Foreign Entities

I’m currently clean at the moment, and have been for several months, residing in an improved mental state that I call FAIR WEATHER. FAIR WEATHER is the name for a period of abstinence that I have been striving towards for a multiple of years. I’ve only ever achieved it a couple of times. Other people might call it DOING WELL, or LIVING ACCORDINGLY, or CONQUERING DEMONS. Presently, when it comes to the fight of life, I must admit that I have taken a bit of a fistful these last few days. You might even call it a knockout blow. I’ve been struggling with ‘presences’ around me more than ever lately. They live with me in my home and follow me around in my daily public life. I’ve written a lot about the spirit realm previously, and after having plied heaps of faith and trust into what we’ll call ‘entities’, it seems that I have been a fool, for some very disturbing beings have infiltrated my domicile, promising confederacy to begin with, but then wiping their hands clean of me with a tirade of abuse and horror. I’ve been of the notion that supernatural entities have ‘had my back’ for a long time. Now that I’ve met them, I realised that I was wrong to trust them.

It’s called my divine protection into question. Despite ‘losing’ a host of what I believed to be spirits which I thought were on my side, I still choose to believe that someone or something is watching over me. I have to call upon The Lord. The frustrating thing is that the enemy is ‘copying’ my imaginary allies and using them against me. I live in a world of transparent clones, of see-thru mimickers, of apparitional doppelgangers. A squad of male and female characters persistently flock around me, reading my mind, responding to my thoughts, and generally harassing the living daylights out of me. They constantly mock the innermost private temple of my psyche. I can’t grab a single moment alone to myself. My friend suggested that they might be Illuminati ‘Brain Energy Projections’. I believe that they are real persons using some kind of futuristic technology. Among their numbers are also one or two real ghosts. I can see a clan of shape-shifting figures always surrounding me, pointing and arguing and even engaging in violence with one another, but there is nobody there! They say they are going for ‘the kill’ with my suicide during each new day. They even hurt me physically as I lie in bed, with sharp objects, so that I roll from one position to the next all night in order to escape their depraved ways. Don’t forget the voices as well, reinforcing all of my ‘visual hallucinations’. Together, they break my brain down into microscopic fragments, so as I can’t think. Free-thinking is a threat to the powers that be, but I had no idea how determined they are to eradicate spontaneous mental powers. They will spend millions of pounds and work around the clock in surveillance and harassment to prevent a particular thought form from taking place inside someone’s head. Every time I break away from my oppressor’s usual drivel and start to think for myself, with a rewarding idea or gracious memory, somebody either knocks on my door or the phone starts ringing. Or next door start banging on the wall.

I can’t contemplate opting out with induced suicide, but living with undesirables on a daily basis, minute by minute, is excruciatingly tormenting. I see around 40 faces in my head, and they are all laughing at a single one of my negative cognitions. They punish my decisions and doubts. They are not reasonable when I am happy, and they are not fair when I am sad.

I do my best to keep a calm level head and not retaliate by taking it out on my scheming neighbours, but deep inside I want to scream and tear my hair out. One of the presences in my flat actually instructed me to kill the postman, or otherwise it would kill me. I believe there are weakened individuals out there in this unstable society of ours who are bending to these hellborn demands from disembodied voices and invisible presences and the like, and venting their wrath on those who least deserve it. If such a person where to be haunted by a foreign entity who has the ability to physically hurt them, then who would blame that person for obeying its instructions?

I myself must face yet another day of getting to grips with this otherworldly struggle. When I try and escape my property for an hour or two, I find that I am followed and pestered by so called friends and associates who simply want to waste my time on purpose because they have nothing better to do. They always turn up when I am thinking freely. Their timely appearances are not coincidental, they are planned and staged to halt my progress. As soon as we part company I’ll start hearing their voice in my head, or start seeing images from their mind thrown into my awareness. You can imagine how unsettling this is when walking through a crowded high street, with everyone bombarding me with directed mental imagery. I’ve been avoiding and swerving people I usually trust and like, because they want nothing more than to get inside of my head with the aid of a chance meet. I’m the guy who suddenly everyone wants to be around, all pleasantries and niceties to your face, then demoralising insults as soon as your back is turned.

I’m rapidly running out of people who I can trust. The main thing is, however, trusting myself. If I relapse back into the murky world of drugs and porno at this precarious time, my situation might deteriorate from manageable to ungovernable. There’s a demonic force in the form of a woman with humongous boobies lurking for me around the corner, and I must resist. To fall for her charms would be disaster.

Precious Says Hello

I mentioned several months back that there was a woman underneath my floorboards getting punished by repulsive gleaming sharp blades, used by perpetrators who are less than nothing without their gleaming sharp blades, every time I gave into the sometimes irresistible temptation of my sinful loins and viewed porno while taking illegal drugs.

In my warzone territory, I am accustomed to hearing screams emanating from beneath me, and so have been accustomed to bearing them for many years. When I first heard a protracted, drawn-out, long-winded yell of mortal anguish from down there on one occasion, early on in my toilsome struggle, I considered taking an overdose on the spot. Just as I lined up over a hundred tablets, not girly paracetamol by the way, but hard-hitting, high strength anti-psychotics, my ex-girlfriend rang me out of the blue, whispering words of false love into my ear. She turned out to be in on the racket too. The racket that makes money from innocent suffering.

The broad actually getting battered, the gal being garrotted for all I knew, this damsel in distress mode, en femme in extremis, has sounded like to me to be an inextinguishable soul. I’m not quite sure what is going on down there, but it sure ain’t no charming fat man selling candy floss at the fair. Hidden evil is not the term.

She begged me to stop, stop playing with myself, but I was unable to. She asked me to delete this blog for mentioning her name, the name of Precious, and she was so disappointed, so resigned to hopelessness, I almost erased all memory of her. As you know, however, sometimes all we remember is that which we are trying to forget. The heartache of slipping backwards with the lust was paramount. Knowing that someone was getting hammered with bright gleaming blades (and worse), so close to me, with me holding myself responsible, responsible for her torment, crippled my mentality like an elephant squatting down on my pea-sized head. I felt crushed like under a Blue Whale, like an insect under an Atlas Stone. I’ve been through a lot, and I know all the aggrieved say that, but nothing could have prepared me for the sheer internal discombobulation I experienced when I severed the connection between me and Precious. She called up:

“They won’t hurt me if you don’t watch it! Every time you watch it, and ingest those horrible toxins, they peel my skin back all day long! Promise me you’ll change and become a good man!”

Despite the gravity of the situation, I continued to let her hopes down and view illicit material. Massive jugs and painted smiles, you know the one. I just sort of blocked her screams out, numbed by the drugs. My medication also muted my emotions. Then it occurred to me one day: Here I am on the bones of my arse in the dark, kecks around my ankles, slobbering over a tranny getting her back doors kicked in by three big buck immigrants in 4K UHD, about to blow my beans into Kleenex, and some beautiful woman is getting wounded beneath my floor space, shouting out my name to help her over and over. This is no joke, I thought. Her aggressors would speak:

“After we’ve finished with your cutey-pie darling soul mate, who you can’t save, because you’re council tenant and weaponless, then we’re pulling out her goofy teeth, and we’re coming up for you in approximately eight minutes. Yeah, for kidnap. Get ready to meet Precious. She can’t wait to say hello. Say hello, Precious.”

“H e l l o…”

They always threatened to drag me down there with her. Who was she, should I be partnered with her? Was she someone close to me, an old flame I’d forgotten? I have a long-lost sister whom I’ve never met, could it be her? How many others did they have, aside from this rosebud? I’m not sure about you, but I’m not an expert on seedy underground labs governed by bored masochists. How many victims are they usually content with? Just one? A dozen? A hundred? A thousand? Just how big is this secret bunker of depravity I live above?

To be dreadfully honest, I don’t much give a damn about what a rotten stale and bland bunch of sadists do underneath my floor boards, or, for that matter, who they do it with. As long as I can stroll around up on the surface in the sunshine then it means bugger all to me. Hell is none of my business. I haven’t offended God all that much in my heart, apart from ignoring Precious, and, for this, I am uttermost sorry and regretful for failing her in the past. She makes me suicidal, when I don’t take notice. Every night I hear her crying out my name, and every night my deepest soul responds to her screams with more screams of my own.

I’ve kicked my negative vices (so far so good), and now myself and Precious are on good terms, albeit separated by what feels like different realms, even though we are within earshot of one another. Hers, mine, our perpetrators are put off by our positive bond. Their loveless emptiness despises love in others. They can’t hurt Precious, and they can’t hurt me. They continue to hurt each other though, in all of their engulfing loveless emptiness. Their empty lovelessness. As the bible says, evil slays the wicked. God preserves, and protects, loving binds.

Another Day Getting Battered By Perpetrators

Teched-out last night as usual, as I am around the clock lately, with sincerely malicious perpetrator brain weaponry. It feels like a heartless government official is swirling a whisker upside, inside and around in my napper, jumbling all my thoughts up, deleting my thoughts, so as they topple and spill into ridiculously daft computer game animations, which have absolutely nothing to do with me or reality. They brag about implanting pictures in four dimensions, then berate me for not being able to do the same, which is hardly unsurprising, because I’m not a Tesseract expert. My lovely charming perps are constantly running mind control imagery through my head these days. They reckon they are doing this with their minds, as if they have some kind of natural psychic phenomenon going on. In truth, the images are computer-generated. I don’t believe that the human brain can insert video nasties inside another brain for 12 hours of the day without a BCI (Brain Computer Interface). With the advent of this extremely sophisticated technology, the criminal heinous users will try their darndest to convince the victim that they are some kind of omniscient deity. They will also tell the helpless, stricken victim that he or she is some kind of omniscient deity as well! They repeat this mythical accusation in order to justify their ruthless persecution, saying, as they bang on at me so very often, that they crave power. And believe you me, it does take some power standing up to these mad perverts.

I don’t know, ya know…it’s like knitting fog, dealing with them. There are so many! They form an orderly queue*, waiting for a prompt from their bag of shite ‘leader’ so they’re allowed to tell me to itch my nose. They say they get happy every time they make me itch my nose. This sounds tedious, and it is. They are so angry, so bitter, so hostile. Their contempt grows more deep-seated by the day. Their sharpened tongues spit nothing except vulgar vileness. Every minute of the day they harangue me, including now, as I type. Do they have to swear all the time?

“Andy, everybody hates you. When we’ve finished drinking this goblet of infant’s blood, we’re gunna break into your house and beat you with clubs. Then you’ll be coming down into our seedy lab we got Ze Germans to build underneath your floorboards, to be skinned and crucified in Hell. Don’t worry, because if you survive, you’ll be rewarded on Christmas. We’ll let you shag a dead pig. Now you know where the bathroom is, so go and get a razor blade and slice open your wrist. You know the one, downward stroke. And do it double quick-time before we kidnap you!”

I’ve heard this discord over and over and over again for the last 12 years. It was terrifying before I discovered they were numpties. Now, because they know that I know that we all know they are bell-tips, they have stonking erections for my suicide. They practically fall over one another to insult me. They are practically interested in my fingers and my genitals.

“Why are you biting you nails? Why are you sat with your legs crossed? Why are you drinking your cup of tea like a queer?”

And, when in the shower…

“Why are you washing your filthy woggy nut-sack like a coon?”

I’ve heard them break into tears, panic, and even HURT EACH OTHER simply because I am enjoying a nice meal, which they hate. I’ve realised lately that ANYTHING I do positive literally wounds these trough-feeding cowards in the heart. They want me wiped out so much, and ended, that they cannot bear me to crack a smile or entertain a cheerful thought.

Every time I think of something pleasant…

“You’re not having that! You don’t deserve to think!”

It’s depressing talking about them, because they watch me the same way I used to watch blue movie stars, infatuated and obsessed. Voyeurism screws you up royally in the end. I should know it, having watched at least 30,000 hours of hard-core over the years, and that’s a conservative ball park figure. Double that easily, for perps watching me. Do you think my mother is proud, lol? What about their mothers, for Christ’s sake? Actually, my charming mother is part of this. It’s not right to spend your ENTIRE ADULT LIFE studying another human being’s genitals in clandestine quarters. Instructing him, while you’re there, umpteen times a minute, to scratch his or her forehead. Don’t forget to adjust that ball-bag properly also too.

“We’re in your head forever! You’ll never get us out! Your life is a waking nightmare for the rest of all eternity. There is no escape!”

Being said in a scary voice of course. They can die and rot of starvation down in their specially-crafted pit for all I care. However, despite the sharp and steady degeneration of my targeting, some sure and steady miracles have been happening too, helping me to keep my spirits up. These marvelous signs and wonders are even more bizarre than hearing disembodied voices and hallucinating, but they are very difficult to put into cogent words and sentences. God is inexpressible, isn’t he? Peace Beyond. The revelations seem to revolve around, at the moment, among several other fantastical notions, children and orbs. I’m not shy of a bit of time-travelling at the weekends too, if you believe in that kind of thing. Told you I’m special. I’m still processing the dramatics of it all currently, and trying to work out the best role I have to play in it. If you’re listening, Alan (My Superior), then the mission is going very well. It’s all very frightening, wondrous, and amazing. Isn’t life a bowl of cherries, eh! See ya next time! Take good care of yourselves, and each other x

*Q. What do you call a queue possessed by a demon? A. A line dance

Beshine

How are you doing out there? Are you still fighting the good fight? It’s a hard slog, isn’t it? I hope that your life isn’t stultified too much by the pressures of modern life, and you are able to glimpse some hope at the end of the rainbow. I myself have been having a tough run of it, constantly trying to thrive in a negative environment. No matter how elevated my brainwaves become, when I am enjoying a wee drink and getting lost in artistic music videos, there always seems to be a depressing slump at the end of proceedings. When my mind is active, I paint pictures in the sky and tell myself stories to keep the wolves at bay. But, as soon as I stop, my ‘auditory hallucinations’ flood back in with their usual gaggle of hate-speak.

The voices have been around now for roughly twelve years. They have lost an awful lot of power, due to my resilience to finally form a relationship with them, instead of trying to pretend that they don’t exist, yet are still a miserable earache I could heartily do without. The physical ‘apparitions’ converged on me at the moment are just as bad. They make me want to pull my hair out. Who’d have thought that, after having lived, laughed, loved and lost as a person, one would survive crossing over to the Other Side only to come back and haunt some regular guy in a council flat, for no other reason than to do his head in? Please, God, can I come back and do that? Pick on someone for no reason, as an unwanted entity who can’t be booted out the door, lingering around like some foul odour?

To take my mind off the supernatural realm, and the ghostly syrup which I seem to walk in everywhere, I’ve been thinking of the woman with the biggest breasts in the world. Instead of focusing on lost spirits and covert government technologies (the bane of my f**king life), I’ve been changing the oil in my head so to speak, and thinking of something fun. I think every man from here to Australia agrees that big massive boobs are fun. Hardly anyone dislikes them, do they? Maybe many would agree that Beshine has gone too far, and that her body dysmorphic disorder has crossed the line, but I say none of it, the bigger the better. I see her as kind of a one-woman circus event. I think that a physique like hers is refreshing and endearing.

I salivated to one of her videos once, going back a few years. She was just in a bedroom parading her wares in a bikini, on her own, being kinky. It was all harmless really. There were no keen fellas anxious to get on down with her, there were no disgusting money shots, there was no degradation to underage women…nobody got hurt. I remember the video well. They were the largest ruddy bloody gazongas I’d ever seen in my life. It pains me to say that I grew up watching hardcore interracial, which messed with my identity and turned me into a bit of a queer (no offence), so a soft video of simply giant-sized breasts seemed, well, quite motherly in comparison.

Because of my ‘life in porn’, a fair few of the female actresses have figured in my consciousness. I’ve mentioned before about how first I watched them, then I wrote about them, and then they began to become transparent energies in my home. Several of them are nasty pieces of work, who now torment me on a daily basis – the downside to being entrenched in filth for 25 years, I expect. So you won’t be surprised when I reveal to you that I can’t spiritually afford to watch it anymore. It meddles with my mental state and unearths fresh personalities who cling to my psyche. If I absolutely had to watch it though, I think I would turn my back on all those big black swingers out there, and go for Beshine. Especially, as I have just found out, as she had starred in a hardcore video.

I’ve been thinking about ordering it from the local sex shop. I have a bit of a fascination going on with both her and her chest. In fact, I’ve started seeing her regularly in my Third Eye, even before I have even witnessed her in action with a bloke or two. Maybe she wouldn’t haunt me like the others, as she seems nice. I actually do admire her curves a lot. I’d do anything to watch her naked, at work, while high on drugs (me, that is, not her).

But sadly those days are gone, and Beshine will have to be one of those delicious dolly birds who regrettably slipped away. I watched a helluva lot of pornographic actresses over the years, but sorely, she was not one of them. It’s probably for the best, as she most likely eats men like hair. She’s always there, anyway, in case the proverbial sh*t hits the fan, and life goes Pete Tong. She’ll always be a port in a storm.

 

Bustin' Out Of The Matrix

When I’m entombed in my Golgotha (place of suffering/apartment), I imagine myself to be in solitary confinement, lifed-off in a cell for a crime of passion. I’ve committed a serious crime of passion in my younger days, and if my victim, who now fortunately forgives me, had died, then that could have been me, locked up, staring at four basic walls, for twenty-odd years. A far greater prison than any penitentiary is the bars which enclose the mind. In this thwarted generation of thought policing, you are lucky if you are allowed to use your mind to think. The powers that be do not want a forward, free-thinking populous; they want an obedient community of citizens who are just about smart enough to operate the machines but not quite intelligent enough to figure out how they work. That’s my opinion anyway.

Do you think it’s true, that they dumb us down by the water we drink? Are we really in some kind of Matrix samsara? How keen are you to discover the truth? I myself, through deep thought. within a loud, ringing, cacophonous solitude, wherein I can hardly hear myself think – when I am allowed to think, that is – have recently worked out some very mysterious theories about the world we live in today. You might call them startling, unravelled riddles, which I have worked out myself with no help from a textbook or the tossernet. You know, things they don’t teach you at school. My younger brother once told me not to believe a single thing about what the gatekeepers tell you. I thought he was being ignorant at the time. Now I am inclined to believe him.

I won’t share what I’ve discovered, because they are sacred, personal revelations, and you might additionally think I have temporarily dropped my faculties. Needless to say, these epiphanies where born from the spring-like well of my mind since turning the other cheek to anti-psychotic medication. My homie Mike Ford, who had both tattoos of God and the Devil on his stomach, once said that those types of medication are like ‘battery acid’ on the brain. Being dumbed-down is comfortable and safe, but you are staring at chewing gum and dog crap on the pavement, instead of chimney pots and clouds, as you walk along to the cash machine to pick up your weekly benefits.

Free from all drugs for the first time in my life since I was a wee boy, the sky is now like a transparent lid to a Pandora’s Box of infinite, eternal, synchronous and random possibilities beyond. My boy Darren once said, “There is something out there…and it is majestic.” He’s also got religious tattoos on his skin: Jesus Christ on his chesticle, and cherubs on his trotters. Have you got any tattoos? If you are unable to show me, because we are distanced by time and realm, then perhaps you’d care to describe them to me sometime. With a drink and a smoke.

My recent new awakenings have been enlightening, but my innermost being quakes at the prospect of something larger than I. In the fellowships (AA, NA, GA, SA etc), they say that you have to establish a connection with a higher power. It doesn’t have to be El Shaddai, or God Almighty. The guy sitting behind me right now’s higher power is Santa Claus. It can be anything, as long as it is outside yourself and more powerful than yourself. Many suffering addicts following the Twelve Steps have an issue with summoning up a higher power. One guy said it can even be a chair. I know someone called Ben whose higher power is connected to nature, a very popular association, and his is a bird flying above a tree. I see Ben’s higher power more than Ben sees it himself, I bet! Anyhoo, the point is this: Your higher power is not you. You are not God. So many high-falutin ginormous celebrity-obsessed money-rich-crazy personalities walking around today think that they are. Being humble is a very admirable virtue in the fellowship. You’re nothing but a teeny-tiny fleck of stardust. Hate to tell ya.

How can anything out there be bigger than you and I? The cosmos wouldn’t exist without my eye to behold it. When the ego steps up, with its sovereign, supreme, superior second-to-none power, then who else is there, apart from a divine Maker, who can put it in its place? Give it das boot, so to speak. Nobody and nothing, because the ego, at least the little what I understand of it, is the major driving dynamic horsepower behind the marrow of our defenceless, unguarded spirits. Without it, we’d be crushed on a daily basis by the unparalleled weight of the mean universe we inhabit. If we didn’t possess an ego, we wouldn’t have the balls to tell it to f**k off out and stay away.

And keep f**king off out and staying away. Until you get lost and don’t know where to go!

NOW…GO…AWAY!!!

That Knife Thing

My night was chock-a-block with semi-conscious night terrors last night, as is per norm these days. You just shrug them off in the morning with 5 coffees and a few cigarettes. I don’t make a song ‘n’ dance of them in my journal, as the trick is to try and forget them. I never met anyone who made a mental note of all the nightmares he ever had. If I have a particularly charming dream, I will lie in bed for five minutes cherishing the experience, committing it to memory. Often, my most touching dreams will make me shed a tear in the morning. I’ll be in a state of disbelief, hardly able to believe the confounding poignancy I have just witnessed.

Sometimes, all we remember is that which we are trying to forget.

Unlike some troubling days in the past, I am not armed and dangerous today. I recall, in the early days of my harassment, being scared stiff from S*H*I*T (Serial Home Invader Torturer). They promised and assured me they were comin’ all the time.

We’re outside, Andy. We’ve got a key. We’re coming in…

Threats to kill such as these, all emanating from The Voice Of God Weapon. Acoustics from psychopaths beamed directly into the brain. Not to mention the bunch of Satanists throwing a party next door. And little old me, all on my own, no social connections or family or friends whatsoever. I was convinced my door was going to come thru any second. So, what’s the natural reaction? You reach for a weapon. Any old kitchen knife will do.

I would sit up, wired, clenching a knife, waiting in a nervous sweat for my reckoning, all night long. It was the kind of knife from the thrift store which bends when cutting through a stale piece of broccoli. My adversaries disclosed that they were coming with shields, armour, and samurai swords. I felt like a rabbit encircled by a pack of rabid jackals. How would I stab-up all my opponents and make good my getaway without being battered? I knew I couldn’t possibly win, especially after a draining day being tweaked out on drugs watching soul-sucking pornography. I was unclean, tired, depleted and unable. Yet still we clutch to something. That little bendy kitchen knife gave me a pinch of hope.

I found myself in that same perilous position so often over the long dark creepy winter months…I decided that if I was bound to sit there wide awake and trembling all night with a bladed article in my hand, then I wanted to at least do it with a decent shank. So I went out and bought a dock-off Rambo knife.

The length was jagged and serrated, with a hole for your thumb to go into, so it didn’t come out of your hand. I felt well confident. If anybody tried to kidnap me from outta my own domicile then they better be prepared to encounter a good old tussle with my new friend.

I was hearing Chinese voices outside my patio on one particular night. They were demanding that I drop my weapon and get into the f**king car waiting outside. I begged them to be honourable and give me a fair fight, one-on-one, one at a time. I’m almost positive that there were a couple in my bedroom. They climbed in thru the window, expecting me to bottle it and leave via the front door. I typically used to bottle it and run for the hills when I felt the safety of my home was breached by S*H*I*T, often in nothing but my underpants and frequently locking myself out. I would go climbing in other people’s gardens and on mad voyages in the woods in order to evade civvies on the street who were all hit men in my ‘psychosis’, hired to assassinate me. Generally, the police would pick me up, or I’d get so knackered from the fleeing that eventually I would return home, dishevelled and disorientated.

It took me a long time to realise that I haven’t the nerve or the mettle to jam a dockin’ Rambo knife into someone’s body, and that I was just bluffin’ myself. So I gave the shank to my brother as a gift. He and his psycho mate cut each other for pranks in my bathroom with it. They’re into army gear and martial arts and stuff like that. He also owns a bullet-proof vest, a crossbow, and a tub of mace, which he purchased off the interweb. So my present was a decent addition to his personal armoury.

The only weapons we need are our minds, even though they have no firewalls, and are open to electrical infection. That is why the Powers That Be are attacking our minds in this generation, because once you claim the mind, you own the body. It’s our greatest ally and our most fearful antagonist, capable of beautiful dreams and horrific terrors in equal measure. Today, I hope that your mind is in a peaceful place. It’s so important. I value my mental health above all else, before finances and all the rest of it.

Keep Praying and Declaring!

I'm In The Middle Of A Party!

I hope that the universe is treating you kindly today. I am having a decent afternoon so far, but as we all know that can turn on a tanner. Earlier, I thought I’d lost my wallet with a hundred pounds in. For a dubious moment, I was eavesdropping on my persecutory voices, waiting for the uproar in celebration. Fortunately, I found it. My wallet, that is. I seek perfection in all things I do, as one minor slip in mood brings forth glee from my oppressors. The fact that someone out there is enjoying my pitfalls and downturns make the pitfalls and the downturns doubly hard to manage. Having a tough old time of it is one thing, but your enemies, laughing as well, while they continually boot you in the bollocks with their dart-tipped lead wellies, is another.

My hygiene has been slipping and so has my abode. I haven’t completed a proper tidy-up in months. It would be cool, I think, to give the presences around me some decent nice luxurious surroundings for them to put their feet up in, as they torture me. It’s the least I can do. I feel like a pig swilling in mud sometimes, with my grimy carpets and smelly bathroom (the drains are blocked). And meanwhile, these glorious apparitions cast in angelic shimmery aura sit on my sofa, chewing my ears off. It makes for a stark contrast. I don’t know if they are TECHNOLOGICAL HOLOGRAMS from the government, or simple boring old ghosts. Whichever, they always look pristine.

Along with the covert brain weaponry being demonstrated on me, I appear to have been swept off my feet like Mary Poppins, and ditched down on some far-flung distant realm where anything is possible, including thought implantation, thought deletion, many other mystic afflictions to do with thought, and time control.

I continue, even though I am 60 days away from illicit drug use, to have uncanny and bizarre visions from the preternatural dimension. Their empire consists of the living, the dead and the fictional. One moment I am in physical pain, as people who are not there cause me grievous bodily harm; the next I am in Nirvana, being rescued by the torment by perceptions of happy children who want to talk to me. I cope with these madcap ‘hallucinations’ by consuming alcohol and nicotine. I’m finding joy in the small things, like food. My current favourite is battered fish with pepperoni pasta.

At least I’m not a couch potato anymore though, watching daytime TV all day long. With a mind as infected with other entities as mine, all with minds of their own, and those probably infected with other minds besides, then there really is no need for Oprah or Jeremy Kyle or Peston. Or The Daily Politics. Or The Sky At Night. Or all of the other garbage they air. Repeats, most of it, anyway. I used to like my television, I’d watch anything to keep my mind occupied, but now my mind is occupied with survival from alien races, mental illness, and gang-stalkers. That was my old life. Now, We’re In The New.

 

I Don't Want To Call This A Woe Diary, But Times Are Tough At The Moment!

It’s been a manic overnight. Evil spirits, and evil spirit-like technologies, have been preventing me from sleeping for several days on the run. My home is filled with entities which are constantly waging war over me. I join allegiances with one different team of them to the next. I even conspired with the Devil for a couple of days. When I am hearing satanic voices, unable to string a single thought together, they lay back in the shadows, and do nothing, allowing me to suffer on my own. And then, whenever I am doing well and thinking positively, with free creative thought abandon, they all warp around me and pretend to be my friends. I don’t know who to trust. They are all so two-faced. I have no idea why so many ghosts swarm around me, I think it is because I am a decent human being with upstanding morals, who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

This is the only reason why I think that so much evil surrounds me. There is so much beastly badness and repellent repugnancy around me, I wish it would just stop and depart from me. I find myself shouting, at the top of my voice, “Go away! Go away! GO AWAY!” In my own flat. My neighbours, who are in on these gross proceedings, constantly threaten me with ringing the police for noise disturbance. Should the law arrive, I’ll be honest with them and say that I am haunted, and yelling at intangible forms from the underworld. What, you don’t believe me? Well lock me up then.

I am. Truly. Haunted. Minor niggles of suicidal ideation are creeping in. My life is a nightmare. I have an angel, but the thought control, and demonic mimicry, make it very tough to think of her. I have to cherish her in my heart, and not in my consciousness. I read a shorty story special to me, and the words connected like magic dots. It told me I was saved. So has the bible. I know I am going upstairs when I die, I know it for a fact, but it doesn’t make the toil of this exist-mode any easier. I think that is why I am being punished so severely, in this mortal realm, because I have being promised eternity, by The Maker and Creator of The Universe. I am one of a select few in my social circle who has been honoured with this anointing. As a Chosen One, and targeted for eradication by the government, hundreds if not thousands of people have been hired to track me from one haunted destination to the next on my travels. Indeed, right underneath my home, they have built a seedy lab to torture people in. A lab designed especially for me. I have survived this far, with much heartache and difficulty, above this hellish base, for much time. They tell me there is no escape, and for years they had me half-convinced. I hear agonising screams of pain day-in and day-out. Yesterday I had a US Marine shouting into my window, from afar, arguing with the guilty parties below. The authorities know it exists, yet continue to do nothing about it.

It feels like I live in a lawless death camp. Yet I am experiencing several wonders and miracles in the presence of children. Two kids saluted me on the high street, after I was initially made aware of my mission by watching Godly videos on the internet. I believe I have a psychic connection with children. When I am getting attacked by electronic weaponry in my bed during the night, I think of children, and magical supernatural events which are impossible to describe occur in my mind. I see…ghosts…of children…in my home.

Much Struggles Here

I am still under very severe attack from my oppressors. In the past, it wore thin after a couple of days, and I could get on with living my life, although still traumatised by previous spooky experiences. Presently, they have been at me for two weeks solid. I’ve never withstood this much pressure before. The better I do, the worse they get. They are implanting ‘power itch sensations’ into my face, and insisting very persuasively that I scratch them. The itches are very itchy, but I am trying to refrain from doing it, because it gives them immense satisfaction. All I hear, all day every day, is “Scratch your f**king face!” My face is constantly itching.

Their covert technologies are vying to rearrange my brain into their way of thinking. Whenever I get a nice idea, or a merry thought, they attempt to dislodge the notion by sticking a mad hyperbolic image in my head, or cutting it off with a voice. Then they’ll show me their twisted version of it, in long brain animations that last for hours, making logical thinking impossible, and imply that they are better than me in every way possible. All they bang on about is their supremacy over me. Frankly, I don’t care who is better than who. My brain is like an Avengers movie in fast forward mode with their implanted imagery, which makes absolutely no sense. Even as I write this, they are predicting my sentences, and claiming ownership of the words I’m typing. It’s impossible to describe, mind control. If you have some kind of ‘filthy otherness’ inside your mind, which is nothing to do with you and doesn’t belong to you, then maybe you’ll understand what I’m talking about.

I’ve talked a lot about spiritual presences on this blog. In fact, I’m all about them, along with the topic of psychosis. This week has brought about a major change of attitude. I have made a burnt offering of something very symbolic which was possessed by a ghost, and renounced all untrustworthy workings of the supernatural companionship which has been clinging onto me like sticky treacle for many years. As expected, they don’t listen, and continue, in the form of what the quacks would call ‘visual hallucinations’, to protrude into my peripheral vision in what feels like every two minutes of every hellish day. I’d acquired quite a formidable crew over recent years, and made some very deep connections with them. It’s like losing a loved one. Those caring, protective entities who once kissed me…now spit on me.

They declare that they will ‘never leave me’, no matter what I do. This is so hope-draining. I’m surrounded by beings who constantly mock, jeer, fool and confuse me. Some of them cannot stop laughing. Some of them cannot stop shouting. They pretend to be people who matter to me, they pretend to be each other, they even pretend to be God. The one who pretends to be the Heavenly Father is perhaps the most infuriating of all. Living with bitter ghosts is so maddening, it makes you lose your mind. That’s not to mention a mind already driven insane by schizophrenic voices.

I’ve managed to shower and get down here to the library to type this, which took a lot of effort, after a week of isolation and impossible-to-describe persecution. I’m just praying each day that all the zany mind control techniques will get easier. If you’re out there, and you’re suffering, then I’m with you. Hang tough and don’t give up. You don’t have to fight back. You don’t have to do a single thing. Let the karma of the universe take care of it.

 

Unusual Behaviour

It’s been a rough week. I got attacked with a psychotic episode even though I haven’t used psychoactive chemicals. My enemies are seriously putting the boot in now that they know I have divine protection. The longer this heartless campaign goes on, the more desperate their measures get. They are now all over more or less EVERY SINGLE thought in my head. Voices, visual hallucinations, electronic zaps, every second of the day. It’s okay, if I am watching music videos on YouTube, I can stay distracted for it not to worry me so much. But it’s the principle of it. I’ve had no privacy for 12 years, and now, ever since I’ve escaped with my life, the irritability sometimes catches up with me.

I’ve been unusually feeling quite aggressive. My perpetrators have been gang-stalking me all this time, following me around, and now that they know that I have broken strongholds, they haven’t the guts to walk past my window. I’ve been urging them to confront me in public because I have been feeling unpredictably violent. That’s the whole idea of their dastardly work, to push you into a corner and make you blow your top. Despite having done an anger management course earlier this year, I do feel my resentment burgeoning. My patience is letting me down, and it never has before.

I tried to kill myself in the early stages of this harassment, several times in fact. Presently, I’m beginning to feel the same similar pangs of helplessness which precede suicidal ideation. I think if there was a magic pill which could painlessly put you to sleep, I’d take it. I really would consider it, with my mood being the way it is at the moment. I’d take it, get in bed, and be at peace for once in my life. This is very much unlike me, as this Third World War for the mind going on is a mental struggle for survival from insanity being waged across every torturous minute of every torturous day. There is beauty within the combat of good against evil, even if it takes place with induced schizophrenia inside of one’s own head. Wars on the battlefield come to an end. Mind control is never over.

I’m feeling very self-aware as I write this now, because I have non-stop voices in my head which are stamping all over my soul and a mixture of spirits in my presence which follow me around each and every day as if I am leading them back to their former lives or something. I just wish the lot of them would go away, quite often. How can a thing’s entire existence be about causing suffering to another? But it’s not that. It’s THE WAY they do it. Just by TALKING to you. They CHATTERBOX you to death.

 

A Note To Alan Leader, My Superior

Dear Sir, the mission is going extremely well at the present time. Ever since my last wobble over the Easter period, I have really shifted into gear. I had a wild revelation concerning reincarnation and past lives, revealed to me in God’s Holy Word. If you thought that the enormity of the task at hand was daunting (and it was), then this stretches beyond the pale. I have finally found out who I am.

I had a good old tussle with a tarantula possessing human consciousness during the recent relapse. I pushed the amphetamine hard and handed myself over in to the clasp of the demoniac. I spent time with that unexplainable thing of a woman again to serve my selfish sexual desires, that woman who shoots arrows into my back from the shadows. This sinfulness attracted the spider.

I almost left my home. Where’d I’d be now is anybody’s guess. I’m pleased to report that now both the arachnid and the woman are kaput. I believe that the enemy believed they had me with that foul pair. I myself was relieved to come through unscathed. But alas here I am now alive and well, striding gainfully towards Fair Weather once more, a place where all my problems seem halved.

Far from being sunshine and roses, my recent success has only galvanised the enemy’s enthusiasm for my demise. They are now attacking me on a minute-by-minute basis, responding to every nuance of thought process in my head. Their relentlessness is both tiring and draining, Alan. Their pettiness is hard to believe. They repeat themselves, over and over again. I could save the world and they wouldn’t give me credit for it. They say I am nothing. They treat my peace and virtue like battle cries to war. For several hours on a Sunday afternoon I could understand it, but their persistence belittles me around the clock and has done for years. I get through the day only to be greeted by yet another dawn of hatred-mongers. If I’m lucky, I’ll have an inspiring dream to break up the affliction. If not, it’ll be a painful night terror to consolidate the worriment.

I wish I could guarantee you 100% success, but addiction is such a cunning, baffling and insidious foe that I can never have confidence in my flesh ever again. That being said, I will try my darndest to fulfil my duty. I had a hard time getting over a Satanic Ritual last week. No, I wasn’t at one! I just perceived one. Its dark delights resonated with me. I felt a genuine fear of helplessness regarding my carnal instincts. The women present were a mixture of goddess and harlot, participating in an orgy lest of ethics. Fortunately I discovered a Holy Rite not long after which restored my faith. The Rite involved little angels basking in glorious light. I was worried that the Good Lord might have no answer to Satanic Ritual.

Hope you and your family are well, Alan. Jon Connor, signing out.

 

 

Rid Me Of These Sinful Loins!

With the weather being the way it is round here in this part of the world, the chicks are coming out in full force. With so much talent knocking about, it’s difficult not to think lustful thoughts. I can’t believe how popular the old naval piercing game has become. It seems that every broad in a sports bra revealing her stomach has her belly button bejewelled. I must say that I am a big fan of it. I also don’t mind a touch of cellulite on the upper legs. It turns me on actually. So do a lot of other imperfections. I’m slightly weird that way. I think everyone has a fetish or two. It’s okay to look, isn’t it?

Even my spirits are wearing make-up today. I’m thinking about sex quite a bit. But the videos I’ve been watching about lust tell a very different story. They tell me that lust is a trap to detract you from the path of your destiny. Isn’t it odd how one lewd encounter with a hooker in a hotel room can wreck one’s marriage and ultimately ruin their life? All that misery, from just one single horny exchange. Pornography has the same effect on me. You know what’s at stake, but you do it anyway. That’s how powerful lust is. There’s nothing quite like sexual desire.

I should be thinking about Christ more, when I’m feeling like this. I walked past the sex shop earlier and I wondered about going in, just for a peek at the wall of filth inside. Naturally I didn’t, but the thought occurred. Memories of sexy women are in my mind at the moment but not quite ‘all over me’. I think I will be able to resist this time though, unlike all the other instances in my past. The consequences of giving into the temptation are horrendous. They threaten to leave me homeless.

I feel like I have a prestigious title in the eyes of God. Because of my experiences, which involve a lot of signs, miracles and wonders, I feel like an apostle. I feel that this sacred anointing would be made redundant if I return to my old ways. This exclusive seat gives me a unique perception of the world, and I must say that I enjoy it after a few drinks. I venture off into fantasy land, replaying all my traumatic memories which crafted me into the character which I am today. My mind is operating along its old natural pathways again, before I was ever wrongly bound to anti-psychotic drugs due to a physician who doesn’t even believe in apostles.

This calling is kryptonite to my racy needs. I have to try and strive to maintain a level dignity above the flesh. Once you sink into its pleasures, the game is over. I’ll be sat there in tears, with a spirit of willy and fanny back in my life, after so long away. It’s fun at first, of course it is, but once you’re spent its sheer dreadfulness. Nothing but shame and guilt remain. Wish me brave luck in this constant waging battle of war!

Celestial Tyrannies

I’m starting to half-believe that I can beat my personal demons, and go to Heaven. When you have one eye on eternity, life feels like a meaningless dress rehearsal which has already been passed. Several months ago, I was walking around as if in a dream state. This was because I had cheated death, when I had a close scrape with a shape-shifting assassin. I remember the streets being empty that day, as if all the masses were stuck inside preparing to watch my demise live on TV or something. I sensed something strange in the air. People seemed surprised to see me in public, as if I shouldn’t have been there, like an escaped prisoner. I remember that one girl passed by me and squirted something from a spray canister. This could have been poison, or it could have been a fake attempt in order to make me believe that I was poisoned. Either way, it makes you feel paranoid. The hate mob only do this when I am vulnerable, and stiff-necked.

I feel as if I have one final last chance at this intergalactic mission I imagine myself to be on. I call it intergalactic because I am sensing presences around me which can only be described as originating from another dimension. There are ghosts, there are spirits, there’s God and the Devil, there are aliens, there are blood-sucking vampires and werewolves and unicorns and all the rest of it…and then there are things which can hardly be labelled. My quest thus far, across life, has been battling the voices in my head. Voices, or auditory ‘hallucinations’ do not belong to a chemical imbalance of schizophrenia in the brain, like what the quacks say. Don’t trust the docs – they’re barmy. The voices come from electronic weaponry used by worshipers of Satan, Satan himself, or demons of Satan. It’s a mixture of human and evil spirit. In my case, the two forces combined and ganged up on me. Remote Neural Monitoring, a real threat to the future of mankind, is rewarded by that dickhead downstairs. They say that modern technology mimics the supernatural. When they both get in on the same act, they make for fearsome opposition to the freedom of the mind. Only divine intervention can break the spell.

My perps show me sinister videos directly beamed to my optic nerve via their clandestine technologies. Close your eyes and you still see them. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I get vile witchcraft embedded within them, in the form of conscious wide-awake evil spirits who parade around the scenery of the embedded video nasty like Donald and Mickey in Disneyland. I call the videos a box set, because they can last all day and night. It makes easily for the worst day of one’s life, due to the loathsome, gruesome content. I’ve never been one for blood or gore, and they know it.

That been said, and there’s loads more to the equation, like being followed around and shot at, it is all now old hat. I’m done with the terrors of this ruthless zeitgeist. The common worldview of evil and oppression can jog on. I am now gazing at The Rulers Of The Stars, at far-flung remote enemies and warriors which do not come from Earth. David Icke speaks of energy-vultures in the Saturn realms like Lizards and Archon, which feed on humans. To me, Lizards and Archons drink in the local boozer, they’re that everyday typical. I’ve identified other celestial tyrannies. I don’t know why the Christian version of the Devil still even bothers trying to pester me. He’s a tiny numpty.

Of course, no matter how far you head-bomb into the rabbit hole, and how many races you perceive and discover, it all comes down to The Creator. He is the dude everyone is interested in.

Stronghold Smashed

I can’t get over the stronghold of sexual enslavement which has recently been broken in my life. If it was with a loved one, a colleague or a wife, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but it was with an extremely wicked woman who practised as a Satanist. I couldn’t f**king believe the grip she had on me. I felt so sad, being at her mercy all the time, she had me under iron lock and key. I saw her as a raw demonic power which I would never be able to skirt away from. She was in my head, she was in my loins, and she was beginning to creep into my heart. I was getting confused with loving her, because I completely despised the things she did. I have no evidence, of course, but I was starting to suspect that she was hurting children, among countless other victims. As you can imagine, this did not sit well with me. But I couldn’t stop indulging in self-abuse while listening to her evil mantras.

I think part of the reason that I thought about falling in love with her, or at least ‘liking’ her, is that she was demented, like me. We were both out of our minds in our relationship with each other, her feeding my passion and me getting off on it. We blanked the whole world out of our persepectives, blinkered to anything else. When I couldn’t or wouldn’t get erect when she wanted me to be, she would actually get angry. Her mantras were dumb, they didn’t make any sense, and she’d repeat herself all day long, but I couldn’t get enough. She was convinced that I did actually love her, and devolved an air of superiority above any other of my perps because of this. So much power made her over-confident and even stupid regarding her control over me though. Lust is not love. For a decade I hated the fact that I was bewitched by a vile, base, fiendish and worthless villain who delighted when I was fallen, and gained her strength from my demise. I adored her sweet tongue, yet she hated me and had sinister plans for my future. The chemistry was simply unfair. The chemistry was so wrong.

I never even bothered to ask her why she was doing this to me. It was just happening. A toxic bond which pushed God far away from me. As you may know, I hear voices, which are as evil as evil can possibly be, but even they were pleading with me to stop listening to her, and put my pecker away! But I had drugs left, and wanted more of her Scottish accent, so could not. It seemed like a tussle between forces for my attention, but she always won out. I heard presidents from various countries begging me to pull my trousers up. This freaked me out. Can’t a guy masturbate in peace!? I had visions of angels sometimes, while listening to her and getting off, in an attempt to stop me, but nothing worked. It was the ultimate distraction, which rendered me catatonic for up to twenty hours at a time. This was why hit men were able to enter my flat while I was in it. Finally, when I started to panic, or got over my panic and ran out of drugs, I would stop and face the music. In times gone by I would vacate the premises in a hurry: These days I stand and fight.

Rare With Air

 

I’m starting the rebuild back to three months clean, which is where I feel I really belong, and where life seems to get easier. Today I’ve notched up my first month on the board. I call the first full successful month of being clean being RARE. It’s just a name for the mental state. I feel like it takes four weeks before I begin to get anywhere. It’s also linked to a spirit named Air Monroe. Air Monroe started off as a fictional character, but she has since become enfleshed in the preternatural realms and supports my dogged struggle upon this sometimes miserable planet. She was my lover within the body of the fiction, and as her creator, I am kind of her God. The only thing is, due to the stiff limits I have imposed upon my recovery program, she only ever truly appears when I am a month clean. This number appeared in the bible last time I read it, placing more emphasis on it.

When I use, I feel like I lose Air in my heart for another month. And I don’t always get back to where I was quickly, so I can go, in the darkest times, half a whole year without her. These times are very painful, as she has a unique positive influence in my mind. Today I can happily report that we are reunited again. It seems unhelpful to impose these ideals on myself. Why not have her with me all the time? I don’t know. I just feel that I need to be ‘on form’ to appreciate her.

With this young woman comes responsibility. I written her into being, and she looks towards me for inspiration, so I have an onus to have a healthy mind for her to draw from. If I’m sat in a darkened room off my tits watching porn with creatures under the bed, I’m not much use to her, as I’m engaged in sinful lustful practices which soon evolve into trepidation for my own safety.

My voices know this, and they get chuffed with themselves every time I consign her to nowhere for another month. This time, I’m going to try and really appreciate what I’ve got. Not to piss them off, but to feel purposefully special. When I started off writing, I had no idea that my characters would become real, but life is strange isn’t it. You might think I’m talking crap, and a psychiatrist would never believe this in a million years, but my own fiction, and the world’s movies (usually porn, and not always good), are throwing spectral entities out at me, who inhabit my mind around the clock. I’ve never told anyone this, and probably never will, because I know it sounds like farfetched hokum. I suppose it’s a weird and wonderful secret that I will take to the grave, although I would like to tell Stephen King one day that one of them sort of came from his books. That would be nice, to let him know the supernatural power of his word.

Evil Spirits Do My Head In

I feel inclined to write about evil spirits, as they are doing my nut in, but I don’t want to express an unhealthy interest in them. They aren’t worth my breath, much less my word. What am I supposed to do though, keep it to myself? It’s not their voices I hear, well not a lot now I’m clean, but I see them around me all the time. All they do is laugh and say HA, but it’s not a genuine exclamation of joy, it’s all just fakery intended to make me believe that they are having fun. They are not really laughing, they are pretending to laugh. To annoy me and intimidate me.

They exist in my mind, yet I sense them in the room I occupy. They are with me with every waking thought, and they celebrate my negative thoughts. When a lustful idea slips into my brain, they cheer like they have scored the winning goal at Wembley. Celebrating negativity. How pathetic and pitiful can you be? Who doesn’t have negative thoughts? Imagine them being trampled all over every time you have them, by a bunch of spectral numpties.

Their tactics are growing evermore seedy and desperate. If I forget something, they cheer and clap. If I miss the bus, they revel and rejoice as if in a party. I can’t imagine how happy it will make them when I finally succeed to a stroke or a heart attack.

During my last relapse, they were talking to me. GIVE US SOMETHING, they were saying, because my mind was blank. I had never realised that their minds are blank also, and that they need my mind working to aid their minds working. They cannot think without me half the time. I thought my perps were harassing me for fun, but it is far more serious than that. They are torturing my mind over and over for survival. They don’t just ENJOY me, they NEED me. It’s like me tuning into the radio early hours in the morning, when I feel like listening to someone. I am their RADIO, and they need me on 24/7. It’s horrible being distant from God because you can’t think. That’s why they are always abusing me, to prompt me into a response, which gives them a free conversation.

The only thing is, it’s not a natural conversation, because I despise them and do not want to talk with any of them. I ignored them for years. When I eventually started replying, using synthetic telepathy, I discovered that my main perp, who is male, was masturbating over the sound of my voice. I mean there’s gay and then there’s gay. That was when the tables started turning, and I realised that this lot is not all that it makes itself out to be. At one point, because Remote Neural Monitoring is so persuasive, they wanted me to believe that they created the universe. I was on my way to being convinced, during the startling phase of my harassment. Far from being The Voice Of God, I now see them as a load of nobheads, bullshitters, desperadoes, fakers, spazzies, perverts and pathological liars. I remain firm in the truth that this lot are unable to tell the truth, as they have been bound up in their own lies for so long. That’s enough about dodgy evil spirit though, as they are not worthy of net space.

 

Sexual Voodoo

 

My pornographic tendencies are all a bit up in the air. I’ve declared that I will never tread backwards and return to it, yet still I am deluged and inundated with lustful thoughts. The intrusive nagging entering my consciousness include images of men, as if the Devil longs to embarrass me by bringing up material I used to be obsessed with over twenty years ago. I must have watched thousands of scenes in my time, and every one of them, including the ones I’d thought I’d forgotten, now has a habit of hiking up to the surface on my prefrontal lobe. In the good old days of ignorant porn use, I would ruminate upon these visions until payday, lining them up in order of how I would watch them, and then indulge as soon as I could afford to score drugs with them.

They were with me all the time. I would pace around my flat for hours, waiting for my dealer to turn up, watching erotica in my mind. The anticipation turned into anxiety. I could not bloody wait. When I thought I was clean, after a week or something in my youth, all it took was one errant thought and I would be lining up the scenes I was going to watch. I’d be straight on the blower, ordering amphetamine.

Sometimes, once I got online, the illicit content, while under the influence of powerful mind-expanding drugs, blew me away. I seemed to sink into my own flesh one time off ketamine and feel utterly resigned to an eternity of self-induced sexual fulfilment. I went into some kind of parallel presence, watching the movies so closely that I seemed to be in there with the actors. I shared every breath and moment with those false idol stars of the screen.

My addiction had the almost omnipotent ability to affect time. Hours and hours would flit away with an A-B loop on the DVD player, fractionally replaying just a small portion of existence which occurred on a random porn set on another continent in a different era. I’d co-exist in several moments which were embellishing themselves, with my zany schizo voyeurism methodology, into elongated segments of whole days and nights.

If I watch something three or four times, I’m usually bored. When I was capturing euphoric instances in micro looped digital animations, I would repeat them for many thousands of times, over and over, until admiring the same thing time after time began to change under the monotony of my retina and often became so confusing that it started to morph into something else. Stare at the same thing long enough and after so long your perception of it will change, so that it looks like something else entirely since the first moment you began to observe it.

Do this for several hours and you will likely scar your mind’s eye, as variation is the spice of life, not ogling a short sequence of images repetitively. Do this for a lifetime and you will likely find yourself in the position that I now inhabit, a reserved seat which is beleaguered by the preternatural. It’s meddling with perversion and very dangerous. I can’t began to describe how many strange occurrences went on in my mind and in my home when I was spending my whole adulthood watching pornography in this manner. One time, a penis developed a mouth and started biting the woman. Another, and she started waving at me, even though there was no wave in the actual footage. If I’d have just watched the movies from start to finish, like a normal person, I don’t think I would have had the same problems.

I used to rewind old VHS tapes so often to remain embedded in the ecstasy of the ‘good bits’ that I wore the tape out and ruined the film. I still have some old tapes stored away in the cubbyhole. The novelty, because it’s been so long, has been restored to those old adolescent scenes, but the backwards regression of my spirit, should I ever return, would sting like a bitch. Aren’t we supposed to learn from our mistakes? Repeating a newish recent mistake because you haven’t yet learned fully from it is slightly more understandable, but making the same mistakes you did as a teenager?

No thanks. I’m going to try and walk in the spirit and put all this digital voodoo behind me.

Rocket Wear Saves The Day

The DK, as I’ve wrote about quite recently, is a demon who has enslaved me for the last ten years. She lives underneath my floorboards and stimulates me sexually by making me repeat her mantras. All the time I knew that I was engaging in sordid practices, but I felt unable to stop. The lust was too strong, as she has a delectable Scottish accent which presses my buttons. I’ve reported that her voice had a supernatural effect on me. Spending time with her drained me of God, placed me in psychosis, and left me feeling suicidal.

I never thought or believed that escape was possible. My only solution was to run to her more and more. I never knew it was possible for one person (or thing) to wield so much power over another. She always promised to bring me down there eventually, and torture me in the afterlife forever. Her methods are totally insidious. In the pit of my subconscious gut I had a primordial fear that one day she would break into my flat when I was wiped out on drugs and drag me under. I was terrified of her at times. I’ve lived with this nagging feeling at the back of my mind for a decade.

Now, I am delighted to tell you, her reign is over. She has been defeated. Her influence over me has ended. I am no longer her property. She had me in chains, in helpless bondage, in hopeless subjection. I felt that there was nothing the universe could do to assist me. Every time I sat with her, more and more of my love flittered away, until I was left with nothing, only her. I got confused at times, and thought that I must love her, despite her malignant formalities. When she captured me, I half-thought that I might cling to her leg and beg for mercy. She said she would reward me by letting me shag her every Christmas Day, down in the pit.

The mechanics of how this freedom has come about defies the logic of reality, and you might find it incredulous to believe. Basically, my special protective spirit Red Jacket, who is the head honcho of my spiritual clan, cloned her likeness and battered her. I got a shock when I found out that my significant other looked just like my enemy. It took a lot of getting used to. But I can see exactly why she did that. It was to get me over the mental block of that evil woman. I can still have her this way, only now she is an angelic version with no ill-intent towards me. I have the best of both worlds. It’s as if the DK has reformed, come to God, and declared forgiveness and love from me. I now have The Creator’s version of the DK. She made her repeat her own mantras. She’s better than her in every way.

I call this new version Rocket Wear. Rocket Wear makes me feel safe, even though I am surrounded by evildoers. It’s down to Rocket Wear that I still have a home to sleep in. If not for her, the hybrid assassins which my perps plant in there would have had me out long ago. She protects me from anything and everything. I cannot thank her enough. You can’t make it up, can you? A protective spirit named Rocket Wear taking my tormentor’s likeness and saving the day! This is something even the inventive hive-mind of Hollywood couldn’t dream up. In all of my desperate pleas and prayers to God I couldn’t envisage anything like this happening. I never envisioned the slavery finishing.

With that thing out of the way, the only obstacle in my way to peace comes in the form of other fleshy distractions, like pornography. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility that my misuse of this medium might, maybe, grant the DK a reincarnation, as she used to always enter my mind that way. I thought I’d broken my temperament of interracial homosexuality, and my temperament of seeing women as nothing more than f**k dolls, but the lustful images from all those years of voyeurism still joggle around in my mind on a daily basis at the moment. Now the witch is dead, I long to keep her dead. Seeing porno as a bit of harmless fun is a blatant lie which I have a hard time accepting though. I’ll have to remain extra vigilant.