Spain is a country made for sex, darkness and adventures. Deathstars suck the energy of this into their hungry lungs of action, cigarettized cancer and dark rock. With our hands on our chests, and with our penises on the Bible, we must say that we enjoy this bullfighting country the most on this tour; the mediteranian breeze, the exotic touch of this land’s crowd and their celebration to the loins of blood, glam and expensive perfumes, plus neat skin products.

This is a weird band. It is kind of a sect to be in. Not that you as a member of the band get brainwashed (we have always been), but people who hangs out with us rapidly get totally soaked with the interesting attitude and depraved character of the band. We enjoy this to the full. We have finally understood that we are the priest of dirt, and the visitors of our glammy benightened church quickly take a sip of our holy water and kneel at the altars of disease and glitter.

Deathstars has no goals. It is just a force of energy, burning to the extreme until it completely dies. Their is no plan, just passion. And we live for the moment, just as we will die. We would like to say thanks to all people who understand this. Who take a zip of our zeitgeist. We want to have the torn flags of Deathglam in the air for a long long time, and you guys are the ones raising it to the top of the poles. Salute.

Dante has been nice tonight, but he is still the monkey on our backs, the pimple on our ass. A nightmare de luxe that lives in a unwanted symbiosis with the band. We have a love-hate relationship with him, he has a simple hate-hate relationship with us. So much for the symbiosis. But with this bus we turn the other cheek. Just because we are depended on the motherfucker.

Skinny was in an excellent mood in Madrid. He worked out, spent some time on his delicate muscles. Bone was a storm of fury and cursed the existance of the sun even before the carrots in the food.. Cat was a nightmare because of being too positive for the band’s personal taste, and he was eating ice-cream all the time. What a waste of ice-cream. Very annoying for the other members. Nightmare was a sensual character of 1000 000$ darkness, and was pleased to get a new uniform-jacket since the other one was stolen in Pratteln. (If anyone sees a guy with a uniform like ours – kick his ass, then give him a blowjob – since he’s obviously got good taste.) Whip was learning from the erotic vibrations of Spain. He is pleased to have that ethereal stamp in his passport, and that will come back to Sweden with him…

The emty and raindrenched asphalt roads of Alicante are a sad sight for the boys of doom. We are outside of the city, hoping to see this town in a more attractive way. Industrial areas look the same all over the world, and we have seen loads of them. We can’t say that we hate this kind of environment since the first sightseeing objects and victims of our cameras are usually big factories and nuclear plants, but today we wouldn’t mind giving our pigment a massage at the beach.

Deathstars is not only an object for your sexual fantasies, but also a hall and institution of personal drama, internal conflicts and a volcano of thoughts and frustration. It is the musical forum of the members emotional reflections and pathetic moral. It is of course chaos. Having said what we need to emphazize that we are confused, almost amused, about how well we have behaved on this tour. No policecars have driven awaywith any of the members, no girls have been standing crying from unfullfilled promises and the venues are not covered in blood and minikids, but only in glitter and make-up. It is a weird tour. Interesting dimension of the band. And the members are… confused.

What the members are doing right now:
Cat – Sleeping
Nightmare – Sleeping
Bone – Sleeping
Skinny - Sleeping
Whip – Aroused