Hi. Greg Nikolic here. I am dealing with a kind of a hangover in my life, not from alcohol but from certain mental exertions over the past 6 days which have taxed me to the limit. Right now, in my life, I am waiting. I have set certain things in motion in Central Canada which may play out very successfully for me; if I succeed, I am a genius; if I fail, I am a fool and deserve to die an agonizing death.

I happen to think that Fortune favors the bold. I am nothing if not bold. My whole life is one long series of taking serious chances to advance myself. Cool guys can respect me because of my balls and my eventual success. I only have an interest in the winners in life. Let Stephen King write lovingly about the utter drecks of society, the losers who get shit upon by everyone. When I write my books, I’m going to write only about the winners, the minority who succeeds wildly.

I was considering writing my first novel during the month of September but my personal difficulties made this impossible. Then, upon further reflection, I came to the realization that now in general may not be the best time to write a novel. The crossroads at which I am standing will send me in a direction that demands my full attention if I succeed. If I fail, I will have to scramble for alternatives in Downtown Toronto, an alternative I am not relishing.

I am no stranger to pain. There is a good chance there will be lots more pain in the immediate future. But I am confident I am coming out of a phase in which the pain crippled my life. Unlike most people who suffer pain, my pain wasn’t from an accident or a series of mishaps but from a desire to improve myself. The pain is a consequence of change.

In other words, the pain is just another variant of Fortune favors the bold. I am trying a lot of things at once, hoping some of the spaghetti sticks to the wall. Unfortunately, I am dealing with crude raw material, failures in the form of creatures with vaginal slits between their legs. When dealing with vaginas, know that you are going to be in for a world of trouble which will dog at you when you try to get something important from them, be that sex or something even more valuable.

The weaknesses of women are useful when you’re trying to dominate and control them, but a pain in the ass at all other times. It would be nice if the female sex could actually do something, and wasn’t stuck in failure mode the whole time, but this is a pipe dream and an impossibility. The best you can do is give them a good swift kick in the ass and hope they stumble in the right direction. That’s all.

I am lucky in that I am good looking and tall and of European background. I haven’t used these advantages as much as I could have, or perhaps should have, but I held back in my life for good reason. To become very successful with women would have taken me on a detour which would have stolen a great prize from me. A prize which my crossroads journeyings may be taking me toward right now as we speak.

I love my life. I love my balls and brilliance and imagination. I am clearly a superior. The subferiors who walk all around me in the fading days of warmth are as nothing compared to me. When the crossroads motion is complete, I will be in a whole new exciting world where all my dreams come true.

This makes the long stretches of patience and stoic endurance of difficulty worthwhile. I have spent a long time in preparing for this crossroads. It makes the think how my sperm is valuable for the genetic information it encodes to continue my planning nature and my great stamina. I am going to have plenty of sons in my life, and this will improve the general gene pool incredibly. I hope to have no daughters. With any lucky, my sons will go out and seduce other great men’s daughters and produce even better offspring. Evolution isn’t dead; it’s just on standby.

This blog I’m writing, Dark Sport, is valuable for a few reasons. (A) It is a way for me to practice my writing on a daily basis. (B) It is a way for me to express my emotions. (C) It gives me communication with some worthwhile men from around the world. (D) It passes the time quite successfully while I recuperate.

But financially, it’s a dud. I had at one time thought to keep on writing the blog for the rest of my life, but now I don’t think I’m going to do that. I think once I sell my first novel, I’m going to shut down and delete my entire blog. It will have served its purpose. If you want to read me, you can pay for the privilege. That’s why I hate libraries: they let your works be read for free. I don’t want anyone fuckin’ ever reading me for free. It’s one of the things that irks my about Dark Sport: the parasites are reading me without paying me money.

I want to be fantastically rich. I don’t even like the idea of selling my novels for the same price as other novels. Realistically, they should be pegged at twice the price for paperbacks and three times the price for newly put-out hardcovers.

When you submit a novel electronically to the literary gatekeepers of New York, you have to write an entertaining first chapter that draws the reader in. Yet this requirement constipates the mind. It takes a great trick of mental dexterity to Houdini-like escape the constraints of this requirement. The typical writer produces a chase scene or an act of incipient violence starting from the first sentence, and it is hackneyed and weak. I have to write an opening chapter that is original and fresh, and departs from this.

Ah, but life is SO fair! My fat sister Marianne, who is a total bitch because she chooses not to outgrow the abandonment of her by her mother at age three, believes life is unfair. She is, of course, a weak woman. At this time in my life, she has shut me out of her life, but I don’t care. She’s not a brother. It would have been worthwhile if she had been born a boy. Her femininity, and all the stinking menstrual periods of her life, are a curse. She is inferior. But so be it.

It is rather unfortunate I have a sex drive with disgusting menstrual creatures like women. But what alternative is there? It rather reminds of the situation of Canada vis-a-vis the United States. America is this looming giant to the south, ten times the might and population. Canada must trade with the U.S., it has no choice. I must fuck disgusting creatures that bleed gunk from their most private sections for DAYS on end and are horrible specimens of boring and repulsiveness.

I once had a long-distance relationship with a girl named Echo. Thank God, she only had a 3-day period. Bad enough, but better than the alternative. Now, I could have feelings for Echo because she kneeled before me and obeyed my commands. I wasn’t so repelled by her as I’m feeling repelled by women as I write these words. I think the reason I’m having trouble dealing with chicks is that the chicks in my life right now are causing me some very real problems that I have to straighten out on my own. I have to guide them and instruct them and lead them to a successful conclusion that they would never find on their own. So I connect that to disgusting menstruation and make all women disgusting. In general, in my life, I have enjoyed kissing and holding women, but then, I didn’t have to deal with their problems and inferiorities then, did I?

Women are worthwhile. They are like toys you use until they are broken, then you discard them. They enhance life immeasurably. With the proper attitude toward them and control of them, they can make a powerful asset in your male life. Of course, you have to dominate them. The majority of men in the West have entered into equal relationships with their bitches, and suffer the consequences. But that’s their choice. In this world, we’re free to do as we want. We can be a Bill Clinton running a feel-good charitable foundation in New York in 2010 or we can be an Adolf Hitler rounding up the Jews and gassing them and burning them in 1943. The world is our choice to live as we please. That’s good. It’s good that there’s no intervening God to tell us what to do. The Christians say we have free will. Rather, there is no God to intervene. He doesn’t exist. It’s rather ridiculous to imagine that a supreme deity would look like us, anyway, with fingers and a penis! And even an anus! A god! Ha! Give me a break. He’d probably be a ball of energy if anything. Star Trek: the Original Series has probably done an episode on this.

Anyway, I’m wandering rather far off track from the original crossroads subject matter. I wrote a long article on evil which I deleted. I delete a lot of my best writings. They are “inappropriate” in today’s world. This article, which treats women negatively, is also inappropriate, but I think it’ll barely scrape by the censor’s lash and make it into the world permanently. I also wrote about rape three times and deleted those articles each time. It’s too bad I live in a world full of pussies who have control over my life. The requirements of those pussies aren’t too onerous, but they are there. Perhaps in the far future things will be different. After all, the weak can only rule for so long.

Ah, the weak. In this world, except for me, everyone is weak. Men bow before women, women bow before their friends, children are barbarians who perpetrate abuse upon one another, and the strongest of individuals caves before tradition and happenstance.

It is interesting to speculate on how another sort of society could live its life. Knowing that the weak conform to society (everyone in Europe was a Christian except a closet few), we can speculate that a new society based on innovative precepts would sweep up everyone in its path and set off in a new direction. Sociology would have a field day with it.

We are coming close to a momentous change in world history. The world, for the first time, is rich and free. With vast wealth comes the potential to experiment. With freedom comes to ability to move in new directions causing that experimentation. It is only awaiting a catalyst. A single man with the vision to move things in a new direction, and the balls to crush and destroy.

Someone like Hitler. Hitler is an interesting case study because he attempted something genuinely new. He was sabotaged by women, of course (you always have to watch out for that), but for the time he ruled, he brought into being a different vision of society. Of course, you had to be Germanic to fully benefit from it, and that was a weakness in a multicultural, multiethnic Europe, but if you were lucky enough to be born to the right family, you could thrive.

I am not a huge fan of Hitler’s vision, however. It goes beyond the fact that I am not Germanic and would not fit into his racial schemata. Take Hitler’s view of art. The most interesting art was the kind he condemned and called decadent and got rid of. Hitler was not very advanced. He was a conservative. A revolutionary conservative, but a conservative nonetheless. He wanted to take the French Arc de Triomph and make a bigger German version. He wanted material things rather than the more important insubstantial things. He had a narrow vision. His goal of a thousand-year Reich was impossible given the totalitarian features of his fascist society. It would have fallen apart. A certain degree of freedom is VITAL for the best men of society. You cannot hamstring men. It was better under Napoleon. As a man of opportunity, who arose from the lower strata, he valued men like himself. Hitler arose in a similar way, but his fascist ideology, ensconced in Nazi policy, made ideology too important.

Ideology is boring. The Communists of Russia were also all ideological. All their writings and their art and their ballet went into showcasing the retarded views of the equalitarians. “From each according to his ability, to each according his needs.” Pah! Let the starving go under, exposed rib cages showing through the skin.

In order for a society to be stable and self-perpetuating, it has to meet the needs of the best men. It should also be comprehensive, and showcase its features on a daily basis on the streets. We live in a commercial society that showcases only wares with dollar signs dangling off them. Fucking commercial society: it produces some good shit, but its subtext ideology is as bad as the Communists’. We have a hundred varieties of potato chip in the stores but no opportunity to live a fulfilling life that pushes at the boundaries, morally and interpersonally.

I am still in pain. It isn’t as painful now as it was before. I feel like I’m in a pain hangover. This is going to be a long article, but I’m only killing time. My cell phone is under the table, plugged into the library power source and recharging. Storm is out there on the streets, practicing. Or she should be. I’m waiting on her. She’s inferior, but she has something I want very badly, and it isn’t her old pussy.

Storm… is obsessed with me. She thinks she loves me. Part of the reason is I’m sexy as hell, with a beautiful face and long hair, but a bigger part of the reason is who I am, my essence, my core self. She’s never met anyone like me. The problem is she acts like a little girl, afraid and shy. She has something I want, but she’s blocking me from getting it by her ineptitude. That’s part of the reason I’m at this crossroads.

I’m waiting on her. I have full confidence in MY abilities. I can elevate even a woman to new heights. I can take garbage and make it into platinum. I’ve done this with Storm. We’re very near the end stages where everything becomes possible — all thanks to me. Life IS fair; fortune DOES favor the bold. Genius and willpower make everything possible, and I have both in spades. Storm does not, but I give her the inflated effect of my own amazing self. It’s like a great book that I write. I write in an accessible way that anyone can read, but it’s so intelligent that it makes the moron feel like he’s risen 20 IQ points in the process of consuming my thoughts. It must be a great feeling for the moron. Likewise, it must be a great feeling for Storm to associate with me at this crossroads. She doesn’t deserve me, and isn’t worth fucking on her own, but she has an incredible gift that I’m going to steal from her and use and DEVELOP.

The future is set. Over the course of the next two weeks, there should be a breakthrough in Hamilton, something unique in human history. Notice that I’m not being explicit about it. You can imagine whatever you want. This journal entry is for me and me alone.

I’ve noticed that my readers take me for granted, and often miss the most important points I’m trying to make. Even if I was clear on what’s going on at the crossroads, the readers still wouldn’t get it. When I write about me in pain, they either say nothing or give me useless advice instead of being warm and supportive as I actually want. I don’t want you to tell me what to do. I want you to tell me you like me and show you care about my hurting.

Storm is going to meet a bad end. She won’t survive into the new world. Neither will any of the cunts she considers her associates, followers, and friends. That’s what you get when you meet a giant force of history, a tidal wave that sweeps upon all and destroys all in its path. When you boil it down, she’s a scared little girl with too much power for her own good and not enough understanding about the evil that men do.

A game is being played out right now in this little corner of the world. A game that will have momentous consequences for the future of the world. It involves emotions, and soap operas, and lots of other feminine drivel, but it is backed by the solidest of metal anvils, a steel door, a rotating slide of power down which slides a special individual to new freedom.

In a sense, I feel better than I have ever felt, writing these words. THIS is how I feel better, alluding to great things, not writing journal entries which whine about my pain to parasitic readers who don’t care. I’m going to be a great novelist. I’m going to be rich and powerful and use my sex appeal to get the hottest young ass, BIG TITS, tight bodies, pretty faces, luscious cock-sucking full lips and kissability, multiple chicks, many girls. I have waited long enough. I COULD have had a lot of this earlier in my youth. I passed it up because it would have destroyed my present crossroads opportunity, my great shot at something magnificent. Sex is so important, but there are more important things in the world, something the average man wouldn’t understand.

Poor Storm. Obsessed with love. Desperate for a man, any man. Finding a fantastic, great man, one who supposedly loves her. Last night I said “Without love, life isn’t worth living” to her. The bullshit I prattle on about! *laughing* She’s so stupid and naive. As if I actually meant that. I know what to say. I know how to get her to move her fat slow cowardly ass. I know how to support her gently and encourage her, and when to bring out the lash. I’m the perfect manipulator.

She’s too distant from me for me to properly bring to her knees in front of me, so I use other means. Primarily romance. I’m good at it. When the words spill from my full male lips, I sound convincing. I could win an Academy Award for acting. Do you know what I love? Power and dreams. Not a woman. Someday, I will be in love with lots of women, though. The sensation is pleasurable, including obsession. But I’ll always know they are just toys. You can love a toy like a model railroad set or an electric radio-controlled car. You can even love a real car but you don’t let it dominate your life. At least, a superior doesn’t.

I admire Prometheus, the Greek hero who stole fire from the gods. I’m going to be like Prometheus, only I won’t come to a bad end. I’m embarked on something close to a sure thing. It’s a sure thing because I damn well made it that way. I take no chances.

When I first met Storm, my subconscious mind must have recognized that this was the opportunity I was waiting for, the reason I’d been holding off on being a Casanova all my life. She was behind the counter of her shitty little store, looking grim and not particularly attractive. Yet I made my move, hitting on her. I made her angry. I went home and wrote her a poem and came back to her store and did jumping jacks in front of her, spelling out her name in letters, making her happy. Later, her friend admitted “[she] likes you.” Of course. I made her like me. I gave her hope about romance and love and sex.

No other man would have come as far as I have. It’s impossible to conceive of a man who would recognize her for what she really is, have the good looks to appeal to her, be white, have the intelligence and the manipulative powers to do what needed to be done, the acting ability to be successful, the raw massive stamina to endure homelessness for long periods of time, many months, to get closer to her, the willingness to take his time and wait. And wait.

I’ve done well. I keep repeating it to myself, but it’s true. I’m not just buttering my own ass. I’ve done so well in prepping for these crossroads, this moment. Anyway, I’m going to wind down this letter. There’s noise in this Hamilton public library and a loser is driving me off. I’ve written enough, anyway. More than enough. This was a great journal entry. My pain is almost gone. The words have taken it away. Writing is good for more than one thing, you know. Life is wonderful.