1899 July 1st 03.55

I quietly slipped out of the bed, leaving Amelia sleeping soundly, she snores like a train. I (illegible) three times, slamming into her long and deep and hard, I could feel the hard throbbing tip of my (illegible)  banging against her (illegible) as I filled her up with my (illegible) hot thick (untranslatable) , she (illegible) with me in pulsing waves, our eyes met as the spasms pulsed through her abdomen, long and hot and (illegible), I rubbed my (illegible illegible illegible) and (illegible illegible) hand, nice, she’s good, a hard firm bod, small (untranslatable) and nipples like bullets, I (illegible) her (illegible) first before (illegible) her, her (untranslatable) is small and tight, sweet.

The ghost is standing at the end of the bed, he is always there now, he smiles at me knowingly and I smile back, we both know what needs to be done .

Now is the time for me to commit to paper the conversation between me and Holmes and reveal the grim truth behind the events that the whole world grew to know as the Siege of Sydney Street.

After the line up we all made our way to the Crown and Anchor to plan the robbery, there was me, Verbal the Gimp, George ( the mad yid) Golddstien, Fritz Svaars, William Sokolow and Jacob Peters, otherwise known as Peter the Painter.

In one of the smoke filled booths, in hushed voices we planned the deed,Verbal informed us that a large shipment of diamonds would be delivered to 119 Houndsditch Street , It should be a simple case of going in, terrorising the owners tying them up and stealing the jewels , simples, Verbal would be our look out, and the rest of us would be muscle.

Well come the day in question we all met up on time at the narrow cobbled street leading to the back entrance , it was early in the morning , about 8.30 , it was misty, no one was about , I booted the door in and in we went.

Well things were badly badly wrong , from what i could make out no one was there ,we searched what appeared to be a long abandoned building top to bottom , but it was pretty much empty , a few brocken packing crates and lots of dust , then things began to happen really fast . Their was a loud banging at the door , and the next thing I knew the house was full of cops.

Well we opened up on them and blasted our way out, I let fly with my colt 45s, Jacob hit one with his dreyse pistols and we fought our way back out through the door, it was a melee of screams blood and falling coppers, my 45 blew the side of one of the peelers heads off in a cloud of red vapour his helmet flying high in the air as his body cart wheeled to the floor.

We made our way into the street and ran for it , I was side by side with Gardstien, that’s when I heard that sound, it was like Maus Chinese fire crackers going off, and suddenly there were bullets flying everywhere, I turned drawing my revolver to see what was going on but Gardstien was in front of me, he must have been hit half a dozen times and he was still standing firing back at our assailant whoever he was, they didn’t call him ‘the mad yid’ for nothing, he was one hard brutal basted, he fell backwards into my arms, and the rest of us , including Verbal who by now had joined  us managed to drag him all the way to 59 Grove Street.

He was in a really bad way, he was trembling all over and coughing blood all over me as I held him in my arms.

His last words were ,” I’m so cold Joe, sit and shiver with me shiver with me ”

I replied “I will get the bastard  that did this to you George I promise”.

In the end we had to leave him there, I think he was already dead by then.

We hastily agreed to meet up one week from that day in a safe house, or at least one that we thought was safe, 100 Sydney Street.
Well that was a slow week I can tell you, every day I expected to be arrested or shot , the story was everywhere and London was crawling with armed cops and stories of anarchist revolutionaries, fear and terror stalked every shadow.

It was pure paranoia I can tell you.

At this point Holmes interrupted my story saying

“Gardstien was well known to me as an honourable if very violent east end villain, he wasn’t saying shiver, he was using the Yiddish language, he was actually saying Shiva, it is a yiddish prayer for the dead, Gardstien had once been an hassidic rabbi, before the women alcohol and drugs took over his life, he was asking you to pray for his immortal soul…”

I said nothing , but in my mind various pieces of a jigsaw seemed to be falling into place, namely my spectral rabbi , it was Goldstien , it had been Goldstein all along , I now knew what I had to do to release me from this curse and release him too to whatever fate awaited him in the next world , I said nothing.

Continuing his tale…

“Well any way, a week later we all met up , it was just a room in an old abandoned house , we all knew someone had betrayed us , I suspected Verbal the Gimp, but just the fact that he turned up allayed my suspicions, no one who had done such a thing would ever have the nerve to show their face, there were shouts of anger and revenge, Peter was ranting and waving round that dreyse pistol of his, I sat silently analysing my comrades’ for signs of duplicity,Verbal just kept apologising. We harangued him as to exactly were he had gotten his information from, he really didn’t want to say, I pointed my gun at his head and drew back the hammer…

” You either come clean or I blow your brains out, your choice”.

Then he said it..
” Kaiser Souse.”

The temperature in the room dropped, he might as well have said the devil himself , the man who was not a man , a puff of smoke , a legend of depravity a premier fucked up psycho, I had heard enough.

“Lets go” I said ,” and if I ever see you again verbal rest assured I will kill you “.

Then it happened, as if on some kind of secret signal, the whole house seemed to explode in a barrage of gunfire, plaster fell everywhere windows broke wood splintered, Fritz Svaars and William Sokolow were killed instantly their bodies ripped apart in a hail of gunfire, picked up and tossed about like leaves in an infernal storm ,hot blood spraying in all directions,Ii ducked down low and made my way to one of the side windows, on my hands and knees crawling on brocken glass I waited for a lull in the shooting and drawing my revolver stuck my head above the parapet.

I saw him, Winston Churchill, in a top hat and opera cloak directing an army of soldiers with machine guns and rifles pouring bullets into the house, which had now begun to catch fire, I knew i would only have one chanc , our eyes met I drew and fired, I saw a puff of dust from his top hat as the bullet knocked it of his head, damn, I had missed, he threw himself to the ground and the barrage began all over again, even more ferociously than before.

By now the house was in flames, somehow, me Verbal and Peter made our way up into the loft up a narrow staircase, from there I kicked down a partition wall and made it into the loft of the abandoned tenement next door, I then did the same again and again, the brick work was old and damp and rotten, but even then it was brutal hard dusty work (we were all soon covered in chocking plaster dust), once we were a few houses along we went down the stairs and made our escape through the back gardens, I made it back to the squat and spent about a week in bed.

I heard that Peters had been arrested and then found not guilty at an old bailey trial, what the hell that was about I don’t know, mind you he always was one of those clever tight lipped men, the sort that plays his cards close to his chest.

And that was it , the truth , I felt like a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

Holmes was silent for a while , and then he began to talk in that english upper-class accent of his.

“My interest in you Joe, to be frank began with the Ripper murders, because of the strange and gory nature of the crimes, the way that those poor girls had been well, split asunder I began to look for similar crimes carried out in other parts of the world, and similar crimes had occurred , in the areas you went to school, was there any one you were at school with who you have met again in London, someone very unique, someone with a real presenc , and also someone with well I am embarrassed to say it, an unfeasibly huge penis…”

Then i knew , that could only describe one man and one man alone, my old tutor of the dark arts, Rasputin, the man with the donkeys cock!

Of course why didn’t i realise it before!

” RASPUTIN !” I shouted.

Holmes was silent for a while and then he said a few words that changed everything.

“I believe that Jack the Ripper,Adam Worth, Professor Moriarty and Rasputin are all one and the same man”….

Rasputin.

1899 May 21st 03.30

I write this as my spectral rabbi stands by the door, silently staring at me, talking to Holmes was an epiphany, so many questions answered, I am not afraid of the spectre any more, I know who he is, why he is here and what he wants, between the two of us, me and Holmes we had answered so many questions, talking late into the night, who Adam Worth really was, the connection to my old school deep in the snow blasted windswept Carpathian Mountains, and who had been killing those poor vulnerable girls and why all these threads had wound together in a few moments of blood bullets and fire in the Siege of Sydney Street.  After leaving Holmes I had been in a sombre and dark mood, I had seen Holmes out and we shook hands, rest assured comrade detective ,” revolutionary justice will be done”.

I had then made my way to the Crown and Anchor, hands thrust deep in my pockets, in sombre mood, my head filled with the clatter of machine gun fire from that terrible night, still smelling the high coppery smell of Gardstiens blood that had jetted over me in a red mist matting my hai , such a terrible night.

I pushed my way through the batwing doors, spider sensed my mood immediately and poured me a neat vodka. I made my way to one of the booths to brood in silence, such good comrades, dead, dead, dead. I looked up in surprise as Amelia joined me, she smelt so good, I looked down into my glass.

“What’s the matter Joe? You seem down..”

“You cant be happy all the time” I replied, “What do you want Amelia? I’m not in the best of moods now.”  

She replied with a question,

” What do you want Joe? I’m intrigued by you, your not like the others, you really want a revolution, to kill and fight and die for a new world order, but what kind of world would it be Joe, one where you decided what freedom meant where you interpreted for the people what they wanted, where the workers don’t have to think or decide for themselves because the party will do all that for them, where all decent people would be ruthlessly crushed because anyone who opposes your socialist utopia must be evil or mad and would be treated accordingly? That’s not socialism Joe that’s not even the dictatorship of the proletariat, that’s just plain old fashioned dictatorship, and i would have nothing to do with it ,would you kill all individual freedoms, would we all have to dress like you, talk like you, think like you, would you kill me Joe?”

“I would kill my own children if I had to, to create a better world.” I replied.

“Oh my poor dear sweet Joe, there is goodness in you I know because you care so passionately about things, but don’t allow yourself to become a monster in the process of fighting monsters, remember when you look into the abyss the abyss stares back, please try to feel compassion as well as anger, its not a weakness, its a strength, you could be a good man Joe, maybe even a great man , if you could just learn how to let go and give up control, to help the people, not rule them, there are no real benevolent dictators, just different parasites feeding off the blood sweat and tears of the oppressed masses, forever fermenting strife to deflect the rage of the people away from themselves, don’t be like them Joe, strive to be different , don’t be a bully or an oppressor, be a true leader, one that changes what’s in men’s hearts, not just what’s in their bellies or on their backs.

Give the common man and woman choices, give them freedom”.

Her words hit me like stones. I played for time by repeating my question trying not to give anything away or reveal my emotions.

“No Amelia , what do you want? Why are you here? What do you really want?”

She looked me in the eye and said…

“I want to be like the common people, I want to see whatever the common people see , I want to feel like the common people , I want to sleep with common people , I want to sleep with common people like you..”

For some reason instead of being aroused i was enraged , I hissed back at her.

“You want to feel like the common people , you want to feel like the common people , you want to see whatever common people see , you want to sleep with common people, you want to sleep with common like me! Well buy some fags and get a job, rent a flat above a shop smoke those fags and play some pool, pretend you never went to school,dance and drink and screw, because theres nothing else to do. And when your laying in bed at night knowing you will never get it right, watching roaches climb the wall, well you can just phone your dad and he can sort it all, you will never feel like common people, you will never lose control, or watch your life slide out of view, your a tourist Amelia , rubber necking at other people misfortune.”

She just looked me in the eye, and then she smiled and held my hand…………

Sidney Street

1899 May 20th 03.30

Holmes called round this evening at seven, he is a man filled with strange habits from his fowl smelling pipe to his deerstalker hat and I find it particularly disturbing the way that he stares at you through that magnifying glass of his like a cyclops with a monocle, I had my pistol hidden in the back of my trousers, I would kill him in a second if necessar, Holmes seemed happy enough sitting on my floor while I prepared some tea .

“What can i do for you Mr Holmes?” I asked.

“Adam Worth.”

He said the name quietly enough, but it hit me like a hammer blow, did he know, had he connected the dots, did he know about the Siege of Sydney street, and how I had very nearly blown Winston Churchill’s brains out?

“Pray continue” I said playing for time.

“It is strange he continued how all the little threads of peoples lives can weave together , often through little more than coincidence , I believe you know a great deal about Adam Worth, though I do not believe that is his real name, I believe that I seek this man too, but for different reasons to you, I suspect that none of us know this ‘Napoleon’ of crimes true identity, what set me on this trail was my dear friend and life partner, Dr Watson, he told me about a most strange and disturbing encounter he had with a Mr. Adam Worthington, a wealthy european aristocrat referred to him by a trusted friend.

I shall try to relate this story as best I can, as related to Holmes via his catamite Watson.
“It was a pleasant afternoon until Mr. Worthington entered my offices at about 2pm. He was immaculately dressed in top hat, tails, a flowing black cloak and silver topped cane .

“What can i do for you sire ? “I said 

“Dr.Watson , could you please refill my prescription for cocaine , as I appear to have run out” 

“What do you require the cocaine for sire  as I cannot simply write out prescriptions willy nilly..”

“Just write me out the prescription and I will pay you fifty pounds sir.” 

“It is not a question of money, I need to know to what purpose you require the cocaine, it is a highly addictive as well as beneficial medication.”

At this point Mr. Worthington began to frantically pace the room, backwards and forwards like some caged animal, rubbing his hands together. I leaned back in my doctors chair, suddenly glad that their was a heavy wooden desk between us ,cocaine addicts are notoriously unpredictable.

“Listen you cunt ,I will pay you one hundred pounds here and now cash, so just write me the fucking prescription” .

“I’m sorry but I don’t work that way, and if you persist in this manner I will be forced to ask you to leave my office”

“If you don’t write me out the prescription, next time you are at the Ritz having breakfast you will look down and you will see me eating your foot, your little niece at finishing school, well when she comes to stay with you and you come out of the country house and open the carriage door you will see me in there, sat on her shoulders chewing on the stump of her neck, wearing her head for a hat !
Do you understand me, these are not threats , I will drain your boyfriend Holmes till he is nothing but an empty husk, write the prescription now for free because if I walk out that door rejected I will live in every shadow and dark alley you see, I will be beneath your bed waiting for you to pick up your slippers and when you do I will drag you under with me for deep dark bloody kisses, long and coppery sweet, yum, fucking yum. Now write the fucking prescription!”

To be frank I was really disturbed by this, the way he seemed to grow in stature, the way he seemed to suck all the heat and light out of the room. later once he had left i realised he had used hypnosis on me, with a pale and shacking hand I wrote out the prescription.

“Who are you?” I asked.

 “Well done doctor ” says he ,” you are making the right decision, trust me, you don’t want to even think about the alternatives .

“Who am I? well i’m Adam Worthington ,of course, I’m  Count Dracula I am the howling darkness that dwells between the stars, I am fucking legion buddy boy and don’t you ever forget it or I will plunge you into a whole new world of shit, ta ta .”

The fiend then blew me a kiss.

And with that the man that I now suspected was not a man at all quietly left my office.

I cancelled all the rest of my appointments for the afternoon.

I said nothing , but i was chilled to the bone, I turned to face the windo , and with a weary sigh began to tell Holmes of my involvement with the man ,( if he ever truly was a man) that i had known as Adam Worth, and the terrible events of the siege of sydney street, a day that nearly cost me my life, and did cost the lives of many others.”

 

It had been some months ago, soon after I had first come to London, before I had even met Lenin, iIhad been drinking late at the Crown and Anchor, laughing and joking with Spider the barman, he was telling me how he had been cleaning the toilets earlier in the evening when he had caught Oscar Wilde at the ‘glory hole ‘with Herr Schicklegruber, (Schicklgruber was a new bavarian rent boy, he wore ridiculously tight lederhosen, and had a rather funny walk, kicking his legs high in the air, advertising his wears no doubt).

Anyhow, Spider was telling me how when caught ‘inflagrante delicto’, so to speak, young Gruber was moaning , “sieg sieg sieg ……hieeel”

I found this incredibly funny, and after making my goodbyes prepared to make my way home.

I hated london back then , its filth encrusted streets were nothing more than gapping wounds and open sewers , and the people cried out like retarded children in an abattoir , I passed a dead dog in the sewer, cart tracks on its burst stomach,Ii have seen this cities true face, and it fears me.
One day all the blood and filth will well up around the do gooders and the liberals flabby necks in bloody revolution,and they will turn to me and say “Save us Stalin “, and i will whisper  “no” , and all the smooth talker , the liberals and the do gooders, well, they will have nothing to say.

I hadn’t gotten far when I was grabbed by two hulking brutes who I instantly recognised as Special Branch and bundled in a black mariah that thundered through london’s cobbled streets towards scotland yard , once theirIi was photographed and unceremoniously tossed into a cell. From there I was taken by Britain’s inhuman cops and thrust under the spot light of a line up.Ii was almost blinded, a card was placed in my hand and i was told to read from it while facing the light, I held up one hand to shield my eyes and read

“Give me the keys you fucking cock sucker”, to be frank i was quaking in  my boots.

After this i was asked to step back and i began to make out the other suspects in the line up , as they were asked to step forward and read the line , one i knew as peter the painter , a notorious anarchist , and another was verbal worthington , other wise known as verbal the gimp due to a deformed leg, a small time con man.

Once we had all read our lines we were taken back to the underground holding cells , we were all sporting cuts and bruises from were the cops had roughed us up.

“So” , I said ,” whose done what ?”
“Not me” said Peter.

“Me neither” said Verbal , staring at the floor.

Then Verball said , as we are all here it would be a waste not to make use of such talen , i have a friend of a friend who has told me of a diamond shipment.

And that was how it all started , men like us should never ever be put in a room together, it can always only lead to one thing , we were all rebels, outlaws, what else could we do, other than be ourselves and plan our violent trade, why , because it was what we were, it was only later that I realised that none of this was coincidence, that a shadowy figure was behind it all, manipulating us, pulling our strings and pushing our buttons, and by the time we all knew what was going on well by then it was too late.

 

1899 May 19th 04:30

Why cant I ever sleep! When will that insufferable pompous prick Holmes call round?

Once Amelia had gone I raised Mau and Lenin to debate the ramifications of Trotsky’s ambivalent sexuality.
Lenin answered his door promptly wearing a brightly sequined red jacket, white gloves and shoes with matching trousers, his face was covered in boot polish, he looked like a negative photo of a skull…

“Whatever do you look like, I thought you were trying to be a cockney?”

“Oh Lordy Lordy no massah Joe, ah is showin solidarity wid mah Ethiopian brudders, praise de Lord halleluiah, check dis out!”

He then produced a banjo and launched himself into a very animated version of the ‘Camptown Race’s, complete with dancing and jazz hands..

“O well done..” says I. “At least now you can raise some money busking if you don’t get lynched by a multiracial mob first , meet me down stairs in ten minutes”.

My next step was Mau.

I silently approached his door and slowly levered it open (I love spying on Mau ).. he was sat cross legged and naked in front of his large wooden hand carved statue of the Buddha.  The room was filled with that sweet chocking smell of incense, for the very first time I saw that his entire body seemed to be covered with intricate tattoos, letters, hieroglyphs, snakes and dragon seemed to spiral and squirm around his body, but the most bizarre thing about this oriental scene was that he appeared to be hovering about two inches above the floor!

“I will see you downstairs Joe”  he said this without even turning his head.

I shut the door, sweating like a pig I was, how does he do this stuff ? Its just not right!

Once we were all assembledIi explained the situation, what followed was a deep and informed debate on human sexuality, class, and revolutionary politics, Lenin set the ball rolling .

“So dat honkey mofah is a batty boy!”

Mau responded to this with “i wash my cock with cunt not turd”.

I felt i had to raise the bar slightly.

“Homosexuality, on a scientific evolutionary level  is clearly abnormal non productive sex, as the function of sex is only to reproduce, as such it should always be encouraged and actively promoted in the capitalist decadent countries particularly amongst the middle and ruling classes, like some kind of virus, internally spraying infection, weakening them, so that when the pure and strong heterosexual proletariat thrust upwards through the class barrier deep into the soft anuses of the ruling aristocracy they will be splitting them asunder like the weak parasites  that they always were.

The thing is the British ruling class need little encouragement to turn to the anus instead of the vagina as their all male school systems are nothing more than aprentiships for buggery,  just like their catholic church provides a safe haven for paedophiles (one need only to confess to get straight back into that alter boys backside, ha ha ha.. )

As for lesbeanites, well they’re  just really cool anyway, but only as long as they are the good looking kind.

I personaly, in a post revolutionary society, would punish all homosexuals with death, after all one death may be a tragedy, but a million is nothing more than a statistic, so there would be a constant need for replacement proletarians.

A post revolutionary society would be rich with sex, death and vodka , woo hoo!

However, we need Trotsky (for now) and so out of necessity we should promote a policy of libertarianism, after the revolution we can get down to the real business of building the dictatorship of the proletariat…” *(EDITORS NOTE BELOW)*

We all agreed and then right on queue walks in our bisexual rabbi.

Naturally I spoke first, he looked a right mess, badly hung over and walking strangely..

“My dear dear comrade revolutionary, rest assured that we all still love and value you just as much now as we did before we discovered that you were ‘a puff’.”

“I’m not queer, fuck off! Say’s he..

“But Leon, didn’t you spend the night in the arms of ‘a man da’?”

“Why are saying her name like that?  OkIi got drunk and had sex with Amanda, so what?”

“Well , dear Leon, by definition, if you fuck or get fucked by ‘a man da’, that means that you are a homosexual, ‘Amanda’ is a tranny you twat, and not a particularly convincing one either! How could you miss out seeing ‘two hairy boys and a dong’!?”

“I didn’t know!”

Well to be frank, at this point i felt he was lying.

“It was really dark, and any way it was straight bum sex, no kissing, its only gay if you kiss or push back, you can all fuck off”!

And with this he stormed off to his room slamming the door.

I called after him..

“But we accept you anyway..( ha ha ha, Leon takes it up the Khyber!)”

 

*Editors Note on The Above*

(Many years on it was to be used in a speech to the Politburo entitled ‘Self-Chastisement and Denial, The Party And The Necessity Of A Majority Homosexual Vanguard’ October 4 1917…

Later drastically amended/deleted in Feb 1940 in a speech to the Cheka entitled ‘Trotsky, Gayness and Lushing with the Peasant Class).

In the 1930s under Joseph Stalin, male homosexuality, abortion and divorce were recriminalised in the nation.

Article 121 explicitly criminalised male same-sex intercourse and with five years of hard prison labor as a penalty. The law was condemned by several communists operating in Britain. The law remained intact until after the dissolution of the Soviet Union; it was repealed in 1993.^[10] Although the Nazis persecuted homosexuals during the Holocaust, Joseph Stalin regarded fascists and homosexuals as the same, and part of a far-right homosexual conspiracy. 

 

 

1899 May 18th 03:00

Cant sleep. Too afraid to sleep, I’m worried the minute I do my spectral friend will appear to keep me company, strange as I had a really good day all in all.

At about seven pm there was a knock on my door.  I immediately suspected Sherlock so I hid a revolver in the back of my trousers. I found the weight comforting. I had decided, if necessary, to put a bullet in his brain and flee for pastures new, needs must.
But no, it was Amelia, and in some distress. She was very polite but had clearly been crying. I do like a woman crying…
“Can I come in?” she said.
“Of course, please, sit, would you like some tea? Something stronger perhaps?”
“No thank you.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Its Leon, last night , after you left so suddenly, he wandered off with this big russian woman, with bright red hair, she said she was called Amanda, they were both very drunk and I havent seen him since, they were kissing…”, she began too sob.
Well this is what I love about Trotsky bless him, he couldn’t make a cup of tea without breaking a window, this was pure bliss, all my birthdays had come at once! I could barely restrain myself from jumping up and down with glee but I put on my most serious face and said,

“I’m so sorry Amelia, he is simply very weak , but if that is his true nature we must be good comrades and respect his sexual preferences “.

“What do you mean ?” she said.

“She didn’t say her name was Amanda, she was saying, she was a man, da!”

God, she went white, ran to my sink and began retching into it, I really felt for her, I gently rubbed her back..

Finally she recovered herself ..”I have to go”.

“Wait , I would really like to see you again Amelia, if only as friends”.

There, I had said it, I felt naked and vulnerable..because I was.

She looked away..

“Ok “.

Opening her purse she gave me a white piece of paper.

“My card, call me, you’re very sweet Joe.”

She kissed me on the cheek and left.

I felt weak.

Someone will have to die for this….

1899 May 17th 04:30

One must write more about the other night dear diary…

I noticed the massive bowl of pork scratching’s on the table drew a steady stream of visitors. Pork scratching’s are deep fried slices of pig skin, covered in salt. The English love them, but the English will eat anything you put in front of them. HA HA HA!

As I was going to the bar for a pint of Ruddles County (no doubt the finest beer ever produced, and it makes a fine chaser to a glass of ice cold vodka) which I ordered from the landlord, Spider. Amelia managed to disengage herself from Trotsky’s side and start talking to me in hushed and hurried tones (be still my beating heart, can the love of a good woman truly save a man I wondered).

“What did you do to Obama” she hissed? “I will not be associated with criminal acts of an immoral nature”. Well if you ask me that’s a bit rich coming from the leader of a political movement which is forever blowing things up, setting fire to things, brawling with the cops and even chuck themselves under race horses if they got the chance. Not that I disagree with their cause or their tactics, we could all learn a lot from the Suffragettes!

“I feel the same”, I replied. “We simply reasoned with him through dialectic debate and he saw the error of his ways and left”.

“Mmmmmmm”, says she, clearly was not convinced and I was starting to sweat a bit. Fortunately I saw Sherlock looking in our direction and after making my goodbyes to Amelia, squeezed my way through a gang of black clad conspiring anarchists(they seem to be crawling all over the east end nowadays , they would look a bit less conspicuous if they didn’t all dress so uniformly the same) and made my way over to him. Both him and I are regular patrons of the Crown and Anchor and have stayed up many a night drinking in the company of Spider during our many lock ins. I like him, but will still feel compelled to execute him after the revolution (middle class)..

Spider, on the other hand, I don’t know what to make of him. A real man of mystery! All you can see of his face are his dark eyes, almost black within black. The rest of his features are covered with long hair and beard, thick black straight shiny with streaks of grey. None of us know anything about him, his background or where he comes from , now that is almost unheard of in the east end of London , which is in many ways like a massive village , where everyone seems to know everything about everyone else, but as long as anyone can remember spider has presided as judge and jury over the patrons of the crown and anchor , settling disputes in that heavy ponderous manner , which contrasts sharply with his soft voice (he is a hulking great brute of a man) , in the dense smoke filled heaving atmosphere forever punctuated by shouts shrieks and bellows of laughter .

I hailed Holmes “How goes it comrade detective, you’re looking well, any luck with The Ripper murders? I suspect the aristocracy, decadent bastards, HA HA HA”!

Well he stares at me all calmly and says “A good evening to you too, comrade Joseph Vissarionovich, you look drunk”!

Well that stopped me, I went quite white, I hadn’t heard that name in a long long time.

“I would like to discuss some matters with you, in your squat, in private. Good day, and please try not to drink too much”!

And with that he was gone, it’s no wonder I can’t sleep!

Needless to say that put a bit of a damper on the rest of the evening for me. How did that effete decadent drug abusing homosexual find out my real name, and why? What interest can he have in me? I hope that my connections to the East End underworld have not attracted his attention and worse still, does he think I could be connected to those horrific crimes, I know I have blackouts sometimes but I could never do anything like that, could I?

And also dear diary, I really, really want to nail Amelia.

1899 May 16th 06:30

Can’t sleep, but what a night, what a night! We all went to our local, the Crown and Anchor to celebrate the departure of the mad mullah and his racist acolytes to pastures unknown, Trotsky never leaving Amelia’s side.

She is something, really beautiful in that very aristocratic English way, condescending and patronising. I really like that, she never swears, her skin is so white and clear, her waist and hips perfectly proportioned, her nose small and upturned, but her eyes are the most amazing thing about her. The clearest and most piercing blue eyes I have ever seen, when she looks me in the eyes it feels like a physical blow. I suddenly feel beast-like, crippled and dirty like some rough hunched over beast slouching in the shadows, unlike her who always dwells always in the light.

She was loved as a child, never beaten or abused, cared for and nurtured, would she be curios’ about one such as me, someone who was raised in windswept snow blasted black forests on mountain sides, whose playmates were wolves and bears someone who learnt their trade in the school of hard knocks.

They say that opposites attract, and this is very true, we are opposites. I know nothing between us could last because of the social differences between us that unfair chasm that forever divides us and pulls us apart. At some point she will return to her world of society balls and galas and I will return to mine of blood, violence and the retribution of revolution, but it would be nice to be with her for a while, to be close to her, to hold her hand, to look into those eyes, to smell that breath. I can imagine the smell, like nature, moist and fresh, like waves crashing into a mountain side, and her hair, like spun silk in a short page boy crop, smelling of Africa, big cats and tigers, to rest for a while by her side, to know peace and sanctuary, an absence of pain an end to Discordia to kiss…………..

Snap out of it Joe! No peace for me. I shun peace. Peace is for the weak and the dead. I choose the canons roar, blood and vodka. There lies my true destiny, sculpting a new world order built upon truth justice, the dictatorship of the proletariat!

I love the Crown and Anchor. It’s an awesome pub, full of whores, drug addicts, pimps, Pearly Kings and Queens, homosexuals, transsexuals, transvestites, catamites, bare knuckle fighters , gypsies , and lesbians, all happily rubbing shoulders with the cream of society. I spotted that old paedophile Oscar Wilde drinking Absinthe with some young rent boy he had hired for the evening. The boy was about 14, with an angelic crying face. Also there was ‘Sherlock Holmes and Watson’ dickering with Mau, no doubt haggling over the price and quality of the freshest opium. (I must give Mau credit. He is the only drug dealer I know who offers a money back guarantee). We were all in a fantastic joyous mood. I was dancing the Hopack, throwing myself from tables to chairs shouting “HI” raucously. Mau once he had disengaged himself from Holmes (I suspect that Holmes and Watson are homosexuals, but the nice monogamous kind) he did this weird dance with two fans, highly stylised and a bit embarrassing, along with that strange see sawing type of singing he does, sounds like a cat being disembowelled to me! Ah well each to his own, obviously Lenin did the only dance he knows, the ‘knees up muvah bran’ I think he calls it…

1899 May 15th 04:30

Cant sleep, no sign of the spectral rabbi , but i do think that someone had been going through my copy of the manifesto, underlining certain passages, but i cant be certain it wasn’t me…

We sent Obama various still photos from the film, all sepia toned , along with a note saying ‘get out of London’, Mao really is a genius when it comes to this kind of thing , i would have just killed him and thought about the consequences after the event.

My mood is black now dear diary, I am filled with a bottomless well of rage against the system, I have always been an outsider , initially in my life due to my webbed feet and withered arm, something the other children always made fun of me over.

But when I got older and began to travel and read, St Petersberg and Moscow and now finally London, I began to realise that their is a whole big wonderful party going on that i will never be invited to due to my social class,my poverty, for me their will never be champaign and caviare, no nights at the opera or ballet.

No I will always be on the outside of the warm glass looking inwards at the warm fire and the smiling laughing faces, with their perfect bodies and milky white skin (not to mention their impeccable manners ).

I am not alone in this, there are billions of us pushing against the glass, looking at lifestyles that we fund through our sweat and taxes but can never enjoy ourselves, why, because we are less than them, not quite good enough to be one of them .

Most people don’t seem to care , so long as they have enough money for their ‘beer and rot-gut jinn’ , enough coal for their fires they seem happy enough , they even applaud and worship their masters , gossiping about their pointless vacuous meaningless parasitic lives,their marriages , their adulteries , as though they could vicariously live their lives through them.

No , I say no! , if I cant go to the party no one can!

No champaign for me, no champaign for any one ,( i feel the hot anger boil ), i will lead these sheep like masses into an army the like of which the world has never seen , i will unleash horrors upon these parasites of such magnitude that they are beyond the imagination of man , i will purge them from the face of the planet , i will with machines and engines as yet never exorcised conquer , sack and utterly consume their cities and their golden palace , and the flames shall reach so high into the heavens that they will make the very stars melt as though they were the tears of God crying “Cease my Stalin!”

I will persist, so that my very name will mean terror throughout the world.

i know that Lenin shares my vision, his hatred burns deep and dark and pure, he cries at night for his brother whom he loved so dearly, cruelly murdered by the tzar, he has told me that he will only sleep soundly at night once that parasite and all his family are butchered, bayoneted, chopped up and thrown down a well, and let history bury them , i have sworn a blood oath to do all that i can to aid him in this, after all as Marx said “the enemy of my friend is my enemy”.

One day the dog days will come, and out of blood and fire and horror a new world will be born, a world of equality and freedom, a world of plenty and justice, revolutionary justice, and I will make this happen, I will bring this to be and the people will be so grateful and happy they will worship me as a god for a thousand years, and if they wont…if anyone dare to refuse the righteousness of my revolution I will kill them !

I wont be soft like the weak and decadent aristocracy, there will be no half measures under my rule.

Only the blind obedience of the true follower and fanatic.

1899 May 13th 07:00

The events  of the night went well .Ii haven’t slept yet , soon i will crash and burn, it was a good nights work , me and Mao waylaid the mad mullah on his way home from the mosque , i asked him for a light for my cigar as he turned to talk to me Mao put the chloroformed cloth over his mouth , he went down like a sack of spuds , then we each took an arm and stumbled him back to the house  singing I’m tired and I wanna go home , its late and i wanna go to bed , etc. etc. without incident (such things are common at night in the eastend ) and one can barely see in the pea soupers any way..

Well we got him through the door and dropped him in the lounge , I had to rub my eyes at this point , i really did think i was hallucinating and it took a while for my eyes to register what they were seeing.    

Lenin and the pig were both drunk , the pig was wearing Lenins clothes and all Lenin had on were some yellow dirty white stained long johns, they had their arms round each other and were singing and squealing together joyously , they really could have been brothers , all hot and pink sweaty, shiny, skin , Trotsky meanwhile was giggling and furiously working the hand crank of  the photomicrography camera , ( a large bulky thing on a wooden tripod).

Well me and Mao silently set to work, stripping Obama and laying his naked body out on the floor.

Let me tell you dear diary its no easy mater getting a drunken pig to have sex with an unconscious mullah , but with a bit of hand help from me (i grew up on a farm) the show was soon well and truly on the road , we started them of in the missionary position , then doggy , or should i say piggy , then reverse cow girl , ordinary cow girl followed by a sixty nine and culminating in the holly trinity for the money shot and a really nice pearl necklace (made a right mess of his beard )…my favourite part was levering the pigs half flaccid penis into the mullahs slack and drooling mouth. 

All joyously commited to film.

Next we cleaned up our holy follower of the prophet and in the same manner returned him back to were we found him , laughing and joking all the way their and back.

Well that just left us with one loose end …

When we got back Lenin was sat on the sofa with Trotsky , their arms around the pig all snoring loudly , I swear I could not tell if the pig was becoming human or if Lenin and Trotsky were turning into pigs , any hoo , I got a  good sharp knife from the kitchen and stabbed the pig in the throat while it was sleeping.The noise and blood were truly horrific , the blood sprayed splashed and jetted every were as the stupid beast ran around the room screaming , knocking over tables and chairs , mao quickly grabbed the beast and i set about furiously stabbing it over and over again while Lenin and Trotsky stood to one side white with horror , finally the beast lay still but i continued hacking away like a butcher in a welter of blood for some time , nothing in the world tastes like fresh pork , so we all had a really wonderful breakfast , that will help us all sleep , i doubt if anyone will be up till at least three pm a good nights work all round.

1899 May 12th 17:00

Last night I woke up at four in the morning, the same rabbi was floating above my bed about a foot from the ceiling. He was bathed in an ethereal green light that lit up his deathly corpse-like features. I could not move. I just lay there paralyzed pulling the bedclothes up to my chin, then, slowly he pointed at me with his filthy talons and said

“Gay kipyanor matre”, in a rasping husky deep voice.

What the hell does that mean? Then he disappeared. Am I going mad? Also, I swear someone had been in my room. I am certain that when I checked my guns one of the cartridges was missing. Why is this weird shit happening to me? Is it because I stopped the smack? I will try and straighten out today.

Me, Lenin, Trotsky and Mau went down to the Crown and Anchor for Sunday lunch. It was nice for a change for us all to get together for a pint and a bite to eat, it was very sociable, and fairly reasonably priced too. It was, as always, business before pleasure. Lenin had everything prepared and Mau kept going through the logistics of the operation but once all this was done we settled down to cheerful banter and ordering from the menu. We all had the Sunday dinner from the set menu. I had the beef, Mau went for the vegetarian option of nut cutlets, Lenin had the turkey and get this, rabbi Trotsky aka the Black Santa had the roast pork with extra crackling and horseradish sauce.

I had to comment..

“You know that as an Hasidic Jew you really shouldn’t be eating that, not only is the pork not kosher but there is milk in the horseradish sauce”.

Quick as a flash he came back with

“I am a practicing Jew, I’m not very good at it and I haven’t got it quite right yet, besides I love pork. Oh and by the way, who died and made you chief rabbi”?

“So what’s with that ridiculous costume”?

“The feminist suffragettes love it, Amelia finds my culture fascinating”.

“Oh I see”, says I, “you’re just trying to get your leg over, fair enough”.

I personally hate religion with a passion, and not just because I was chucked out of priest school.

“It’s primitive pagan voodoo bollix”, as Marx said. “The opiate of the masses”, it just allows stupid people to answer those questions their afraid of. What happens when I die? Why am I here? How did I get here? Pathetic weakness. It also allows the capitalist oppressors and their allies the shamans, be they Christian, Muslim or Jew to terrorise the population into submission with threats of hell fire and damnation. I tell you what dear diary, if I was in charge, things would be dramatically different. No gods, no masters. I would found a new socialist utopia out of blood and fire, the real kind. Only out of horror can the dictatorship of the proletariat come into being, a dictatorship that would be presided over by me, with justice and fairness for all. I would give the people what they really need to answer those fundamental questions, Vodka!

I would blow up all the churches and hang all the priests, monks, nuns and rabbis. Butcher them like hogs and throw the bodies into a lime filled pit! I would found a new religion based upon a new god of science and truth! With one true prophet, me! I would lead the ignorant god fearing masses to true enlightenment, out of the shadows of fear and pagan superstition!

And if their really is a god, which I doubt, then he can prove his existence by stopping me!