DJ Knight Rider

Crime pays

Preaching to the Perverted, by Live on Acid 12 track album

Africa is rich not poor is what I explained to the bar man. Who had not slept in 15 days. The British music world done Live Aid, we bought all your arms and tanks. Thanks to us - your kids got their first machine guns. We give you water, I owe Thames water one hundred and ninety three fu***ng pound. The best and only good thing I can remember about Prison was how good the lock on the door was. No one could break in or break out like on the North Peckham estate where bulgary was rife. Also how good you can get at ping pong when you play it 8 hours a fu***ng day. Even in Prison, you had a door bell and you could get a good ice cream and crunchie unlike my time staying at the Hilton, Mayfair, rubbish hotel in my humble opinion. Five hundred a night and could not rustle up a Crunchie and Corneto for breakfast. Great banned from fu***ng Holiday Inn of all places. The fat American c*** asked me how to spell Bu***ke, I swear to God, all I said was I do not know mate I am not a fu***ng dictionary, how do Americans spell fat stupid c**t. 800 rooms. I got asked to leave. My room was playing GOOD loud techno until the incident. Apparently you can not swear in the private bar but American c**ts can talk about German s*x parties where blokes wear flipping balaclavas ffs - SCARY. They did this to me in Ibiza for saying c**t accidently poolside, FAT F**KING AMERICANS AGAIN. TWICE the septic tanks have took offence and cost me money and rooms. The two flipping Muslim security were nice, they did not blow me up with a bomb or anything despite dressed like Romanian gypsies who shop in a caravan park. The African bar man was a c**t to also complain. But because the soap dodging immigrant had not slept three weeks, greedy for tips and money. C**t. I am not racist we should all live in PEACE with Love and Money. But f**k Albanians, how come that lot always get a 3 bedroom house and British Army Veterans freeze or homeless. Not fair. Not rocket science ban all f**kers from foreign soil until this Labour Government Wake UP and employ POLICE that do not shop in Mother Care or just gone through puberty. C**ts. London used to be a very safe city to live not so long ago. There was alot of versace and no karate. People used to take pride in how they dressed and acted. Where did it go wrong. Guns are not the answer. Knives work. This is a fact, cutlery kills. As do well trained Dogs like the XL Bully I walk at weekends for my Spanish mate who used to kidnap people for a living until the idiot turned it into a hobbie. BUT we need honest , strong, well trained Police to clean up London from s**t and crime. The NHS is ridiculous, waiting times and not enough nurses or 'intelligent' Doctors for the public sector anyway. Brain Drain it is called the clever ones f**ked off abroad for vitamin D and proper money. Wish my Mum and I had BUPA - private pays. Mental health units and care homes f**k them, everyone is a fruit cake nut job or half dead is what they think, Government does not care. There would be alot less nutjobs and crazies if only they were treated good and they were not ignored. It is not big and it is not clever but has anyone asked a little prick or hoodie carrying a knife, why do they carry a knife? Is it because they are scared for self defence or is it for crafting wood in the fu***ng jungle called Peckham front line by Chicago discoteque I robbed in 1993. The Jamaicans I met were alright. Until you smoke their w**d, fu***ng hell. Hardcore. F**k Yardies though, by which I mean the gangaster element that pimp and deal the frontlines all over London. Proper racist c**ts they are trust me. Worse than old bill, who are actually fu***ng eighteen years and young. If MET POLICE were much cop, why are there so many flipping Eastern Europeans in Londons richest borough selling s**t co***ne twenty four hours a day seven days a week. Are the Police too fu***ng scared to arrest plastic fu***ng foreign gangsters or is it simply too expensive for 100 translators to work in custody and pay for an easy jet flight back home. F**k it give them British Airways it is worth it for peace. Talking of being in 24 hours of Police Custody, did you know you can have two fu***ng blankets, two meals, tea all night yet the f**kers had one bible yet seven korans. No pens, not even a biro. But there was paper. C**ts. Never getting strip seached again. I was on magic mushrooms I had not had a poo for 3 days, I told them I took laxatives that day. I s**t all over them. A real fine mess of s**t. But it is ok, that is what they get paid for. Tax payer paid for them to be s**t on. If only they took me to Accident and Emergency first - STANDARD OPERATION PROCEDURES. The week before my dear Mum died, I said Mum why do you never sleep. She said because I love you so much and worry about you at Stoll mansions. She read the Daily Mail. How s**t do I feel, Mum died because i was a terrible son. The Army was my family. Deluded, Loyal or Stupid, but it is loneliness and self hate that is the killer and guilt. The reason I cut myself and hurt myself. I should be dead. but no I am getting booted out of Holiday Inn FFS at 0500hrs in the fu***ng cold. For the c**t word and GOOD techno. F**k Americans. # # # c**ts all of them. Never going Mayfair branch or the Florida one again. On the Wandsworth council job at the town hall parking fines department, I was dressed as a woman carrying a shot gun. It was only £90,000 UK sterling. The Polish construcction workers jumped me, not the reliable for being unreliable MET Police, the Poles and that one of my heels got stuck in the fu***ng drain just before I could jump on the bike. Anyway fu***ng Martin, my Barrister, the c**t, all he could do is crititicise the Vivianne Westwood Blouse I was wearing and how ridiclous I was for wearing heels when I live in trainers. NIKE. Twelve years of Cornetos, Crunchies and Ping Pong in a one man cell, having one man parties three hundred and fifty odd days a year. I found out Prison is a good place for g**s and not a great place to work or thrive. No place for a kid, teenager or adult with half a brain. Even the good well run prisons are s**t. I know. Ask any Muslim. They now own them all. Some may say to convert the vulnerable. No mate they feed on the lost, lonely and ignored. Prison is simply a retreat for Muslims who convert people who are lost, lonely and ignored. The people who should have been safe guarded, treated and cared for by the Government at any cost. Council staff and Social Services get paid for this.

Beneath the Union Jack they sail,
Through storm and calm, on the seas they prevail,
Their hearts of oak, their spirits bold,
Guarding waters, new and old.

From Trafalgar to the Channel's breeze,
Britannia's pride, they roam the seas,
With iron hulls and steadfast crew,
In navy blue, their honour true.

In silent depths, submarines glide,
Above, destroyers cut the tide,
Historic might, in modern form,
The British Navy weathers storm.

Anchored in tradition's lore,
Bravery, strength forever more,
Guardians of the ocean's grace,
A timeless legacy they embrace.
DK2024

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-IW91hpK-Q
Sticks and Stones may break my bones, BUT the pain is all in my head from when the cold hearted bastards shot my friend dead.
DK2024 [email protected]

BrainPain Poetry and visuals about a soldiers life

Streets of London
City lights, concrete veins,
Echoes of the night, streets in chains.
Every corner, story untold,
London's heart, brave and bold.
Walking through the alleys where the shadows play,
Hustlers, dreamers, trying to find their way.
From Brixton to Camden, stories in the wind,
Graffiti on the walls, voices in the night,
Struggles and triumphs, hidden out of sight.
Double-deckers roll, fog covers the dawn,
In the heart of London, where legends are born.
Streets of London, tales so deep,
Where the city never sleeps.
From the East End to the West,
London's pulse will never rest.

Brick Lane markets, flavours in the air,
Hip-hop beats mix with punk rock flair.
Underground stations, life's daily grind,
In the rhythm of the tracks, solace we find.
Palaces and projects, side by side,
In the heart of London, where dreams collide.
From Notting Hill Carnival to Soho nights,
London's streets, where wrongs meets rights.
Echoes of the past, whispers of the now,
In the streets of London, we take a vow.
To remember the fallen, to honour the brave,
In the city's heart, our spirits do engrave.
Streets of London, tales so deep,
Where the city never has a sleep.
From the East End to the West,
London's pulse never stops to rest.

Proper **** of a care worker. Refused welfare oyster card to go to my first revovery session 3 months ago. Offering ' to hold my hand ' to get 50% bus fare FFSLandlord just made £80 mil, evicting me and this is the kind of crap their stoll welfare gaslighting as per norm. Turning Point charity and Daws saw the injustices of stoll welfae and send this beautiiful Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 Team
Hi David
I see you have a tone to your emails for some reason.
I also see that you have tagged a risk manager from turning point.
I will address few of your questions.
You passive aggressively told Suzanne that if she communicated with her staff more she wouldn't have come at 3pm to wake you up.
You live in a supported accommodation and staff visiting you especially when worried about your well-being, is normal and we definitely do not deserve this treatment.
You also passive aggressively said that I and Suzanne have refused to give you the oyster card.
Now I have notes and witnesses that can confirm that I have offered more than twice to hold your hand and take you to the universal credit for 50% discount to your bus journeys. You refused each time for an unknown reason. Each time was a different reason given.
You are upset about your door, that is understandable however staff have done everything in our power and duty to report and explain what the issue is to repairs team.
I came up with my colleague and we both explained what the issue appeared to be.
And finally the support team at stoll fulham AKA myself and Verity do not work full time and we usually do not reply to emails in our personal time.
I have broken this rule for you multiple times because I care.
You however have not put enough effort into your recovery so far.
This has been explained to during our meeting many times.
It took you nearly 6 months to even attend Claybrook to simply sign the form for freedom pass.
I am personally offended by your tone as I have done my very best to support you since I started working for Stoll.
I truly hope there is no hard feelings from your side and I hope we can meet and discuss this issue.
If you feel that you have not being supported appropriately please feel free to request a new support worker.
Kind regards,
Diyana

a dark poem entitled - Scars
In the shadows of the mind, a silent war is fought,
A battle with oneself, with tangled thoughts so fraught.
A cry for help, through pain, a voice not often heard,
A plea for understanding, without a single word.
The skin, a canvas pale, where hidden stories mark,
Each line a heavy tale, engraved upon the dark.
But know this isn't weakness, nor a bid for shame,
It's a search for relief, from an inner flame.
To those who bear these scars, who fight this quiet storm,
Reach out for gentle hands, to hold and to transform.
The journey may be long, and healing may seem far,
But every sunrise brings a chance to be who you are.
Let's paint a brighter path, with colors of new hope,
Unbind the chains of pain, and give the heart new scope.
For life is but a gift, and every breath a start,
To mend the tender soul, and heal a aching heart. DK24