Pain
Playlist of Pain
In the movie called "Hawaii" (D: George Roy Hill, 1966) Julie Andrews as "Jerusha" attempts to convert early 19th century Hawaiian natives to Calvinism in which predestination by faith is an important doctrine as divine foreordaining of all that will happen, esp. with regard to the salvation of some and not others. It's the hard way from the cradle to hell. Somebody pretends to be the cruel Calvinist God who has fixed my life as one of less fortunate before I was even born: you can't choose your parents, but they can change them. And it is easier to forge a birth certificate than to counterfeit money. Below you can see a counterfeit bill from the 1830s and me wearing a suit from the same era at a school ball.
John Adams and Andrew Jackson were two American presidents of the early 19th century. You could get an anagram "Andrews on Jack" when you respell "Andrew Jackson": "Andrews on Jack" is a perfectly sound Finnish sentence and means "Andrews is Jack". Below you can read how certain "Janet Jackson", a moderator of "JulieAndrews.org Discussion Forum", responded when I took my agony to the open forum after all that had happened to me:
Maybe some of you saw a disturbing message in one of the threads. I'm sorry it slipped through but I removed it so it's no use to look for it. I don't think this person will come back because I banned him but if he does just ignore him. I will deal with it.
To the person who did this:
I don't know what this vendetta against Julie is all about but frankly we're not interested to read it. Please, I don't know how old you are but you don't come off as a mature and responsible person. You won't accomplish anything by doing this so stop it. Your opinion is not welcome and I insist that you leave this group and stop harassing innocent people. They didn't do anything to upset you so why do it to them?
Leave. Now. You're banned anyway.
Janet, forum moderator.
Janet's "innocent people" are nothing more than narcissistic and hysterical mob who thinks that I must be mad, because I dear say something that doesn't match with their own twisted fantasies about "Jools". How ignorant but arrogant some people can be! They live in their little cosy ready-made world, where their ready made truth justifies everything but is easily cracked by discussion on facts. So, Janet, would you like to see me being buried alive and forgotten? I feel like an informer whose tongue has been cut in order to keep him silent. Maybe I'm not a mature person, but I don't quite follow her logic. Am I not a victim as well? Does she only comprehend her own sorrow? Let all the hatred and poison hatch out: when the dust has settled, we might also have achieved something truly lovable without any hypocrisy. Right now I'm left alone without any principles in my private hell. Are we all like those caged experimental rats in the pain amplifier who - when exposed to nervous tension - attack each other instead of biting their tormentors together? We certainly need some solidarity here!
My right ear is deformed and looks different from the normal left ear as if I was half-human, half-something. In the middle of 1980s I was operated in narcosis in order to make my ears to match with each other, but after the bandages were removed, Mr Spock's ear returned to the original position and I have suffered from "undiagnosable" and "incurable" daily pains ever since. What the hell did they do to me?
Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (D: Leonard Nimoy, 1986)
Since the unsuccessful attempt to make me "a full human", my two pain spots have been in the right arm and groin. Some kind of upside down joke about Admiral Nelson who lost his arm and eye? Imagine if you had toothache every day: I have got used to live with such a pain without any painkillers.
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Batman The Movie (D: Leslie H. Martinson,1966): a dog's bite can be very painful and without any guinea pigs there wouldn't be Lois Pasteur's effective treatment for hydrophobia, but an instant whiskey maker?
On the left below you can see a boy who would be my official father. Who would have believed that this properly dressed fisherman's son will later drink like a big, unless, of course, the original idea was that I was supposed to feel shame every time when I think of my father. That kind of cruel manipulation makes you feel like charging down the cliff into the sea in stead of being a burden to somebody. Well, I had an opportunity of doing so in Gotland, 1980. But who is my actual father? Let's forget all Cliffords of more or less noble birth. However, I do resemble Wolfgang von Hessen (see him and me in the bottom right-hand corner). But shouldn't I be taller then, or don't regular cornflakes eaters grow?
And, of course, the obvious cause of my shortness is Pentti Jack's poor growth (middle below): Pentti is several inches shorter than Marje Jack, and even I am one inch shorter than my tall foster mother. But yet again, I don't think that Pentti Jack is my biological father: all this seems to be a ridiculous caricature of a family!
Sommarnattens Leende (D: Ingmar Bergman, 1955): boy's first drink?! But doesn't that actor embracing a guitar on the left above resemble Pentti? At least Bergman's foundling doesn't resemble me! And after all, I am not a pygmy: I am the first visitor from the left below, and only few monks and host himself are taller than me. However, they say that the priesthood attracts short men.
The Horrors: Rolf, Foster Mother Marje's post-divorce lover, me and the crème de la crème of Finnish cultural life are boozing around the Assyrian delirium tremens. On the left below everything is still quite innocent, and I'm drinking soda pop, but on the right below you can see that alcohol has already caused serious brain damages to Mr Sibelius and his party.
Well, Marje never got married to Rolf, and now I have more stepfathers than David Copperfield. Or should I say father figure in stead of stepfather, since all I got was a minimum standard foster mother while my biological mother was busy playing the part of a perfect mother? On the top below you can see Mr Einari Lehtimäki, Marje's final choice and present common-law husband. I shall later introduce young Caligula who sits on his lap, and the same Mr Hitle--Lehtimäki as a few years older man is holding a fox with both hands. At the right bottom of collage you can see one of Adolf Hitler's landscapes. They say that the Russians literally flushed Hitler's ashes down the toilet in Magdeburg, because they didn't want to grant him to have any shrine. But maybe the movie "The Last Valley" gives away a secret that out there in the middle of complete destruction is still a hidden shrine occupied by Mrs Muir's fierce captain or should I say captain's spirit. There are also more venomous hints in "the undisturbed valley" than in Shakespeare's Hamlet.
Mary Poppins (D: Robert Stevenson, 1964). Two Protestant children.
The Sound of Music. Seven Catholic children.
Monty Python's The Meaning of Life (D: Terry Jones, 1983). Countless children in Yorkshire. DAD: " The Mill's closed. There's no more work. We're destitute. Come in, my little loves. I've got no option but to sell you all for scientific experiments."
Real World. The test subjects.
Just a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down! But before we can reach the point, where little guinea pigs suck lumps of sugar that have been given a good soak in the test substance, you need a sugar plantation and workers who will cut cane for you. In the middle below you can see my foster mother and grandmother: they are picking strawberries in their home farm in East Bothnia a few summers ago. Since I also spent the summer holidays of my childhood in the same strawberry fields and the back garden of the farm was a real small plantation, you could say that I had been a kind of field-nigger.
Keep Yorks...East Bothnia white!
I think that the Germans just had the late start: they missed all the fun like the slave trade between Africa and America, and therefore they had to repeat all the mistakes that had been already made by other great European nations. When an English aristocrat wanted to establish a plantation in Virginia, a slave trader supplied manpower, and who cared if few Negroes-- When a technocrat wanted to establish a factory in Siberia, Berija supplied manpower, and who cared if few class enemies-- When Farbenindustrie wanted to establish a factory in Upper Silesia, Himmler supplied manpower, and who cared if few Jews-- Better late than never?
Religious figures like Buddha or Jesus became what they are only after they had been confronted with their mockers who were finally overcome with compassion, but there is always a spoilt child who is protected against the realities of this world. Below you can see how the anonymous followers of the hooded prophet condemn Malcolm X? Indeed, it's a crazy world of intolerance!
When I saw the Stormfront for the first time, I thought that this idea of international nationalism must be some kind of paradox. Then I thought that if you didn't feel like being a cosmopolitan, British, Finnish or whatever Nationalist, it might be a kind of interesting existentialist experience to be "just" a "white" nationalist. But nevertheless, the best argument against discrimination would be that it is a great thing until you have been disqualified. The moderation is also a great thing until your own post have been deleted and you have been banned. Certain Baldy from the Stormnest was a stimulating exception without any discouraging bitterness:
Quote originally posted by Baldy:
Sometimes the internet is very sad. If I didn't have most of my business wired, I would disconnect from the whole thing. As it is, both you and I are on moderation because we are so darn dangerous to society, we need to be moderated. I feel like a Hells Angel on acid, I'm so bad. Think about it...on a site that Don Black, that there Duke, and a host of other very disreputable Nazi-types congregate, we are so bad that we have to be moderated by them. See? Wear your moderation like a badge and get a life. Seriously, the only time I'm on is when there's no work, it's raining or too cold to ride, and there's no woman-type in reach to occupy my hands. I cruise the racist sites when I'm checking email or other things.
In other words, Baldy says that the international "Stormfront White Nationalist Community" is nothing more than a pathetic little message board of a few politically incorrect Americans who desperately want to become respectable, right? Or maybe it is even the trap of Thought Police Bureau with the intention of collecting all kind of stupidities from different people who are looking for the scapegoat: "Let your consciousness flow into our honey pot!" Whatever is the original purpose, it certainly could be used like that. Then something like this could be altered and put to good use in the Borat Show:
A Jew who spends all day against a wall humming the Talmud isn't going to have too much time for a political campaign, a central banking scam or lecture notes in a sociology class. However, wall humming brand or not, we need a place to live away from them-->
-->We have the political, financial, social and Jewish problem in Kazakhstan.
However, if you had any real hard discriminating facts against the minority called "the real power elite", you wouldn't be a useful idiot any more but a real threat and they have no choice but mark you down and then excommunicate this "thought criminal". We all seek and need approval from other people. Is the real purpose of Mr Don Black's site to demoralize loose racists? The used brainwashing technique is quite simple: first they make you welcome before they kick you out.
Anyway, what is a racist? Aren't we all racists sometimes when we generalize bad qualities? Just think of my situation. First they separated me from my parents and true heritage before I was able to remember anything. Naturally I tried to develop a Finnish identity here in my foster country: that's nationalism. But when I found out the truth about my English mother, everything collapsed like the card castle of former Eastern bloc and suddenly I'm just a lonely sad clown, asking "who am I?", and looking for the exit. That's existentialism, and how sad is the today's world. Today even young angry men have to start a revolution alone: they have to give their fifteen minutes of fame a tragic end, or otherwise their desperate act will be remembered as one of "those embarrassing ritalin moments". Naturally I have tried to channel my Oedipal anxiety into some kind of political activism in order to break out of my isolation, but certainly it was a mistake to try find understanding from racist right-wing movements; maybe I ought to rather join the civil rights movement against the greedy media corporations, particularly because my satirical videos are disappearing from YouTube due to copyright claims by Viacom and the Fox Corporation.
Once I bumped into an American woman who
suggested that I should go to a Wal-Mart when Julie Andrews is signing her dumb
“Dumpy the Dumper” books and surprise the mother. Well, I'm afraid that the
Thought Police would warn her, before I could get there.
"The long sobs of the violins of the autumn."
Maybe the Simpson episode called “Insane Clown Puppy” is a personal poetic
message to me. Krusty is seen signing his new memoirs written by a ghost writer,
when he ends up signing the memoir of a girl named Sophie, who then proclaims
that Krusty is her father due to one-night-party during the Gulf War. Well,
completely sane Sophie is not a ballet dancer or figure skater but a violin
player, and father & daughter have a nice day on the beach, though the gambling
clown loses his daughter's precious violin in a poker game. I am also a lousy
gambler: my life is so boring that I don't simply have enough patience to wait
for the winning cards and nobody believes my bluff. All this would probably make
more sense if I made another video edition, but since the copyrights of the
Simpsons are owned by the Fox Corporation and some of my best videos have
already been deleted from YouTube due to the copyright issues with them...
I'm not as bad as a Hells Angel on acid, but nobody is completely innocent. Nevertheless, I don't know what was my crime when they nearly poisoned me to death with some kind of intoxicating drugs in the winter of '91. Toxic symptoms appeared suddenly on November 7th, 1990, and vanished as mysteriously in the next spring. I didn't use any drugs or alcohol, but for six months I felt like if I had had a bottle of moonshine for breakfast every morning. When I went out, I had to listen to conversations about "the delights of free spirits" behind my back. In a similar "paranoid" way I was informed that now they are convinced of my total abstinence. Therefore, the nightmare was over and I grasped at routines like a postman who delivers your letters on weekdays; we went on as if nothing had happened and nobody had read my private mail. After this overdose of manipulation I have had no doubt that there is something strange and sadistic going on around me like the well covered inhumane conspiracy: although my "neuralgia" may have a natural cause, you don't get poisoned by accident in a country like Finland, where they follow very strict legislation on the sale of liquor. I drink from their well without seeing the bottom. Auf Ihre Gesundheit! "Free drinks" are all right as long as it is you who is helping yourself, but those little power freaks are only willing to help me to corrupt myself as long as they can keep complete control. I don't believe in any happiness pill and coffee has been my strongest daily drug. Alcoholism offers a cheap explanation when somebody doesn't integrate into the society, but the truth is often more complex. Some people just like to masturbate with their own misconceptions and delete - or should I say poison - everything that threatens their uncompromising peace of mind.
What did I do before the chemical attack? I had been furious at all lies. Naturally, all those who were responsible and should have answered to my angry questions were either far away or dead, and those poor people, who were around me every day, had to face my fury. Nevertheless, I'm sure that any of my fellow mates didn't poison me, because I changed my place of residence several times, but "the moon shadow" followed me every time.
Something else also happened. The Russians were leaving united Germany, but what about me then? I thought that maybe this was supposed to be a white slavery kind of fairy tale: as soon as I have found a girl, they would come out from the shadows and we could have a happy ending. How naive was I! And furthermore, I did pop the question to two girls simultaneously. The first girl was called "Tiina" who was a young classical languages teacher and already married - silly me! Seppo Heikinheimo (Finland's Seneca) also mentioned Tiina in his public suicide note called "Mätämunan muistelmat" (The Memoirs of a Rotten Egg). The second fiancée was called "Mervi" who was a young bank employee from Espoo. You could get an anagram "viina-time" (viina is a Finnish word for booze) and a reminder "r" when you respell names "Tiina" and "Mervi".
Above in the bottom left-hand corner you can see me in the late 70s: believe it or not, but the photograph was taken in Westend, for there is also such a location in Espoo, Finland. And what's everything else then? Please, just use your intuition like I do when the pieces of mosaic are falling from the sky and I'm putting them in their places. Or have hallucinogens made me produce the grand illusion of genes of three generations in my mind? And this little punk wanted to join the bachelor choir of Buckfast monks without being trained in music in any way!
My six-month intoxication started during the journey of proposal to the Cafe Argos, where I met skinny Mervi on my 22nd birthday. She answered "no" to my idiotic proposal. However, simultaneously she made few strange body language signals. I returned her signals, and suddenly she wanted to kiss me without saying anything. Was this a beginning of a fine romance? No, I haven't met her face to face since this unforgettable birthday party that was beginning of my toxic inferno. Suddenly Mihail Gorbatshov changed his liberal policy and already removed DDR appeared back to the weather charts of Helsingin Sanomat (anybody can check this strange turn in the newspaper archives) although Honecker's sun had set to the West. During all these setbacks I was more loaded with poison than Rasputin before his death. The night of January 9th, 1991, was the worst: I was hardly able to eat anything, but I tried to eat some meat soup and then I went to bed. Being gravely intoxicated, I had endless hiccups and rapid pulse rate. I just thought that my brains are melting away. How could you sleep when you are sure that now it's your time to die: I stepped out from bed and turned on the TV like a deadbeat zombie. I saw how they tried to crush Lithuanian separatism on the news. It was just horrible! Since I try to reflect on my life through the films, "Jacob's Ladder" (D: Adrian Lyne, 1990) would be one to watch: when you have visited to the gates of death without any rational explanation, you know beyond all doubt that you are involved in the secret war! However, I survived, USSR didn't, and the domino effect followed: USSR falls; no more unlimited orders from USSR to Finnish shoe factory owners and other manufacturers; a grave depression in Finland; Finnish banks go bankrupt and merge. Is this how history is made? Few Finnish stockholder might still remember who "Tosi on -Jaska (Jack)" was: he was the last CEO of Kansallis-Osake-Pankki.
Below you can see among other things the scenes from Espoo and the poster of yet another Disney movie I haven't seen.
When I was allowed to sober up, I tried to make contact with Mervi and tell her that something really hellish happened to me. In answer to this she accused me of slandering. What? Maybe I went back on my offer of marriage, but slandering? What the hell happened? Are they playing some kind of jackpot-game with me? As they ask in "Kummelin Jackpot" (D: Pekka Karjalainen, 2006): "Who's your daddy? Your real father? Your father's ex-lay's new man? Or just anybody who will buy a pair of new skates to you?" So, do I have a daughter in Espoo? Tosi on - or is it true, because everything happened in the abnormal way while I was unaware for the most of that time: has it all been keino--artificial but productive immaculate insemination like in sad Oceania of 1984 where anything else would be a sex crime and children are brought up collectively without parents and love in kindergarten-barracks!? Maybe "Fuck the System!" literally means that your children are artificially produced without your consent, because all the system needs is your seed. I don't know for sure: the uncertainty is the key word here. Maybe I am just like a crazy penguin who has lost his egg and now I try to nurse other birds' young penguins. I am not insane, but I have been ground up by the conspirators' infernal machine of lies, drugs and violence. There is this sentence in one of Jouko Turkka's plays (the play is called "Lihaa ja rakkautta" if I remember right): "Women steal sperm stains from my sheets in order to get pregnant." I saw this play at the Finnish National Theatre in the autumn, 1990! Who says that you cannot rape a man? Financially, I don't have to pay any alimony payments, but who would need my pennies when she tells as a little cute cover girl in her bank-sponsor's customer magazine that she wants to become a figure skater! 1935-1942-1991-something posthumous like 1999? What would a possible grandmother's fan say:
She's very cute. I like how her hair is similar. But I don't think she looks a whole lot like Julie. It's there slightly, but I'm not like, "HOLY CRAP WHAT IS THIS? TWINS?!" And I thought Julie had brown hair. But that little girl is so cute. I just want to buy her an ice cream, or something.
Princess Ai (artificial in--?): Ai is an alien princess who found herself on the streets of Tokyo with her clothes and her memory in tatters after revolution. Thanks to the kindness of a handsome, young college librarian named Kent, Ai started to piece together her past while she found work as a singer to earn some money.
"Luottamus" (D: Edvin Laine, 1976) is the only film in which I flash with my foster mother as myself. The film is a study of nationalism and internationalism: should the human race be divided into small nations, or should all workers, white men or whatever unite? In one sequence a group of Finnish and Russian boys are fighting for the girls and Rosa Luxemburg is eating ice cream while Uncle Lenin fervently tells how much he is disgusted when a Russian peasant barks at everything that is Polish. So, should we be workers instead of being Russians, Finns or Poles? I'm part of this dilemma. If I had become a Finnish chauvinist pig, they would have pointed at me and said: "Look at that misled little bourgeois patriot! He was practically kidnapped to Finland, but now he is so Finnish. Such superficial loyalty is worthless like artificial patriotism."
"Luottamus" (Confidence) contains one comical character: a Russian colonel who has been in an advanced state of intoxication or drunkenness since November 7th, 1917. So, although I wasn't even there where everything dramatic happened, I had the Mother of All Hangovers after "the Mother of All Wars", as Saddam Hussein worded it. Just like Mr Clinton I could also say that I didn't have sex with that woman, but I have a daughter now?! However, still no scandal?
Hi, Emma (I DON'T MEAN EMMA WALTON)! What does it mean to be your biological father? I googled names Emma and Jack. I found this: senior biologist and Ph.D Emma Jack from San Francisco Bay Area. Wouldn't all this make a great movie! Dame Julie Andrews could be an upstart Hessburgher-Queen whose son is so invisible that he might be as well dead. Since the sadistic greedy snobs can't read any more dead man's diary, they suddenly become interested in his biological daughter who lives in San Francisco Bay Area.
How do they torture me? Why do they do so? Who are they? Was my coffee maker suddenly an instant whiskey maker? I don't even try to speculate on these questions any further, because it would be like trying to justify the crimes against my human rights. If they wanted so, on any given day I could be again as helpless as Dr Mengele's twin guinea pig. After heavy boozing the first sober morning is like resurrection, but just imagine the situation when you are not allowed to sober up: it's like being dying without any hope. The purpose of this kind of tormenting is not to extract the truth from the subject but to humiliate the ignorant victim by those who already know. I cannot trust in anything any more. However, what happened to me is now past and gone and I am not personally important. What will the future bring? More dry oil wells and Islamic extremist terrorism? Not likely! As a result of China's one-child policy and sex-selective abortions, millions of spoiled little emperors will be left wifeless. How will their government let off steam when countless angry young Chinese bachelors gang up and demand their share of the sweet cake. Will they start to import opium again?
Are you still splitting your sides with laughter?
Maybe the world is really controlled by the conspiracy of the beastly homosexuals who will never allow me to be a happy heterosexual.
Julie Andrews' birthday is the 1st of October, and my foster mother was born in 1949. The People's Republic of China was officially established on the 1st of October, 1949. Well, in mainland China they are training thousands of "moderators" to keep internet clean, for your pain is the centre of your private little kingdom and all you need is a daily cup of cooked "fàn" (rice).
Below you can see:
Different festivities on October 1st.
Me celebrating my student's cap in 1987. The giant is my foster uncle; he has Attila the Hun's profile. My baby half-brother sits on the floor.
Julie flashing her breasts. There wasn't any milk of hers for me when I was a growing baby and that's partially why I'm so short.
Romulus&Remus sucking at their "foster mother's" brests. Naturalia non sunt turpia.
Conditioning with pain. Pulvis et umbra sumus.
Force-feeding à la chinois. Ista quidem vis est!
Hmm--Uncle Willy's white Huns are slicing up the birthday pizza. So, did Julie give birth to an "emperor-penguin", or did Julie miss the premiere of "Star!" in London, 1968, because thousands of extras couldn't wait for their "darling Lili" somewhere else?
Vi måste säkra existensen
för vårt folk och en framtid
för våra svenska barn...
...eller gammalt kött från hednamissionen
till Gambia!?
Verum nulla tam modesta felicitas est, quae malignitatis dentes vitare possit.