That Damn Mental Health System Again

 

I have a close friend, we’ll call him Subject A, who has been f**ked over once more lately. He explains:

“It’s this mental health game bollocks up to its old tricks again, screwing me over as is per usual. This latest escapade has me half-believing that I’ll never get out of the system. It started with me telling them to go and stick their medication up their jacksies and don’t come running to me crying about it. Not in so many words like, I’m not rude. I just casually missed my appointments – and besides, I had other things on the go as well by the way, okay?”

All he did is miss a couple of engagements scheduled to administer his medication. Personally, I wouldn’t take that crap if my life depended on it.

“They recalled me into a secure unit! I lost my liberty for five days and nights in the time it took for them to forcibly deliver the meds. We’re talking a heavy squad here, nine built dudes welding one syringe. Sheer overkill. I don’t see the point in it. I don’t want your stupid drugs, so you’re gunna get nine guys to pin me down and deliver them? What’s fair about that? All directed from a doctor I never even met in my life.”

If I was there I would have knocked them all out and injected the doctor’s temple with his own badass solution.

“I’ve explained the reasons why I can’t have their concoctions but my arguments fall on deaf ears. They just sit there smiling, telling me all the benefits of their drugs.”

Subject A also reported that they been telling all kinds of bare lies about him too.

“It’s true. In October last year I got sectioned for lighting gas canisters in my backyard. One, I don’t have either a) a backyard or b) a gas canister. Two, I wouldn’t light it in my backyard if I knew how to light it. I couldn’t believe it. One morning I’m sat at home drinking whisky enjoying my freedom, the next I’m on a nuthouse ward because of some porky pies about gas canisters. They wrote it down on my papers. I read the lies from the horse’s mouth. The doctors use different strange signatures on these papers, the reasons are barely readable, wow their handwriting, but I confronted him about it when I finally got the chance after weeks and weeks of him being off. He denied it was him bruv!”

I’m sorry, but I’d have knocked somebody out again for that. And it’s here where I’m drawing a line under this report because my friend has to take it somewhere bigger than my blog, like a lawyer’s office for example. He says he has a tribunal coming up anyway, so we’ll wish him the best. Personally, I’m finding it hard even just showcasing his position. If it were up to me, I’d shoot all those doctors in the head and throw them in a covered-up ditch. Their tyrannical system of terminal oppression makes me want to heave.

“I did have a visit on the beach with my girlfriend though,” Subject A adds. “We ate Rowntree’s ice lollies and cornettos.”

Phantom Images

 

Here are a few images I’ve put together over the last couple of days. My initials, and my motto, is ATD (ART TILL DEATH), so I thought I better make the effort. I know its kinda crap compared to the stunning array of web-orientated digital graphic computer design out there, but it does qualify as art work and it keeps the cobwebs away. Plus, at the moment, without any graphics program, it’s the best I got. Not the most impressive, I’m nowhere near happy with it, but at least it’s something and at least I’m trying.

I’ve made two art portfolios in my life. My mum destroyed the first and I destroyed the second. Upon the matter of the first, you’d have to ask my mum why she put it in the bin. If you can understand that then you’re wiser than I’ll ever be. Upon the subject of the second, I thought it was getting ripped off. I sincerely regret both outcomes, but what’s done is done, its water under the bridge. The tears are spent.

With those two portfolios harnessed on graphics programs at university, I could have been a jobbing artist. No doubt about it. I was extraordinarily pleased with those pair. Now I’m struggling to stick a batch of cut-out doodles around somebody else’s phantom figures! In a way, I’m still happy though. As long as I keep trying, I’m sure I’ll surprise myself with some good results one day.

That’s that anyway. It’s payday today, so I won’t be working on no artwork. PARTY ALL THE WAY BABY! I think I’ll start on the Jim Beam. Oh could you imagine it!? Swigging straight from the bottle with a spliff in my other hand on big slug-patches of coca? What do you reckon? Should I roll back the years and get wild with it? Or keep sensible and sober?

There’s a wolf on each shoulder. Which one shall I feed? The ex-addict still lives in total shifting states of hellish and heavenly conflict. The only good listener upon this problem, at the moment (atm), I’m afraid, is you. Your good self. I can’t share at my therapy groups anymore. My content is too heavy for the general population. Here I’ll tell you anything apart from what is commonly accepted as too much information.

You are My White Void Person. Stephen King calls his readers Constant Readers. I call mine White Void People. So shut up, listen to my problems, then go away. I’m only joshing. I need you more than you probably think. Someone to bounce off, like, you know. I’m particularly jealous of bloggers who get lots of comments. That must feel really nice. I’ve had that feeling on FaceBook but never on my blog; I don’t suppose I ever will.

It was special on FaceBook when I said I’d started as assistant manager for a kiddy football team. Everyone was chuffed for me. Depressingly, the position didn’t last, but I still have that pleasing memory. Another pleasing fact of life today, a small thing to be grateful for, is the suggestions bar on YouTube when I sign in. Instead of straining to think of a song out of the blue, I have a familiar list of classic recommendations right there on the screen. Hey, I’m in a jolly mood. I just told you, its payday.

“Hello,” says Mr. Whiskey. “Hello,” says Mr. Lager.

I once saw J A Konrath, e-book extraordinaire, pissed up out of his mind on his own blog once, so don’t panic if I decide that resistance is futile. He was sat topless in his writing chair looking windswept with a bottle in his hand. All will be well in life. Our Higher Powers will look after us. Don’t worry, don’t fret, don’t panic. Mr. Donnie is here and he’s here to stay (unless imminent death puts a finale on this venture). Hope not.

On the contrary, with clinical depression, I once knew a tramp who prayed for death on a park bench. The next morning a well-to-do couple invited him back to their place where they gave him two baths (the first one black) and changed his life. He’s got one funny story. He was in a gospel-squad travelling party with two other friends of mine, visiting churches and preaching to the service. One of them, my ex-mentor, has passed. The other was a woman who I remember once woke up after chemo on the kitchen floor with the vegetables over-boiling on the stove. She wrote a book called LIFE AFTER BREASTS and played the harp. A beautiful figure, in a way. Her name was Lynette. I read her book and passed it to my ex-girlfriend. The way my ex-girlfriend pronounced the word vegetables is quite funny as well. She called them VEGGY-TABLES. As in school exam tables.

That’s it for now. See ya soon. And remember, give up jaywalking. It’s fraught with danger. A trick could rip you off or get her pimp to hurt you. Or his pimp. Christ.

Psychic Sex

 

Now then. Two blogs in two days feels a bit weird. Well done me! Crikey, I feel like I’m beginning to waffle already. That’s the beauty of it. I can just sit here and waffle with nobody or nothing to stop me. It’s important to clear the air from time to time. With who? With yourself.

I went to my first séance last week and listened to the messages from psychics. I almost got up and performed myself. I’m not sure what stopped me. I’m 99% certain that there’s something out there, but I have doubts about the nature of the business itself. Part of me still sees them as picking on the weak and vulnerable. I could never allow myself to do such a thing. Yet, if my message from the other side was positive and helpful, I would be only too glad to pass it on. I think I’ll give it a try next week and then start doing palm readings for a fiver or something. You got a problem with that?

I’m really glad that, whoever you are, wherever you’ve been, or whatever you’re doing or about to do, we can share this moment of unity right now. It’s lonely being a writer. I want outdoor sex and go-karts and champagne. I want friendship in the nightclub, love in the park, wanna stroke the dolphins in the pool, wanna score the winning goal at The Theatre Of Dreams, wanna be popping tags in all the latest threads, wanna cruise in the convertible, eat all the finest foods…meeting and greeting A-Listers…

 All I get is you reading this on your phone probably 105 miles away who doesn’t give a shit. If you’re reading this on a PC then please let me buy you a drink. Everything looks so much better on a widescreen monitor. Even penises look better on a widescreen monitor. Sorry, did I just say that? Well where else did you hear it?

I’m dead honest me, you know. Yeah I have seen a porno or two. It’s a heated subject for me. I could write about it all night. I wrote 50% Rude as a homage to the industry but it didn’t go into it all that much. Only halfway in (pun intended), as a matter of fact, hence the title. I would say bomb the living crap out of all porn stars. Yep, just bomb them all. All they do is make me frustrated. They say sex is everywhere but I can’t find it. I bought a pornographic magazine just the other week, first one in about ever, took one look at the cover model who made me buy it in the first place, looked at a couple of grotty adverts, and the thing’s been hiding in the cupboard since. Completely tasteless.

The intention was to cut out the cover model and stick her on my wall, like a little kid proving he ain’t gay. That was until I realised that in the centrefold she’s sucking on a vibe in her gob. I’m sorry, there ain’t no woman licking a dildo getting wall space in my property. In another she was bent over pulling her bottom open. Same goes for that too.

I might start wring about porn some more right here at Piebald77.blogspot.com. I know it sucks (pun intended), but it’s a virtual bottomless well of material. Who isn’t interested in sex? Well that’s easy – me! I’m growing out of it. Or so I think until I see a fit emo. More than that, I want to test my honesty. How honest can I be? What kind of chicks I like, what kind of – well, yeah, all those personal preferences only admin at porn sites know about. Bomb porn sites as well with the other naked plebs. In my days, you had to 'man up' and go in the shop to face someone in person if you had the balls enough to buy real porn for yourself. It wasn’t all this streaming garbage. Have you seen the descriptions to some of the videos? Unrepeatable. At least the ones I watched anyway. More talk next time so be careful till then and don’t smoke or drink and drive. Stop scratching your bum too.

Mr Doodle

OK, so we’re back blogging again. Great stuff. I didn’t realise how content it made me feel until the ability to blog was gone. I took everything I had for granted. The comfy armchair, Netflix (I’ve never had Netflix, but you know what I mean), frosted glasses full of cold lager… Modern day creature comforts are nice, aren’t they? I can tell you that by all accounts now I have very little. I’m not saying I prefer it this way (who does apart from Buddhist monks?), but I’m slowly getting my head around it. I currently need a little to be happy. Give me a lot and I’d be pulling cartwheels off. Like a lucky scratch card win, for example. Hey, don’t count it out.

 

I feel UP, ON IT, mentally boisterous, ready to rock ‘n’ roll and spill some pig guts! I wanna blast the top oFf the Empire State, fill in the Grand Canyon with mashed potato, and copy and paste the entire internet into my personal journal! You don’t care about my feelings, right? Well I gotta tell someone. I don’t treat this as The Void (the naked bare white page writers have to fill up in order to do their job), because it’s slightly easier: I don’t have to make anything up, this stuff just pours out from the heart. As in: Careful, he’s pouring it out here… You know, like a music band live on stage with your favourite song. Sometimes they get in the zone and just pour it out. Ronnie O’Sullivan pours his pots out on the table: his passion, his zest, his skill, his talent, everything. So do I here, a bit.

 

I love being at the 'cryptic pen' (computer) in public typing from the soul. I feel like a receptionist at the 'cryptic'. I no longer even own a personal PC computer, so that’s why I get excited here in the library. At home I have to use a pen. Hell, I don’t even write at home anymore. I’m always in the pub doing it. Non-alcoholic beer, if you must know, Nosey Parker. Orange, lime, blackcurrant… that’s all I drink. Off the fags, and off the booze. Now give me a golden handshake, a brass band, and a firework show. I gotta tell someone.

 

So the writing’s back on course – it’s a pleasure to be reacquainted with you – but the artwork is proving a struggle. I might have stumbled upon a new direction, but it no longer includes graphic design. I’ve lost my beloved Photoshop Elements 6.0 because I have no PC. I can’t get it to work here at the library. It’s a real shame. I’m finding life without graphic design rather difficult. I’ve just had an idea – I might try and find a college course which does it. Then I would be able to pick my art life up. At the moment, until then, its scribbles and doodles with felt tips and biros.

Mr Donnie

 OPEN FOR BUSINESS

Hello there, Mr Donny here. Mr Donny is my new business name. Do you think it looks better spelled the other way, Donnie, like Donnie Darko, or not? I’ve not fully decided yet. I’ve not yet
decided what I’m going to do with my new name. I’m thinking Spiritual Councillor or Appropriate Adult. All I’m missing is a young client list of emos and goths. Female, of course! I’m deadly serious about it.

I’ve not yet considered becoming a clairvoyant but it has crossed my mind. The downside would be charging people and attracting more negative influences. Believe you me, I have enough. In saying that, bad spirits don’t scare me that greatly, relatively speaking. I’m more terrified of armed police. They do say you should be more fearful of the living.

One of my favourite bloggers has died recently. I never met him, but it’s saddening. I’d like this blog to be missed, one day, or read avidly. That would be very pleasing. It’s his death which has brought me here today. If any ideal reader out there exists, I’m a terrific let down. Now it’s just about staying in touch with the blog and posting an update every now and again in the hope to try and find "someone new" who would enjoy going back over the whole thing and singling out something interesting to them. I’ve done it myself, fishing though blogs all night. It’s nice when you find a good one. I hope mine will be a good one to someone out there one day.

I’m writing prose in the pub at the moment. It’s about a man in hospital. The book is called Headswap. I’d like to think that my own head has changed a lot since I started writing it. That was the point, in a way. It was meant to be a story about the creator-bond between Man (or me), and God. I didn’t expect to be writing prayer books though. The prayer book has almost got nothing to do with anything but I wouldn’t know what else to do with it apart from leave it inserted within the main body of Headswap. I’ve hardly ever even said a single prayer in my whole life so writing a bunch was something new.

Anyway, I’m too busy dancing in my mind to YouTube tunes now to think clearly, here in Warrington library, so I’m off to de-stress. I just wanted to say that I think I’ll try and pick the average posting ratio up, like back in the good old days, and start writing about ghosts or something (anything), to keep the blog alive. I really am surrounded by a lot of supernatural activity at the moment, and Christopher Fowler’s death has instilled faith in this thing, because his was so punctual and good. Stay tuned, keep happy, and don’t do drugs.