dark am i, yet lovely, a lily among thorns, majestic as stars in procession

dark am i, yet lovely, a lily among thorns, majestic as stars in procession

Saturday, 24 February 2018

Wrong Turn At Cav

I was happyish at school. I had good friends, I was popular, and I had a crush on my teacher. She reciprocated my crush by marking my homework well. It was in this R.E class that a boy named Cav sat. He sat at my table, in fact.

            He beat me in the year’s most handsome boy competition. He was very well-dressed. And he was smart. Smarter than me. A straight A student.

            For these reasons, I resented him. He got on my wick. He obviously had well-off parents. I didn’t have well-off parents. I was poor. He had kickers shoes.

            I bullied him. In subtle ways. I made someone hit him for nothing, and I watched with delight. I threw stones at him, when he was defenceless. I was influenced by The Running Man movie, starring Arnold Swarzenegger. It was great fun to relive the movie with my ‘friends’.

            It was all a game. Throwing rocks was just a game.

            We made up in the end. He came to my house to stay over. We shared the top bunk, sharing our ideas. We used to draw each other pictures in class. I would draw him a robot, and he would draw me a grim reaper. We both had talents.

            I went to his house as well. He had a toy room in his house which was like Toys R Us. His parents made me a nice tea of lemon pepper chicken. He had an Amiga, which was better than my Spectrum. We played Streetfighter 2 together. I was Ryu, and he was Ken. We had many a blazing uppercut battle together.

            We remained friends for twenty years after. We did many magical things together, like visit a stone circle and watch an eclipse. We had several drug-enhanced experiences together. We watched movies together. We laughed, and hard, together. I thought of him as my very best friend, along with Robert Massey. I loved him.

            He was always there for me. When I was hospitalized as a teen, he came to the ward on his own to see me. When I lost my younger brother, he came to the funeral and consoled me.

            Two years later, that all changed. I was sat alone in my flat and I heard his voice in my head. He was very nasty. I couldn’t explain it. His voice was coming from inside my own fucking head. It was like he had a two-way radio, broadcasting within my very own skull. He said he was going to kill me. He scared the shit out of me.

            And that is the way it has been ever since – Cav inside my head, scaring the shit out of me. He said that the friendship was a joke, he’d blagged me, and his real purpose was to make me kill myself. So, I am living with voices, ladies and gentlemen – his voice, and it has driven me to hospital for three years, on and off. He is wicked, he is cruel, he is the devil.

            I took a wrong turn at Cav.

Sunday, 18 February 2018

Gazing Out

Tuesday, 30 January 2018

Selfie Day

Ever since I looked into a mirror inside a lucid dream and saw a reflection of my alter ego, I’ve become a little obsessed about my appearance. I don’t find it shallow, but rather interesting. My dream-self was so different to the one I see in reality. It was still me, but enhanced somehow, but different. I’ve been trying to create different mes using these photographs.

Tuesday, 2 January 2018

Last Year

It’s been another dull year, not like the good old times of the noughties, when I was employed. Now the years of joblessness equal pure boredom, and, as they say, idle hands are the devil’s workshop. That’s where my addictions come in. Duh. I still hear voices, but the voices aren’t the worst. Worst are the physical body attacks, where I wake up getting scratched, or strangled, or suffocated. But, alas, the demons of remote neural monitoring are beyond the comprehension of the common man. I can’t blame you for not knowing what the hell I’m talking about! It led to a second suicide attempt back in March. That’s ancient history now though. There’ll be no third time lucky. I can assure you of that. Sometimes, for some people, there is no other option but to be strong. I’ve been to watch a few movies at the cinema, Kong was the best, and I’ve been on a Christian retreat in the Lake District. There was plenty of fellowship and worship songs and good food – it was like a mini holiday. I also met with a director and producer for a BBC documentary about Hearing Voices. The show has been commissioned but I’m not sure if I’ll be on it or whether they’ll be using actors. There’s been minimal family time, which is sad, and something to improve on in 2018. Apart from that, all is good. I played competitive basketball for the first time ever, found a couple of new bands, enjoyed watching snooker, still training and swimming most weeks, still writing, still fucking drinking and smoking, pretty much the same as last year. Except this year is the first full year I’ve had out of hospital in three. To be honest, I miss the psychiatric institutions – they are always full of interesting company and zany chitchat. Been sat alone in your house can be a worse fate, if you’re not careful. I’ve given up the spirits, because in June I started necking a litre bottle of Vodka and woke up cuffed in a police wagon with memory loss. I’m still on probation for that. So the vodka had to go and it has gone. I told it to never come back. I’d like to get big and fit this next year. Peak condition like. That’s a dream worth more than riches. Something to aim for. And that’s it. All the best to everyone. I give my soul to the Internet, because it gives its soul to me.

Volcano Girls

Thursday, 28 December 2017

Snow Queen

Tuesday, 12 December 2017

A Haunting In Sainsburys

I died in the supermarket. It was embarrassing. I keeled over in a BOGOF Christmas crackers display. Mass heart attack. Boom. Gone. I should have saw it coming. Too many pastries and desserts. Too much salt, sugar, beers, ciggies, sweets, everything. I could never go the gym. Boring. Doctor said I should have taken more brisk walks outdoors. Easy if you live in the Lake District, but I live opposite the A49. Have you seen that road? Like a car park. You do get the odd jogger though, breathing in all those fumes. Strange jogging route, if you ask me.

          Yeah, died in the supermarket yeah. Medics pronounced me dead at the scene. Never had time to text anyone, and tell ‘em I was dying. I wouldn’t have bothered going out, if I knew I was going to die. I would have stayed in, hung a white towel on the washing line, put on Smooth radio, and got all nice and cosy in bed. Dying in public…so embarrassing, man. I was conscious long after my heart stopped beating, ya know. Dying is not what you might think it is. You don’t just turn off like a light bulb. The electrical waves of brain activity hang around for about fifteen minutes. I was aware of the medics trying to revive me. They didn’t try very hard, I’ve gotta say. Maybe it was the end of their shift. Maybe they wanted to get home to watch the snooker final on TV. Who knows. They never even zapped me with the defibrillators. After giving it some thought, I decided I didn’t want to come back anyway. I was glad I never made it to the hospital. I’ve had enough of this world. The things people are doing to each other…I just can’t understand it. Beheadings, massacres, bombs, famines, poverty…children suicide bombers, for Godsakes. That shit’s not for me. I don’t belong here, mate. Good riddance to it. They can keep the world and all its blood diamonds. Stick ‘em where the sun don’t shine.

          I had a rotten view of planet Earth. I was watching too many negative internet videos. I was hanging out with the wrong crowd. The only friends I had were Facebook friends. I was bitter. I was angry. I was alone. All I left behind was a pile of unpaid bills and empty cupboards. It was the right time to go. Things are different now. I’m having a whale of a time being dead. You see, this is how it works: Wherever you die, you stay. Let me spell it out for ya: The location of your death is the place where your ghost will remain. I was lucky. I cannot leave this supermarket. Hmm…you might say, I could think of better places to be. Like a park, with sunshine and clouds. Well, I could think of worse too. Like my lonely bedroom, for example. Imagine being stuck in your own home forever and ever…and ever. Permanent, unending, non-negotiable house arrest. Plus you’d have to deal with the new people who move in and change everything. Essentially, you’d be stuck in a stranger’s hovel, listening to a stranger’s screaming kids. How bad would that be? I’d much rather be invisible in a supermarche.

          During the days, I amble up and down the aisles, checking out the shoppers, worshipping in their church of consumerism. Some truly beautiful people in here. It’s thee best place to pull. I mean it. Forget the nightclubs, where the music is so loud it makes your ears bleed, get yourself into Aldi or Lidl or Morrisons or Asda or Tesco. I’m serious. I’m stuck in Sainsburys. Again, could have been worse. I could have croaked in the pound shop. Imagine being surrounded by cheapskates browsing tat all day! Or a charity shop, suffocating in bric-a-brac! Nah ta. Happy where I am, thanks. Sainsburys has it all: rough riff-raff coming in for alcohol first thing in the morning, well-to-do posh totty at the weekends, professionals after the rush hour, and families with full trollies, setting a leisurely pace, holding everyone else up – aren’t people impatient these days? They get all in a panic if someone holds them up for two minutes.

          It’s nice with all the decorations up ya know…the oversized glittering Christmas tree…all the different products, all the colours, all the fancy extravagant packaging…nice. The music starts to grind after twenny dozen repeats, but as I keep saying, it could be worse.

          It’s spooky at night, when the lights get dimmed. Perfect for a ghost like me. Take the other night, for example. It was strange. Very-very-very strange. The ice cream freezer opened up, and all this heavenly vapour billowed out. I heard my daughter crying, “Come. Come. Come. Mum.” I lost my daughter when she was a baby. She caught pneumonia, then died during a heart transplant operation. I never did get over it. You never do, really. Don’t think it’s possible, something like that. I mean, you deal with it, you carry on, but it’s always there, every five minutes of the day. Lizzy, she was called. Yeah. My little Lizzy. Love ya, Liz, always. But her voice, it was different, it didn’t feel right, she never died here did she, she died in hospital, with me by her side…her voice shouldn’t be here. But what do I know about the afterlife, I’ve not long been dead, maybe it is really her. I thought we might meet again someday, but not like this.

          The way I see it, it could be the devil playing tricks. It could be a trap. If I walk into that ice cream freezer, maybe I’ll never get out. I dunno, I just dunno. Something’s out of whack. I nearly entered the other night, but doubt held me back. Could be hell in there. Devil could be using Lizzy to lure me in. Hell is not hot, ya know…hell is cold, and the devil’s got a heart of stone. I just can’t trust that that voice is my daughter’s. She wouldn’t plead like that to me, almost angrily, “Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum…” No, it’s not her, it can’t be her. She wasn’t even old enough to talk…

          That ice cream aisle attracts some very undesirable people. Being dead gives you an extra sense. I can see inside people’s brains. I see horror movies and selfishness. You get the homeless and the unemployed drifting over to the ice cream. Ben & Jerrys, Haagen Daz, cornettos, it’s almost as if sugar is sin, and sin is sugar. Someone else died in here. Someone bad died. I see people get chills in the ice cream aisle. Things are always tumbling out when people open the freezers. It’s poltergeist day, every day. I stay away. But the voice haunts me. It doesn’t stop at night. I almost wish the Christmas carols would come back on: You better not shout, you better not cry, you better not pout, I’m telling you why…
          I tried to leave yesterday. There’s a force-field by the exit. You know, like in Under The Dome. I hear nice things there. I hear my mum and dad, laughing, having a good time. That cheers me up a lot, more than you could ever know. Just a little bit of happiness is what keeps us going.

                                               © Zombie Publications 2014