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 .

What the shit? Peter Busch? Tom must have changed it when I went to get the gasoline, or maybe he did something stupid and forgot to tell me. Tom said that if we blew up the train it would be fun fun fun. How does he know. He's not even alive or tangible. He talks tooooo much. I want to kill him, stab him, shoot him. This train glides effortlessly toward what? hope? the future? the end of days I suppose......

What does someone do when they have nothing to live for. I'm trapped in the corridors of uncertainty. I've decided that I should take a road trip back to where things felt almost right. Liverpool never opened its arms to me and many times I was condescendingly called a 'yank' or 'stupid american', but I liked that. In the city I could let things happen without feeling responsible or anxious. My teams last game is coming up and I thought maybe I could make it back in time to support the lads one last time. At this point I don't know if my schizophrenia will get worse, but after seeing what happened to pops I don't want to take any chances. I feel like a doctor has just told me I have three months to live. Enough of this for now.

When I looked at my last post I thought maybe someone had hijacked my account or that I had forgot to log out when I was at that cyber cafe, but I think now that there may be another explanation. As my father grew older he seemed to lose his bearings a bit earlier than most men his age. Some doctors said he was just senile, but I never really bought that argument. I spent more time around him than they did for christ sake. Once I learned about schizophrenia in high school health class I was convinced that it was exactly what he suffered from. My mind was often occupied with the fear of succumbing to the same fate and now it seems I have. My memory has spots of nothingness in it. Periods of black that carry deeply but have no meaning. If I tell anyone I fear I will be locked away in a looney bin for the rest of my days lying around heavily medicated. I need to think fast.

click. rattle rattle rattle. must be half the bottle left. nice. i pour some down my throat and then throw the bott in my napsack. ahh my trusty napsack. i dont know where i am anymore. i havent spoke with my fam in a long time. time is something that swirls and eddies around my ears but never really enters my skull. i open their fridge but find only veggies and old meatloaf. god am i back in the us? god my head hurts. i bet that bitch carries pills on her. i knew it. have some as well ya filthy beast. her corpse seems happy and peaceful. ooooo i just have to. i remember my in flicks when some bastard detective would wave his hands over a dead body's eyes causing their death stare to vanish under their eyelids. i try. goddman it. once more. fuck. enraged. another promise broken. computers are everywhere i know now now know.

So it's been quite a while since I have written anything in this god fucking bull shit fuck blog thing. My travels have have taken me many places and write now, as I right this, I'm shivering like a wet child in the cold wind outside, in some cyber place in Prague. This fuckin' place is really the definition of self-alienation. Everyone connected to their own little world while not paying any damn attention to what's happening around them. As I look around...I see idiots everywhere. What keep's them going? Do they just pretend to be ok? My disconnect from my previous life reminds me of watching a Lars Von Trier film. What once was a standard Hollywood narrative has turned into a complex, overdetermined space of mind shit and I just didn't have the equipment to sift through it. Prague may hold the answer.

Liverpool are having their worst season in a decade and I can't help but wonder if this is something I should think more about. Football and that shit meant salvation but now I can't tell........

A New Day

So I've decided that its time I did some serious soul searching. I keep looking back on the past five years with a feeling of hesitation. Traveling with my pack of hooligans in the streets before and after matches pumped some serious high octane energy into my static, stale, stillwater life, but times change. I remember cleaning the blood off my childhood aluminum Easton baseball bat for the first time and recalling how that metal shaft always sounded the same when it struck something whether it be someone's skull or a baseball. *ting*. I began writing this blog because I didn't want to keep a journal around the house. Writing has caused me to see the errors of my ways. My only choice now is to head out on the road alone. Completely alone without the guidance of anyone. I had to figure out once and for all what life was all about. Most things we cherish are fake social constructions.

When I was a kid my friend and I would have sleep overs playing video games for hours or telling each other how we would decide to divide our riches once we became rich. My family lived in a low income housing complex and the walls were unbelievably thin. If someone was having a good time on the other side we would know it. During the night we would hear a women that, we thought, was writhing in ecstasy in bed with her lover. My friend and I would masturbate quietly listening to what we thought was the sounds of proper lovemaking. My family knew the women next door and she was a stunner. I almost fainted one night when my parents told me that Lisa, the screamer next door, had died. She was awaiting a request for an adequate organ donor and nothing had come in time. Those late night shrieks were the worst suffering in the world and I sat there imagining it to be sounds of the greatest pleasure. All that separated us was a god damn wall.

The video that I embedded in my last post was when my obsession with football began. I think it was the third or fourth game I had seen since moving to Liverpool from upstate New York. I was still calling "the beautiful game" game soccer at this point and I was only interested in going so that I could mingle with my work colleagues. It's funny how when you go into something your unsure of, with little or no expectations, life usually decides to throw something heavy at you. I remember Steve explaining to me the circumstances of the match, but I was only half interested, nodding my head here and there, trying to convey I understood clearly everything he was saying. He gave me a funny look at half-time when I emphatically shook his shoulders demanding he explain everything to me again. He gave me a funny look. That face will be forever etched in my mind because now I know what it meant. It was the precise moment that I realized what football was all about; unadulterated passion. The atmosphere in the crowd that night was absolutely hypnotizing. When the last goal was scored the entire stadium erupted in a massive cathartic explosion unlike anything I had ever seen. It was a powerful, almost religious experience. After the game finished I noticed Steve slip quietly away from the rest of us without saying anything. I tried to follow him, but someone else we were with grabbed me and shook his head. I complied, but for the rest of the week I dogged Steve with intrusive questions without any regard. He knew he had to tell me. Because of that one night my life changed forever and I was soon to be initiated in one of the top football firms in the world. To be honest I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I couldn't have cared less.

A Happy Reflection

Slippery Slope

The taste of water reminds me of pills. I stopped taking my medication years ago, but whenever I fill up a glass late at night or early in the morning my throat muscles twitch half expecting something else to slide down my esophagus. With age comes the realization that drugs are everywhere. Not just in tiny capsules, but also in our habits, our daily routines, our friends, our lives. My week wasn't getting any better and drugs were all I could think about. A midweek loss at the Emirates leaves our season in shambles. A fourth place finish is seeming more unlikely as each fixture passes. No one spoke on the drive home and for some reason I couldn't stop thinking about my wife who, at some point in my life, was a drug I indulged in, but, like my interest in other drugs of the past, has faded with the unfair hand of time. Or had it completely?

AWW FUCK

The lads and I were on our way to the London for the midweek scrap between 'Pool and Aresenal (or the fuckin' gooners as there often referred to in the Mersey) when all of a sudden our car broke down in the middle of nowhere. Are you fuckin' kidding me? Nothing's been going right for me lately. I feel like I just hit the woodwork from inside the six yards box.

Last night I called my wife to tell her that I wouldn't be coming home and I heard a man's voice in the background and I felt something that I hadn't felt in a very long time. Such a long time that I couldn't really figure out what it was. My personal sentiments are far too distant to identify right now. Was she cheating on me? Who was the guy? I don't even care. I'm on my own pursuit to happiness and I have no right to question her choices at this point. I haven't exactly been gracious during the past five years. Or ten. So is sleeping next to my smelly, greasy friend in a cheap hotel where I want to be right now? I want to say yes....... but I don't think so.

The Super Bowl

Super bowl sunday! To be honest I couldn't give two shits. When I lived in the states it was considered the ultimate sin by most to miss the game. A conglomeration of shameless advertisements that anyone with a brain would consider insulting. That's how I felt about it. Oh and that one jackass who demands everyone be quiet during the commercials. The thought of dealing with that again just pisses me off.

Another Fast Weekend

The reds swept through a sluggish Bolton Wanderers side this past weekend which was reason enough for celebration. For the lads or lasses reading this who are unfamiliar with what I'm talking about exactly then find out for yourself. I'd bet some of you would catch the bug, as I have, and who knows, it might do you bloody well. Maybe one day well pass each other outside a fixture or maybe one day I'll stick my boot up your arse.

After the match my mates and I went to the pub to celebrate the victory. This pub, which I shall not reveal the name of, but instead will call Harry's for fuck sake, is where the boys meet before and after the games to grease their gears and loosen their bolts. After drinking enough to satisfy my Irish blood I headed out of Harry's to smoke my pipe and start my ponderous walk home. I'll have to call my home something else because it's no home to me. It hasn't been for as long as I can remember. I wonder if it really ever was or if I just wanted it to be? For fucks sake I sound like a wanker. Surprisingly my wife wasn't home when I arrived back. I assumed she was at her sisters with Peter Jr. gossiping about things that would most likely make me arrange my pub dinner on the floor in a mushy mess. Damn, that little bugger shouldn't be exposed to such non sense. Looks like I'll have to make a man out of him sooner than I thought. He's only four, but I bet the boys would like him. He can get dressed on his own and he can use the bathroom all by himself. That's more than I can say for some of my mates after a good nights drinking.

The Meaning of Life

Last Saturday night I was at one of those parties where adults gather around pretending to be friends with each other. I laughed to myself as I looked around the room searching for something real. Were all these people as soulless as I imagined? I knew better. I bet all of them had dark secrets probably way worst than what I had hidden deep in the back of my closet. At one point I stepped outside to get some fresh air and stumbled upon a couple of kids smoking cigarettes and talking shit about their parents and their parent's friends. They trailed off as soon as they noticed me. "Don't mind me", I said, and stared off with my eyes closed hoping they would start talking again. Ugh. But of course not. As soon as someone my age steps in the room anyone worth talking to stays silent or leaves. "Life sucks", I whispered to myself. "What?", one of the kid answered. "Oh nothing", I said. I could tell they both thought I was crazy. Have you ever wanted to grab a kid by his ears and scream to him, "Nothing is what it seems!!!!" or "Happiness doesn't exist!!!!". A bit over dramatic I know, but sometimes now I wish someone had done it for me. I would thank them now for the heads up. I looked over at my company and asked them, "What are your passions in life?". They looked at me like I was crazy. One of them answered timidly, "I like football". "Me too!!!!", I responded eagerly. Both startled they looked at me. "Football is your passion also?". My inner voice laughed. "Well, I guess you could put it that way".