TO ALL PRISONERS STALAG III
TO ESCAPE FROM PRISON IS NO LONGER A SPORT

Germany has always kept to the Hague Convention, and only punished recaptured prisoners with minor disciplinary punishments.

Germany will still maintain these principles of International Law, but England has, besides fighting at the front in a dishonest manner, instituted an illegal warfare in non-combatant zones in the form of gangster commandos, terror bandits, and sabotage troops even up to the frontiers of Germany.

They say in a captured secret and confidential English Military Pamphlet:

“The Handbook of Modern Illregular Warfare”
“The days when we could practice the rules of sportsmanship are over. For the time being every soldier must be a potential gangster and must be prepared to adopt their methods whenever necessary. The sphere of operations should always include the enemy’s own country, and in certain circumstances, such neutral countries as he is using a source of supply.”
England, with these instructions, opened up a non-military form of gangster warfare.

Germany is determined to safeguard her homeland, and especially her industry and provisional centers for the fighting fronts. There fore it has become necessary to create strictly forbidden zones called death zones, in which all unauthorized trespassers will be immediately shot on sight. Escaping POW’s entering such zones will most certianly lose their lives. They are, therefore, in constant danger of being mistaken for enemy agents or sabotage groups.

“URGENT WARNING IS GIVEN AGAINST MAKING ANY FURTHER ESCAPES”
In plain English: Stay in the camps where you will be safe! Breaking out is now a damned dangerous act.

“The Chances of Preserving Your Life Are Almost Nil.”
All police and military guards have been given the most strict orders to shoot on sight all suspected persons.

“ESCAPING FROM PRISON CAMPS HAS CEASED TO BE A SPORT”

The days are getting shorter. I’m fine with that. My foot slams down on the accelerator. I am fine with that. Let there be more darkness.

I arrive back in the countryside last night after ten days in Halifax. As I open the front door I’m singing to myself: “So glad to be back home, be back home. So glad to beeee back home” and a wasp promptly swoops down and stings me on the leg.

Look at that bastard up there clinking off the light bulb.

I lost my tripod in St. John’s. My video camera was stolen in Halifax. I am officially out of the video recording business. Thank you, thanks for coming out, good night.

No I’m not through with videoblogging yet. I will find a way to build little QuickTimes out of pine needles and duct tape and deer poop. Just wait.

I watched the security cameras at Reflections Cabaret. There goes a tall blonde transvestite. And there goes the guy with my backpack. Tall guy, short dark hair, golf shirt. He follows a little ways behind, as if he didn’t want the two of them to be seen leaving together. Stealth mode is hard to maintain when there are eight cameras surrounding you (mental note). They meet on the sidewalk and disappear out of the frame.

Spread the word, club kids, it would be best for him to find me before I find him.

It was good to see some friends in Halifax but on the whole, a fairly soul-destroying time complete with ever-present reminders of why I left in the first place.

Montreal and Halifax have been crossed off my list. Tonight I’m travelling to PEI to perform at Hunter’s Alehouse. Charlottetown, don’t let me down.

I might have to return to Hali if only to hang out at Rejections looking for Tranny Dave and friend. But would I even recognize the guy who stole my stuff if I passed him on the street? My glasses were in that backpack too.

People are trying to make me feel better by telling me how it could have been worse. Like, it could have been a nine-year-old child that I’m missing. Fair enough. Although the thing with children is that you can always grow more.

Wasp, may your venom spread throughout my entire bloodstream, so that I may visit this sting upon the world ten thousand times over.