change in plans

Once again I get persuaded that if you want to have something done - do it yourself.
The riot has begun and I had nothing left to do but to change my location once again. I am in Skagen, Denmark at the moment, waiting for a ferry to Kristiansand, Norway. I am leaving tomorrow.
Its both funny and dramatic how the dreams of the speakers break down. I have always been right to myself and everyone who surrounded me. I was acting according to my principles and never gave up on it. And now I am being chased by the army of both week pathetic hyenas, who have always spoiled everything due to their narrow-mindness. However, I am still not giving up, I am just returning to my roots. I am planning to settle in Tromsø for a while. Thank Odin, it is so rich wit woods and mountains that even a local inhabbitant cannot always find his way home. Luckily, I have several comrades there whom I am sure in. They were with me during my adolsence, together we heard the news that Snorre killed himself in my future cell... come to think of it, I remember the day when it happened quite clearly... For once in my life then I felt how it is being in Valhalla... I don't know why, but then and still I am 100% sure that I have taken a peak, and let it be how I saw it. 
LIFE IS NOT THE END
THERE IS SO MUCH MORE TO COME
I can't say that I'm not thinking of a possibuility of being killed. Its not that I'm afraid of death, but only a brave warrior who dies in a struggle for his country is the worthy one to enter "The Hall of the Slain". My situation is a bit different and if so, I don't want to risk because of some nazis and people who don't get jokes...
I have a plan B... but still I am not retreating. I will do my best to achieve my aim!
Soon, I will see the snows...

i miss northern lights

It has been a productive month indeed, however, everything turned out not exactly the way that I've planned...
The newspapers and all the media has gone crazy due to the practical joke that I've played...
It occured to me that both Hitler and me began our revolutions in the same city, so I've decided to pay him the honour and established a comical tribute, which the press named "the most blasphemous racist anti-semitic nazi prank".

I crucified a jew on a turned over cross in the Holocaust Mahnmal.
The effect is outrageous...
I was called the "Unfortunate Hitler" by the Deutsche Zeitungen and my head is worth a title of "national hero".


Its unbelievable how cycled life is... I was never understood in childhod. Now the same thing is happening all over again. I remember my 14th year, when I've found one and only true soulmate. He said:
"Yes, such has been my lot from very childhood! All have read upon my countenance the marks of bad qualities, which were not existent; but they were assumed to exist—and they were born. I was modest—I was accused of slyness: I grew secretive. I profoundly felt both good and evil—no one caressed me, all insulted me: I grew vindictive. I was gloomy—other children merry and talkative; I felt myself higher than they—I was rated lower: I grew envious. I was prepared to love the whole world—no one understood me: I learned to hate. My colourless youth flowed by in conflict with myself and the world; fearing ridicule, I buried my best feelings in the depths of my heart, and there they died. I spoke the truth—I was not believed: I began to deceive. Having acquired a thorough knowledge of the world and the springs of society, I grew skilled in the science of life; and I saw how others without skill were happy, enjoying gratuitously the advantages which I so unweariedly sought. Then despair was born within my breast—not that despair which is cured at the muzzle of a pistol, but the cold, powerless despair concealed beneath the mask of amiability and a good-natured smile. I became a moral cripple. One half of my soul ceased to exist; it dried up, evaporated, died, and I cut it off and cast it from me. The other half moved and lived—at the service of all; but it remained unobserved, because no one knew that the half which had perished had ever existed. But, now, the memory of it has been awakened within me by you, and I have read you its epitaph. To many, epitaphs in general seem ridiculous, but to me they do not; especially when I remember what reposes beneath them. I will not, however, ask you to share my opinion. If this outburst seems absurd to you, I pray you, laugh! I forewarn you that your laughter will not cause me the least chagrin."
My soulmate's name was Grigory Pechorin and he was fictional.
In that year I refused to deal with the fate that might has been prepared for me.
I refuse to deal with it now.
My comrades are nazis, my haters are the remaining world, my soulmate is fictional and long dead. How did I get here? - That's what I have so small time to figure out, before some "national hero" chimes in chopping my head off...

hear this

Thus my faith grew that my beautiful dream for the future would become reality after all, even though this might require long years. 

(c) Adolf Hitler (Mein Kampf)

It's been 25 days now since I have escaped.
The skinheads got what they wanted - all newspapers equated me to their herd. That was the price that I had to pay, unfortunately.
Today I have recieved all my paperwork from a friend from Longyearbyen, so finally I can get back on track.
I have settled down in Berlin at the moment. Proud mighty Germany has always felt right for making revolutions.
I have spent 2 days in Köpi, when I met a guy named Friedrich, who is one of my follower. He is helping me to hide at the moment.
My spirit has never been higher than now. There are so much comrades in Berlin, who worship me and are willing to be lead by me.
The army of our superiour race is forming!

personal excuse for violence

Since early childhood I likes to provoke, test and observe the reactions of the creatures around me. It always amused me: you're setting up a certain situation, insert the objects in it and let them deal with it while you are, kinda, witnessing it from the perspective of a Creator. I call it "the Decider".
At the beginning I was practicing on ants. I dig out the ones with wings, whom I believed to be the "royal family", made a small labyrinth and placed them in the very end of it. Then I let the simple ants to go resque their comannders and only the first ones got the opportunity to live. The others got burned with a magnified glass. Later I understood that my vision of this natural selection wasn't fully appropriate, for among all of my "guinea pigs", the ants were the ones who deserved life more than others.
Then I continued my work on frogs, birds, rabbits. And eventually it hit human beings.
I don't know when exactly my merci hit the point of its complete self-destruction. It must have been somwhere near my 13th year when I commited my first human murder. I have never talked about it with anyone. It was a parricide. Come to think of it, it was my first steps to my work. After that none of my further killings felt more tough (in fact, there were little number of tough ones at all). There is no going back, no bringing those people back to life, so why stop now? This society has given up on me long time ago already.
My motifs are as simple as littering the crumberries : the bad and unworthy ones have to go.
I don't feel like explaining myself anymore.

on capital punishment

During the final hearing of my trial a lot of people were screaming out that I deserve to die. Luckily for me, Norway never supported, nor even considered to take death penalty as a potential option for punishment. Otherwise, the solution for me would have been quite evident, I'm afraid. Anyway, in half of the occasions the court's decisions are wrong and the lives are taken away for nothing. Nevertheles, I do fully give credit for Jews on this one - crucifixion does sound quite entertaining...
I will never get tired of saying that if you want to criticise something, you need to understand it very well. No more, no less. I used to have this Aunt Metta who would come to visit us once in a while. She was my father's elder sister, who married the richest man on the iseland. She wasn't bad, actually, but she was the most stubborn and self-confident person I've ever met. She used to hug me and give kisses, leaving marks of her YSL lipstick (I knew that this lipstick firm had to be expensive, for the effort I put in washing off those pink lipmarks was enourmous) on my lips and her perfume also by YSL - Yvresse will be forever stained on my subconcsiouss as an almost childish feeling of inabuility to persuade in your beliefs. I will never forget that torture I had to go through everytime she visited. She used to sit there for hours and blabber lectures how watercolors must be applied on a vertically postured canvas without any water, how dangerous it is to spend weeks alone in the forest, how wolves became from cats, how violence is never the answer. I'm just saying that what was there inside of Aunt Metta's head (while she still had the whole of it) was her vision of the world she lived in, her systems that she charished and believed in, her approach to communicating with people. I had nothing for, nor against them as long as she didn't involve me in the conversation, where she was talking everything that her mind gave out, simultaniously, stating herself as a dominnat one in the dialogue. I, on the other hand, had a completely different opinion on all the subjects, but my sayings always were referred to as false ones. Once, my patience level expired...
My point is that we cannot judge people as long as we are not deeply familiar with what they are. A lot of worthy individuals were executed for their deeds, but if only it was possible to show the world their real thoughts, the work they have done, the tops they have accimplished, the general knowledge of humanity would have been much more developed and concise. Take Charles Manson. The killings "the Family" had done are dreadful and even unestetic from my point of view. People say he's a crazy idiot. I cannot agree on the term "idiot" in this one. Sure, he is crazy, like all people are, but an idiot... I have seen his interview and speeches. He is one of the rarest men whom I see and I know that he's got it all figured out. He is happy the way he is, the position he is now, he had understood the possibuilities of human brain and he's so pleased with it that he has nothing to regret about, he had understood it all. If he would have been executed instead of life long imprisonment, mine and, I'm sure, a lot of other individials' confidence would have been lower. He inspires.
What does a cannibal have on his mind? I mean apart from killing and eating human flesh. Have any of you ever tried to figure that one, or has it always been plain disunderstanding and disgust? When I was reading about Albert Fish, who, by the way, got executed on an electric chair for his deeds, I got quite a tempting picture of various reasons and philosophy that man had in mind. I won't claim, but I am rather sure that I understand him, not supporting, though, we are very different, yet special human beings.
In general, the situation with death penalties is quite satisfying, if you take a look on where it takes place. Firstly, I must proudly mention that the European Union prohibits capital punishment. It is mostly the mudsouthern countries like Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Israel, Iraq, etc. I don't care for those ones at all. Yet, USA is the only one that concerns me. But I won't go there today, the States together with Southern
America is a great issue towards which my attitude is still not fully formed.
What do Albert Einstein and mark Chapman have in common? The same old thing that all the human beings on this planet do: each and every one of them lives in the world with his own beliefs. Einstein stated that there is no space, nor time, but their unity; Chapman believed he was Holden Caulfield, a 17-year-old characted from a book, who eventually made the decision to kill John Lennon, whom the real Mark Chapman charished but was a bit disappionted with his recent actions. If one applies those both situations on himself and tries to understand, to repeat their trails to the final statements, he will be amused and smashed by the magnifiency of choises that are available to be made.
To be worthy to take someone else's life one must be completely familiar with the victim's mind and know what he himself stands for. In the court system there are too many blank spots, for the decision is made regarding the Law, which itself was made by a number of people. Starting from here each following step just blurs the primary idea and the abuility to make the right decision.
This will also be changed when I'm done with my fight.

on racism

I do not believe in the work of modern skinheads.
They call themselves "nationalists" and "patriots", claim to fight against the blacks and other immigrants who take advantage of superior scandinavian hostility. They beat the incommers till death with rocks, cut them and violate their dead bodies in the alleys, kidnap them, drive to the woods and make the real manhunts out there with the main prize of "an authority" for the one who collects the most heads.
Those filthy smugs shave their heads, pour liquer into their clueless heads and shout all around that they are the patriots, the white race defendors, the proud aryans. This is what makes me sick the most.
Those children have no idea what being a proud pure patriot norwegian is all about. They are just young adherents of the proud ideology; the unbridled growing up souls who crave for violence. Their immature minds happened to find racism the ideal solution to quench their thrist, so they put all the labels on them, do their deeds and shout out the termins with which they are hardly familiar with.
I am a proud norwegian with pure scandinavian blood (norwegian for last 12 decades, danish - before). I love my country and culture, I stand for the primary idea of racial hygiene. Out great ansesters did not need all the comfortable things that make life easier nowadays. Men did not need to use products for their bodies and hair, they were the vikings, the warriors, the successors of the clan, the defenders, the strong and proud males. Every tribe knew their place, every nation did. Everyone was living on its original territory, honoured their Gods, followed their culture. Only the strong and worthy ones survived. When the man got old and useless he went to the forest to dedicate his last ritual to Odin and died there. Or defending their clans, their families from the others ones. The brave warriors, the worthy ones to enter Valhalla. They walked during life with honour, with their heads up and died with dignity.
I never said that the blacks or representatives of another cultures must die. That would be immature and too desperate for a reasonable human being. But I am the warrior, I am the proud scandinavian and I will not bare if other races take our the control of our government, build here their chirches, make families with our men and women, mix blood. I will not bare seeing a weak useless half-norwegian licking the boots of a evil jewish woman. I've never rose an arm on a woman, by the way. But I think you've got my point.
I've never met a reasonable skinhead who would tell me the exact idea of what the ideology stands for, most of them do not even know what they stand for. Violence. Reasonable violence. Another thing I hate so much. The lack of reason. It makes me sick.
In jail, I've happened to meet Pelle Tollerod, the head of skinheads in Norway. I'm quite familiar with his work and, eventually, he did make many right decisions, but still we stand for completely different things. I hope I will never collaborate with him again.