Patiently Waiting

Antonia bought me a few drinks yesterday, which I am grateful for. On the way home I purchased 3 tins of super-strength and by the time I was in bed I was throwing my guts up. So super-strength goes out the window from here on in. I’ve just been to AA, a guy named Luke who I bought crack with the other summer has some powerful shares up his sleeve. He said he died for four minutes the other week once he relapsed after 64 days clean. He said his life hinges on drink, drugs, gambling, and committing crime to sustain those. He said he put on a corona virus mask, stormed into Sainsburys, and robbed a Henry the Hoover which he sold for £50. Lol! I wish I had that kind of criminal endeavour to fund my now-back-again coke addiction. If I could steal, I would, because the porn and coke have really got a grip of me again. I hate to say that with God and Love firmly planted in my arsenal, but it’s true, I’ve let some new pornographic actresses back into my consciousness, and I’m not quite ready to snap the disc up yet. I want some more time with her. I’ll have to be patient and wait until payday, which is over a week away. The stopgap can’t pass quickly enough. In the meantime I will have to meditate upon God’s love and try and develop perseverance and compassionate patience until I can rock out with my cock out and enjoy myself again, with no element of embarrassment whatsoever.

I’ll be going to church tomorrow, to sing songs praising God, and meeting up with some of the powerful Christian families who attend there. It’s nice and pleasant and easy-going. The problem is filling time in the afternoons and evenings. I don’t watch television, it’s been over two years now, and I suppose I do really miss chilling out in front of the mind-controlling idiot box a lot. Those celebrities we let into our living rooms night after night are super-influential. I could watch them all day, they are quite something special. Their personalities, their charisma, their likeability, that’s why they are celebrities. I like the chefs like Brian Turner and Gordon Ramsey and Gregg Wallace, also atheists like Richard Dawking and Ricky Gervais and Stephen Fry. All these kinds of people figure in my psychosis, I was having conversations with them the other day. Celebrity culture is a popular delusion, I’ve heard testimonies from other targeted individuals who report to having heard famous people talking to them; I know it can’t really be them, but their voices and identities are so clear and vivid, it seems ever-so real and true at the time. The next day, after a much-needed decent revitalising catch-up sleep, it all feels like a false dream. The most excruciating aspect about the psychosis racket is being unsure, and not knowing fully for certain what the blistering barnacles is going on. Keep on taking care of yourselves, don’t be acting a fool like I am, and I’ll be back soon.