Why the fuck bother?




I’ve been back to Oslo for about 9 months now, and things are not going well.

When the love of my life left me, and got my membership at the ADF in Belfast cancelled, I’ve gone to the rats and further. I’ve seen the Devil in the eyes, and spat in them both.


I can’t remember when I was sober last. I vaguely remember the last time I had my last orgasm and a smile on my face. I can’t remember when I haven’t been either pissed off about something, or wanted to blow my brains out.


And I ask myself on a daily basis why do I even bother putting up with this shit? Why can’t I turn back time and right the wrongs and the mistakes that got me into this crap?

Okay, I admit it! It’s like living through Groundhog Day without having the chance to do things different! I got another poetry collection written, and another one on the way. I even got a story from my last trip to Belfast written. Well, at least a first draft. This may be the story that will kill me? Why do I still care about this anymore?


Why don’t newspapers hire true Writers anymore? Why are the drugs here shit? Why has free speech become a swearword? Why doesn’t Kim love me anymore? She’s the one who got me to believe in love and life again.  Why am I human with mistakes haunting me on a nightly basis? Why do I hate the World?


Why can’t I go into an editors office with a flamethrower and a story, and the editor is getting a hard on with a blank check and a credit card just for me to find out how many hookers and drugs I can buy for them?


Why can I just put a gun to my brain and blow off with a curse on my lips, “See you later pricks”?


I will tell you why!


It’s because I’m a bloody warrior with a pen in my hand and a keyboard with my head full of poisoness thoughts! And an anger to blow off entire cities!


Just give me a reason! This reminds me of something. Never give power to any artist who’s brain is fucked up on drugs and booze with a huge chip on his shoulder. Look at Winston Churchill and Hitler! Both excellent demagogues, both of them painters and authors. Both of them just insane enough to face each others fears. Churchill was a drunk and an old war horse with imperial interests. Hitler was a painter without talent whatsoever with a hatred towards anything not German. Especially the Jews, gypsies, queers, communists, democrats, and all who were not blond and blue eyed.

Churchill just hated Moslems. I’m no fan either. Well, it’s the whole concept of Islam I can’t stand. Equally am I sceptical to Christianity. Hitler was Christian; At least officially. I don’t know about Churchill. He acted more like a rabid dog in a prayer room than what I would consider a man of “Christian values”.  He had he’s own demons to fight though. And when he didn’t fight a war half drunk, he escaped into painting, writing and more booze, while taking a piss a every stiff upper lipped women he would meet.

Hitler escaped into mad Messiah complexes and tried to steal all the art that was superior to his own scrabbles, and burn books and people for the pleasure of gullible idiots with inferiority complexes. Do you see the picture here?

An artist should never be given the throne for whatever reason! Artists should be the ones outside the shit and have a voice against the Power. Not collaborating with it! Artists must suffer and go through shit to get their points across! In due time be fed with a silver spoon. But they should never forget where they come from!


I certainly will never forget the hard times that has lead me here. Neither will I forget the creeps that didn’t give me another chance.



Morten Alme

July 2008


Writer with huge chips on his shoulders


Going the extra mile… Fear and Loathing

To drink and do drugs in a week non stop while writing bullshit is what legends are made of. It’s even ancient history. Artists have gone insane while trying to cope with bullshit since the dawn of history.

Take a step away from reality and create your alternative one. You know you’re closer to the Truth than any sober pundit that spews out cheap lies on TV every night.

Nothing is new under the sun. Another honor killing. Another perverted sex maniac exposed in Austria. Bush got his will again in Congress. Obama is a bloody hypocrit and flip flopper who runs against an old semi- fascist who still endorses torture despite his own experiences in Vietnam.

Norwegian politcians are lying through their teeth as usual and play the personal vendettas to cover up their complete ignorance towards reality and incomptence in real life.

How can I put it?

Every thinking man is almost forced into alcoholism and an extraordinary drug use just to cope with the bullshit that he’s being fed with on a daily basis.

And then, when I go into the forums and feeds, and read more bullshit from amateur writers whom are buying into the these lies, I just feel like jumping into the bottle or the bong and stay there.


If you kreeps didn’t think otherwize, I am on an agenda here. Starting to think in the same terms as my dead editor. I don’t mind a dead editor, but the bastard shouldn’t go and die without my knowledge, screwing up book promises, and being so political correct that it makes me want to vomit. At least I’m keeping my own promise to him, and start my own blog. This is a homage to him. My old publisher. This is also a direct message to Shabana Rehman whom also used to get me paid for writing articles that I could get death threats for. Those were the days…

Now, I’m just going the extra mileage to survive the next few weeks of insanity and drunken poetry and fear and loathing of a world that seems hostile and self absorbed in shallow thoughts and cheap lies, where everyone have become media whores.

Read my daily rants, and keep out of my way! There are periods where I want to fuck with anyone who looks at me funny.

Does it sound familiar?


Culture differences and the death of a publisher

I have spent some years in Belfast.

The city is not like you read about in the news. It’s much better. Even though I have many chips on my shoulder regarding the whole city of bins and garbage, I have even more when it comes to Oslo, antd the cultural life here.


When Oslo have something called “Literaturhuset”, where all the famous bigwhigs come to write their criticaloly acclaimed books and toilet poetry, run by a bloody “socialist” politician whom are not a fan of freedom of speech, just thinking his moronic elitist friends and contacts, I have become a name in certain circles in Belfast where no other Norwegian writer have ever gone before.

when all the PC pundits and “writers” get things in their laps, I used to get death threats 7 years ago for columns I used to write in Dagbladets “Fundaqmental”… In Belfast, I swore never to write more poetry after writing my short story collection “The Birds the Bees and a Bottle of Whisky”… Until I met local poets and writers in a completely different setting than here in Oslo.

I cannot emphasise how much I loath this city, and how much I miss Belfast, for good and ill..

In Ireland, poetry and arts is a lot more socialized than in Norway.  In Ireland, there’s practically one artist pr. family.

I know this. Atleast if i should count the women I’ve been with there.

Artists and writers in Belfast have almost a carte blanche when it comes to getting fucked up on booze and drugs.

I remember vividly an experience I had in a NI drunktank in Newry. Look up Newry on the map. I drank a bottle of cognac on the train downthere, and completely lost my memory. somehow Iæ managed to blubber out that Iwas a writer and had just finished writing a book, and I had just broken up with my 1st girlfriend there.

They gave me full understanding the next day, even after I made a bulb on the door kicking and yelling half the night. they told me to relax, and gave me smokes when nerves were getting to me. They only gasve me a warning, a small slap on the wrist. No frine.

This is something you won’t experience in Norway!  An ingrown respect for creative artists. Norway is a fascist country with elitist ideas that sickens me.

After i got home to Norway after some hard times in Belfast, I’m being met with a soulless official apparatus. What’seven worse is that my old editor in the “Street Parliament” had kicked the bucket. Andreas Tselentis, (may he rest in piece) had the bloody nerve to go and die just when he had promised me a publication on my writings in book form.

Many times i ponder on the circumstances over his death. *If someone can give me some information on this, I will be very appreciative.

If any one of you want to read my shit, contact me directly on my email, or give notice on this forum. Asa writer, I must charge a small sum. I hope you understand.

‘Morten Alme

Hello world!

Hello pissants!

I want to tell you about gonzo literature!

Somehow, it seems that gonzo is dead! Or is it?

Did the whole concept of Gonzo die with Hunter S. Thompson and the ending of Waren Ellis wee take on the future of America die peaceful deaths as to an ending of a good story of Spider Jerusalem or a a bullet through ones brain?

I think not!

For more than 10 years I have been doing the exact same shit as these two with my own take on life and injustice! Have I gotten any good shit from it back? Oh yes!

Gonzo is NOT dead! It lives and breaths and hates within every mouthful of booze and drugs I take!

And with every line I write or snort, I take it upon my goddamn honour to be in accords to the Truth!

Once I had my own column in a major newspaper. Underpaid and overworked! Now, the wee witch whom was my “editor” is not giving a damn!

What the hell do I have to do? Storm into the office building armed to the teeth just to have access to write the Bloody Truth?

Do I have to fear monger the suits and ties into submission  and beat the Truth into them so they’ll look like trainwrecks?

Do I have to pour heavy hallucinogenic drugs into their cooffees just to have them see it my way? Do I have to expoce these bastards for being hard porn whores of Big Lies?

Where newspaper editors are deeply engaged into hard core sex with “our elected representatives”, the big coverup is a must! Hence, true journailism is being swallowed up by corruption and silencing of true voices of Freedom!

I may be poor! I may be persona none grata in certain circles! I may have been on my death bed many times! Does it look like I’m being intimidated? fuck that! I will come in with a flame thrower and a pen!

I have been i a battle more than once! I will to you little kreeps tell you things that official sources will not tell you because they are media whores and prostitutes of their corporate garbage…

Are you ready for the uncompromising Truth people?


Morten Alme

Writer and dissident