For Music Fans

(Don't forget to check my YouTube account for tampering today - if you have time. I can't go online and see if anyone is assaulting my image with a video response. It's up to you, I'm afraid.)

4:34pm: I keep forgetting to tell you about my internal bleeding problem. It's become quite noticeable in the last week or so, but there is no pain. I know it paints a yucky picture, but you must be used to associating such imagery with me by now, with these bands who steal my songs presenting it to the world as my portrait. I just tonight realized how stressful it is to hear an unwelcome remark. I tensed right up and had to take a deep breath and try to distance myself from it. Each time it happens, it makes that hole inside me a little wider for them. And if you think that's stressful, you should know what it feels like to have a program like Dateline lying about you to protect their crooked network's crooked stars. Knocked me right off my couch and I wasn't even watching. Imagine the jarring impact to my system as they forced me to familiarize myself with this torture over the years. Politicians, imagine that. You get to imagine it, rather than experience it. Lucky you. I hope my endurance rewards me enough to make up for all the wear and tear on my body.

I also need to comment on one of the videos in my recommended section, a Carlin video from the 90's. Yeah, that was before he stole all his material from me. Who do you think he stole his material from then? When I think of Carlin, I think of the comedian who wants to fuck with your head by taking my serious statements when I'm bashing the business, like portions of the following, and making everyone think it's just all to be dismissed as absurd comedy when I am writing my real life. That really helped the business to deflect a lot of the criticism they had coming for how they treated me. And who might they have lined up to fill his shoes now that he's passed on? More stress.

2:42pm: Maybe someone might have noticed how I disabled the comments for my first post of Redemption on YouTube. The pictures don't make much sense outside of the comedy script for which I intended them. But I didn't appreciate being told I looked like a goof in a comedy script. I never like being told that. And that comedy script shows more Saturday Night Live fraud. And read the nine episodes that precede it. How much Saturday Night Live fraud do they expose? Yeah, Mike Myers! Saturday Night Live! Fraud! Fraud! Fraud!

Another point I must make is about the kind of messages I seem to be receiving from people who think obfuscation is clever, though they certainly would never know the word. I'll call your attention to one such example, that of 'uncroof'. This may well be a combination of the words 'uncle', 'crook', and 'goof'. But would you figure that out without the explanation? Probably not. Who would think that was clever? I can only think of those graffiti writers who invent words that make no sense to anyone but themselves. Do you find those witty? So why don't you good readers out there send these assassins along a word from their solitary target? GIBBERISH. See if you can stuff it into their brains as much as they've cluttered mine with their word.

And who's in a rush to see me play? You? Do you urgently need to see me standing on a stage with my guitar, singing to you? I can't imagine why. It would cost you money. Oh, but wait, the business makes money from concerts. They must be in a rush for a concert. And if they're in such a rush, why does it have to be my music when I'm in no rush at all? Why can't they get one of their eager beavers to write the music for them? Gee, maybe it's because their eager beavers only care about playing concerts and getting laid instead of how to write a good song. But I sure as hell know I won't be getting laid when I write a song, but I write it anyway.

(End of insertions.)

Hey, you gang of twenty or so black t-shirts who clustered outside the convenience store next to the library to intimidate me, as I noted in one of my statements of a couple weeks ago, how's your rock idol now? His lesson had to be brought up to date for him where he can read it, eh? That's because he has such a short attention span. I think all you workers should be locked in a burning barn, but I'm just going to ask the authorities to interrogate you within an inch of your lives. After that, you should not be allowed to congregate again or kicked out of the region.

There is still at least one offender at large here. It makes me think of this crappy little pop tune I wrote in 2007. It had a two chord chorus with eighth notes playing under it on a flat bass line. I remember sharing it and then hearing this silly tart with a drippy voice pretending it was hers. I can't recall the offender because there were so many of them. Any idea who it might have been, out there?

I am writing this for fans of music, not for fans of who performs music. People who love music would care more about the author of a song than its performer. This does not appear to be the case for the business which has gone out of its way to impose so much miserable torture on me all these innocent years. I am starting to regard it as the nemesis of music.

Let's look at how all this has worked out. One artist, myself, shared hundreds of popular songs. Does that make me a gold mine? Not to the greedy business, because they always want more and more people writing popular songs. The more people they have writing popular songs, the more money they make. So, me being alone with all those hits was looked at as an obstacle by the business, rather than an asset. In such an overtly dishonest business as the music business has proven to be to me in the last ten years, they can make a lot more money with fifty psychopaths than they can ever make with one artist.

What happens if they hire fifty psychopaths and give them each a few good songs from my old YouTube account? The fifty psychopaths magically turn into fifty lucrative stars! These 'artists' are so mentally ill that they would only end up in an institution otherwise. And then we'd have to spend money on taxes for them. The business never wants to spend money, only make profits. And it's more profitable for them to send the artist to the institution and hand his music over to fifty psychopaths.

But what if the artist raises his voice in protest? Isn't that what I've been doing for eleven years on Blogger now, right from the very beginning? They're obviously not worried about it. They know they can use their Nazi propaganda technology to make the crowd believe anything. All they need is the music that will let them get away with calling their 'artists' artists. This music has to sound as authentic and creative and passionate and imaginative as all of their psychopaths together couldn't produce in a million years. And fuck its author.

What did I hear last night in my bed? Someone was impressed by the 'stir' he made with his fraud venture. How much of a stir would he have made without my music? Why does my music only make you impressed with him? And why do I have to hear about it? Information like this certainly has a deteriorating effect on my mood when I'm alone at night, but the answer fits right in with the music business profit motive.

Because once the music business has made so much money from treating you like you're dead, you become worth more to them dead than alive. My suicide would help them get back into business with what they do best, destroying an artist's name and life to make the most possible profits for themselves. As long as they can keep their psychopaths sending their hate slogans to my brain at regular intervals, they count on my suicide to result directly from it.

I'm sorry to have to mention the gruesome details around copyright enforcement here. There is an equally revolting punishment for those who would tarnish my image with some sort of hideous lie. Get that lawbreaking wonder, Taylor Swift, to break down under interrogation and admit it to you on a video recording for YouTube. Yes, she ate it. And that might be why her loyalest supporters may have felt strange sensations of nausea while she was incarcerated. If she's been lying about me recently, make sure she and her followers are punished.

Now, as for my 'cross' making me a 'goof', as someone apparently wished to say yesterday, I can only assume she means the rosary I found hanging from the ceiling pipe in my room when I moved in. I left it where it was because I thought maybe it was there to ward off the ghost of a former tenant who'd hung himself from the pipe. But it is very much against the law to discriminate on the basis of religion. They can put you in prison for up to eight years for that. So I'd get that hate the fuck off my page before the police see it. And what does she think is a good cross? The cross of East Van? That must be the one she thinks Dean Christ was crucified on.

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