces at the bus door just closing behind my French friends from Paris.

I had enough with cheap symbolism from the Seine. I swore to myself to never enter that Camping Ground again but to stay with the downtrodden poor working class in the Gettho or in the forest. The first one was unavailable after a short time, since the police made it perfectly clear that I was the most unwanted person in Portugal and zthey did not want a witness by exterminating them all for having social values of all so I moved to another part of the forest. I was again attracted by the magic of it and found a small and steep hill in it to rest there, since nobody could see me there. The fairies were back in the evening around me, talking loud about the nice new ground „I owned“ there but with a different attitude.But they were watching me when I moved out on he street to that aprt of forest. Slimy freaky Portugese guys were standing in the way, backpacks of lost people were on he side of the road, contact lense containers were down in the dirt and dust. The shit was hitting the fan the Portugese way, they were encirceling me.

In the night I stayed on top of the hill and it felt perfectly safe. A hilltop is a gift from heaven, even without a rifle or another gun, only siege can get you out of there. So climbed into my sleeping bag, felt cosy and good, with my moneybelt around me, inside my trousers even. In the morning I woke up and climbed out of the sleeping bag. My moneybelt felt very slim. I opened it and all the cash, the cards and the USB sticks were gone. All of my valuables were placed around the edges of the hilltop, 5 to 10 metres away from me on the ground: money, cards and USB sticks. I did not even questioned myself why this has happened, I took this is as normal reality like ringing a door bell. I just collected my items, counted the money, it was all there and stuffed it back into my moneybelt. Any natural explanation was absolutely excluded. At least I had just pissed of the Fairies I said to myself, I will keep that hilltop and look for myself, nobody has seen me here, I will stay and fuck them all. I had just made myself ready after packing my gear together when they attacked. Three French byciclists with expensive uniform like biking outfit where moving up the hill, the first one had a new jewellers box in his hand. They were waiting for me. 

I escaped to Porto where I found the system of the French AOI perfected. French AOI personell is buying the whole town piece by piece turning it into a Grand Orient homosexual play ground and place of occult worshipping with masnonic rebuilding of the town off Porto that does not deserve to be portrayed at all. From there I fled immediately to Spain, where the German Nazis were waiting for me personally. They appeared personally with their Spanisch friends form the Guardia Civil.

Copyright 2019 by Ronald C. Kaiser

The Ghouls of Lisboa Part 1

Part 1

Visiting Faro was another brain fuck of a mellow sad kind. Now I did know what saudade could mean. Friendly talks with a gay hostel owner about the 1974 military coup and visiting an eighties style band jam session open air turned out to an eviction from that hostel for not being appropriate to a behaviour code edited by a suede denim police force. I did not know that police force but it is endemic in Portugal and punishes you for not being what they think you should be: mental look-alikes of them: the Israeli border patrol maybe. 

And just believing that it is nice and that you feel good to live within old buildings in Faro and that the 1974 military coup was not bad at all by overthrowing Salazar and visiting an open air session with people of the old left communard  scene was a thrilling experience made me an unwanted person in Faro by rule of the AOI police force of that town. That was so easy I could not understand. I does not count that I was polite to the gay man and talk to him as if he is not trying to go down on you and jerk off every three minutes by just imagining that you are there and maybe like gays. Not at all, I could as well have shitted on his rug, killed his dog (but would have to pay for a new one) and farted when his father was painting the frames on the terasse – that would have been no hindrance for a prolonged stay at all.

It was just that I had not understood that civil society based on and placed in a European culture older than the Middle Ages has vanished all the way since about ten years and was replaced by a silent, creeping dictatorship with silent but ultra-effective rules and regulations that were toldto nobody but passed on by some imbecile priesthood. It did not make any sense to my and still does not. It lacks any real communication so how do people comunicate? By inflicting punishments without talking on other for not following unknown rules. Uhh, man that can only be the Extraterrestrials I thought. Have the AOI Annunaki finally come to power and try to convince us of a higher civilization they are implementing?
Nevertheless: I stayed friendly but reserved with the gay owner and had a long culture chat with him while his father was there, I did say it was good to kick out Salazar by force and that I liked the old fashioned architecture way of the town. „But we in Portugal were not that bad, Salazar was not that bad“ he said and I forgot to tell him about the Beans Tras os Montes Kick off Meeting with the AOI in the early seventies and let that pass. I could not believe the mediocrity and squareheaded attitude of theat gay midget. I felt like I had eaten a foul egg for breakfast tried to piss in one of his pot plants near his old father painting some window frames to expresse my attitude. I had qualified for the jerkoff in his universe of gay slickness and he knew I didn't give a shit. But wait, that made him get started and the he remembered that I stayed out with wooooooomen of the old left scene in Faro with jaaazz muuusiiic.

Thus I qualified for ongoing harassement and medivial mental torture of myself by the AOI for the whole stay in Portugal and Spain. But at that time in Faro I was just unpleasantly surprised about what happened the next morning after the nice talk and concert:
„I haaaave to taaaaaaaaaallk to you“ he said in a bleak tone while all other guests were watching and he placed himself behind his small office desk, making him look like a midget who was offeen that some non-gayinvaded his little boyscout camp. I expected he would offer me a blow job for ten Euros but they just dumped my travel bag on the floor and had no more room for me. „Weee aaare booooked oooouuut nooowww – sooorrryyy“. All the nice guest around him looked as if did not get bit up on him last night and I had raped his old father instaed after pissing nea his wooden frames he was painting. It did not cross my mind that this was just the overture for a AOI Annunaki harassement program of a new quality and strength. I missed the new Kick Off meeting of the AOI – that is what I cared about and made the fuck out o there – without farting inside his premises, he was not worth it.

The problem is, that the Portugese bore me to death despite their bleakness and depressed-vicious attitude, reagarded as a unique signe of a high culture. But then they turn into a murderous alien race totally unexpected. Hat is the diference with the Portugese or the Portugaller, to imitate the Spanish across the border who hate them. They go well along those AOI agents especially from Germany who pose around efficiently with their self made trailers and campers in the midst of radio transmitters broadcastíng the AOI mindcontrol program by air to spread mental disease and cancer until everybody is only able to think about the things around him and nothing else. It is always the same in Portugal: people like them get spotted, encircled and then mobbed and harassed, an maybe murdered by a small mob later who is jerking off to pictures of Salazar eating fresh baby legs in vinegar with his wife. 
But the Portugese have another unique attitude: the indiscriminate support for anybody they feel is superior to support him with the worst treatment and torture for others. Not only slaughtering fat children for Beans Os tras Montes with Salazars goons but for example allowing the German AOI Nazis to sneak little programs on USB sticks and harddrives by sattelite that manipulate the electric systems of the nearer environment and whole nations. Mothers, do not hesitate: when your baby is dying from unknown electric pollution: call the German AOI and ask them why they torture you and your child to death: it is German technology sneaked on your USB sticks and harddrives, determing your position and manipulating all electricity aroud nyou to hatm you and all people living around you. That is German Nazi AOI technology.

Former natural beach resort Monte Gordo with a many mile long long natural beach and the forests around it:
„Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz“ the moskitos started their attacks arounde 8 pm, it was rattling in the dry leaves, the ants increased their speed to the double and looked as somebody has injected speed into them, they build roads and small towers around me within minutes, „Brrrrrroooooaaaar, Bsssssssss, Broarrrrrrr“ it was hissing in my ears and my face began to swell slowly at the same time: that was the AOI disguised as Portugese police and their Merkel towers unmistakingly making it clear to me that it was no coincidence this forest was dead, dead means no mammal lived there because only the insects were allowed by the Annunaki outside the small paystrip in the middle of the beach and around the beach huts.

„Man don’t you understaaaand they have build such a nice bathing zone in the centre of that beach with all the fancy modern beach huts behind where you DO NOT HAVE THIS ALL, ALL THOSE PROBLEMS ARE GONE THERE! IT IS SOOO NIIIICE THERE! Why do want this ugly forest? We were not allowed to cut it down so we do it with our advanced AOI Pensisula technology! It will for sure die a natural death in  the next years because no more animals except insects live there and it will cease to exist. We have created our New Order also in so called nature, the AOI always wins …..“

And right they have build about 12 identical square giant beach huts in the middle of the most beautiful and broad and long nature beach of the Algarve and were proud of it. That was a mindset also completely incomprehensive to me but they were right: in the modern centre of the beach there was no radiation at all- what a progress: you just had to pay for not being radiated while all the nature around you was under a fatal radiation umbrella to keep unwanted mamals down. Therefore you got the slimy grin of a waiter that served you his little Neo-Auschwitz camp for a Portugese Algarve holidays.

„Because it is safe that way, don’t you understand that, it is so safe that way, don’t you understand that. If you don’t want it you have to leave, we also throw people like you out of the Kibbuz, that is also safe.“

But there were not only French jews there, but many, beware, who liked that as hell on one of the 12 giant beach huts. You could buy time there for not being radiated, that was cute, like paying 15 euros for a bad lunch with some fish or pay 5 Euros for just being allowed on the beach in the centre. Around that posh area were the Occupied Territories where I was leaving only with the insects  and some gypsies and the poor poeple who could not live in the centre.
But that was disturbingly and fatiguingly mediocre to the usual extent, because nothing was happening at all, because everybody seemed to like it so I went to the roots of that all and decided to talk to the one person I met in months doing something artistic. An older Dutch doing paintings in some beach hut restaurants on the veranda. I told him that I was writing, in a rare move of myself to express the urge of humans relating to each other when there was something like the same aura around it, art for example. I thought. What was obvious since I sat there with my notebook and that I appreciated his existence as the only artist in the whole Spanish peninsular maybe for some reason. I was reported by him to the police later for being an unknown writer who desired to be watched because maybe I am a shady figure. That is what I got for it since I told him, that they told me., that I would belong to the „old people here from before“. 

When I went to the public swimming pool a day later they asked for my ID and called the police to go through my things when I was in the pool. „wow“, I thought, „time to leave“ That was the only real human communication except ordering drinks or food in months with that Dutch asshole painting the fucking beach and boats. So I knew the AOI was on the move and after two nights with temperatures around 2-5 degrees celsius in may in the Algarve I knew somebody was angry at the human race I knew before and me. Dead pigeons were lying around after the blizzard attack in the morning walking around who refused to talk about what happened last night. My fingers were blue as my nose, I met half frozen people, mostly gypsies around who The AOI Annunaki were angry that we did not turn into insects I guess. The Dutch draftman artist was paintings sailing boats again. I watched him sitting there on the veranda when about 20 French jews arrived in the beach hut smiling and shouting. „Finally you have found your place“ he told me when I was standing outside the beachhut ready to leave.
Moving up the famous Fishermen Trail I passed the occult dog worship town of Aljezur, where AOI female agents with rectangular haircuts and glasses walk three or four or five dogs at the the same time also outside town in the flush green nature ways of Aljezur with their friends who worship the dogs faeces and the continous barking of that creatures. I asked them, why I hear barking and why I see dog shit everywhere for miles here and they just said: „we are from the shelter“. „You mean the rehabilitation facility for the mentally depraved and their animal trainers?“ He stared at me and just said „it is all good here in Aljezur, because we have a dog shelter“
They have a dog temple in disguise in that town that is displaying a Horus eye near the bus station where they keep hundreds of that animals a little bit outside of that town and a public swimming pool that no traveller should dare to visit although it was paid for by the European Union and its taxpayers. You can#T get in, believe me,they make that happen for you. Now I know the inner meaning of the stanaic grin I got, when I asked a farmer for the way to the public swiming pool of Aljezur.
„One ticket please“ „I have to check your bag if you have the right swimming equipement with you“ „No you do not have to check that, I just want to shower and have a swim here, this is a public pool paid by us taxpayers, right?“ „You need to present swim shoes, a new pair of bathing trousers and a bathing cap and bathing glasses“ „No I do not have to present that, I just want to get in“ „I am AOI, I am AOI, we are ready now we are ready now or you go to tow and buy everything new“ he shrieked. „Ok, then I just go in for a shower, I do not swim then“. He stared at me in utter disgust and disbelief. „Whaaat? Nooo I can’t do that I can’t do that! Impossible Impossible“
I went away, cursed him to such an extent that he shriekd in agony like an insect whose legs had been removed by sadistic 12 year old boys, letting the spider to rot and leaving him in agony and watched through the huge windows on the elegant swimming pool with racing tracks for about 500 people: Nobody was swimming there on that hot day. It was completely empty.
The police followed me in a Land Rover with four officers sitting inside all around town after that and was passing by every 10 minutes when I was waiting for bus out under the Horus eye in the centre. I felt like in a colonial movie, but I could not determine the geolocation.

I decided to not wash at all for ten days after that to give the Portugese another aspect scent of myself. The garlic for that I ate raw and fresh every day. They did not even dared to ask me for a ticket in trains or money after this. I was sitting in busses and trains and even restaurants without paying and they did not even ask me for it and remained friendly and kept away.  I walked into fancy fish restaurants after ten days without any washing myself anywhere with dirt stained clothes and was served food without any demand of payment with an absolutely friendly attitude. Meanwhoile I was writing articles in the resaurants. Then I showered and cleaned everything and it was back to point zero again, as if nothing has happened. If you have to be with occultists and black magicians as the Portugese, you have to give them a sign, a little symbol or hint that you may also be from the abyss if they want you that way..
So I checked in in Lisboa, the capitol of that darkgrey and sinistre stripe of land in disguise with brushed teeth, clean clothes and shining and brushed heini and dick and was surprised about their fancy shopping malls around the railway station and everywhere, replacing the old village like shops and restaurants. At least nobody tried to throw dogshit at me here and denied me a bath later. But they had huge malls and shopping complexes everywhere where they seemed to live, the Portugese youth. But at least they have one, a young generation, they did not stop procreating despite their dull and saudade vibe. The women were kind of non-existent but they produced children, that was marvellous. Sex was not in the public ind at all in Portugal, much less than in Spain or Italy, not to speak of France, but they had a teenager generation doing it everywhere among themselves.
A real Movida was roaming around there with loads of young girls and their boyfriends shopping in chain stores and I was displaying my best mood when asking for the connection to the famous camping ground of Lisboa where we were hanging around thirty years ago or even twenty years ago with campers and long hair , short hair and joints and a lot of visions of a better life.

The butcher realities of live followed all of us after that, mostly unseen and rarely felt during our lives wherever we went – because we have been watched since they were there. Our vibration was the natural enemy of the AOI and it went through and they did not stop eradicating it until the last Mensa of Germany was free of any political, social and cultural agenda except that of the AOI.
There is a special magic when I am travelling and arrive at a new town or vilage or bus station: they play along with me, the gods and ghosts and spirits of the safe journey are all around them and they can not disbehave as they would like to do – that changes when the spirits dissolve and go away, when I become a „stayer“ a resident  the day after the next day, just a person who has decided to stay there for a while. Then the jerks in shops, cafes and restaurants behave different. They do not turn to enemies but the magic of the contact has gone, I am not a mysterious wanderer anymore, they piss around.

I made a little sacrifice with what I had for the god of the ocean once when I was in Norway on an island that was known for being the gods home once and Njoerd’s especially and it has created exactly that vibe: I was welcome everywhere in Norway and that remained, it stayed until we left weeks later without any problem at all. We had not one day of rain in weeks in Norway and although the car had a axle damage all the time it never stopped running like new off road vehicle on the smallest tracks and dirt roads.

The Lisboa camping was also nice, as I knew it fom the eighties. I was camping in the woods nearby because I did not want to disturb the AOI agents at the camping ground and the Verfassungsschutz from Hannover with their extra long hair who already stared at me with insect like dead killer eyes and went to the camping only to eat and write in there old fashioned camping ground cantina. That was possible, I asked them politely and under the thousand electronic eyes I walked in and seated myself in the restaurant to have breakfast. That worked out even when I plugged in my notebook to write, I thought, an action that is nowhere to be seen in Southern Europe and France these days, you will be reported immediately to police ans AOI for further action. They even rip your plug out of the wall in Galicia for being a writer not registered with the fascist or regionalist or gang or however they call that turd somebody has created for them – something phony to believe in in a shallow attempt to copy the real things we did before.

But a camping is a camping, many independent people around, many freaks and individualists I thought and how I remembered it . A Camping was always a break from the common mans live even when the common man tried to imitate his common man live in the camping ground to such an extent that it was not even ridicoulos anymore: they rebuild even their wooden fence from home on the camping. And today they rebuild the harassement and the electronic surveilance and the snitching on the camping ground so you can not miss home. “No blody difference from home Janie, I got three complaints with the local police for pissing in the neighbors garden. It was all on tape, and my dick was cut out.”
 
So it worked well in the beginning, I took my breakfast there and wrote when I was approached by the first  AOI agent: a long haired German freak obviously working for the AOI.

„We haven’t done anything, no we have’t done anything real-.We have just phoned his employer that he has a side job selling child pornography to the Revolutionary Cells. We haven’t done anything, we haven’t DONE anything“. Agent Jointpapers head shook for and back in wild convulsions. „ But this person is much too young to have any conections with the Revolitionbary Cells and he never had any contact with children. How can you make such a thing up, Jointpaper, you nearly destroyed his life.“ Jointpaper shook forth and back and his long hair was blowing in the nonexistent winds: „I have not done anything, I just protected innocent people s life, I had the impression and then the obligation that he is doing this like  that, I haven’t done anything“ He then banged his head on the desk, a stunt he had learnt in a workshop with Donny, a fake pschychotherapist who had studied two semesters of dietetics in Pforzheim and then worked for Herbaway but was kicked out because he tried to promote sales by giving free anilingus to old housemen with hemorhhoids.

He stared at me and I knew it was over. That was all. Just one look from evil eyes under greasy long freak hair staring at me full of hatred from German AOI. I looked away and minded my business, writing and eating, because food is a thing the Portugese can handle sometimes. I admit that, I give it to them,they are black magicians and you need some magic to cook.  But it was changed from that moment on. He sat outside on the terrace – a typical figure from Northern Germany, Hannover or the like, slick and slippery with an evil grin and the full and hundred percent freak from the old times. He had off course been busted several times before he betrayed all of his friends and the cops pushed him over to AOI who sent him abroad to snitch and lie about others on file. „Yes men, I am with the Killer Ants, you know, still the best in old style straight rock music.“

I went back to the forests around that part of Lisboa where the poorest of the poor live in housing complexes and the communist party of the old time has still its strongholds. Some houses are empty, others are closed with boards nailed into the walls and the police is constantly driving around the blocks, flashing blue lights without any reasons and shouting „Salve Salazar“ while looking like the black guy from A-Team with a futuristic Mad Max haircut.
I had a good spot there in the woods with a view and just went into my sleeping bag when the summing, buzzing and hissing began. „Bzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzzz“ in my ears and then in my skull. My cheeks began to react and tensions arose inside, I got rash symptomes and stood up. It was impossible to stay, that little piece of shit had called his AOI officers and they had called the police here. I packed my shit together and hid it in a hollow tree and walked some kilometres to the camping ground. The hiss, summing and buzzing intensified. I stood outside the fence and watched the cell phone towers nearby and could really feel the evil vibration from them oozing about the landscape and the epicentre was the camping ground. Campers and cars were waiting at the gate to escape the AOI attack and drive away. 

A young family with their crying baby was standing at the gate and were waiting for an escape. She had the baby in her arm but it could not be calmed. I could not be calmed, it was so horrible as if they tried to reenact the Iraqui war in the desert where they destroyed the Iraqui army by electronic attacks like this. I ran back to the street and jumped into the next bus passing by and stepped out after five kilometers. It was absolutely silent. No hissing, no buzzing to be heard, it felt like the old southern Europe again, there was a little glimpse of the magic of a night in the south without noises created in your skull and ears by electronic disturbance. They have even crossed that border and destroyed the inner peace of all humans. There will be children in the future who have never ever experienced an inner silence at all. Even in their mothers womb they hear that disgusting hissing and buzzing of the AOI.

Copyright 2019 by Ronald C. Kaiser

Che Guevara’s saudade homeplay

Portugal was always the dream of some unexplained and shady freaks based on the memories of the only left wing military coup in known history. As the myth is told to us over and over again, the catholic radio played a pathetic song, „Grandola Vila Morena“ two times and 48 hours later the whole Salazar dictatorship of that stripe of land in the Atlantic was finished by juicy, bearded radical left soldiers in  boots kicking in doors of evil fascists politicians and generals, ordering them to step out and….retire with full pensions plus villa on the Azores. 

When I was pubescent I grew up with endless news features about demonstrations and clashes between the Communist party and the Socialist party of Portugal that made my father not even grin but yawn when he was watching news features endlessly from his TV chair wearing special glasses with giant magnifying lenses that made him look like a insect watching the prey.
Since he was working for the semi-fascist, proto fascist, krypto fascist, post fascist, liberal „citizens in uniforms“ German army of the seventies and eighties who were persecuting anything real left even close to their universe and tried to persuade the US to invade Russia again and get the full evenge of the Russina in Germany without doubt  – that made me wonder. He wasn’t a fascist at all, to the contrary, he hated violence and extremism and grew up with his socialist uncle in the Nazi area who had always a loaded semi-automatic under his pillow to shoot down any Nazi SS and Hitler Jugend mugface when they would come to take him or one of his family from his farm in Duesseldorf. He never had to do it but he unloaded that 9mm gun in the air from his balcony from time to time after reading the Völkische Beobachter to make sure it does not jam when they would come. That was not even commented by the Nazis of Duesseldorf because they needed his eggs, chicken and vegetables and fruits, because he sold a lot to almost anone. My father told me many times how he and his friends were harassed by Hitler Jugend members in Duesseldorf for being non members but visiting the movies and to chase girls in town and living with the antifascist uncle and his family. They were always walking behind them and made ugly remarks before the beatings began.

But he knew it was not real real, the story in Portugal, it was all done before it even started. It was just a game of the US and NATO to get rid off the old fashioned Franco regime style Nazis there before he was dead. No reservation in Portugal for the horrible fascist scum of Spain after it was over there, after Franco’s long hoped death. That was all, a planned regime change in both countires was on the way, the old fashioned fascism based on Ständestaat, a rigid structured class and caste state and torture was out, it could not be taken into the eighties.


General Tortuga invites the AOI crew to a kick off meeting 1971 in Tras os Montes:

„My dear camerades and friends we have reached the final state of our planning for our new recreation facilities in Tras Os Montes for the last 5000 anarchists and communists of Portugal to be reeducated together with their children and relatives. It will be ready for the new decade just two years before in 1978 and be named Colonia Fraternidad Salazar in memory of our great passed leader with full equipment of the coming modern age as giant flood light stadium to combine light therapy with radiation and later selection of the most unpleasant objects by behavioural sciences.“
AOI agent Carvalho de Bacalhao did not stand up, he was shooting up and applauded: „ Our dearest thank you, my dear General, we will be happy to receive your contributions to a new world as test humans to our Geneva and Vienna offices, will you dear General“. He was so overwhelmed that he began to grab at the generals shoulders and drew him towards and tried to kiss hím on the cheeks. „Make sure that Franco will not die, he must not die, do you hear me?“ The general looked disgusted and said: „Take that maricon away from me, I feel polluted by his greasy slime but let’s lift the spirit by some food: Beans Tras Montes Ninos from my farm here: we forcefed some communist children and slaughtered them to take their fatty belly flesh. Let’s dine with Vinho Verde and eat Tras Montes Ninos camerades!“
Agent Bacalhao slurped out of his mouths edges and mumbled: „Oh my general, oh my general, you know mý deepest fears and wishes, can I fuck the cooked corpse, can I fuck the cooked corpse, do you still have the legs and the genitals and anus in one piece? It would be something sooo special as they did in France with the royals before, pleeaase general!?“
General Tortuga took out his pistol and shot agent Bacalhao in the genitals twice. Bacalhao shrieked and ejaculated in his pants and yelled: “That was ssooo good general, that was soo good, so intense ‘Come and take me higher, come and take me higher’ imitating Richie Havens in Woodstock while he spasmed and vomited on the intarsia floor of the hacienda in Tras Os Montes.
„Can I do it, General“ whispered Corporal De Cauvlhar and took out a 45 Colt and shot AOI agent Carvalhao de Bacalhao through the head. The huge bullet ripped away half of his skull and half of his brains splashed out and parts landed on General Tortugas uniform. He took his riding whip rom under his arm and beat the Corporal in the face with full force so his cheeks ripped open and the applauding bystanders could see his teeth from the side. „Bravo, bravo, General, you still know how to lead humans, you still know.“ The Corporal took his 45 ,out it into his mouth and pulled the trigger. This time the brain landed on the floor while the bullet hit the celing and the roughcast drizzled on the aplauding audience.
„See what you get with ordinary folk, the General concluded, they finish always before the real fun starts and pushed a button in front of him. The dinner ensemble was rolled in and showed the body of a fat child, maybe 9 years old without head and legs with an enormous belly already cut into filet pieces that consisted to eighty percent of pure fat with some meaty inclusions.
„Sit down and help yourself ladies and gentlemen. The little anarchist was beaten to death in front of his parents in our camp, so the meat is softer“
The small crowd of AOI agents and Portugese fascist apllauded frenetically and began to take out fat slices from the childs belly with silver cutlery and heaped it on their fine porcelaine plates.

So it was his bored yawning while the news brought in always the same pictures and clips of mass demonstrations in Lisboa and Porto that made me cautious about the Portugese revolution. My father had to play the always concerned commie eater sometimes in public to gain some ground at least in the post war German society, since he was of west-slavic Wendic origin and so secretely behind the grapevine called „artfremd“ – not a real member of Arian society. But he did not take that for serious, he just had to play it right so he did not snitch on neighbors for being „left“ as it was and is expected from any German civil servant. And my mothers commented: „look at this, communists fighting socialists, what can we say, what can we do, we are all so afraid they will come here and take out my Bauknecht fitted kitchen and steal it and make campfires from it.“ My father yawned again in his TV chair and said: „the boys at the Bundeswehr are sitting on their seabag waiting to be parachuted down there to take them on, fucking soviet scum there, let’s watch the third repetition of Derrick on the third, that is save entertainment.“ That made it clear to me that he had to talk bullshit at his office and that this shit was unreal a bit I thought and my parents were playing a game like from the todays sitcoms because they both felt so bored but could not really express themeselves. 
 
Otherwise he would have played the agitated army fool but never did, instead he yawned horribly always. And I never took it serious, since they jailed the only real revolutionaries over and over again and the ugly brown faces showed up in any Portugese party again and remained in power, so it was over in 1978 at least.
But nevertheless the bands of freaks and so called left radicals moved to Portugal as if it was the promised land and they only whispered about it „yeah man we have a cool place for our campers, we are fifty Germans there now, absolutely secret and cool man. Psst man, it is in the Algarve“ I never got it, never, we went to Morocco, that was magic of its own in the seventies and eighties, Croby, Stills, Nash and Young all around with, magical journeys into the completely unexpected were always avalaible for free, and that was reaL when we went there in 1979 and later. Suddenly I had a French knive in my hand and showed a Morroccan dealer in our hotel room how good I could slice throats as if they were bloody melons. „It’s just fucking melons to me man, your two sick assholes dirty throats are just melons to be cut“ . That just happend and I did exactly the right thing without even thinking about it and it was all pure magic as if we were in bubble outside time and space and that was all good. They went away and we got our peace back and I still did not know how this happened.
That was even taken to the top in India later and in another ball play reality was altered to an enormous extent in real socialist block countries everywhere but what the fuck was Portugal? I never got that, pure mystery since they do not even had girls or women at all, never until today. Most of them were squareheads of enormous dimensions or fascists with a superstitous believe system that blows your mind. Many women still do not know what their monthly menstruation means really. The communists there tended to report anybody not communist to their communist police friends and then to the AOI, especially anarchists who get the axe later back home. 
 
So I guessed it was a kind of ultra left wing takeover that created that draft of young people to Portugal in the late seventies and through the eighties until the mid nineties still. I could not see anything else when we made a huge journey through and around Spain and Portugal in the mid eighties. Visiting El Ferrol de Caudillo was a special challenge since it meant the first direct approach with actual fascism in the birthplace of Franco. I could see all those tidy and clean Spanish families at the beach staring at us as if we were intruders from space, making ugly remarks about us from time to time. That was in the praised Galicia in the time of the „Movida“ when Spain was suddenly so liberal and radical left and creative with Almodovar all over the place, teaching us how advanced and funny postfascist Spain was.
 
Have you seen those communists over there?“ „Those with the short hair there“ „Yes they look like communists, they are both reading books“ Miguel have you seen this, communists are reading here in El Ferrol the Mao bible.“ „Where is little Maria, where is my little daughter, whre is my littly daughter?“ „Maybe they have taken her and somebody is taken her to some comunist commune in Nicaragua. They have that French car over there, look at it look at it. Go search my little Maria on the beach, pray to Saint Alfonso for help, pray to Saint Alfonso, she went shrieking and crying at the beach of El Ferrol de Caudillo.
I saw the strange Spanish action going on there some time after we arrived on that beach and told my girlfriend we had to leave. They were staring at us and we just packed and left. That is typical for Spanish fascists: blaming something on you that has never happened, it is never a concindence there, never, because I saw how that fascist Spanish cunt has taken little Maria away minute before that rant against us.
But Portugal was still the promised land in 1985. „Soldiers and policemen looked like little Che Guevaras“ they wrote in alternative music magazines. I never found those Che Guervaras in Portugal in the eighties, I never found those briliant revolutionary communes in Alentjo, I never found those brizzling camps of German and other freaks in the Algarve living a new live, but some lame pretenders from Germany and other alternative scenes who could not perform on any political analysis with me at all or even on a anarcho-syndicalist way of getting along with each other. They just parked there pretentious campers somewhere along the coast and where revolutionaries when they lit a joint. And in the small bars and restaurants I found only backward, lame and stubborn farmer people or plain idiots from the PCP, the communist party, serving some good Vinho Verde, but what was it about? I still remember the boredom it created inside me. And today they are still there, thirty years later, wearing a leather west and old jeans, running an old self meade huge camper placed under the disturbance radio transmitter places everywhere in this country by the Portugese Che Guevara army and police and knowing you and everything and next morning you find cigarette ash in your coffee at the localshop served with a greasy smile. And I still did not find out what they are doing there.
They most probabyly were working for the AOI and were squeezing information about any foreigner for money and gratitude from Germany and the police. No, you are not worth writing about you, you do not exist and you never existed. I am really as sory as I was in 1985.

German freaks in the Western Algarve 2018: „We are staying here over the winter, what do you do here?“ „Looking for a place to write without being disturbed too much“ „We are having so much trouble here with antisocial people, you know, we do not want antisocial people here at all“ „No I do not know about that at all“ „ They are like the people before here you know, make party and everything, disturb society, the police does not like that at all.“ „I have seen the police in Lagos, they are so brown that they would throw out Salazar for being to left.“ „I you think like that, you must leave, you must leave here, do you understand“. „Yes I understand that you are maybe brown as well.“ He was wearing the typical old working class cap, a leather jacket and jeans with short blond hair and posed as an eigties to nineties antifascist activist from some German big town and hasted away on his bycicle only to phone his AOI contact officer back home fifty meters from his special edition smartphone away when I passed him again. Things have not changed at all in Portugal since the early eighties except for the army style disturbance radio transmitters every fife or ten kilometers. But still the AOI wants to clean out all those places around the world since 1980. „For the cause but we can not tell you what that is:“

I travelled to Portugal in 2018 without any remarkable memories except those of saudade means I don’t know what to do really but I indulge in expectations and delusions and found the nice town of Tavira at the Algarve, the one without rocks. It was so crowded with tourists and old houses and cafes, I coud not believe it. I asked around for a camping ground and was told the same story all over again: it is at the outskirts of town on a small island and a boat can take you there. So I was full of adventorous nspirit again that is absolutely displaced in Germanys Europe these days, it is an emotion so far away from the imported German Democratic AOI Republic Margot Honecker vibe nobody can imagine. I asked around for a boat to that magical island with a camping ground and was more and more angrily send away the more I asked. „No more camping , no boat, you understand!“ that was the last utterance of annoyance for me from an old skipper, the first glimpse of reality I was unaware of. I could not believe it, has everybody lied to me before? I walked on to find a taxi to ask and there they were:the pride of the Portugese tourisms industry: the green-black fleet ready to serve. I told the driver about bvthe camping and he said: yes thwere is a ferry to that small island And he drobve me there. He stopped about meters apart from the ferry landing point and eagerly took my travel bag oiut of his limousine and droped it on the ground and disapperead as quick as he could. I approached the landing point where some men where cleaning their diving gear and asked when the ferry could take me to the nother side: „No more camping, no more camping, we don’t want these people here, you understand?!“ I did not understand a word and asked again and they ignored me totally. I had to carry my bag three or four kilometers back to the bus station to leave Tavira. But I had learned a lesson what saudade means and I still had not met a Che Guevara again in Portugal.

So it was Faro then and I decided to go in there clandestine style after that brilliant overtour in Tavira. So I sneaked around that old fashioned looking town and just ringed at a friendly looking door with a „Hostal“ sign. The summer buzzed and it opened and there it was: the pride of Europe’s hostel industry: a crew of young gays with Bürstenschnitt and sixpack plus one woman for the record who were all raping their smartphones because somebody has told them that something would come out of it that would help them to overcome their generations shere idiocy. It did not help at all. It was too smart, too slick, too vintage, too stylish for 20 Euros, too many stickers and leaflets on the walls, too many fake guitar players with smart phones, too many. I checked in an four bed dorm alone and whooooom, after one hour the AOI had placed one of their agents directly next to me, a Bavarian snmartass talking about his son and his surf business all the time. I met him inntown later when he was following me. The next morning he told me he could not stay in one room with me, becasue I was jerking off vall night and was snoaring when I was not jerking off. I thanked him and wshed him good luck with his anal intercourse with agent Sweetlick. He handed the stick over to a French AOI agent who just travelledfrom the next big town every day to the hostal just to sleep thiere to wathc me and my writiung, that was all he does. He appeared late night and asked me in the morning what I was doing.

„I am writing about homesexual orgies in todays hostel world. Did you see me last night jerking off and hear me snoaring so loud that you maybe had to leave?“ „No, we wereboth alone, the German chubby slept in another hotel, he has tow rooms.“ do you believee he is an agent of any kind because he told me I was jerking off and snoaring all night and was spreading this in the whole hostel?“ „No he is not a agent, he is just Sweetlicks anal slave and runing gay parties in four and five star hotels.“ „Yeah merci beaucoup mon ami, I am chasing girls by the way when I am not writing.“ „Yes I complained about you that you did not have sex with me last night in spite I am younger and more attractive than you and the Bavarian AOI man“ „Got you, you admitted he is AOI“ „Oh, pardon, do you spank me for that?“
I left the room for breakfast and was watched with a smile by the girl in charge who was working, imitating an in the air version of jerking off for thze AOI while the gay sixpack crew were dating like hungry animals with their smartphones and were shaing with thier nheads and bodies and were moaning when they got axed by someone. After breakfast I showed off with my notebook and was writing fast and concentrated. That works out mostly in the beginning, they think it is cool unless somebody tells them „something“. The AOI has its little agents running around everywhere backtalking against you when you are seen writing. „How do long do you want to stay in my cafe?“ „Well I just arrived and do not even sit, why do you ask“ „You have to ask first when you want to sit here and write with my elecrtricity“. He unpluggeed my notebook and I paid him by putting the coins into the full cup of hot coffee: „Tip is included, officer“ and made the fuck out of there.
So I was playing the old traveller tune and was talking with some oldtimers in the hostel, I was writing and eating in cheap restaurants while the police was watching me always. Sneaking around me in the MacDonalds and cafes, making stupid remarks behind my back but that was durable. The Bavarian AOI was gone and the French AOI always came late night and questioned me in the morning. The crew forgot about the Bavarian slander with my dick, it was too obviously gayish behaviour and that was always cool and accepted. Everything turned sour when I began to feel at home a little bit, when I went to the laundromate and returned with my laundry I knew from their looks it was over. It is alwys then, when the AOI is harassing and following you, you get the clap when you feel at home a bit, They can not accept that at all. It is the inner indicator that something bad will happen. It is not personal at all. It is part of their master plan to destroy anything from the past, the „home feeling“ evokes utter disgust in an AOI agent, he wil bring you to jail for that soon. Because „home“ does not exist for the AOI as well as „Love“ because you can not scientifically verify it.

You can only accept and worship what is directly around you at the moment. Since humans do not respond to that primitivism well the AOI is now destroying the brain parts where the home and love is living by electronic radiation in a huge program. So after I build up a small social environment, knew some people in the lodge and had my places in town and was actually writing the AOI hit back.
„You are going in and out quite frequently“ that was all she said and I knew it was my last night and a night without sleep.
„Yes, I was just doing my laundry and before I met somenbody, thank you for being so interested“.

Upstairs in my room both of my AOI friends were there. The Bavarian was back and the French AOI agent was also there. I did not say a word bu went to bed when the summing and buzzing started: they had turned on the super strong WIFI as it is called in the new hostel language, meaning that the harass you to the utter extrem if there is the slightest complaint about you or if you show a behaviour not accepted by the AOI. I could not sleep but stayed in an intermdiary room hosted by the AOI electronic mindcontrol harassemnet programm. You lose the time frame a bit but you can not fall into sleep, because there is the buzzing. If you have this long enough, there is no more room for „Love“ or „Home“ in your brain and soul.
I know I was watched and recorded the whole night by the two agents and wrapped myself tight into the sheets and waited for the morning in my mind controled state. As soon as the light came I got up and left without saying a word. The whole gay sixopack crew and the girl was waiting for me downstairs and the breakfast was ready. I was so friendly I skipped it and the girl was waiting for the slightest comment from my side to file a complaint. That is the first AOI lesson: file a complaint and hand it to the police.

I remembered another lodge I had seen an my arrival and boom:I found it. The super gay owner was friendly, it looked old fashioned without being vintage or posh and it vwas cheap. The owner was small and had a grey beard and wanted to date me immediately. That was funny but he wasd too active in talking to me and advertisning some functions, so I had spotted the next AOI agent and was just wondering how ist would happen.

I liked Faro quite a lot then and did some good writing when I was strolling around and heard csome good jazz live music and stepped into an old house entrance where about hundred people were drinking, talking and lsitening to the music. It was just like in the eighties, but not vintage AOI style but real: an anarchists party as it was sin the eoghties with cool girls and hard men and I was invited to sit down and share. That was beautiful and drove a taer to my eyes snce I had not seen anything like that since more than twenty years. That cool way they were playing was extinct in germany for about twenty years at least. I sat there drinking white wine when a nice lady an a daughter were taking place. They were both elegant and freaky and Daddy was in nthe back off course but that did not hinder me from enjoying that as the rest. I displayed my best manners but felt sad because that is all killed oin germany a long time ago and so many people are dead or work for the AOI that I coukd not stand it anymore. I said the beautifiuld girls goodbye and went back to the lodge. There was a guy from Slovakia waiting for me, who wa sso absolutely weird that I was clos to not staying there. Slovakia? Where the most brutal men in Europecome from, and they are rare abroad.
The owner was sooo happy nmto see me and we talked with his father about the 1974 revolution and city development and the nice alternative party I just visited. I knew the price for that but did it. I did not want vto play the idiot but told him what I thought and he was so happy to talk with me.

Next morning I woke up with all my fingers and toes and my money and wanted to meet the owner to pay for the next night. Other guests were all around him and he stood up pointing at me and shriked: „I have to talk to you!“ „Why not, go ahead“ I nsaid: „You can not stay here anymore, all rooms are booked, you have tomleave now!“ And I turned around and saw his father carrying my travel bag out of my romm. „Boosh“ it made , when he crashed it on the floor. Where it was waiting for me to be taken out of Portugal



Copyright 2018: Ronald C. Kaiser

Hill Tribe attacks in the Goralistan Mountains

Warsawa can today not be called the pearl under the East European cities precisely. Compared to Prague it lacks some basics even modern day travellers who are far away from the Beats or Hippies or alternative shoestring travellers demand as in Tony Wheeler’s bygone days: a bohemiesk population, girls with esprit, delightful local restaurants with well cooked local delicacies, friendly people on squares who recommend cheap hostels and pensions that really exist to name just a few. 

But Warsawa has an impressive railway station when you arrive for example from the Baltic sea baths and head on to phantastic hilltribes in the Tatra mountains. Outside there are huge and gigantic buldings from the Soviet area that are still impressive, alternating with architectural turds constructed by former pubescent readers of Perry Rhodan booklets who later joined some European commission for the benefit of humanity. So the contemporary architectural nightmare and Baustellen-Marathon are one big disadvantage when coming to Warsaw the first time. Accompanied by a general population that is so absolutely hating any foreigner who does not behave Polish, does not speak Polish and is not Polish, “POLSKI??!!”
Warsaw Main Station Information Reception Desk: “One ticket to Panjesackowje please” no answer but hectic behaviour of a middle age Polish woman with curly black Dauerwellen and glasses. “Excuse me please, I want to go to Panjesackowje by train or to the next train station near Panjesackowje please”. “Njet Njet Panjosackowje!!” “OK, but then the next train station near to Panjosackowje please” “Njet Njet no ticket no ticket!” “Don’t you speak english a bit Madam? This is Warsawa main station international information desk?!” “Njet Njet, Polski, Polski, no ticket no ticket”. I tried another attempt when I was pushed away by an elderly gentleman with a Schiebermütze, grey well cut cut beard, exquisite walking stick, quite expensive Lodenjacke and shiny leather shoes. He began to talk in Polish to her and was served perfectly well and shoved his ass in front of me when I decided to drop my good manners: “what the hell are you doing now in front of me, old man, I was just enquiring” She did not react a bit to that intervention but finished conversation with the intruder when I pushed him away with my behind and talked to hear again “Are you always that unpolite? I asked you for a connection to Panjosackowje, this is an information desk right of the main station of the capital Warsawa in the middle of the bloody European Union? Is that right or are you the desk cleaner here?” “BUS STATION BUS STATION!!” she shouted and cried “BUS STATION BUS STATION” “So where is the bus station then madam?” “NJET NJET NJET BUS!” “So could you please give me hint where the Grand Bus Station of Warsawa is?” She stood up behind her desk and the old intruder tried again to push me away because I guess he thought conversation was finished when I kicked his suitcase some meters away to get some space for more enquiries at Warsaw Main Station Information Reception Desk. That worked out quite well because she was now pointing to some direction with her index finger and red sweaty face. “Thank you very much madam” I said and went away, passing the suitcase of that old fart not giving it a kick this time but said to him: “don’t try hat again with me at the bus station you idiot, we all know you are AOI”, I showed him an old long term ticket from Amsterdam with my photo in it and went away quickly but nobody was even watching or raising an eybrow because that was all regarded as decent behaviour there. 

I asked several other people in that giant railway station where the bus station is and nobody even tried to listen or answer. But they also did not ignore me but disrespected me in a peculiar way I have only seen in Eastern Europe so far. Not in the Baltic region, they play it differently, but especially in Poland and some other Eastern states they are into a special blend of ignorance plus a vicious kind of annoyance about my shere existence as a foreign invader that I appreciate as a unique theatre so far.
So what you do then without signs, signals and real information: ask a taxi driver they were always travellers friends in the world I knew and off course they were lined up also outside Warsawa Railway Station ready to be asked, what I did. They did not understand the word ‘bus station’ at all or pointed all in different directions. I got a little angry about that policy because I would have taken a taxi perhaps if they would have told me but without any sign of human politeness I denied them that service plus income because sometimes they claim to know, there, and instead drive you to the next German run hotel to hand me over to the really best service. That has happened to me before twice but I always gave them a chance to behave like travellers friends. “Ah come on I said, just tell me how to get to the Main Bus Station for national and international busses here” “KURVA” he shouted and closed his window. I made my way along the line of waiting taxis to just annoy those bitches in there. They were all shutting down when I came and asked when suddenly one of them opened the door, pointed his index finger to his head and shouted “KURVA , Metro, KURVA” and pointed to some direction where I went and I found a metro station passing his “IDIOT! KURVA! METRO! IDIOT!”
I went down and saw a good looking woman in her mid-twenties with high heels and leather pants and asked her: “Do you know the way to the bus station for international and overland busses maybe” “Ohhh off course” she replied in good english, ” just take line number four platform three, and get out at Sejmskaja station, there you find all busses, national and international, where are you going?” she asked so interested. “To Panjesackowje!”, she smiled now with a different tone, pity and remorse in it that she ever liked me and talked to me before I guess, as if I had just told her I would go to run a rentboy service over there or fingerbang her dog and said “good luck” and turned away. “How did I manage to blow this one”, I asked myself, the usual suspects are not in sight. The inner depths and beauties of a Polish soul were still an unexplored territory to me so far. So I moved on to the very wild and remote areas to embrace it there, I hoped.
 
I did take the bus from Warsawa bus station that was a delight by the way compared to the growing sterility of railway central station. There were local shops and a local restaurant with Polish housewifes delicacies cooked and served by a Polish housewife with thick glasses and chubby figure who was into me from the moment on I ate half of her foodstock away but her husband had the sixth sense for what was going on and began to grunt and howl with anger when I even looked up from my plate. I ate beetroots with kasha and pork with mushrooms when I looked up to greet the cook who was staring at me from behind her reception desk “bang, bang” it went and some pots and pans were dropped on the floor by her husband who shouted loud and everybody looked up to stare at me.
This was a base of real Polish spirituality I believe wholeheartedly even today: the deep caring of Polish housewife types for passing strangers who whorship their food arts and the danger behind that because they always have an angry husband with moustache in the back and his fellow countrymen. And that is wonderful and intriguing but keep it in mind that you might get one full swing and lie there on your back without front teeth and nobody gives a shit. But: don’t give up. There are cheap dentists available everywhere in Poland - the countr is famous for that, I don't know why.

The bus was the usual nightmare, it just stopped there one time since departure from another town and when I climbed in there was the full program of a driver who has never stopped for the last 800 km before and some “exciting music” everywhere to be heard in the bus as they call the electronic devices from KURVA Electronics Ltd. to calm down the passengers in spite of their red swollen faces and tinnitus after the journey because the bus never stops with its “music” and peps up the driver at the same time by different devices in front of him so he sees no need to ever stop because he does not feel a damn thing. That is what they believe the devices of KURVA Electronics Ltd. are good for. They never turn them off, never, even if Mother Mary would ask them, they would not without explanation, because ‘it’s good’.

I suspect the usual suspects behind that: Agents of INTERZONE, AOI as they call themselves sometimes, because nobody on this planet would ever do such a thing except the AOI. They must have a secret agenda nobody would ever dare to imagine or could sense. I entered that disaster area of an international overland bus with the help of a fellow traveller from Salzburg in Austria, who approached me at the bus station just a minute before to “take care of me and help me out of the most miserable situation here by those unfriendly Polish fellows who are not allowed to speak anything but Polish” . “Yes I realized that” I told him, some very strange behaviour at information points even in the central station, I have never seen anything like that in 35 years of travelling, also the non explanation of that behaviour. Even in the African bush they told you after a while: “we are not allowed to talk to strangers”. He watched me with a sinistre look suddenly and stretched his arm in front of him and made a movement like ‘calm down’ by raising and lowering his hand rhytmically. “We are all not very young anymore and should all be patient and quiet” he told me sitting  for the sake of all gods in another row of the bus, not next to me because I managed to keep him away a bit from me and my money “I can feel that vibration of yours because I am a psychologist from Salzburg and do not like this at all because I am here to enjoy myself in my vacations, we are all not so young and healthy anymore” “That is cool” I answered, because I am a psychologist and anthropologist from Berlin and we could start a convention here about Polish national charactre”. He did not touch that line at all but said: “there is no battery in your notebook, why are you playing to use it?” “That is another secret hole the battery is here" I raised my notebook and showed him the intestines of my working machine. “we will get along well” he said, I can hook you up in Panjesackowje, I have many friends there, beautiful people there and very helpful, how much do you want to pay for a hotel, fifteen Euros, ten Euros or three Euros?” “Yes I am going for that” I answered”. I just met a nice young lady who was so delighted with my destination Panjesackowje that she even tried to give me a free blow job at the metro station spontaneously". He looked at me with a horrified expression of disgust and leaned over a bit to catch a glimpse of my scrotch so he could see my dick and my Hodensack in my pants, as I realized immediately. “I am psychologist he said and I have bank accounts everywhere, even in Denmark and Sweden, so I told you before do not spray bad energy around, I feel that everywhere here around us.” “How did you get a bank account in Denmark, Sweden and Norway, I mean that is pretty difficult for a foreigner, but never mind hook me up with a good hotel in Panjesackowje where I can do a good old fashioned seeing thru with a good looking horny and juicy prosi of the town, tight ass and big tits please, will you? And no complaints from the hotel staff, I hate that” That did shut him up all the way from Warsawa to Panjesackowje about seven hours “ all non stop but with “music”.

In Panjesackowje he waited for me patiently outside the bus and said: “I have two or three hotels for you: from 70 to 80 Szloty” “Wow" I said, “let’s hear and he told me. “Well thank you very much I said, how can I thank you for your gratitude and your wisdom you presented to me for free? ” He smelled my rat: “Yes yes, I will stay with my friends and leave you out of our kleine Gemeinschaft." Oh yes, I said, my full understanding, my full and complete understanding, I am not read yet your circles and wisdom" and I made kinky gay gesture and shook his hand that was soft as dough and barely unfeelable - I felt like vomiting and then butchering him up. I just went away without waiting for anything else for example another invitation to a Good Ole Boy Party with pants down or anything and out of curiosity I went to the first option he told me to see what this was about.

It was a typical big Polish two or two and a halfstar hotel with a chubby receptionist and more than 200 rooms eagerly waiting for me to explore the underlying Polish spirituality.. “Do you have a reservation?” “Yes off course I have I said, I have a reservation and personal recommendation of Mr. Salzburg from the AOI just from the bus ride from Warsawa.” I showed her my old Dutch tram ticket passport with photo. "OK we can take you for just one night". Why is that, Mr. Salzburg is a high ranking AOI officer and psychiatrist and I want to stay on your premises for about a week. I pay in advance, no problem.”
“Tomorrow is all fully booked, we are full of children here, you know, all full of children, but tonight there is also a boys class here, I hope they do not disturb you to much” No, absolutely not" I said, because I decided to move on to a better equipped building.” Why not stay?” she asked. "because I like real sized women you know and gave her my most intriguing smiley look because I felt horny as hell suddenly” she made herself available. She felt good with that and began to ask, as they always do when they are really interested and eager to see if they are not going to fuck a monster from a swamp but want to fuck. “What about Mr. Salzburg from the bus, your old friend” “I never said he is an old friend of mine but I know he was just brought to the hospital here” I said” I pushed him in front of a stopping bus and everybody applaused and gave me presents". She did not raise an eyebrow: “So what about us ?”she said without wasting time. Do you have time off now, because I have to search for a new hotel after”
She put a billboard on her desk “Off duty, come back in 30 minutes” “I see you have a tight schedule” I intervened, “is that enough?” “Yes I am tight as well” “Good to hear that, so …”and she went off to a hotel room in the third floor, undressed an spread like an eagle ready to be taken for a flight out in the Gorilistan mountains, that’s were we were, inhabited by the famous and infamous Gorals, a hill tribe with the worst reputation ever in Eastern Europe. “Well now I know where your good name comes from” I said when I took here from behind. “No I doubt that” she moaned, “you have not tasted more than the entree yet.” “I will do, you Polish soulmate of my heart I grunted” Time was over very quick and she was nearly right about her physical condition but I gave her the full 30 minutes performance and we both had to move on. 

I watched for another hotel or pension in Goralistan after kissing my new sweetheart goodbye. I was taken in by a peculiar small pension run by a gypsie and he had also a chubby receptionist, but she was his sister so I did not touch that line and went out on the streets of Goralistan metropolis Panjesackowje that looked like a typical Europäisches Mittelgebirge tourist trap but only for Polish tourists and some rare German families maybe with a square outfit since I felt not really invited by the robust population of that fine spot, whose men were seated on Kutschen with mediocre imitations of traditional clothing. “Maybe he is Jew” that is what I heard whispering behind me and then they smiled as if I was always their best friend. When they were too bad, I was told, even for Goralistan standards, when it came to stealing and fraud from strangers, they were rolled down the Tatra mountain and then, being downed, the dust was shaken off them and they were sent off to another region or country, Germany , France or the UK mostly, to play another role, usually the poor and robbed jew, because most of them look like them with some imagination but were at the same time the worst antisemites in whole Poland.

So I was full of Abenteuerlust when I had paid my new appartement, freshly showered after the affair with the receptionist who was on my list for tomorrow as new Polish girlfriend and muse or maybe after her shift tonight and I strolled thru town. She was eager to meet me again she said, no questions asked. I ate heavy Goralksi food that was so fat and full of butter and oil that I nearly vomited in a dustbin but kept it down and smiled. I passed a catholic church with all the flags outside from the Holy See to town flags and church flags “ a holy mass was celebrated there obviously and I entered. There was Holy Water and the smell of incense so at least no new European Union universal church cult temple for the initiation of the young ones I thought and stepped into the Mittelschiff of the church where a priest celebrated the Holy Mass. There were just maybe 30 very old people with him and me and nobody from the young generation visiting the shops and cafes outside. It was as empty as I never expected that in Poland.

After the Mass I went outside, walked and crossed a street not even at the center of Panjesackowje without traffic light and heard a siren and screaming tyres first and then realized a police car next to me when it stopped and two blond Polish police women in their twenties jumped out and stopped me: "You committed a traffic violation Sir, stay silent and don’t move!” I looked at them and the police car and they reminded me of German New Police with their identicallly looking blue cars, blue uniforms, blue eyes and blond hair “What is wrong with you, do I have a bike or a car?” “You crossed a road without permission, Sir!” and that in typical american english they adopted from cheap cop series from Polski TV, sponsored by KURVA Electronics Ltd. maybe.
“I care for your health ladies, I said, you look quite distraught and you have red swollen face, maybe you should switch off some of your devices in your car” “Sir, you committed a serious traffic violation, you crossed a road by foot without permission. There was a pedestrian walk in town you should have crossed there in one kilometre distance and then walked the other side” ,"‘I am as a tourist in Poland and the Polish police just want to extort money as it was usual before with fire extinguishers and shit like that’: “How much money do you want?” They turned both more red than before and said: "You should think about that before!" "What the hell are you talking about?”” “You can not have intercourse with Goralski receptionist without paying tip or we fine you” “Is that a sad joke or what do want now for real, are you high, if yes, I want some of that dope you are on” “We have law book and penalcode hear, you can read here” “Ok please show me there is a fine for screwing Goralski recptionist in followig her wish, I thought she is my girlfriend and we go out later?!” “Here, you read! She gave me book with looked like the Polish version of the bible with an endless desert of text in typo size 7 I could not even try to read and said "Can you translate that for me please, it is in Polish in typo size 7.” “we are not obliged to translate anything there, but you can hire a lawyer from the precinct for traffic violation, you know, Verkehr nicht bezahlt” “Ok, how much is it” “70 Slzloty, same as hotel, is always same as hotel keep in mind” ” handed her 70 Szloty and she handed me a receipt saying I was crossing roads causing a serious interruption of öffentliche Verkehr” and they drove off.

I went back to my gypsy Pension immediately and and told my friend there that I was harassed by German looking blue police in Polish uniforms taking the piss for screwing my girlfriend or the other way round and he looked at me and said: “Better go away from Poland, will take more and more maybe” and he gave me back me prepaid rent with a very sad look like saying ‘do you think you can evade sex trouble in Poland by fucking chubby receptionist here? Maybe take all your money’ and I went out not give his sister the blinking eye at the reception because I seriously respected them and moved to the bus stand for a bus to Slovakia, where they shot the Hostel series. 

Nobody on the street suddenly understood one word of English when I asked for the bus stop until I began to shout as usual and found one willing homosexual to tell me that there is minibus from KURVA Electronics Ltd. taking passengers up to the mountain border to Slovakia. He told me, that the worst Goralski whores were rolled down the mountain from the top back down to Panjosackowje by the Goralski men when they had done so bad, even for Goralski standards, that they were unbearable. Then they were send all across Europe to play the persecuted Jews from Poland, cry and whine around and get settled from London to Paris and Vienna and get a rich man.

The bus just arrived when my Polish Receptionist girlfriend got along crying together with the bus to Slovakia to take me on.
“My dear loved one, my darling, my heart, what are you doing, why are you leaving me?” she stopped in front of me in tradional clothes with a tear shattered face and gave me a bag of presents, Goralski food as I had before in the Medina of Panjosackowje, but the extra fat version for a long journey. “Is that mutton fat or just old butter" I asked here “Kleine Geschenkchen von Mutti, Police say you very good man, pay bill, why don’t you stay and go out with me, you promise before, you promise before” . 

I did not answer because I saw Mr. Salzburg’s bald head shining on the other side of the street sitting in a bus waiting to step out to approach another guy he has rescued from the evils of the Polish communication maybe and I jumped into the bus to Slovakia ran to the driver and shouted “Move on Move on, KURVA!!” and he switched on his KURVA Electronics Ltd. Device and pushed the pedal down as much as he could while I stumbled by the sudden impact of power and crashed into a seat somewhere in the back but was lulled in by the sweet sounds of the strongest Polish radiation devices so far experienced for the short busride to Slovakia. KURVA Electronics Ltd. knew what to do for me.

Copyright 2018 by Ronald C. Kaiser