Expose The Tard Exposing the truth from as far back as 1993.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Member Name: urbanizedsin
Name: Nickolaus Albert Pacione
Marital Status: Single and Looking
Occupation: webmaster, writer
Location: Morris, IL
More About Me
More About Me: >
I am a published author on various gothic e-zines, and one of the webmasters of a site called Gothic Vault 166.6 FM. Those that wish to have more information about this site, send me an email. I grew up in the Chicago area and moved back and forth from Illinois to Iowa, and I returned to Illinois. Those that are from Hampton, Iowa, and openly are judgemental can go suck on a monkey's genitialia. The staff at the Mason City Public Library can go to hell for banning my ass -- you tried to kill my site by banning me, I was beat down in the name of the First. I am a martyr of free speech and press. I can be found in CollegeClub where I host Gothic Soctiey or at egroups which I host The Dark Philosophers Forum. My handle that I created here in the respect of the families that are mourning for their daugther taken from them in the Inglewood District because of a gang shooting. Her death was the result of an urbanized sin. My writings are hosted from my website, but those that are sensitive and weak minded, enter at your own risk because of the explicit content. I am gothic in my own right since I write of things that are dark, but at the same it could and has happened in reality. I write about people's phobias.
Wednesday, February 21st, 2001
Negative 16 degrees Farenheight -- colder than the beath of the spirits leaving their shells behind. I am getting ready to pack up for my assignment up in Racine -- then shooting back down to Chicago and Joliet. I am barely awake and not even a dose of caffine would wake my ass up for the day so I thought I would write in this thing before I would get going to start with the packing process -- not a lot of things to pack but the person would want to see some of the things that I had done as a photographer. I would tell her to visit my site that I had done though onyx. I don't know when would be the next time that I would be writing in this though -- because I would be away from a computer for a few days but it would do me some good though. Though it would be colder than a mother fucker though but it would be something that would add to the pictures -- I am like a mailman in that sense, would do that pictures either rain, snow, or shine. I am trying to think about how I am going to be doing some of these pictures.
This is the first time I worked with someone outside of who I usually do pictures with, which are either my own cousin, Erica, Richie or doing the pictures myself. The first person I have done pictures with were with my former girlfriend and I had to give her all the input and she was showing me all the cemeteries in Iowa. Something that I would remember of her when we first met but now we are no longer together and I have moved on. We always had friction though when it came to my writing in the latter years that I have bene writing -- she would not ready anything that I have written during the years of 1998 and 1999. She nearly destroyed the disk that she typed up the story I wrote titled The Painting. That was a story that was almost lost but I am going to be linking it though only through this journal for those who want to see how I write first hand. I thought this would be something for everyone to take a look at while I am away.
I will always find someone that would cause some friction because they disagree with something that I would do, something that was the case when I was visiting a good friend going to Wheaton College. I always expect it though because it comes with the territory having a site that is Writings From The Grave. That is why I had spent a lot of time in the Theosophical Society on Scmale and St. Charles Roads -- where Carol Stream was one block from there. Where I was living with my parents at the time it wasn't too far of a bike ride from there. I had access to the full place because of a good friend used to work there -- one that we were on the wrestling team together. I had set him up with a woman that came on too strong for me because I had been just out of a relationship with a woman who had turned lesbian on me. But it was her who encouraged me to persue my writing to the next level -- and that is when I had been keeping a journal, something that I had not of done for many years.
She in many ways influenced me to think for myself and not kiss ass on a higher scale. My recent ex had tried to kill my writings and creativity -- when I was writing the story, The Cavern, I remember the day very well. I was at her apartment and she said that I could use her computer to type out a story. She was bored and horny -- and was laying on the couch, stripping beneath the covers while I was trying to stay focused. She started with her shirt and pants then her bra and panties. I was saying, "Dammit M****y, not now. I am trying to think of something to write about. I was trying to write about the time that I took you through Lower Wacker Drive. I think that I have something here and going with it."
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Some of you are asking who Martin Woolley is -- to answer that question, Martin Woolley is one of my newest pen pals. This letter is in his words describing the nightmares of living on death row. I wrote Lethal Injection just before writing my first letter to him. I decided to publish his letter on my website and will post his mailing address up with the close of this introduction. I was looking to write a few prison inmates because I am looking for some real insight on the inside, and if anyone wants more information on writing other death row inmates, visit the site for the CCAPD since they create homepages for inmates on death row. I had colaborated with another inmate in Canton, Illinois, and I lost contact with him, but with writing Marty, I thought that I would start writing the other prison pen pal. I have some of his poetry on my homepage that I designed at
N-719365 P.O. Box 711
Menard, Illinois 62259
April 9, 2000
Recieved your letter and two short stories. They were very interesting and very good. Shall pass them along as you requested.
Let me begin by saying I apreciate you taking the time to write. Yours is the first mail from anyone in some time so it was very welcome. Would enjoy having you or anyone in your correspondence circle in the future. Any mail allows me to escape from my surroundings of only for a short time but a time valued. So write as often as you wish and let others know their will be gratefully accepted and answered.
Dante used the words, "Abadon all hope ye who enter" to desrcibe the inscription above the gates of hel. May sound like a fitting statment for a person in my sitituation. Yet hope is what I grasp onto though it was my life line. Hope that the system which is virtually trying to murder me for something that I did not do will relent.
You wrote of someone in Kewanee telling you details of my situation. I can't say that the name sound familar, but I am glad to see someone has taken the time to look past the bullshit the prosecution would like people to believe.
Something that you have to understand though. The system I've found myself in caught up in has caused me to become a bit paranoid of people and their intentions. Not saying taht you are playing any sort of game, but as I've watched family and people I thought were turing against me. Think you see my point. As stated earlier, I don't recieve any mail from anyone. Oh I may get the occassional letter from some stranger claiming they are concerned and want to save my soul, but that's it. As welcome as your letter is, I cannot discuss things about my case to you until I am sure what you're really after. You continus to write and I see not you're not out to exploit something or worse show up on witness stan. I may answer some of your questions. Though the system hasn't shown me. I can put any faith in it. I'm positive I will recieve a new trial where the facts will be better presented; those assigned the job to judge me will see that I didn't kill anyone. I can understand your curiousity but think you can see my point. All that about a preson is innocent until proven guilty is a false statement as I'm proof by having to prove my innocence instead.
What is it like to by in here? You'll never get it from a book. Even me describing it will leave you short and you may under, but never know without experiencing it. Be like you describing your bout with clinical depression. I may be able to understand but never know what it is like to suffer from it. Then I can only try to make you understand from my viewpoint and experiences. Others may be differnt.
I spend most of my time reading law books trying to figure out the rules to the system that seems to have no rules. I don't really write much but know exactl;y what you mean when you describe maintaining your sanity by drawing. Whenever I am not reading, I am drawing. It is my way of distracting myself from my surroundings. I can get so caught up in a drawing and reading as means to fend off sleep. I dread falling asleep and fight it with all my being. In the beginning it was to avoid dreaming then it was my goal that it if I just past out from complete exhastion I wouldn't or couldn't dream. Someone who has lost their freedom many would think they would of pleasant things. Not my case, my dreams consist of being strapped down to a table where a figure in surgical gowns is filling a big hypodermic needle with sodium thiopental (an anaesthetic and depressant), pencronum bromide (a paralyzing agent) and potassium chloride (a salt that stops the heartbeat.) The figure described as the executioner injects this violative cocktail into an I.V. that allows it to flow into a vein in my arm. A feeling of absolute terror embaces me as the executioner leans down; a whisher so on one can hear but me, "Everyone knows that you didn't deserve this but you can't stop it."
He then steps back giving a long manual laugh. As the fluids drip into my arm, I can feel death creeping in. My breath comes in wheaming rasps. My fingers tremble. Then my body stiffens and I can no longer move. The executioner steps forward with a sinister grin on his face; then places a stethoscope to my chest and shines a pen light into my eyes. He lets out another laugh that the words, "I pronouce this man dead" are barely audible. I suddenly awaken in a cold sweat and it takes time for my eyes to focus and my body to untense. Slowly reconition comes back to allow me to see my surroundings, and I know my struggle to prove my innocence has started for yet another day. Not a pleasurable to say the least.
With that I am going to wind this letter to a close. Know I truelly do appreciate you writing and sharing your stories. Also know I'll be alive for some time, years in even if the state should have its way. Would be interested to correspond with you on a regular basis and welcome anyone who would care to write. The only thing that I ask is to keep it real. I don't have time for head games. I recieve plenty of that here without having to outside for more. Please pass along my gratitude to Dareka for passing along my info and to both of you for believing in my innocence. In closing I look forward to hearing from you again. Until then take care of yourself.
an autobiographical essay by Nicky
with an original poem written and artwork by the author
though that I am in shadow, I am forged of the darker dreams,
in the lies that are awake, they are not dead but dreaming,
in the spirits that walk, and the shades that are sleeping,,
In the eyes in the mind, they cannot see the ill emotions
they would turn and walk around in their devotions -- they pray,,
I am the one that is with the Shades that belong to god Hades,,
walking and talking of philosophy as well as looking for answers,
in the time -- without a season, mourning without a reason
in the dreams that come after death, faith will forever pass away.
As I had stayed in a mental health unit, I had been told many years that I do not have a mental illness or even a learning disability. It was something that others had tried to convince me that I am well or stable minded -- it was a lie that was spoken of by Christianity. I am coming to terms with the fact that I have manic depression, and the truth of it is something that organized religion will refuse to understand. The only one that would know the truth is the manic depressant themself. It was in May of 1999 that I learned that I have the disease and looked at it as something that needed medical attention. When I was going to church, they were not able to see the dark, contorted emotions that go along with the shit that would go along with manic depression -- the emotional torment that would drive one into a nervous breakdown or to go into self-destruction. I should know because I had been going to church for five years and followed the teachings of Christianity. The whole time that I had gone to a Charistmatic church, I had been the subject of people that refused to have an open mind and judged me because I would dress in black, write poetry that is something out of a nightmare and do surealistic drawings. One had told me that I needed to be delivered from my writings and the imagination that would be the driving force of my writing. All I was able to see when I would go to church are visions of a dark, gothic nature. While the pastor would be preaching a sermon, I would picture him without any flesh or without eye sockets. This was something that I had a thing for even while I was going to high school, I would be making heads of monsters and other strange creatures -- which made me the suject of much persecution, but then I did not give a fuck since I had a vision with it. I did not see it then, but a friend of mine that I went to high school with said that I had a gift of a dark mind -- this friend was one that I lead to Christianity, five years before I knew that there was something wrong with me. One could say that my life is on the right time line as a horror writer before me, one that I didn't read as a young teenager -- one that shares a birthday the same month as I do, the writer I am referring to is H.P. Lovecraft.
My peers in College of Du Page would say that I have the same ideas as what Lovecraft would come with as if he was alive in the late 1990s, but instead of being from New England -- one that is from the Great Lakes States. As a child I was quite peculiar as well, I sought the company of adults than with my peers because I had been called many things including weird even by my former fiancee of a year and a half -- I was thinking that this mirrored H.P. Lovecraft's brief marriage to his ex wife who was also five years older than he was as my ex was five years younger than me. Though As I would write this narrative, one would not see what is truely going on inside of the mind of a manic depressant. For many years I had sat in the pews and watched the children pray, but as I would sit there -- there was a void not even their God can fill. That as I would go walking around at night -- the thoughts that stand will not end, that I would still see that girl who had allowed the car to run inside of a closed garage and I could still hear the chilling letter that Pastor Holmes had read at a Bible study. Though many years that I had been told about God's love, I would see that and say that he had walked away from them. Living a year in Iowa was something that left me -- alone with the thoughts of suicide and megalomania keeping me company. I had been told that mental illness belonged to the devil for many years, and that was something that I once believed openly as well as preached philosophically. Though I had been taught things out of the Bible, I didn't feel that they were true because it left nothing for open thought. Religion did not have all of the answers that did not bring back someone my best friend had been close friends with who had died of a drug overdose, now that will be two years (someone that was friends with a girl I dated in January of 1996, she also developed a drug problem. This is when I had learned that I would have boughts of deep depression.)
There are times when I would ask myself if the Welbutrin that Dr. Larsen gave me in May is working, or is it making it worst. In the eyes of a manic depressants, the pictures that are in their mind are very dark shades of gray -- even though one would say, "Cheer up" or "Don't look at the world so grim." These are things that are a crock of shit, and things that are stirring inside are darker and becoming more deformed. This is true when one's peers are disrepecting and would torment them with cruel remarks calling them unbalanced, unhealthy, and in ways -- evil. I prefer being called misunderstood, and think differently -- that is how I would come to terms being a manic depressant.
It is in the mind that would be left haunted by bouts of megalomania and dementia, in the eyes of Christianity; we are called demonically possessed because something is not right with the human mind. It would be as nightmare that would happen as one is awake -- this is the desription of a nervous breakdown, when one feels that everything is coming down on them or they feel as they are in a casket with a blanket of dirt being poured on them while they are not dead like they are already in Hell. As one would sleep, they would feel like they are being visited by the Shades of Hades -- the harrowing nightmares that would appear in form of a Demonic God devouring his followers. The thoughts that are alone inside of the mind of a manic depressant, of what would drive one to injest a bottle of asprin as did the basketball player from Chicago who was going to play for the Dallas Mavricks or to take a razor blade to their wrist.
In the eyes of the followers of the Christian Church, one would never understand the thoughts that are inside of one that is a manic depressant unless they with sit down and take the invitation to walk with them. Walk with them into their mind to see the dark, contorted emotions that are inside of their minds as well as my own mind -- the things that are there are as dark as a drive by shooting or a pastor who is fixing on street drugs such as cocaine and herion. These nightmares are the things that walk with the Shades of Hades -- inside of the thoughts that walk alone in the minds of a manic depressant. It is part of how a manic thinks even if they are sitting in a pew of a spiritual church, but as they are told these things -- the truth is left unseen in the eyes of their peers. In my time that I had been reading the Holy Writ as well as studying philosophy, I felt like they were trying to crucify me because I am mentally ill. In the thoughts that are in my mind -- they cannot see the dark, brooding emotions that are inside. For that I am one that had stayed a few days in a hospital, they don't do shit for the ones that are ill except for giving them a drug and say that everything will be fine -- they don't treat the person as well as the fucking illness.
They will not begin to understand the thoughts that are inside a manic depressant, and they will always call them deranged, demented or crazy. It is the words that would cut worst than a razor blade to the wrist or a gun where the trigger is pulled in one's mouth like what Kurt Cobain had done in 1994, inside of the mind of a manic are things which are unspeakable in the open especially if they are living in a small town. In the mind that stands alone are the things that are kept locked inside -- slowly tearing them apart. This holds true with me as I had spent five years believing, and then later questioning all the things that I had been taught. During that time, I spent many years coming to terms with the illness that will always following -- driving me to write this confession; a confession of a manic depressant.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Subject: Answers to both the questions
There were few questions that you had asked me in a series of emails relating to Husentruit and her co- workers, you asked of when I had met up with the crew of the ten o'clock news there. It was on a Friday night, I was coming from a store after buying myself a few pens and some notebook paper -- I remember the night as one that I was a well running dry of ideas, something that one would be a writer's block.
I had walked into Perkins to get myself a cup of joe because I didn't feel like sleeping much since it was a month after I received a severe blow to my head. I had brought a green backpack with me containing collections of manuscripts that were later stolen sometime in July that year, the contents of the pack were five books -- one of them was a Bible, a book about paganism, a collection of stories written by Edgar Allen Poe, and a book of short stories written by H.P. Lovecraft.
While I was looking through by binders, I had thought about something the youth pastor had said to me about my manuscripts -- remembering what he had called them, and said that my testimony should be the length of all my short stories put together. Pissed off at what he said, I began to think about something that would become the speculative journal titled "Inquisition -- A Narrative." I am writing him saying that he lacks compassion and a Satanist will show more compassion than him.
I have some respect him which is the reason why I am writing to him. Well as the story of how I met up with Amy Kunns goes on how I met was that I was in a booth next to their table -- they were cracking some lewd jokes and I quipped, "A friend of mine sent me an email and the end of the email message was, 'I am a baby seal, whack me in the head.' "
They responded in a jesting matter -- but they were not familiar with how morbid the jokes in Chicago and Peoria are. In fact, I share the same first name as a deceased relative whom was buried in Peoria -- his name was Nickola Pacione, but going back to the story of talking with the news team of KMIT in Mason City. I tried to ask Amy Kunns that if she knew of any dark stories born in Mason City, Iowa, but she refused to talk about it. She had no idea that I wrote my first essay that plays around with the Husentruit kidnapping. As I had described in my last letter, the dreams that I had about Husentruit were a bit gothic -- almost how what if Edgar Allen Poe or Stephen King would do if they had written about the story their interpretations.
I had not spoken of the topic anymore to anyone that knew them, but another anchorwoman that I made an acquaintance with had asked me what is someone from Chicago, Illinois, doing in a town such as Mason City? I told her the reasons that I came was to find all information that I can about the Husentruit kidnapping, and I told her a little bit about haunted places that I looked into in the Chicago area being White�s Cemetery in South Barrington, Illinois, and the Marynoll College in Glen Ellyn, Illinois, which is south from my hometown of Glendale Heights, Illinois.
I was drawn by the stories of the bizarre and unusual, and I was no strangler to psychics because in the second year that I was a teenager I had sat in a session with a psychic artist in London, England, after my mother and step-father had seen her on Unsolved Mysteries -- that had been my first experience with the supernatural, and my life had been closely connected with religion and the occult.
Even when I had picked up a Bible when I was 18, I had a connection to the bizarre and had read books of vampires and werewolves while I was twelve years old. I even had dabbled with the Ouija board out of curiosity -- it was a psychic from Elmhurst, Illinois, mother of an aspiring actor and playwright, Adam George, and an editor named, Kim Bowen, of Glendale Heights, Illinois, who was a poet and worked as a model. They had been the ones that had introduced me to the open mic circuit. While I was performing the circuit, I had met up with two people that were also on the circuit. One of them was also a Christian psychic, mildly retarded and his friend had practiced shamanism.
While I had been performing, I had discovered the internet as means the get my writings out where I can get them read. While I was on there, I had met a woman that was five years older than I was and she was drawn by the mysterious writing style that I had. Peers that had came across my work had compared it to the horror writer H.P. Lovecraft, but what triggered much controversy about the work is that at the time I started writing is that I was a practicing Christian.
But the talent that the woman said I have, had later made her turn against me. She was trying to make me chose between her or my gift -- especially when we had a child together, but the state had taken him away from us. She had said to me that she was haunted by some kind of demon, a incubus, because she would have days of dream paralysis.
It was from her that I learned of Jody Husentruit while I had started talking with her on the phone three years ago, then we ended falling in love and the relationship ended because she wasn't able to change me when she thought that she was able to. She tried to change my Bohemian spirit to someone that was more traditional, as someone that was more used to growing up in a rural community. She had never been exposed to a psychic, but she called herself a solitary witch (she even said that Chicago had given her nightmares because I showed her around -- gave her a tour into the darkness that would inhabit there, meeting some of my friends who were homeless.) While I was staying with her in the February of 1998, I had first seen one of the broadcasts about their kidnapped anchorwoman. I had long believed that one who died a violent demise would remain among the living as a ghost until their killer had been placed to rest (this is "The Crow" theory, their spirits are tormented in their eternal sleep because their murderer is alive and killing again. They say that Du Page County is haunted in certain places by various murders that are appalling in nature ranging from being gang related to human sacrifice.) Things like this that had drawn my curious to the macabre and bizarre, along with the supernatural. In fact Glendale Heights had its own fortuneteller, I had met her when I started my first job at an indoor flea market when I was 16 years old.
During this time I met an older person who pretty much became my mentor. He had that psychics were just people who were masters of magician parlor tricks, but it was my friend�s mother who was a clairvoyant had said to me that my writing was a key to the astral plain because it had an eerie similarity to the writer H.P. Lovecraft. This was at the time before I owned some of Lovecraft�s books, and I had spent a long time studying seances -- and I had the interest in wanting to take part in a seance.
I had pulled out a tarot deck and would lay out a queer spread -- one with the tower card was the first to be laid down, then the death card on top of that card. The Devil was the first to be laid above those two then the eight of swords, and then it would proceed to the five of swords and five of pentacles, and once that spread was laid out -- my friends that were with me had no idea what that meant. I was told that it was one of the darkest spreads to be laid out, and it scared my friends in Naperville -- it was a two years later on that same day of February 9th, on that hour of 8:05 PM, I had received the blow to the head that the had frightened Mason City Police Department and all of the North End. The news were at the scene of the horror, about the hour that I was carted off in the ambulance -- that nightmare about Husentruit appeared to me the next few nights before I went away to Iowa City for a week.
They caught two of the people that had assaulted me, one of the officers on the scene I had became close with because she felt responsible for what the two had done. Between one of my friends, who was a security guard and I had a bad feeling that they were going to follow me back to my apartment -- to this day I had never been assaulted like that. The person that attacked me was like a Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde because he was friendly with me one week, and the next he had tried to take my life.
He would wonder why I felt like he was stalking me, but one of his other friends was out for a witch hunt because he discovered my homepage and said that my taste in music had frightened him. He had said the only way that he would hang out with me is to not listen to industrial and start listening to Def Leppard (no chance that will happen because I am being from Chicago, and industrial metal is born there.) The one that accused me of being a Satanist was named Howie McKee, a native to Charles City, Iowa.
(I never got the ones from Charles City because they would say that they were from the city, but I would tell them that I am from Chicago -- they felt intimidated because I was Italian and was born in Illinois. What does Iowans have against people from Joliet and Chicago -- must be the macabre history that follows Chicago, being the darkest city in the Midwest. There is a running joke among Chicagoans -- giving Chi-town another nickname, and it sort of stuck �The Dark City� in some ways I think that nickname suits it, we call Joliet the �City of Inmates� because of the prison. People from Joliet think the nickname is a little humorous because they send the murderers there.)
As I would continue, on I learned that the police officer that saved my life had been one of the officers that investegated the disappearence of Jody Husentruit. Some the reasons why I got jumped is that I was an outsider that knew too much about the Husentruit story, and they would say that I sounded a bit mouthy -- I couldn't help it, I am from Chicago, and seventy-five percent Italian -- third generation in this country. I take it that they never seen an Italian up close and personal, especially one that is quite gothic in their thinking. They didn�t like the way I dressed or the way I thought.
The youth pastor that I wrote to was one that was bias toward one of the people who had put me in the emergency room for losing two quarts of blood. The officer's name is (protected). She was the one that told me to lay down because I had pissed and had unstaunched wounds , but I had no idea where I was bleeding from -- I was washing the blood off my hands, but I was still bleeding. I bled enough where I should of been in bed for a few days.
My landlord had me coming into the work the next day, but she had been keeping an eye on me watching for changes in my health. She was afraid when I went walking into the downtown district because the police had yet to catch the third one. The people walking into the Velvet Touch car wash had a copy of the newpaper where they had the attack written on the second page and they covered it for a week. I could remember them wrapping me up in six blankets and a shock blanket -- I was asking where was I and what are they putting me in. I had thought at one point that I was going to die because of how much I had been bleeding, and no one in Glendale Heights would of known what had happened to me.
The workers there had said they were going to keep an eye out for the mother fuckers that had placed me in the hospital. I will often have nightmares about being in the hospital and covered totally in blood -- then I would see Husentruit's ghost in the hallway of the hospital, dressed in a long, gray velvet gown, a silvery black cape with a hood, and black hat that had a dark gray translucent, concealment which covered her pale facial features.
That had been first time in my life that I was mortally frightened -- my friend, Trent, was thinking that could of been him, and he wished that it happened to him instead of me. He was in denial that something like that would happen in Mason City, Iowa. I was thinking that Mason City was turning into Addison, Illinois, because Addison had a murder that was as fear-inspiring as the Manson Family in Los Angles -- the similarities in the murder of the mother and her three kids were that they had been each been stabbed at least sixty times, and the unborn child had been ripped out of the half-concious mother.
As I had walked to Trent's office, he notice that I looked a bit pale from what had happened -- he said, "Nick, you should be in bed because you're looking pale. Are you going to be all right? I will keep an eye out for Gepart and Murl; I am not going to let them do what they did again. I feel that what had happened was my fault." I had to convince Trent that it was not his fault, and he did the best that he could. The attackers were following me around the next few weeks; acting like they were my best freind so I will drop the charges, they were fortunate that I didn't file attempted homicide -- I had a one-time use camera concealed in the pocket of the backpack that I was carrying with me. At a thirty feet distance they were following behind me, and I had cleverly snapped the picture when they were not looking -- I had the flash of the camera turned off. I was going to use that picture also as evidence to have them tried, but they got off with a slap on the wrist because of their age.
They had continued to stalk me well into April, and one of their friends had chased me through the post office after hours; door to the main office was still open and when I tried to exit -- one of them chased me through to where I had locked myself in the postal workers office. I felt like I was in a horror film -- one of those victims that locked themself in somewhere to hid from the killer. I somethimes would think about that night -- calling the police in a frantic attempt to make a safe route back to my apartment which was right off of HW 65 and 11th N.E. Since the attack and the state had snagged my child, I had became an emotional wreck -- and just now I am seeking some kind of closure.
Since then, I had formed a circle at a place called Gothic Society in a place called CollegeClub -- founded it when I returned to Illinois for a week, and used it as a means of finding other people who had survived a violent crime as well as being a target of a modern witch hunt. Before I moved back to Illinois, the people I had thought were my friends had tried to change my look and appearence just so they can be comfortable for me to be around them -- then I discovered some of the friends that I had that had been there when I got banned from the local library had vouched for me because they knew that my email was something that I couldn't be without because that was my communication back to my friends and family in Chicago.
They were the ones that knew if I stayed in Iowa, I would of tried to take my life because the system tried to single me out because of my dark lifestyle, and trying to retain much of my individuality. This had eventually broke up the long term relationship that I had with the solitary witch who now lives in Hampton, Iowa. (I am now over her, but she sends me nasty emails from time to time -- threatens bodily harm to me. She gave the determination to try to kill my writing career before I even send out my first manuscript if I wanted to continue to stay with her as a significant other, but I couldn't give up my talents because that would eventally be the end of me -- would be the thing that would destroy me. She had been trying to get me to go back to church, and shed the back clothing -- she could change what I am, and the black is a part of me. That is my creativity and she didn't give a fuck if I gave up.)
Well I hope this letter will answer some of your questions about the man behind the horror writings, and the speculative essays. I was wondering if you can write out some of your nightmares for me because I was curious on how harrowing the nightmares that would haunt a psychic. In response to your question about goths being allergic to psychics, to tell the truth -- psychics are intriguing to the imagination of the gothic writers, and poets alike. We can learn a lot from each other -- because some would say that a horror writer does have an eerie imagination; especially when it comes to writing of supernatural horror and of things about the astral plaine. In my practice of paganism, the color black is a power color -- as would also a medium would say the same thing.
You were saying that Amy Kunns would tell you anything. What the rest of the news crew say to you? When I had spoken with another anchor, I mentioned that my hobby is chasing spectral activity. My intrest in the supernatural had carried me to Winnona, Minnesota. because I investegated the story of Heffern Hall which I later wrote of in one of my journals -- describing a nightmare that I had six days before going up there with my former roommate, who was also a horror writer; he wasn't as productive as I was when it was time to write. When I would sit at a keyboard, it would feel as sometimes an essay or a story would write itself as I would be writing this correspondence.
This had been the first time that I had corresponded with a psychic. When I was taking a public speaking course in college, at College Of Du Page, I had tried to do a speech about D. D. Home -- the instructor refused to let me have an extension on it because I had problems getting the things I need for the seance, and she was too religious; saying what I was doing was disturbing. I ended up withdrawing from the course because I fell deathly ill -- lasting three months, had to stay in bed for seventeen days.
Ever since I had written that about D.D. Home, the years that I wandered away from my grasp of the occult would later surface in my writings -- the second horror tale that I had written was about the dealings of the witchboard or Ouija board and the results of using the board. I am trying to find that novel that was written by a spirit from the Ouija board whom had called itself P. Worth (perhaps you might had heard about this case of the supernatural -- kind of a form of automatic writing.)
This was something that I had seen on Unsolved Mysteries recently and things that I have seen on Ripley's Believe It Or Not as well as Journey Into The Bizarre on The Discovery Channel. This is the reason why I wanted to join you on your next trip to Mason City, Iowa. With you, I might be able to pick up on details that I had missed when I had lived there during the year and a half -- would there be some way that you can make your way up to Joliet, or get me down to Peoria? I have been wanting to do something that is on the lines of H.P. Lovecraft colaborating with Harry Hodini (this is when Lovecraft wrote "Entombed With The Pharrohs" with Harry Hodini.) I had seen supernatural happenings ranging from a psychic artist when I was 14 to seeing someone speaking in tongues and "slain" in the Holy Ghost.
I had the Christian orientation, but I had said that Christianity was not my path because of everything that I had researched. I am going to conclude this, but when you respond -- could you go into some detail about your nightmares. This was the reason why I took my time and didn't answer you right away -- I wanted to organize what I was going to say and answer some of your questions, I hope that this would give you some insight about the horror writer from Du Page County.
Inside out -- crawling within the eternal sleep,
Inside out -- lurking inside the forgotten dreams,
Can one see within the shadows of the astral plain
inside the mind, no one can hear the dead souls scream
Monday, November 19, 2007
The Distraught Cycle
essay by Nicky
I am writing this throught the eyes of a teenager that was mentally abused day and day out by one's peers -- it is a thing that one is about to is something that the tormentors cannot see. That damage that they had done is irreversible, especially one is entombed within a locker with their own padlock is locked to the locker. Inside the mind of the victim, the torment will always circle their mind as they would come to school the next day, the horrors will begin all over again. The cycle of torment will never end. It is just because one is different, one will become a victim of the tormented cycle of name calling, taunting, and physical beatings that would occur from day to day for no reason.
This was the case with me, but as an adult I developed a series of mental health problems that had lead from the tormented cycle. Now that I am in my twenties and seen all the other teens as well as kids that are on the talk shows telling their stories of day to day torment -- It is just that the tormenters cannot fucking see what they are doing in the long run. It is torment of that kind that would drive one to bring a .22 pistol to class and open fire on the mother fucker who would make their lives a living hell. This that one has in common with the rest of them that had been in the tormented cycle. The one's that cannot see the damage they caused until it is already too late, when the teacher would find the student in the public restroom after they had sliced their wrists.
As the one who would be tormented would go to sleep, they would have nightmares about the things that one would do to them -- inducing their darkest fears. The thoughts that would go through their mind is undescrible, of the things that would run through their mind as a horror film. The horrors that fill their head as they would check themselves into the hospital for a mental illness because of the torment that their tormenters would invoke -- with little regard of what would end up of their victims, they would give a fuck if their victim had tried to kill themselves. This would be the worst kind of murder -- namely because they driven their victim to kill themselves or into addictions of drugs and alcohol. The thoughts that would burn from inside would try to be hidden behind a smile and by one's choice of religion, but as that is the case -- the torment is molesting their subliminal mind as a child molester who is molesting a child. It is one of those things that is not spoken of in the open.
The things that are inside of the tormented cycle would act as a serial killer stalking their next victim, the tormenters would just see another victim -- the thoughts that would haunt them inside as they would go to sleep. The thoughts that would haunt the victim from their years of going to school day in and day out being greeted with cruel taunts about the way they look or where they are living at -- this was the case while I grew up in Roselle and was going to school in Lombard. It is a nightmare going to school everyday and would be greeted by people throwing pennies or worst -- the torment cycle will not stop there, and it would lead into something like Columbine where two students had taken out 14 of their classmates as well as a teacher. If they were just left well enought alone, maybe they wouldn't of pulled the horrible crime in Littleton of planting bombs in various places or would have enough guns to wipe Colorado into their demise. Inside of their mind, the torment cycle sits alone within their undead spirits.
It as a raven perched upon a tomb in a cemetery, knowing as the victims of the torment cycle would be alone in a vacant locker room -- sitting in one of the bathroom stalls holding a razor blabe to their wrist or a bottle of sleeping pills. They would say that insults won't do any harm, but as they are said -- it is sometimes worst than pulling a .22 on them. As they begin to run the blade across their wrists, they begin to hear the screams of the whippoorwill from beyond the grave -- the thoughts that reveal themselves in the writings from the grave. The things that would be said and the closing of the locker are as the closing of a casket while they are still alive. It is as the Shades of Hades are looking on as the tormenters are laughing as they drove their victims into commiting suicide. They would sit there and laugh as their victims are dead, and as they walk away -- they carry onto their business as nothing had never happened.
The things that woyuld sit inside of the tormenter's nightmares are the spirits of the one's that they drove them to kill themself -- the things that would stand alone in the distraught cycle. As much as they would try to ignore the nightmares, the horrors that they induce is day in and day out. It is one of those things that they refuse to fucking think about because they don't fucking care if their victim will live or die. They don't realize that they are the worst kind of murderer, one that induces the mental abuse to drive their victims to sign themselves into a sanitarium; refusing to let them be and leave them alone.
The reason I wrote this is to relate to all out there that wer subject of being tormented day in and day out by their classmates for one reason or another. I, myself, had been bullied while I was growing up because I looked different and thought differently than the main stream. This is my way of saying keep your heads up when your going through that, and don't be afraid to talk to a trusted friend -- especially if the tormenter is really trying to take your life or if you're driven to killing yourself. If you're a teen that was harrassed while you were in high school, or if you are currently in high school and haunted by cruel taunts or threats; please write me -- I am here to help.
Friday, November 16, 2007
|Thursday, February 8th, 2001|
|3:46 pm|| |
Just Starting this
Well I had just got an account on here and offically been up close to 24 hours straight. I have to go see my mental health therapist tomorrow, at times it is a fucking pain in the ass but it is something that I have to do to remain mentally stable. This one would be for those who think my horror writings are way over their head, but they would not understand that this is the way I am. Not even my long time best friend understands that I am a horror writer and what I do is what I am.
I had just got done updating writings from the grave -- that one is a real bitch to get moved over because I had so much put into it almost four years of updating, and now it is done. I got a little bored from some down time so I got on instant messenger -- funny little invention because I had came across a person that I have not seen since 1994, or when I was taking a college class. It was a long time but I thought I would talk with him for a while -- even though this was one of the people who had made fun of my ass as a kid.
Well I was the skinny nerd back then and that who he still remembers -- he doesn't know of this this part of me that scares the living fuck out of people when they read my writing. He doesn't know what to expect with my work but the person he runs with is a really good friend of mine since 1997. He and his lady took me down to Bloomington, Illinois, which was cool -- something that I hadn't done for a long time. I might do that more since I am on disability but too many medical bills -- damn ingrown toenail acted up while I was staying in Canada; bashed into it while I was rockclimbing.
Other that minor setback -- expensive one though, still have no idea what it is in American funds. Funny thing about the Canadian cash -- their broke when they come to the states and when we go to Canada, we're shitting dollars and pissing coins, but when it comes to the toonies and loonies -- those would hurt if they were pissed out. (This a rare thing for me -- making someone laugh, usually I am scaring the fuck out of them with my horror writings or my artwork.)
Just spoke with the woman who is interested in me from Florida. She is talking of coming up to see me in Chicago before she goes to Canada. I told her that if she is not used to the cold climate -- come to Chicago first because our winters are brutal, but the past week Seattle been getting our winters and we've been getting their climate. (I can see them going out looking at the first snow -- but I hear them from Chicago bitching about it.)
She had never seen a subzero climate, and they wonder why someone from the Great Lake States have such a twisted sense of humor. It is because of the mother fucking long winters -- the long winters equal to sick jokes and dark writings. I say it like this because I had just finished writing a new short story -- the idea came about from a nightmare I had when I was camping under the open sky in Sudbury, Ontario. I called the story Ontario. This one turned out to be four pages in length -- two all night writing sessions when I was without a mouse to use.
The navagational mouse had gone to hell about a day after I had moved everyting from go network to crosswinds. It took me 50 hours to get everything downloaded from there. After the relatives telling me that I have been on the computer too long -- putting up with their yelling is worth it because all that work is done. Speaking of relatives, (omitted to protect the innocent).
I was printing up some of the pictures that I had taken from my backpacking trip to Ontario; trying to decide on a picture to mount and frame up to give (omit) for (omit) birthday. I promised her and the woman interested in me some of my photography -- A**** wants the one that is on the second page on the website. I had been checking my email to see if I got anything from her or from my fourth cousin who is getting tickets to see Pantera for me since I am no where near a ticketmaster. On top of that I am hoping to be at the twilight tales open mic which is held in the city. This is a place where horror writers can read some of their short work. Something that I hadn't done in a long time -- not since I was staying with my (omit)s when they still lived in Illinois. I had done my first reading in Des Plaines, Illinois, at a coffeehouse a friend I worked with at Remcor hosted from his church then the next two were my bigger ones. Grounds for Thought in Downers Grove, and the Chocolate Moon in Elmhurst, Illinois.
I was invited to this back on December 4th, but I had to be on a flight at 8:45 AM to Toronto, Ontario, from Chicago, Illinois, where I had to take a small plane into Sudbury. Custums can be a real fuck to deal with because some like to smuggle in carton of Newports -- something that I wish I had when I was there. A goddamn menthol smoke or a mini cigar.
Here I am two months later starting an online journal -- this is my little rant for the fucking day. Now up since 6 PM last night but right now sleep is illuding me so I thought I would do this to pass the time. Now where was I, remember now, a little more about the invitation. I had been looking in a guestbook I rarely use or never touch and found a site for Chicago based horror writers called Twilight Tales. I am thinking of doing an open mic next month -- but debating on what peice am I going to use though. It'll come to me in time, perhaps I might use the entries from The Shadowed Thoughts. This place is to just keep myself fresh because I may not know when an idea would come about for something that I am writing. The idea for Ontario came about when I was in Canada but it was there since I was writing back in 1997. Along with that -- I had done some rework to one of the pictures to that trip to give to (omit) -- debating on the ones to give her.
In close for those who are curious about my darker side -- this would take care of that curiousity. In the meantime -- this should keep the backward hicks entertained because that is what this place is for. I am going to sleep now, but if anyone reading this want to email me -- they are welcomed to it but as long they go read my other writings. I guess now I can crawl into my bed and pass out.
Current Mood: cynical
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Dmitry Sklyarov, a lead programmer for Russian software company ElcomSoft, was visiting the United States for the annual Defcon hacker convention, where he gave a talk on the often-flawed security of e-books.
This would be the second known prosecution under the criminal sections of the controversial Digital Millennium Copyright Act, (DMCA) which took effect last year and makes it a crime to "manufacture" products that circumvent copy protection safeguards.
Vladimir Katalov, Elcom's managing director, told PlanetEbook that Sklyarov was arrested for distributing the company's Advanced eBook Processor as he was on his way home and that he is being held in a Las Vegas jail while awaiting transfer to California.
This is the latest round in an increasingly nasty battle between Elcomsoft and Adobe, which fired off a stiff letter to the Russian firm a few weeks ago claiming "unauthorized activity relating to copyrighted materials," and requesting that the $100 eBook decoder be taken off the market.
At the time, Katalov replied on the comp.text.pdf newsgroup by dismissing Adobe's complaints as specious: "We'll just move our site to another ISP, in another country (where there is no Digital Millennium Copyright Act). And/or make our software available for free, under the GNU license."
So far, hackers and open-source advocates have paid the most attention to the DMCA's civil portions, which eight movie studios used in an attempt to compel 2600 Magazine to remove a DVD-descrambling program from their website.
The recording industry threatened Ed Felten, a Princeton University computer science professor, with a civil suit under the DMCA if he presented his research on copy protection plans, prompting the Electronic Frontier Foundation to file a lawsuit trying to declare the DMCA unconstitutional on free-speech grounds.
Federal prosecutors in Florida have filed one case against a man who allegedly distributed cards that circumvent satellite content protection systems. Dario Diaz, the defense attorney involved in the case, said in an interview last week that he did not know of any other DMCA prosecutions.
Sklyarov, who works in Moscow, was arrested at the Las Vegas airport on Monday morning, according to his employer.
During its exchanges with Adobe, Elcomsoft has taken the position -- with which many security experts agree -- that any kind of eBook protection system running on insecure hardware, including Acrobat PDF, is inherently insecure.
"We would like to state our intention to publish the sources of our software in the Internet, and do our best to make them available to everyone all over the world if Adobe Systems continues to pursue us," Elcomsoft says on its website.
An e-mail message dated June 25 from Adobe's anti-piracy team to Elcomsoft says: "Offering of this product without Adobe's consent constitutes contributory copyright infringement.... This violation is a matter of great concern and will be pursued aggressively by Adobe Systems."
Adobe also pressured Elcomsoft's former Internet provider, Verio, to pull the plug on the company's website. Elcomsoft has since moved its online operations to a Russian provider.
An earlier version of Elcomsoft's decoder appears to have caused BarnesandNoble.com to temporarily yank some eBooks from its online store last month. Adobe quickly released an improved encoder, sparking a kind of virtual arms race between the two firms.
Since the U.S. is alone in having a law as broad as the DMCA -- though Europe is weighing a similar scheme -- the threat of criminal prosecution could prompt overseas security researchers to boycott American firms.
After Felten, the Princeton professor, initially bowed to threats from the recording industry and did not present his paper at a conference in Pittsburgh in April, organizers predicted an American boycott could happen.Ross Anderson, a reader in security engineering at Cambridge University, said at the time: "There is a question whether it will be prudent to hold certain types of security conferences in the U.S. in the future.... We can't really tolerate a situation where anyone who breaks a system that embarrasses someone gets served with a writ."
picture from an old blog of Nicky's
Well she wasn't the only one
It had been a long time since I did a nice pissed off little rant, but here goes. Never send money to someone you thought you loved then they realized that they were a backstabbing faggot who just played you, and then want someone of their own sex over the opposite sex. The bitch I am referring to here is one that I thought who was kind hearted, but turned out that she was really a backstabbing peice of trailor trash. But anyway -- getting ready to go to Goth Con and looking forward to that a lot because I had never been to New Orleans. It is going to be cool because it would be without the person I thought I had loved but the next thing I knew she was a total back stabber. But other than that I am doing fine in that department -- my best friend was right about her.
|Friday, January 18th, 2002|
Just because of a rant I did on xanga they are trying to get me in trouble with the livejournal police, what the fuck do they expect me to do watch my fucking language. Because I have a strong opinion on something and back it up means that I should be deleted from livejournal -- what the motherfuck is up with that? I swear they had brain damage. Some people need to get a godmotherfucking damn life and leave me alone to say what I want to say, it is not so freedom of speech for the heterosexual male. I am pissed that so many tend to get more into trouble because my crime is freedom of speech, and being a heterosexual male one tends to get hell because the heterosexual male is being silenced. I helped a certain person on here and now she is stabbing me in the back, what the fuck is with that. I go by the benifit of the doubt at times and sometimes I would get in trouble for it but for others who like to get me kicked off of here -- fuck you because of all the help I had given you in the past, I wish I told you to fuck off then and there when you asked me for a website and for an online journal. You should be thanking me instead of fucking me over and stealing my money. One thing I hate are thieves and what you are is a theif who lied about sending out money that you owe. That money she said she sent me never got here -- ******** knew that ***** lied about sending it just so I can get off her back. What the motherfuck is up with that? I gave that money in good faith and now I never got that money; though you said you sent it -- you never did. Someone loans you money -- pay it the fuck back. And I am not going to watch my language, even when it comes to insulting authority.
Tuesday, November 19, 2002
Some people cannot get a sense of humor of someone with the wit of a marine drill sargent. Where this fuck is asking me to delete the other post -- fuck that, it stays here. I had this journal as a way to blast livejournal and will blast livejournal at any cost, and found a way to blast melo as well because some little faggot named rick who keeps telling me to get a hair cut. I will pay someone $90 to piss on him in his sleep or better yet take a shit in his shoes send me a picture of when the deed is done. I am going to piss two fuckers off with one stone here, one fucker who decided to take it upon themselves to bully me here on xanga and they already did that on livejournal -- will the mister father fuckers please stand up so I can throw dog shit mixed with my piss at them. Fucks cannot see where someone is pollitically incorrect and they like to hug their trees -- I cannot help if I just marked my territory on them already; raise a leg and take a leak. That is exactly what I did when I joined xanga -- I was going to do this backlash to every motherfucker who did me wrong on livejournal. Including some greeding hag who still owes me money -- who could not afford to support her own kid so she has to turn a few tricks. For that matter the money I loaned her she was using to buy crack to shoot up her veins. She might be getting it on with a he-she for that matter -- fucking shims. This fucking shim liked to get its rocks off on making my life a living hell because I am one who appreciates a born female not one that was made by a doctor. The fucker who is making my life hell on melo and this fucking shim should get together and play buttdarts with each other. I would give them each a dollar and tell them to buy a sense of humor.
12:11 AM - 2 eprops - 3 comments - email it
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Why I say they're a fucking loser -- it's simple, they go around stealing my photographs and they have no right to those pictures. Stealing older works of fiction when there wasn't a creative commons on the damn thing. Quit stealing my shit you piece of shit. Obessed little loser who posted my family's phone number up when it wasn't even listed so I am thinking they got it from Susan Taylor or Russo.
Well I've heard of both of those people and met one, but I am neither. Who am I? Someone that has known you for a long time. You'd have to go down a list of everyone you knew, both online and in person, and I would be the last person you'd expect. I honestly don't think you remember me but someday you will.
The horse raper has nothing better to do but pirate and swipe my work without end. fuckers are trying to break my spirit, sorry it is not going to work. I think people like that fucker need to be drawn and quartered five ways. One car pulling their right arm, one car pulling their left arm, the other pulling their right leg and the other pulling their left leg. Then the fifth one -- going around their head. Each person takes turns hitting the gas. First the car on the right going about 140 MPH. Then the others go next the same fashion.
Who do you have in mind to do this to me? You can't drive you're too retarded and too poor to afford even the most decrepit car. Those you think are your friends who have cars won't do it they all think you're nuts.
This mother fucker is doing the same thing as the assholes who actively steal mp3s on Napster did. Listen you cunt -- I have a fucking right to get my books out there and get some legit cash for the things I write. You're violating that right and breaking the law while doing so. I think you're an obsessed little worm who needs to exterminated like some termite or cockroach. If you didn't take the picture or write the story, then why the fuck are you taking it and posting it on your blog? Copyright rape, that is exactly what you assholes are doing on that blog and on The Other Dark Place -- repeatedly stealing from someone's blog and that fucker who goes on as AL_Kilyu -- needs to have a well placed bullet between his eyes.
I couldn't find any mp3s being offered on this site, and the crap I am reposting is so old even you don't have it anymore. I do have a website of yours where you have a banner demanding a hacker be freed because he was violating software laws and got in trouble with Adobe. I guess I'll have to post that next.
I will say this much, that site will be extinct by the time I get done. Trying to get my long time friends (real life friends of 20 years, that is the most lowbrow shit I've ever seen done. What the fuck is wrong with you? The fact you got a lot of this information from me when talking to him.)
Just who are you talking about? True I have had countless discussions with people you consider long time friends but you are going to have to be more specific. If you are refering to "Coach", all I did was send him numerous instances of you denouncing his faith. From here on out those pieces and those he has yet to see will appear here.
Assholes calling my house and threatening my life on Halloween, fuck off mother fuckers. Whoever steals from people as far as copyrighted works -- it is the ultimate sin in this business and they deserve to be stoned to death.
I reposted a website that had mentioned your personal information. I never called you or told anyone else to. Read back through this site and show me where I told people what to do with your information.
You got really nasty with the owner of a free site and when you continued to threaten him, he got your information and showed it to you. He also left the transcript up in place of where your website used to be to warn others about you. Nothing has changed, so it's still pertinent to this day. You won't be stoning or quartering me anytime soon. Let me know when you start threatening me with methods that aren't from the middle ages.
Friday, November 2, 2007
"My cousin is a police officer and he will lock you up -- fucking bitch."November 1st, 2007
"...but I am planning to go into the city because I need to get some holiday shopping done. I want to get some things for ** ******* *** ****** -- not really sure what to get **** yet though. My other cousins have their hands out like vutures -- I am not greedy but I have bills that need to be paid. I am waiting for medicaid to approve me so I have some assistance with the ambulance bill. I had just paid on the med bills from Canada -- it took me a long time to find out it was in American funds."December 13th, 2001I got a holiday card from ***** ****, and I was planning to go out to the city but learned I have appointments on monday with both the doctor and the therapists. I hope that I can get out later in the week for a few days -- giving me a chance to celebrate Christmas with the cousins on my stepfather's side of the family. I was the black sheep in that family because I am mentally ill and preferred to be an artist than be digging ceptic tanks.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
I didn't do as many pictures this time around because Ig got some good ones - I lost my tripod at the event which sucked
I lost my tripodfrom his associated content blog
sorry for the quality of the 2nd picture I only know MS Paint and thanks for cleaning up the first!
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