Caves of Porto

by Ronald C. Kaiser, Dec. 2019

I really liked Lisboa in a way – for Portugese circumstances. It definteley housed some remains of a civilized culture and human society. Heavily under siege but still in authentic existence. This human existence was always undermined when it showed its subtleness and then harassed and polluted. Agents of the AOI showed their sneaking intruding heads in diverse forms: High ranking French police officers with frigid wives chewing olives disgusting slow in front of me in the camping ground restaurant who were dispersed by some mobile phone throwing attack at bus walls. German longhaired freaks of the verfassungsschutz with oily hair and greasy smile that needed to be corrected by a rusty pocket knife, but nobody wanted to do that since they were not worth it – I could not stand their presence as anybody else - one of the best defense mechanisms against attacks of targets. French and Portugese cyclists roaming around in the woodlands at the outskirts of town with many smallpaths that lead to only one thing or maybe two: anal intercourse between men and exchange of faeces in different forms. What? Yes, that is the New Time and New People.

Mobile phone technicians and associated bus drivers building very low towers inside town at squares and directing their ejaculate, beams of deadly rays to meeting places of the working class in housing projects and freaks camping grounds just for the sake that these people were not wanted by the unkown „we“ they always mentioned. The bus drivers always reported poor peoeple and freaks with backpacks to them and the police so they could aim correctly with their ray machines and surround them at night. And many more I did not meet. But there was resistance by sticking to human grounds in little gestures against creatures the WSB, the Burroughs namend Mugwumps and else. There was still traditional cuisine at the little bars and even the camping restaurant and little talks with a human touch, a little bit, but still it had not been eradicated completely yet.

In the end I got the axe, that was obvious from the beginning since I had no army, no crew, no contacts and no real overview about their viciousness. Only an old Portuguese sportsguy from the Rhinelands – and he worked for the police in the end so fuck that.

But at least it kept me together, the Lisboa. In comparison to the Algarve and Fishermens Trail disaster with AOI couples and myriads of German AOI in freak campers that lead me to bizarre but successful moves by not washing myself for a week and longer and by doing so forcing them into submission and letting me travel tiketless and dining without bill. Got you with that, skankers! They respected that, if I had used shit instead of sun blocker cream I could have joined their ranks, but I did not give them that, I did not touch that line, fuck you for even thinking that I would touch that. But I had to leave The Lisboa, they encircled me in the woods by foot and bikes, harassed me in the camping ground where I ate and so on, the usual dsplay of modern behaviour brought to us by the very core of the AOI and its dsciples.

Porto was a magnet of authenticity in the eighties, when we roamed around Galicia, heading to Muros, the holy freak land and enjoyed a kind of freedom that represents an obscene deviance today when any kind of human behaviour that is not legitimized by the AOI and its shadow governments leads to harassement of the worst by intruding Mugwumps and other insects by courtesy of the AOI. In Porto boatmen in typical old fashioned sailor customes blue and white could be met then in an really old style harbour with tavernes as rusty old nails as in Sale in Morocco of Hassan II, but different, without any oriental taste in the very west of Europe. Jean Genet was in the air then. But fully impregnated with the horrible winds of the Atlantic ocean. Quotatiens out of Querelle crossed our minds then, even that of my girl with me there, who just had a glimpse of it. They had left it undisturbed in such a purity that it felt like a movie set, but was real. The AOI had not arrived yet. They had just changed the government so we could not adore it anymore but left the souls of the humans intact. That is the case of any culture shock: somethings feels so real but at the same time strange, that you think it is a movie set but you know it is not. Can't escape. That's why it is called shock, it traumatizes and that is again the real cause of fear of travelling: it is a real disease that might catch you and it never goes away. I only disappears when you actively take part in that strange world and interact not only but act out. I don't give a shit anymore that it is „another culture, not us“ or „you should behave always like a passive half participant.“ It makes you fucking sick in the long run. You need to play along to shake of the culture shok if it gets you.

But Porto had a grip in us in the mid eighties for being impenetrable and oblique a bit with its grotesque steel structures over rivers and seaarms and i town. That were the blesseings of the „Old Times“, as the AOI called it, you had to conquer a really different culture, even in Europe, at the very west of it in Portugal, since it was strictly catholic and strictly a seeman and fishermen culture. Not a mason or a shithead in sight in 85, believe me, except the US ruining the politics as my father had told me eight years ago but you could not feel or hear or see them. There were absolutely no traffic lights in Porto then, traffic was outrageosly anarchic and half of the men were driving dead drunk as me in our old Citroen DS. I went straight out of the Porto caves where they manufacture Port wine into the car as anybody else and coul not find the keyhole of the fucking car. My girlfriend helped me with that, even more pissed then I was from about 2 bottles of heavy port each after 3 or 4 runs thru the cellars with me, starting around noon until evening. I started the engine, the hydraulics went up and we ht teh road of Porto as anyboydy else in evening with squealing tyres, traffic accidents all around us. „ You should use alcohol as your favourite drug“ she said, „you function perfectly then. Look at the accidents of those assholes here, wrecks all around, you are better.“ I knew what this meant, that i was tuned in perfectly, I had taken the piss of the Tawny Guides assholes in the caves before without getting beaten up, what everybody expected since I asked them again and again where the fucking evolution is and what happened to Genet here, skankers. But we were extraordinary drunk and pissed, what they liked and we speeded out of town without damages searching for some wasteland for an old fashioned seeing thru in her vagina. That was no problem there, you just had to do it. Park your old French ruin of a car soemwhere an fuck your lady from behind leaning againts the car in the setting sun. Sailors and shady assholes there and all the poor souls around did not care a bit. The hangover rembered of a heroin withdrawel in Bangkok in VS guesthose courtesy by Tony W. , („where is my pipe, where is my China White you Thai slihole“ „No Pankao for you Tony, no more, you smell like latrine“, so don't do this shit with Port, it s pure horror, but the high is unbelievabe.

Those were my thougts travelling by train up north in 2018, no more smelling like an old mule, since I decided to give them a chance to behave as what we learned to be human and took a shower after teaching them to show respect. When somebody bullies you in such a mode, that you do not want to wash, leave it like that. Do not come back to point zero, it hits back. So I was travelling by train nice and clean, where they tried to steal my notebook all the time and always disconnected it from the wire in the fucking train since that is only semilegal anymore in Portugal, to charge your notebook. You could write something, the CDU, the communist-green party coalition, courtesy by Germany would not like. So bribe your way into a fancy restaurant with a 30 Euro price per plate, use the wire and the WIFI for hours and stink so enormously that you just walk out without paying anything. Let them pay the price for their CDU bullshit, or what ever three letter word the AOI is using here or there. Works in Portugal as in Mexico when you crawl backwards on a public raod naked high on mescaline or coked out with Tequila: they take you for serious then and nobody dares to harm or asks you, believe me. Disappear and come back clean as a newborn baby and you are saved.

So Porto was still a dream frame of mine and it still looked not to bad for European standards these days. I sneaked into a cafe-bar near the railway station to write my blog and charge my notebook that uses amounts of electricty like a radiation heater when a annoying feeling creeped into my guts: I had made a giant mistake. They liked me in there and licked my ass because they felt I was gay. That is by far the worst that can happen anywhere unless you are gay and you are able to prove it to the crowd around you. There, an older guy with a writers notebook is always gay cause somebody has told them in a gay chat on their smartphones or whatever. It always meant total disaster if you ever used that slimy public friendliness displayed to even get an answer to a simple question. They take this as an insult so bad that they uninhibitedly ruin you completely for „betraying them“. That is a heavy differnce to girls and women, who take little lies like that usually with a smile, unless you go to far. They know why, they do it all the time.

Gay lads take this as an invitation to WW3, so far I knew, that even their idiotic gay senseless assumptions, I was a gay bloody writer trying to squeeze their Portugesse anusses and poop-chootes with my notebok pretending to write or to charge it, in their near railway station coffee bar would lead to giving me the axe in Porto next day. Don't ask a simple question in a situation like that, that is completely set up by the AOI:, like: „where can I plug in my connetion to load my device, waiter?“ or: „where is the electricty for my computer?“ It all reads for a Portugese gay as: „I am an old horny French gay fartmouth tryin to score cheap Porto ass and dick by pretending to write like a Jean Genet style Houllebeq from Paris.“ They do not believe any other word from you, you are just a gay dick and ass machine - no matter if you have pictures of your daughter married to an athlet and you at her side on at the wedding party on display. It all does not count, because THEY KNOW, because THEY HAVE THOUGHT SO because it was in the Smart Phone, yes, in the Smart Phone edition by Dirck Diggler. That is all you have to know: you are in deep shit for just not being a normal couple guy with potato sized woman and you with an idiotic haircut from the hardware store hair cutter and Dockers pants or the German equivalent to it. „is this good for the STASI class reunion, mein Guter?“ 

 

There is no more room or space in this modern world of the AOI to leave you some loopholes. It has all been tightly closed.

Loopholes we have aways used and needed for endless times of artistic or freaky life styles around any time and culture in this world: that You are an entity that You created more or less by yourself and with everything around you and that is unique and has to be explained by itself. Explained by getting close to you by honest contacts that were part human culture, especially travel culture for ages and are the very core of human revelations. Even the old German wanderers, men travelling around in the Holy Roman Empire of German Nation for centuries from 1000 to 1800 relied on that specifically. And the wanderers before, who are part of the Viking Sagas as well and before that in the southern Germania. Meeting people around the Trail and getting in real touch. The magic of the road in itself is exactly that: negotiating the other entity and what it meant in absolute subjectivity and beeing part of that for a while, soaking in the best of it and moving on, alone or together. It decayed somehow by us, entropy moved in, the travellers themselves in overtravelling in late 80' and 90's, when too many joined the tribes of the electric gypsies around the globe and it became a cliche to be a traveller. Communication went into sterotypes, stories of drugs used „my girlfriend had mescaline in Mexico, what a bummer for her, didn't know herself anymore, had to prep her up for days.“ where exchanged in such a bored and worn out always the same way that could have been soldiers gretings in an army as well. „Albert Hoffman hat dann fuer Hoffman Laroche gearbeitet und LSD erfunden“ imagine the elaborated Swiss accent with that idiocy to boast off and show yourself as major freak. That is a truth we should not forget: WE also changed ourselves sometimes into frames of an more or less industrially or let's say handicraftly manufactured product - courtesy by the AOI but we did not believe it because we did not know that this AOI even existed. That company that makes up realities and hell for us. Some people could not be explored individualistically anymore when meeting them on the Trail lately anywhere. They were fabricated by some clandestine fashion institution as well as they are today all fabricated by the AOI and the New Time with New Humans nightmare from occult sources again - but now they know it. That is the American Way and that of the Israelites. Even the Muslims are now different: made in some Islamic State factory run by Turkey and Saudi Arabia: sterile, brute, deadly and precise.

They give you the feeling, that any emotion, any human reaction is known before in advance, on a map somewhere and explored already and part of some researched scheme and not necessary somehow. Soon the AOI will make it illegal, except the reactions they favour: coolness, being just as anybody else in your realm of knowldege unless the give you new input.

But I had to deal with that small and innocent situation in a mediocre coffeehouse in Porto that had housed sailors and trademen of devious goods even 20 years ago. Discretion was always garuanted in such places around the world. Nobody would pass on your existence unless professional snitches, a rare species then. Today it is the opposite, Galicia and Portugal are the worst examples of harassing and snitching on unusual brain patterns of humans. It is quite commen in Vigo for example that some mediocre Spanish woman follows you up from the bus station to a typical Galician restaurant where you dine and load your notebook. Do not hesitate to believe that she takes position just in front of you, takes a picture from you with her smartphone and sends it to the Guardia Civil. Be harassed then for being an author, verified by the BND in Germany for the rest of your stay in Vigo, surrounded by flashing police lights and stuid remarks at leat until they fry you the next day. That is a common scene at least in Portugal and Galicia in 2018 and leads to total artistic and genaral desaster, courtesy by the AOI. So I knew that the gay behind the bar were just waiting for any sign of „Old Life“ ins spite of trying to score some juvenile Porto dick. So what I did then was arranging a fake telephone call on the toilet with my old mobile phone that had such idiocy installed. „Yeah, that is horrible“ I shouted out loud at the bar , „Oh Jesus Christ, off course I am co ming to see you immmmmeeeeeediateely in Porto now, dear, what a destiny you are facing now, I am just leaving!“. „I have to leave!“ I shouted to the gaylord at the bar who was checking my price all the time before with his 19 year old colleague. „Personal desaster of my cousin from France here.“ „Ohhh, France, did not know thaaaat“. „I am sooo sorry we can not point this French stuff out together, soooo soooryy“. I banged some money on the table and grabbed my stuff and leftthem staring at me as preyin so many aspects, I do not want to describe now, but I know what comes out of some nothing situation like this today.

I walked thruogh the main part of town, ignored the stares on my backpack from the Porto assholes and heard French voices everywhere. The Grand Orient was here, without any doubt, they had just moved in as Adolf n Paris in 1940. There was no difference in the essence. Armies of French little bearded masons searching for young anusses and creamy portions of faeces oozing out of younger and older holes of vain were taking my breath. Not to forget the poor souls among them with clumsy to reasonable real wives, women I mean with breasts and vaginas. They are the lowest cast among the French masons of our Kali Yuga period. Since the Grand Orient and others of their ilk have secretely decided to disregard and disrespect the females from now on since they have destroyed our male liftestyle in Europe. They always forget that exactly they were responsible for the Scandinavian disaster wit the the females and their taking on of power positions without any knowledge or charactre patterns to do any good in this now. So we are all nannyed down and up, harassed by female control freaks etc. right enough, the French masosn always talked about this to me as the first topic: „ Yes yes I know what you think, I also have to walk around with my skank, while you are a free man, but we wil send them back to the kitchen and the bed soon, there is no other way.“ They forget as always, that they were the root of the problem by secretely again prepping and pimping them up as hell without a clue until we have an neverending Merkel or Grybauskaite or other monsters of vagina hell as Hillary Clinton. So those masons with accompanying wives were the harijans, the outcasts of the French invasion in Porto that is the master port of French masonic occupation in Europe today. They did not have teh typical beards as teh others too much also and showed a sulking face expression always. Just for the other masons to join in the chorus of anti vaginaism, but they could not get to close to the Porto asses, they still had to show some kind of human affection to their vagina wives - what a nightmare for them.

I crossed the river or sea arm to walk to the less touristic side of Porto and was trapped again in AOI nightmares of exquisite backstabbing and perfideous nature. They had taken down loads old buildings and the old genuine Porto architecture and preplaced it by....squares, black marble squares. That is the new AOI sickness the show also in other parts of the world to remind us also of the power of the Kaabah in Mekka. So I faced one huge black square after the other that made my ballsack shrivel. The shorthaired french and Portuges middle aged men with black thin pullovers did not make it any better. I decided to ot complain or anything but took out my dick and urinated against one of it and nobody seemd to even are about abut agreed silently. I again met the right tune here after not washing out of disrespect. But there were old small houses in sight, we loved so much in the eighties with the people of the neigborhood there. I walked in that direction and passed amrket hall that was exactly a copy of a Southern France marche with overpriced trivial country goods I hate so much I can't even piss at the market stalls.

Since it was nearly dark now I could see inside on of the "smalll old houses“ and had to face the fact that they had just made one house out of three, took out all the walls in between and build in a giant Poggenpohl kitchen for hundred grand or more. I could not believe it at all and stared straight through the window. There was a futuristic German overpriced kitchen with steel and glass and ginat table about 8 meters length in front of it. A modern gay couple was dining there, looking so French I thought I am in Paris. I just went away because I know they like it when we are annoyed about their rudeness and went back to the water.

There they had build a giant wooden sidewalk with myriads of bright halogen lights above it that made it look like an alien landing spot kilomters long for some slim legged monsters. Insects came passing along, one in bright halogene pink colors, the other one in halogene green colors, jogging in he bright lights, passing me and my Rucksack. That was too mc even for me. Only French complete assholes can build such a monster in such an environment as Porto's other side. I put my foot on the monster path and decided to walk a bit on it and see what happenes. Don't ever forget the obsession of the French with satellite technology. After just 5 minutes the first „par blue“ appeared, walking after me and tried to get nearer. I did not like that at all and evaded by just stepping of and was hiding in the nature around. He was looking for me but gave up after a while. I jumped back on just because I tried to walk along the waterline and find a place to rest for the night. Now they were coming from all sides to get nearer and meet me for soemthing I did not now but could imagine and I would not like. They were coming from the front and the back now, dressed in some sport outfit as they were dressed in bikers gear in Lisboa before, but much more aggressive here and sticking to the point. „So what you want?“ I asked them loud an clear. They did not answer at all but grinned. One of them just pushed me from the wooden sidewalk and moved on while the other two were jumping of and ran into the bushlands nearby. There was a huge old house, a ruin of an old Portugese land house. I decided to let them pas and followed them some minutes later. I wanted to check out the house, maybe there were some secrets to uncover.

There was an inner yard and all walls were full of disgusting to some better murials. Shit stench was everywhere. I used my flashlight to light up the scene and found something that reminded my of the satanist houses in Germany but much better styled here. Wild plants were growing everwhere between the old taken down walls, brilliant and bleak paintings everywhere or just test phases of them. I crawled aoround and found my new friends from the wooden health sidewalk. One was sitting with his short on on top of the other just in the mud and revel there and obviously tried to shit on him resp. In his mouth. Theys did not talk or tried to evade the situation. That was just a more hardcore version of the Lisboa scene in the woods and I left. Portugese police was passing by, blue lights were flashing, they new the place very well but let this pass without any complaints about it or closing it down. I had my knife in my hand since I still had no clue about these peoples attitudes at all. If they stick to shit and shitting into each other mouthes in posh sports gears as in Lisboa or if the slaughter you down. Nobody ever taljks about it. But this is the sexuallife of the New People“ in the New Time“ our politicians advovcate, without any doubt. These were all pillars of society, French style. I did not want to take the test if somebody, maybe the poice, would come to sacrifice me her and walked away. No solution to my sleeping problem in Porto yet.

I just remembered that they, the Police, fries down campers and vans everywhere in Spain and Portugal by courtesy of the US and the German government, since this lifestyle is against the AOI secret guidelines. So I went to the parking place for tarvellers campers nearby and looked around. They were mostly abandoned. People had lost hope that they could sleep anywhere in Portugal without being detected by police and radiated in the night. There was an old freak with his Wohnmobil who sat outside alone. „ What is this place here, a graveyard?“ I asked? „I just arrived, not many here, just look around, nobody cares a lot.“ He looked as hopeless as all og them in Portugal, „from the Old Times“. I just opened the door of a smaller camper at the edge of the place and entered. It was left about some weeks ago, I guessed an did not care anymore. I just unpacked my backpack, laid down my matrasse and my seeping bag and tried to sleep. It took them some hours to detect me there,the police, by sources still unkown to me. The radiation began at 5 in the morning so I left the parking ground and the fucking country of Portugal at six in a train to Galicia. There they had the most vicious dogs in Europe in addition.

Copyright:

Ronald C. Kaiser, December 28, 2019