Sebastian - The Inskora Dream

I am Sebastianinskora - I was never - and never will be - Sebastianinski. Giovanninski was never - and never will be - Giovanninskora. Never. I cannot emphasise this enough. The fool's claims of "I am Inskora" is not only an insult to my family, but also to all peace loving individuals in the free thinking world. He was given the Inski name after his poor mother's difficult birth in which two midwives were killed. Her anger at the child's impudence was realised by adding the suffix Inski (or "bent child") to the beast's name. As the creature grew strong, it's bitterness at being cursed with the Inski name flourished into all out jealousy for the glorious honour of the Inskora dream. He cried as he looked at my celestial beauty and he created a shrine in his Mbishkodran hut in my honour. Giovanni, you are not to take this the wrong way but your mother's vengance - her utter hatred of the demon she spawned - must not stop your hopes and dreams for the future. I have the authority to warn you of this. For I am Inskora. (In the interests of equity and basic human dignity GiovanINSKI was granted, by his magnificence SebastianINSKORA, the opportunity of a reply to these bold but truthful assertions. The bent one replied: 'I am f***ing INSKI. He is but a c**t to deny my effulgence. The curse of Albaniania upon his ghastly f***ing, f**k - oh, my mother - WHY, WHY?'

As I was browsing through my last novel "Shitting On Her Face", I noticed that over 48 pages were devoted to thanking those who had assisted me with the book. My postbag bulges every day with letters from all over the world. Most tell me of the love and faith they put into the Inskora dream, others beg for my genius to continue blossoming so that their lives may be shone upon by a blinding light of destiny. For I guide my fans to the fertile land of Albanian Inskora Eden. As I perused, however, a solitary letter this morning from a young lady from Shk'draskwnjksi'Odrara, I noticed a certain sadness in her prose. She, of course, began her letter by declaring her undying love for me and generally thanked me for sharing my genius with a nobody like her. But as I read on, I saw the small stain of a tear. She had been crying after our last album only stayed at number 1 in the Albanian charts for a very poor two years. She feared for my health and my financial stability, so she very kindly sold her child for medical research and forwarded the money to me. I felt the warmth and love she showered upon me, but I felt that she must learn to love herself secondly to me - it would offer her the Inskora dream in a moment. The equivalent of 25 US Dollars was of little use to me so rather than insult her by returning the money to her, I kept it and spat in a glass jar which was then posted 2nd class the following month. All I can do now is hope.

I thank you all for my wealth and fame and success. I was recently misquoted by an idiot journalist - "Sometimes I wish all my fans would die" This, of course, was taken completely out of context. I adore my fans - in the same way that I adore making love and shitting. I would never say such a thing - even when my wonderful fans knock at my door at all hours of the day - even when the beautiful fans fill my letterbox with thousands upon thousands of letters every single day - even when those wankers that keep e-mailing my manager Count Balthus and pleading with me to create more beautful music - even the fucking fans who sleep in my garden in the vain hope of glimpsing an Inskora - even those cunts who try to touch me at every possible opportunity. Throughout all of this, I retain my dignity. So to reiterate - The fucking fans will all die one day and I just wish - SOMETIMES - that for most it will be that much sooner. Goodbye for now. I love you all. I am Inskora.