Thursday, 18 December 2014
BY STE GHOST, 36, ALCOHOLIC HALLUCINOSIS. "What the fuck are you still doing here, you should be dead and buried yesterday! You may as well give up now, you worthless piece of detritus! Yeah that’s right, give up! GIVE UP! You’re a loser, LOSER! Black gollywog nignog bastard! Kill yourself...kill yourself now. Give up and end it. Hang yourself. Slit your wrists in the bath. Choke yourself out on fumes in the car. You’re surrounded anyway. We’re gunna peel your skin off and stitch it back on then bury you alive underground hooked up to a computer so you can still feel pain forever. The Germans and Russians are queuing up for you. You’re gunna bleed to everlasting death in hell. We’ve sold you to hell! Give! Up! Kill yourself! Loser! It’s over! Ha! Hahaha! We're gonna dance and drink on your grave..."
And that’s what a homie has to put up with every fucking five minutes of the day without remorse or retreat. And that’s not even the chosen loved ones who plead and beg in unison! That’s just one! In the famous words of ‘microwave hearing’ expert Barrie Trower, regarding voices, well, he testified that “They physically do hear them.” Amen Barrie, you just made my three cleverest persons of all time list, first in line before William Lane Craig and Richard Dawkins (fourth is Stephen Fry by the way). Sooo true, Barrie, keep speaking, your words are like sweetened butter...
Friday, 5 December 2014
By Sharon Hood, 33, Antisocial anxiety disorder. For years and years my dreams have been controlled and I didn’t have the foggiest idea. Now I’m on it like a car bonnet. About 80-90% of my dreams are induced now. I can smell them a mile off. If I am left to have a nice lovely natural dream of my own then I count that as a blessing. It means that the people who are in charge of my visual cortex during the night occasionally have a night off. I know exactly who they are because they are always in my dreams. It’s the same people in them every night. That is a big clue. The difference between a natural dream and a controlled dream is precise exacting detail. Controlled dreams resemble a scripted transmission; they leave you in no doubt as to what the dream was about. You remember every little thing about it. Natural dreams are misty and vague. Not to mention that controlled dreams are almost always horrible nightmares – that’s a huge clue too. They often depict torture. You wake up scared or sad or angry and it can define your whole day if you let it. There’s no reason for Average Joe Bloggs to be having recurring nightmares with the same old faces of his torturers in them every single night, time after time. That should tell you that something amiss is going on. And can I just say that this sadistic practice is quite possibly the gravest atrocity of human rights imaginable. What is more abhorrent than taking away the very basic need of a human to dream his dreams?
Thursday, 4 December 2014
By Patrick D, 44, Underlying Psychosis Disorder. I suffered this a lot in my early twenties when the rave scene was still strong. I put it down to the lingering chemicals in my system from all night discos playing havoc with my brain’s chemistry. This was not true because I still suffer sleep paralysis now over ten years later as a clean tee-total guy who maintains a healthy diet. It’s not half so bad of late because I’m used to it, but there were times when I would wake up screaming in a state of pure terror. It was very, very frightening. There’s a word for that vague waking up state: Hypnagogic. As in: Hello, my name's Patrick, and I have strange hypnagogic experiences. The scary thing is that you’re fully conscious. The eyelids can become transparent, so you have limited vision of your environment. I nearly always hallucinate in this state (my pillow can become a grim reaper riding a ghoulish goat), and I can hear all manner of things, as if still in the dream state. That is to say, I am still half in the dream state, which kind of makes anything possible. I have actually felt something touch me in this situation, which scared the bejesus out of me (that’s when I screamed). That’s happened three or four times in my life (although the last time it occurred I wasn’t bothered because I’ve since wised up to what’s going on). The best advice I can give is to remain calm. Try and enjoy it. Treat it as an out-of-body experience. See how long you can last. Test your bravery. Remember, you can wake up at any time once you reach a certain point, you just have to strain yourself back into the world of the living. It’s hard to see it through because of how vulnerable your body is. It’s like a dead weight encasing you, I know. But remaining relaxed is the answer. There’s nothing natural about being paralysed. I put it down to a malfunction in the motor networks of my brain because the brain is very complex and it must do all kinds of strange things when resting. I likened it to a computer crashing. Incorrectomundo. The brain is a simple thing compared to today’s super computers, and it’s possible to hook your brain up to a far more powerful computer via electromagnetic radiation without you even knowing about it for many years. We are in the age, ladies and gents, of BCIs (brain computer interfaces). This is not the future, this is today’s present technology. Personally, I know that stuff like sleep paralysis is a third party toying with your brain. If you think this is not possible then you may not be ready for the truth yet (who wants to believe something like this?). I wouldn’t have believed it myself a year or so ago. But I deal in facts, and this is what we can do now. Your brain is both a transmitter and a receiver. It’s defined by electric currents. Each of your thoughts has a different frequency. They can be monitored and decoded. Take out and feedback is what it's all about. Your motor functions can be immobilised and a whole load of other stuff too. It’s mad, I know, it’s sooo mad, but it’s true. This is not my illness! I wish it was, lol. Go in Peace now, and God Bless.
Tuesday, 2 December 2014
BY MIKE H. 52, Bi-Polar. I’ve had people say to me that I just imagine I hear them. At that, I hastily halt the conversation because there’s no winning them around. I’m batshit crazy to them and nothing will convince them otherwise. What’s more, I haven’t a single scrap of evidence to prove them wrong, because the very nature of hearing voices is that nobody else can hear them, not even if they put some recording equipment right up close against your skull. What’s more, the voices aren’t limited to intercranial proximity anyway. They can come from the corner of the room, or across the park, or from the next aisle in the supermarket. Basically, they can come from any-fu*king-where. They don’t have to be voices, either. They can be any sound. But for simplicity’s sake, we’ll stick to voices. I don’t know what the lowest hearing range for humans is, but a lot of the voices operate around this scale. It’s so imperceptible sometimes that you question both the accuracy and the sanity of your own hearing, only to conclude that you wouldn’t be questioning yourself if no auditory event had occurred; something put that questioning there. The voices are more like thoughts in the lower end of the range; they are so low they virtually don’t exist as a sound. They are like blank insertions into your train of thought, stopping your own thinking in its tracks with the quietest of whispers you can imagine. It’s like AIR. It’s like word-shaped AIR. It’s like having a face of air follow you around, a mask made of wind behind your head. Sometimes you know you heard something because your eyes moved with it. When your eyes move with the sound, you can be sure it wasn’t your imagination. I find it hard to understand how one’s imagination can produce auditory hallucinations. I’ve never imagined any such thing. Because it has all...Actually...Happened. Then you have the loud voices, which startle you, so loud you can hear them in a room full of cheering people. Or the ones that sound like they are falling, or coming from a long way off. They can imitate any known person. They are relentless. They nag and bother and rile and hector, twenny-four-seven, all around the clock, both keeping me awake and waking me up. I believe they are some kind of morbid population control, driving us to take our lives. There is nothing good about them in any way, shape or form, not my negative ones anyway. Some people do report positive voices, but mine are satanic. They’ve said things I wouldn’t dare repeat here. One thing is for sure, I am a lot more sympathetic to whackjobs these days. Most people just haven’t any idea what is going on. We are talking about neuro-weapons here, I suppose, one of the best kept secrets in the world.
Thursday, 27 November 2014
BY PETER M. Dogsville means rock-bottom. When I’ve relapsed and had no sleep all night, the following day is usually Another Day In Dogsville. The voices, on these occasions, are usually constant. That means I can hardly get one of my own thoughts in edgeways. It’s around half a dozen voices nowadays, old friends and family members mostly, both living and deceased. They call me demented, puddled, thick and stupid about ten times a minute it feels like. Seriously, it’s like a running commentary of relentless insults. Then they say it’s time to go, game over has arrived, the end is nigh, I’m surrounded, there’s no way out, I knew it was coming, I’m about to be murdered and have my death covered-up as suicide—suddenly I’m as paranoid as a rat in a trap. I hear these voices through the walls both inside and outside my head. I swear, it’s scary as hell. They tell me I’m going to die in the next two minutes. They get me fidgety and all in a panic. I get myself on window patrol, pacing up and down, watching out for any home invaders. It’s like they supplant a negative series of brainwaves into my mind, setting me on a course of pessimistic nervousness. All I can do is sit on the edge of my bed and wait to die, it feels like. Being on the end of numerous threats makes one very alert and dubious. It’s no fun at all, believe you me. The voices feed on my fear. Often, I hear these final messages from friends, saying it was good to know me and things like that. I feel like I’m going to be murdered very soon because that’s what the voices are enchanting and who am I to stop their prophecies proving true. When outside, almost every stranger has hateful vocals directed my way. They say things like ‘he deserves it’ and ‘he’s got what is coming to him’ without any provocation from myself. They say profound things too, like linking me to sex crimes for instance; these are people who I have never met accusing me more or less to my face in passing. I believe I am the victim of multiple slander campaigns. I encounter quite an extreme hostile sentiment from complete strangers. I never respond angrily; to do so would be to gift them with a reaction. I feel ostracised and victimised on Dogsville days, because I can hear my close family suffering. I hear their screams and cries all day. They beg and plead with me to kill myself. I’m bombarded with suicide requests. I resist with walks outdoors and alcohol. And then I write this. Because, apart from being tormented, that’s about all I can do—document things.
Monday, 24 November 2014
This blog is taking a nutty twist. Because of various endeavours, I’ve come into a lot of contact with what society might describe as ‘nutty’ people. There’s nothing wrong with it; it’s very interesting as a matter of fact. As David Icke concludes himself, after many years of study, “The world is Mad.” You know, like the song by Gary Jules. I’d vouch for that summary personally. On the surface, civilisation ticks over smoothly, but deeper investigation between the creases reveals some very mysterious discoveries. There’s hardly any such thing as ‘normal’. Normal is an ideal seldom realised. Life is nuts and it’s as simple as that. There are only two options: sink or swim in its unfair, unequal, unrelenting flow. I remember my opinion regarding ‘nutters’ who hear voices. I used to think that they thought they heard them, but they really didn’t. How can you hear something that isn’t there? It’s impossible isn’t it; it’s fantasy, it’s a myth. I was wrong. They really do hear them. And what’s worse, it’s something done to them by other people. You CAN hear something what is not there. It’s caused by an electrical signal sent to the brain which is converted to sound in the head of the recipient. There’s a long, long history of science behind it. And there you have it – the blag that is auditory ‘hallucinations’ exposed right here on a public blog in a matter of seconds. You just learned something very, very important, if you didn’t know about psychotronic weapons already. But hey, why would you? I didn’t learn of their existence myself until the age of 34 years, yet I’ll tell you something for nothing – the more I learn about them, the less faith I have in the heart of humanity. Think about it. Somebody putting voices in another person’s head. Isn’t that disgusting on so many levels? Imagine having a walkie-talkie in your head and some very unsavoury enemies on the other side of it. That sums up the very worst kind of mental illness in a nutshell. An open walkie-talkie line in your skull. Through reading groups in hospitals, I’ve seen zombies holed up in their rooms all day, bewildered by their suffering which is caused by someone else. Why? Why oh why do we torture each other so cruelly? (I don’t buy that we possess an evil gene.) Nobody deserves this. Two wrongs don’t make a right. It’s kinder to shoot someone in the kneecaps or bash them about the fingers with a baseball bat than it is to deliver voices into their mind. It’s a laugh in the face of human rights. Take it from me, there is no such thing as human rights in this godforsaken sinking-ship material-matters-all world.