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