Expose The Tard Exposing the truth from as far back as 1993.

Thursday, May 8, 2008

"Christianity didn't have all the answers -- this had led me into becoming a pagan."

Innocents attacked, ETT strikes back. Simple formula. (This one is a long one folks and I'm sorry.)

Nicky is playing the part of a Christian again, specifically harrassing innocents and claimed they are prejeduce against Christians.

Alright then lets go back, again, and expose this hypocrite. This one is long but chock full of tardo goodness.

It will expose him, again as I have done numerous times before, as a hypocrite politically and religiously. (Why he has a picture of Ted Bundy in this piece I do not know.)

A note to the Christians: This narrative is the dark side of my Xtian Testamony. It will contian dark subject matter because I make reference to how I got the ideas for the stories of dark horror fiction and macabre gothic essays. I am asking those from Mason City, Iowa and Hampton, Iowa, not to take offense to what is written in the following narrative because I am not from your innocent hometown. In fact, I don't give a FUCK what you think over there. North Iowa is just not ready for gothic macabre literature. No one is going put a hole the size of a .22 pistol shot in your motherfucking head that you can see thru and making you come to this site. For the goth visitors, after your done reading this, click the links to take a look at some of my other horror tales and other dark writings. This is for Dragongoddess26 and her husband because they had never got to know the internet outlaw behind Writings From The Grave up close and personal, that is why I wrote A Life In Black. I took the title for this peice after the title of a song from one my favorite bands, Fight, because their lyrics say it all about the dark subculture.

credits: Order of appearence
Hampton, Iowa (Melany **)
Joliet, Ill. (Michael Pacione)
Normal, Ill. (Richie Hritz and Lisa Little)

What an opening! Don't worry it'll get better.

About the author:
A Life in Black

"without you, everything falls apart" ....Perfect Drug, Nine Inch Nails

For many years and the entire time that I had been a horror writer, I had been curious toward the bizarre for as long as I can remember. Perhaps that is what made me want to write in the first place. The first horror book that I had read in my personal library was titled Walls of Fear and at the age of thirteen, I had read the Stephen King novel, Christine while I was going to Marquardt Middle School.

Then at the time, I had not developed the writing ability that would give one the notary that is compared the immortal Howard Phillips Lovecraft and the author of Psycho, Robert Bloch. But as I go on, it wasn't just the writings of Bloch, Lovecraft and others, I was drawn by the psychic investegators and artists that have ties to the other side. Before I was exposed to the dark world of horror literature, I had watched many horror films though none has made such impact on my creativity as the films Se7en, H.P. Lovecraft's The Re-Aminater, and Black Sabbath along with the influence heavy metal bands Black Sabbath, Testament, and Metallica since they made reference to stories that were written by H.P. Lovecraft. Horror fiction and dark metal are a perfect marriage because they compliment each other.

I was also drawn by the violent enviroments of my hometown, Glendale Heights, Illinois, and Addison, which was the next town over. In 1993, a 27 year old woman disappeared from my neighborhood, and about a week later the police had found her disfigured remains -- she had been shot five times in the back and head then the murderer had set the body on fire to get rid of the tracks. I had been frightened by this at the time, which I was sixteen and had known that Glendale Heights had a history of gang related violence. Not only the gang violence that created a dark atmosphere to my hometown, I had later learned that Du Page County had always been a hub for acts of black magick and Satanism. As a result from a conversation with a longtime friend of mine, I had been write the essay, Unspoken Nightmares reflecting the dark, dingy envoriment of the place where I grew up -- true the place might be well to do, but there were horrific crimes that happened there which are uglier than the scenes from the horror film, Se7en.

The crimes that would happen are as grisly in the details as in a mother of four had been stabbed 89 times and her baby had been ripped out of her womb while she was still bleeding to death. Then I had seen a dead body that was dragged under a freight train in Illinois' Christian Capitol, Wheaton. This had caught most of Wheaton off guard, and as a result, I had gone to Iowa for that weekend to get that horrid scene out of my head. It is one of those things that cannot leave one's mind as the grisly murder that took place in Addison -- it was almost in the same fashion as Sharon Tate, and four others almost 30 years ago.

Now, let's get to that Christianity he has gone back to hiding behind.

In 1994, I had tried the path of Christianity, but in that path, and when I was attending a church -- I proceeded to have visions of a morbid and in some ways that I describe them, gothic in their nature. I would sit there in a church service, and would begin to imagine a pastor giving the sermon; we would be dressed in a suit, but wouldn't have any skin on him or someone having a stigmata. A stigmata is a supernatural bleeding at the hands, feet, head and chest -- similar to were the Christ was impaled with the nails. Despite of the teachings of Christianity, I had found myself being dianosed with a mental illness. In 1995, I had discovered that I had a learning disability, and that short lived a promising career in the military. During the time that I was dianosed with Attention Deffecit Hyperactivity Disorder, I was put on a medication for that condition, but as time went on, the side effects had resulted into thoughts that were almost psychotic in nature.

During this time, I had been keeping a diary -- I had used a composition book as the diary for close to two years, the years of 1995 through 1997. One night while I was out for a night, one of my cousins had found that diary and said that I should become a writer -- she had said that I would become a talented horror writer, my first reaction was, "Amie, you're shitting me? Right." I had tried my hand first at writing poetry -- it resulted first as preachy Christian-themed poems, but as I continued writing poetry, my poetry became dark and almost would paint the pictures of another holocaust. Another friend that would take a liking to my writing was a former classmate, one that became a born again Christian the night before I shipped off to Great Lakes Navel Training Center, Recruit Training Center.

While I was working as a personal assistant, I had my first exposure to a psychological vampire. But then again, I was no stranger to the practices of Satanism and the occult which I will describe later on where a person had done a tarot reading on me. It was during the time that I was practicing Christianity, but even while I was Christian I have been writing horror fiction and dark poetry. I had been drawn closer to supernatural because at the age of 14, I had sat in a session with a psychic artist that I had seen on Unsolved Mysteries and while I got my first job at a flea market in Glendale Heights, I had learned that town had its own fortune teller, Miss Linda. I had picked up on the interest of vampyre myths and werewolves while going on a camping trip to Wisconsin with a boy scout troop out of Bloomingdale, Illinois.

It was while I was laying down in a bed on a motorhome, I had found a library book about the truth to vampyres and werewolves on the floor of the camper. My peers were thinking that I was a bit on the eccentric side because I had spent an hour and a half reading that book cover to cover, to this day I cannot remember the title of that book, but it was there I started to pick up on my dark imagination which later became disturbing as I had written my first short story. That was back in the early spring of 1989, and now 10 years later, that book had became the inspiration for writing Bloodletting. While I was still a Christian, I had tried to surpress this, but it slowly came out like a shadow in a cemetery.

This would later invoke the photography of a woman (later then it would be my cousin) that I had later met in 2 months after my 21st birthday, and while I was in a chatroom, I would pick up on stories that were told from their nightmarish dreams. I had read of macabre and bizarre crimes that would range from church burnings to Manson Family like murders, such as the one that had happened in Addison, Illinois, on the April of 1995. While researching for my material, I began to cut out these articles and made it into a hobby -- my mother thought that I was sick because I was collecting such articles, and one of my correspondents, Sylie Bonneau, of Ottawa, Ontario, had learned of this hobby and thought that was I was doing was quite grim. [The photo on the top would be taken by her, and the one on the top left would be taken by my cousin. My peers would later call the pic on the left the Blair Witch picture.]

When it was Halloween weekend of 1996, I had gone to White's Cemtery with a group of friends -- they dragged me to the place after reading one of the first short story that I wrote as a teenager, 19 years old, and I was taking a writing class. This is one of the short stories that I made an attempt at writing then I would resurrect now as A Cemetery Dream. I wrote this one as I would return to Mason City, Iowa, from a trip to Winnona, Minnesota. Winnona was home of a ghost story that would paint their town black -- this was the ground work for a journal that I wrote about 2 days before I had gone down to Winnona, Minnesota, then posted it on my homepage then titling it Saint Mary's. I would also write of a local story that later frightened Mason City, this would be the kidnapping of Jody Husentruit

. The first story was titled Anchorwoman -- A Journal with the help of my former landlord who also owned a pet shop. She was the one that gave me a pet that I would become very attached to, a 15 inch albino rat that I named Talbot.

This story invoked an email dialoge by one that was also drawn by the Jody Husentruit kidnapping, this person is a psychic based out of Kewanee, Illinois. I did not meet her while I was living in Iowa, but after I had returned to Illinois -- to the Joliet area. Out of some of this philosophical dialogue, I had written another version of that nightmare that I had of Jody Husentruit -- this one I titled Ghostly Being. What started the dialogue between us was that she was intrigued by the gothic dream that I had of Husentruit.

Something of that nature being written while I had still lived in Iowa would invoke a witch hunt because I was an outsider writing of one of their own. Because I was different, while they would allow their world to revolve around high school sporting events -- I had been shunned because I considered myself a thinking man, an intellectual. In a place like rural Iowa, I would been a target of a conservative lynching or a witch hunt. This had became the reoccurring nightmare while I lived in Mason City, Iowa, and while I was staying in Iowa City for 2 weeks; I had written a speculative journal titled Inquisition--A Narrative as a result of an undereduacated youth pastor blaming a serious assault that I survived as a result of not being churched. Inquistion was my way of saying that he can shut the fuck up -- I never said it aloud, but I said it with my writing. It was about month earlier that the woman that I met on the internet gave birth to my young **, **.

The state of Iowa had used my lifestyle as a target to burn me at the stake so to speak. They were out for a witch hunt after the Columbine killings had taken place, about the same day that they took him into foster care -- about a year later had became a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. During the time that Michael was taken into state custody -- the woman and I began to fall apart; my emotional state was also falling apart. About this time my friend, Pat Grady was a target of a witch hunt because of his handle being known as TheTrenchcoat. While that was happening to him, I was also trying to keep a low profile with the help of a Lutheran Pastor, who I consider to be the closest thing I had to a best friend in Iowa. Though I had someone that I was able to talk to, I felt that while I started to fall apart I was feeling desperate -- one that would try to kill themself one way or another. I began wondering where my friend, Barb Mitchell, when I needed to talk to her -- wishing that I was able to talk to her then. I saying to myself, "God is this your idea of sick joke carcass fucker, taking my son away and turning my woman against me -- Fuck you and go to hell."

I later checked myself into the mental health unit because I had a severe nervous breakdown. It was the first time I had to do something of that nature, I knew that there was something which hadn't been right. While I was in the hospital, I felt alone -- alone with my thoughts. As I fell asleep that night, I began to have a dream about when I attended a Halloween party, Halloween Night 1997, which I spent the night at the house of the hostess, that I was at in Naperville. I began to remember when I had met a coven that was out of Naperville, I remembered a deep philosophical discussion that I had with one of them. She was dressed all in black -- a velvet gown and a nylon cape that had a dark shine when the full moon reflected it.

It was the experience in the hospital and a discussion that I had with a prison inmate that was taken to the hospital. He said that he was a Christian, but I told him that I thought that Christianity didn't have all the answers -- this had led me into becoming a pagan. Something that had been a part of me since I was a teenager, but it had been long repressed in my mind. After returning to Illinois, that part of me began to surface and with full force. That is what drove me to writing Haunting The Chapel as well as the uncompromising vampyre short story, Death Row, and I would not hold anything back -- nothing is ever ordained, born again, godless.

While I was in the hospital, in recreational therapy there other patients were making things with wood and leather, I had asked them were they kept the paper. The paper they had was newsprint, I thought that I would do some drawing -- the nurse was scratching her head to what I was drawing. I started with a steeple of a church, a cathedral. This was half was done in pencil -- went to find a facial tissue for shading purposes, this drawing is what became my forth drawing that started to line up up with my writing. The nurse's were thinking, "Oh my --- God, that picture is really dark. Can you do anything beautiful or lovely." I said, "It is all in the eye of the beholder." It was a few hours later that I met up with a doctor one on one, he was really curious to how I thought and of my morbid intrest of true crime and horror. The night before my release from the mental health unit, I was watching a show on Arts and Entertainment Network about corruption in the New Orleans Police Department. They were describing how the police would receive pay offs from major drug cartels, and would come up with bullshit charges then they would murder an innocent person, a teenager. Something happened on those lines recently in Chicago.

But the nurse that was in the room could not understand why I would watch a show that horrific in nature. (She should sit down and watch Mugshots on Court TV when they would do a show about the Son of Sam, Jeffory Dahmer, Richard Ramerez, or Ted Bundy. She should of read the paper for March 13, 2000, Chicago Tribune.) From the time that I had faced cruel torment as a child, to the persecution that I faced as an adult in Iowa because I was from Chicago, Illinois, the torment hadn't killed me -- it just made me darker as a gothic writer

Did you get all that? Sorry folks there is an epilogue to this one, hilarious as always especially the line "I just don't like your closed minded mentalities and how one would openly discriminate someone because of the way a person chooses to express themself"

If you have any comments about my bio, Life In Black, or you wish to discuss more about the Jody Husentruit story, you can email me at the following email addresses posted below. Ghostly Being actually is based on a dream that I had about the missing anchorwoman. Don't anyone from Mason City, Iowa, take offense to what I am writing or of my writings, I just don't like your closed minded mentalities and how one would openly discriminate someone because of the way a person chooses to express themself, writing is an art form just as music, painting, ice carving, and drawing. If any Christians are out there whining about my web site being too dark, they can shove those whiny comments sideways up their fat ass. In other words, you don't have to be here and ruin it for other patrons that take my site for what it is, all I am is an idealist. I used to oppose what Marylin Manson does, but I can see his point about you mother fucking small town Xtians. As you come to visit my homepage, I do expect one to have an open mind because it does contain mature suject matter and has many occultic referrences.

He has never had an open mind. Open ass, maybe. Open mouth, always.


Anonymous said...

"I had been shunned because I considered myself a thinking man, an intellectual."

And that was where I had to stop reading because my right eyeball nearly popped out of my head.

cussedness said...

He accused Poppy of being narrow-minded over at Rusty Nail. I was really amused to see more of that type of diatribe here.

He's about as open minded as a cement overcoat.

Anonymous said...

Am I the only one who thinks he sounds like the British anti-hero Adrian Mole? Except Mole was rather endearing, even when claiming to be an intellectual. And if I recall correctly he ended up with two kids who adored him, an extended family who tolerated (mostly) his eccentricities and a plot of land with the remains of a burnt house on it. Not bad for old Moley.

Nicky, on the other hand, wishes everyone to think that he is a unique and dark individual. Piffle, I say! I was reading about serial killers when I was a wee one, and I've not yet thought to include it in the list of things that make me the most individual of all individuals to every individualise. Someone should tell el doucho that the only thing distinguishing him from the rest of us is that he is a filthy, ill spoken, halfwitted nutjob.

Valyn said...

Nick is as goth as my mother and as christian as possibly Anton LaVey. No christian person would spew out the hate he does.

He's a fuckin' hypocrite, a crude, vile, loud mouthed idiot who needs to be locked up in a mental institution...FOREVER. He's pathetic.

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