TO ANYONE THAT HAS BEEN READING THIS BLOG:

This is the Liverpool Police Department speaking. We have reason to believe that the terrorist attack that occurred on the second of May was carried out by the man writing this blog. If you have any information regarding this please come forth immediately. Peter Busch has been missing for over six months and If you have any thing that could help us, come forth for your countryman. This incident has caused national pride throughout our great nation and we will not stand for what happened at Anfield. God save the Queen.

so the time has finally come. tom has convinced me this is the moment of a lifetime. there will be fifty thousand people at the stadium later today and this is our chance make a big boom. hehe. finally i feel special. i will make an impact that everyone will know about. they will be so jealous of me and the best part is that tom said i can take all the credit. i dont know why he is being so friendly all of a sudden. me, a backpack, and courage is all i need he told me that. i have that i said. i said you better believe me tommy boy because its going to be bloody ugly out there. but ugly in a beautiful sort of way.

It feels remarkably strange to be back in this great city. I've died my hair grey, don a cap that shadows most of my face, and use a cane to exaggerate a limp. I don't even look at the others as they pass me by. I don't want them to see what I have become. I simply just want peace of mind so that I can fade easy into the history of mankind without a blip or notice. My personality disorder seems to have subsided for the time being. Maybe this devil inside of me has realized that its useless wasting its time on someone who will gone soon. Liverpool's last game of the season is tomorrow. I will be sitting in the section opposite of what I'm used to. The kop used to be my home, the biggest single tier audience stand in the world that booms our chants for over ninety minutes. Instead I will sit calmly with the other supporters who appreciate a more mellow viewing experience. This isn't exactly what I want, but I don't want to risk someone noticing me with my absurd costume on. Life goes on.

It was a great relief to check my blog and see nothing strange since my last post. Currently I'm sitting on a train that charges toward my city. I borrowed my cabin companion's laptop to update myself on the world especially the news about the football club I adored for so many years. More bad news. Our season was one of the worse the club has experienced in over twenty years. We're bound to finish either sixth or seventh which means for the first time in a decade the infamous Liverpool FC will not be playing in the Champions League. This entails that a large sum of money that is owed to the clubs playing in this league will not be paid to us and instead to another dirty club from London that bought its team with the investments from some foreign scum trying to take over the sport for his own benefit. Liverpool will push on as we always do. We'll never walk alone.

Wow things are really getting crazy and out of control. My last post freaked me out badly. How could I write something like that? It's so fucking creepy and terrible. I figure that Tom must be the voice in my head that tells me to do stuff when I'm in my schizophrenic haze. I've been doing some research trying to find out if I can quell my shifts in personality but without any luck. If I wanted help I would have to make an appointment with a doctor and that would mean exposing my true self. I will just have to move on and continue fighting the fight against myself. I enjoy writing these posts because it remains my only real form of self expression left. When I die these posts will act as a journal of sorts so that when it is eventually found people who knew me will understand the truth. This blog is my truth. My chance to show what really happened. Ah hell! Who am I kidding? No one's going to read this.

tom told me to write here what I feel like. i feel great. tom said that there is no such things as feelings and i asked him why he yells to much and he said he wants to kill me. i dont like tom. he tells me that if i dont do things he will rip me into tiny pieces. i told tom i though a girl was pretty and he said if i ever said something like that again he would kill me. why is he so mad at me. i think he might be a ruler of people's spirits. he wont allow mine to rise with me. he has it under control and says that it is better that way. im scared. he must be trying to get to me to do something. i see him in strangers eyes. he fills the black part. im off to see the devil

Not for the first time my previous post is scaring the shit out of me. Who the hell is Tom? How could I write this and not remember anything. Luckily, I snapped out of it before anything tragic happened. In my bag I found I large homemade bomb that I had no recollection building or anything related for that matter. I feel like every time I go to sleep my other half rises slowly from my mind and chaos ensues. I'm not a murderer, but he is. I'm not a terrorist, but he is. I'm Peter and he is someone else. A product of what this world has done to me. Maybe all the fast food and processed foods I have been eating since I was a little boy have accumulated toxic trash somewhere in my head leaving me with a prettt fucked up tool shed. Liverpool, you're my last hope. I travel through France heading toward the train that will zip me over to London where I will be ever closer to my beloved. One last time at Anfield? Is that to much to ask for? One more time to soak in the screams of the kop. I'm off .