Below are the 12 most recent journal entries recorded in Spider Jerusalem's LiveJournal:

Friday, April 19th, 2002
3:40 am	Hi. Hi. I’m Spider Jerusalem. I smoke. I take drugs. I drink. I wash every six weeks. I masturbate constantly and fling my steaming poison semen down from my window into your hair and food. I’m a rich and respected columnist for a major metropolitan newspaper. I live with two beautiful women in the city’s most expensive and select community. Being a bastard works. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 9th, 2002
2:57 pm	Fuck the Future I mean, the future doesn't like us. Just last Thursday night, the future cut into the second half of Rohypnol Temptation Island Whorehouse on Amfeed-3 to broadcast two full minutes of denizens of a city in the future all showing us their asses. But we know they cannot be everywhere. And, to be honest, we know how bad our record-keeping is. So if we were to plant "evidence" of our present/their past here and there, waiting to be dug up by their archaeologists.... I mean they'd have no way of knowing that our condoms really didn't come in only two sizes - 11" and super. Nore would they be aware that I wasn't actually worshiped as a Testicle God by all women in America. Fuck 'em. It's all the deserve. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, April 3rd, 2002
3:57 am	Another Memo I've discounted suicide in favor of killing everyone else in the world instead. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 2nd, 2002
3:05 am	Memo Have gone to commit suicide. Intend to return from grave Friday. Feed cat. (Comment on this)
Thursday, March 14th, 2002
10:27 pm	I hate it here This City never fails to amaze me. Here we are in a place with no borders anyone can find, full of people who don?t know what year it is, walking down streets being ripped up by Media Scum so that they can embed TV screens in the sidewalks, walled in by billboards that either try to sell us stuff we don?t need and never even heard of yesterday, or that have been attacked by ad terrorists so that they now project radio signals that cut little patterns on the surfaces of our brains... ...and yet it?s me who gets arrested on a Temporarily Violently Insane charge. It was like this. I keep getting beggars coming to my door. Small children with Boy Scout barcode stamps on their white little butts try to sell me poisoned cookies. Grinning dungheads from The Party In Government plead for me to give up some of my dollars for the Re-Election Fund. Wet-eyed professional compassion-mongers attempt to twist cash out of me for Help The Cryogenic Revivals. And, just today, I get this pale little zealot from Crusade Aid at the door, asking for a donation towards the provision of religious shock-troops to continue the massacre in pagan England. What can I say? It was one beggar too many. They found me in the kitchen with the zealot. I?d strung him up by his navel from the ceiling light and had beat him with wooden spoons until his nipples bled. His screams had woken up my landlord -- which was a trick in itself, since his doctor had prescribed him a course of sloth genes to control his hypertension, and he hadn?t moved from his branch since -- who had called the police. So now I?m under five days house arrest, with seven fat ampoules of No-Chance stuck into my belly. If I step outside the front door, the ampoule?s little brains notice and pump me full of some nasty police drug that makes me think I?m in a brig inside a Martian colony pylon with a heavily greased slave worker called Pththth who believes me to be his pet rabbit. An interesting one-time experience for any healthily curious journalist, but nothing you?d ever want to repeat. I hate it here. (Comment on this)
10:26 pm	The dog In the end, we were forced to hold the police dog down. It growled and wriggled and let out a long burst of Cantonese obscenities. I modified the dog?s mood a bit with a long iron bar rented from the pay-dacoits on 3rd and Lee. But it still wouldn?t tell us why it was hassling the strippers. The strippers wanted to shave the dog and send it back to its precinct house dressed in bondage gear, but I said it would be wrong. We took it to a nearby vet and had it fixed. Turns out the dog was divorced; spouse had run off with a bunch of bikers. But I didn?t feel sorry for it. (Comment on this)
10:18 pm	Zealots. So this Zealot comes to my door, all glazed eyes and clean reproductive organs, asking me if I ever think about God. So I tell him I killed God. I tracked God down like a rabid dog, hacked off his legs with a hedge trimmer, raped him with a corncob, and boiled off his corpse in an acid bath. So he pulls an alternating-current taser on me and tells me that only the Official Serbian Church of Tesla can save my polyphase intrinsic electric field, known to non-engineers as "the soul." So I hit him. What would you do? (Comment on this)
10:17 pm	Paranoia I was having a mildly paranoid day, mostly due to the fact that the mad priest lady from over the river had taken to nailing weasels to my front door again. (Comment on this)
10:15 pm	The naivete trait... He met God in the night, walking to his hotel room in the rain, like he was written by Hemingway, stepping slowly through the place where hurses die if you kiss them and syphilis steals your friends the minute you look away. God stopped and talked to him for a while, quite solemn words in the heart of the dark. And then by Essential Street Station, God sat down and wept. He - the kid who told me this - suffers from the naivete trait that parents thought were cute twenty years ago. He was a pre civilization neural connectivity. Where we have instinct that, no, you shouldn't cross the road, he hallucinates God is telling him not to cross the road. I've heard that naivete trait is getting trendy again. If you're thinking about it, think about the boy weeping uncontrollably as God cries for him not to cross the street. (Comment on this)
10:14 pm	The Future... Did you notice how the future turned out wrong? I mean, this isn't how the future was supossed to be, was it? We were all brought up with the future on television, the cheap old films on Sunday afternoons after roast lizard lunch with the family. The future was supossed to be fast, rocket-powered, glamorous, gorgeous ray guns painting the air with color and pattern as they phased, disrupted, lasered, blasted, or defleshed the opposition. Men were men despite wearing women's excercise gear, and women laid down and screamed a lot, like my first girlfriend. That's how the future was supossed to be. We watch the TV glow flicker over the Maker that looks like an old washing machine, see the glow make the tiny house cameras briefly visible as they fluoresce... One of the worst things in the world is how the future always ends up being so BORING. (Comment on this)
10:13 pm	Here lies... Here lies someone whose name you don't know. He was walking down the street minding his own business when an unmarked car pulled up full of plainclothes cops. There are five witnesses and eight segments of cam footage that show that they did not identify themselves in any way. He put his hands in the back pocket of his jeans, palm facing outwards. Before he could even fully withdraw whatever he was reaching for from his pocket, he was shot dead. In fact, he was shot fifty-two times. He was reaching for his wallet. He was an American citizen, so he wasn't reaching for a green card or an ID. He was reaching for his wallet because he thought he was being mugged. Accosted by criminals. Which, in a funny kind of way, he was. Except that they were all cleared of murder by an investigative unit staffed and run by the City Police Department. It takes six seconds for a CPD standard-issue sidearm to discharge thirteen rounds. Six seconds is a very long time. Doesn't matter what his name is. There's five like him every week in the City. And you didn't give a shit about them either. (Comment on this)
10:11 pm	The Transient Riot "There's a jungle of rhythm beating out below me; the sound of truncheons hammering on riot shields, police tradition when the streets get nasty. I'm in Angels 8, above what will doubtless be called the Transient Riot. History's only written by the winners, after all, and if the cops want it called the Transient Riot, then that's how it'll be. Because there's going to be Transient blood all over this place. And you know something? It's not their fault. The Transients couldn't have managed this on their own. They're just big kids who thought it'd be fun to live inside an alien body. A sane society would've tagged them for the waterheads they are and bought them a big playground. But no one even checked to see if their silly claim for secession was feasible. Civic Center just decided to stamp on them instead. They paid a few Transients off to start some trouble, deliberately marring a non-violent demonstration. Spontaneous violence, the only excuse Civic Center would have to send in the riot cops. These people are bleeding down there for a scam. It's a show of power. How dare anybody ignore the authority of Civic Center? How dare a bunch of freaks try and think for themselves? So let's go out and stomp on children, lunatics and incompetents, because by damn it makes our balls feel big. I can see a blatantly unarmed Transient man with half his face hanging off, and three cops working him over anyway. One of them is groping his own erection. I'm sorry. Is that too harsh an observation for you? Does that sound too much like the Truth? Fuck you. If anyone in this shithole city gave two tugs of a dead dog's cock about Truth, this wouldn't be happening. I wouldn't be seeing a Transient woman with blood on her face huddled in a porn-store doorway, clutching her belly. I wouldn't be looking down at a dead boy, thirteen if he's a day, draped over the hood of a police wagon. No one's eyes would be bleeding from incapacity sprays or the nerve bomblets the cops are launching down Cranberry. I wouldn't be surrounded up here by the people who have to live and work here, weeping openly. Enjoying this? You like the way I describe disgusting shit happening to people you probably walked past in the street last week? Good. You earned it. With your silence. You see, here's how it works; Civic Center and the cops do what the fuck they like, and you sit still. Your boss does what he likes. The asshole at the tollbooth, the bouncer at your local bar, the secruity guard who frisks you at the clinic, the papers and feedsites that lie to you for the hell of it. They do what they like. And what do you do? You pay them. This "riot" here, this terrible shit-rain visited upon a bunch of naive and uppity fetishes; you paid for it. Lap it up. You must like it when people in authority they never earned lie to you." Current Music: I'm a journalist, damn it! I don't have time for music! (Comment on this)