Power

I’ve been triggered by an atheist video. Some guy was on about suffering and evil and genocide. Can’t possibly be a God! I want to use on it.

Any whiff of hopelessness and I crave drugs to lead me back to hopelessness proper. There’s a certain desolation about a relapse that I know is unique to me.  I slip into the Seventh Circle, which is a specially reserved seat in Hell. I’ve been there for most of the last 12 years, so I’m used to it. Instead of everyone being my friend, they become my enemy. Today, I feel like the most powerful man in the world. If I use, I’ll feel like the most powerless. The stakes are that high.

You might, like me sometimes, equate power to materialistic wealth. If you asked me to pinpoint you towards true power, it would be likely that I’d guide you in the direction of oil tycoons and steel magnates. Bankers, and the like; Elon Musk, Donald Trump, and so forth. The voices in my head don’t necessarily agree. I call the collective noun for voices Katy, Katy the Hive-mind. They tell me that the internal monologue inside your head is power. How you talk to yourself. And visual imagery of the brain. That’s all there is to it. No more than that. I hate to agree with Katy, she can’t half be a right bitch sometimes, but I think I am beginning to.

I know nothing about anything, least of all power. Only what Katy tells me. But there is wisdom in acknowledging the limits of your knowledge. I know that much at least. I know that there is something powerful about walking into a room full of strangers, because when I’m strung out on a comedown I can’t even imagine doing something like that. At the moment, it wouldn’t pose a problem. That’s why I say that I feel like the most powerful man in the world, not just because I am talking to myself quite a lot and imagining pretty pictures in my third eye, but because I also feel capable of walking into that room. That’s all that power is.

I could have a suitcase with a million pounds in it, sat on my kitchen counter, but if I haven’t the confidence to go and spend it, then what is the point of it? It would be useless. Once that amphetamine begins to wear off, and my guilt and shame begin to register, and the demons crawl out from underneath the floorboards, then I’ve hardly the confidence to open my bedroom curtains or put out the bins or shower and dress, let alone carry a suitcase full of cash out in public. I’d be too paranoid to possess it, for one, and I wouldn’t know where to go to spend it. It would be a complete and utter joke. That’s what I think about money, in a way. It’s just stupid.

A mentality, on the other hand, is legitimately priceless. You can’t buy a new brain, free of unsoundness and maladjustment. Not even Mark Zuckerberg can afford it. And a new brain, a fresh mentality, is what is needed. Only God can grant it. And only the Devil can take it away.

 

Fair Weather

I’ve been complained about in group for being a sick-ass pervert.

Well, not exactly. But for making people feel awkward. Yes, talking about porn. What am I supposed to bang on about? It’s a big thing for me. There were women present, which didn’t help. I think they’re all sexually repressed, and struggling with it themselves, to be honest. Why is it still such a taboo subject? Can’t we all just talk openly about XXX material?

While you’re enslaved, it’s impossible. When you’re in bondage to a female actor, or, even worse, a male actor, then things are just too shameful to get your head around. It erodes you of your identity, as a person. It makes you homosexual. It makes you a deviant. It makes you something in the eyes of the Devil. Something unholy, ungodly, and downright filthy dirty. What, you say, a few harmless snippets of porn throughout the day? How can it do all that? Where’s the problem? I only talk from experience, as with everything else on this blogspot.

My boy Jeff from church says he hates it, it is Satan’s version of God’s love, and that he’ll never watch it again for the rest of his whole life. I thought that was an extreme opinion when I first heard it. Now, I’m feeling inclined to agree with him. I’d love to be like Jeff. But I still crave it, in a way, with the drugs. It’s a thrill. And yet I hate it at the same time, just like him. I hate its supernatural effect on me. Once I start on it, I can’t turn it off. Like an alcoholic reaching for the sixteenth rum and coke. I’ve said all this before.

I’m FAIR WEATHER tomorrow, in brighter terms. FAIR WEATHER is a mental state. I use it to describe the shape of being three months clean. Normally, I’m talking about demons and relapses. It must make for depressing reading. Please accept my apologies for the brutal gritty honesty displayed in the past here, regarding drug use. I feel grateful and thankful that disheartening demoniacs are off the menu today. I’d rather talk about how uplifting it is to reside with the Most High for a change. God. All my life I’ve been serving the other guy, watching porn and getting high, and now, once I’ve stepped out of the shadow momentarily, I can glimpse a shimmer of future optimistic light. I hope it's not an oncoming train!

So today is FAIR WEATHER EVE. This is a peculiarly enjoyable mental state I’ve invented for myself. There’s truth in it, it isn’t just fiction. I’ve been trying for a long time to achieve it. I hope I can hang around in it for some time and relish it. It’s payday today, so I am tempted to buy illicit substances as is the norm, but even I, with all my inherent bonehead numb-nut childish stupidity, wouldn’t hurt myself with my nose so close to the goal. I’m a bit of a self-masochist, but to use the very evening before the 3 month mark would be insanely ill-advisable. It would cut me up for weeks.

You watch, I’ll be back here in a few days’ time talking about fapping to the DK again! Wouldn’t you just know it? I’ll f**k up yet again, just like I always do. I’m running a risky business, because the cleaner you are, the more a relapse hurts you. And they really do sting. They are by far the most painful episodes in all of existence. For me, anyway, in my book. Bereavements, redundancies, divorces and the like don’t even come close. Nobody or nothing can ever hurt me as much a relapse does. It totally destroys my eternal karma overnight. I see it etched deep into the eyes of fellow sufferers in group, and my struggle is far worse than any of theirs. My pain is greater.

 

DVD Combi

Yes, I do have a TV licence* And I’ve just bought a new SMART TV. It’s absolutely crap. A DVD combi, like my old one. And yet it’s nothing like my old one.

On my old DVD TV combi, there were several features which made watching porno a breeze, compared to even older video recorders. Remember videos, when the tape would wear out, due to rewinding the good bits? Worn out on both sides, sometimes. No such thing with DVD. DVD came along, and it offered an electronic A-B Repeat button. This meant that you could repeat a specific section of the movie on a loop, without having to hit REWIND. The fellatio, the bra coming off, the money shot, the lot. You could put the remote down, and enjoy a nice short loop. 99% of porno is garbage, but the odd titillating segment deserves glory. It all depends on the angle of the camera and your favourite shots and all that kind of thing. How much man-fat is in her hair, that kind of thing. Remember that ANGLE button? It never worked, did it?

The ZOOM feature was another successful gimmick. x2. x4. So forth. There was even an opposite of zoom, wherein you could make the image smaller than the TV screen it was imposed on. Like looking at the movie down the wrong end of a set of binoculars. Lol! Does anybody recognise what I’m saying here, or is it just me? I must admit, my first DVD player cost me £160 notes. I just had to have one. Like I suggested, my porno videos were worn out on both sides! Anyway, you could zoom in on the big red nipple teets. I love big red nipple teets, like saucepans, the bigger the better. Don’t mind brown also, on coloured girls. I’m not fussy either way. And, I must add here, that flat-chested teens send me crazy. Am I being a paedo there? I’m approaching middle age! Only in my fantasies, mind. In reality, I’m with the Most High. And celibate. A monk, in fact. The only thing I want to give to a teenager these days is my psychosis helpline number!

What about the ASPECT button? 4:3. 16:9. Again, is it just me? Landscape or Portrait, basically. Widescreen. This is important, depending upon the angle of the shot. It changed things up a bit. You don’t want black bars either side of your image, do you? My bright new swanky SMART TV has none of these features! You can’t even adjust the BRIGHTNESS, CONTRAST, COLOUR, or SHARPNESS!!! What’s all that about!? I mean, come on! Instead, I have big massive YOUTUBE, PRIME and NETFLIX buttons! Which I will never use, because I don’t have an aerial or online capacity! It makes me want to shout. There's not even a subtitle button. I’m already hunting a traditional DVD player down on EBay, if my neighbour can help me out, because I’ve never bought anything myself online. It’s scandalous. My new TV is not porn-friendly!

Or is that a good thing, in a way?

*Don’t really

 

Stealth Survivor

Just to continue from Chloe’s Newspaper. I grabbed something special in my life and I never let it go. I held it fast. I never relinquished it. It was one of the only good moments in my life. And the benefits are bountiful.

There was an evil man in my flat at the time. Chief perp like, you know. He advertised himself as a, get this, “Great Grandmaster Mason.” That’s the tiptop of evildoing, in the uppermost echelons of power. There are 33 degrees of Evil in this world. One of them is being viciously violent. One of them is blowing an airliner up. The list goes on. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to extol Chloe.

So he was in my flat with me, scaring me to bollocks. A master of stealth. I was catatonic (the only time he ever appears), and very vulnerable. He danced around me in my own flat. On his phone, he had a software program about my head movement. When you know what direction the target is looking at, and you have them drugged to within an inch of unconsciousness, it is very easy to creep up on them. Even within their own living quarters. He is so skilled at stealth that he can catch magpies. What chance did I have, in a masturbatory psychosis? Sooo scary.

With this charming geezer around, I had to dig deep for hope. I came up with Chloe. He followed me to the park, so I made her appear in my mind’s eye. She’s the most beautiful child in all of God’s Green Earth. Dakota Fanning is a close second. She wears a Victorian school costume, black and white, all super-cute and uber-pretty and stuff. I found her, in my communal hallway, reading a paper together, and I recreated her, years later, in peril, invaded by an evil stealth man who was breaking and entering into my apartment while I was present.

She was so comforting. Just the presence of a gorgeous little girl chilled my nerves. I gave her some power instantly. I gave her two whopping hyenas on leads. But it’s not about power. She doesn’t need any of that. It’s about the company. About a year ago she started talking to me. We have a thing about Reese’s Pieces. She pronounces it rather strangely. So, several mornings a week, or when I need it, I break a peanut butter cup and share communion with Chloe. I pray to her for protection, from the angel cast by the Most High that she is.

She appeared in Wetherspoons, after that f**king creature popped up underneath my bed. Her head was so small and delightfully adorable. I could have eaten her up like a butter cup herself. She was making shapes in the shape-shifting realm, becoming a pink Bugatti car and stuff. In my Heaven, I’m going to ride with Chloe in a pink Bugatti (convertible). That’s my dream. It gives me life. I hope for a better future after the revolving door of this mortal coil is over.

Chloe's Newspaper

I was ousted from college into a psych unit in my adolescence. It was dead good, I was getting day leave to visit classes and everything. Plus I was seeing my favourite teacher on visits. Who I had a crush on. She meant the world to me. I saw her last February, after 27 years apart. Nothing had changed. I’m halfway thru her second novel. She inscribed it. She said that I was the person responsible for starting her writing career. There is no higher honour, Your Highness. Feel dead good about it.

After the trauma of the psych ward came a bail hostel. I recall a girl I was playing pool with wiping blue chalk all over her face and asking if I fancied some bareback sex. I shat myself, although I fancied her. She was so fit, I couldn’t almost believe what was happening. I wished I’d taken advantage. One of life’s regrets. I was still a virgin at the time, okay?

One man in there had scars across his belly after a knife wounding. He told me he’d been smuggling diamonds from The Nile. Nothing but a stabbed-up paedophile. Peace beyond him.

Another guy said he was in there for moving objects with his mind. This one had a flair of creativity about him. Psycho kinesis. Probably another paedophile.

They were all older than me, see, feeding me any old bollocks. I fell for their gobbledygook hook line and sinker. I was innocent. All I’d done at that present time is set my family house on fire. TRUTH. I was honest about it.

Then came the YMCA. I met another girl at my doorstep who wanted a jolly good old rodgering. She was both sexy and demurely pretty at the same time (although mostly sexy), but yet again I shat myself. Still a virgin. Instead I bombed my first Dove, which didn’t work, and didn’t even wank. Back then, a packet of choccy biccies dunked in a mug of brew would qualify as a square meal. To compare, I cooked a giant tasty curry at 3am last night.

My point is this. I had to get my first flat to see anything good in life. My mates used to come around. We’d smoke weed and drink beer and watch horror videos. One night I showed them a porno which I’d robbed. My mate said he met his wife on the way home from it! Talk about synchronicity. He was horned up and on the pull so he made it happen.

There was this family, who were my neighbours. Single Mum, Saturday Dad. Emma, Ryan, Chloe, and Lauren. One day I invited Chloe into my communal hall area to read a newspaper together. We sat on the floor and read the newspaper. Nothing to it.

But now, years on, I realise that that was one of the happiest moments of my life. I’ve seized that moment and relived it in my mind. Now she is a Guardian Angel who looks after me, playing with her balloons. I created her in a dark park surrounded by perpetrators. It’s a long story. She is with me though. I see her each and every day. It goes to show. Love is not dead. There is softness in this old dog yet. I love little girls (wink-wink). And I love my Chloe. More about her at another time. 

 

Battle Of Wills

 

I rang my amphetamine dealer yesterday.

He didn’t answer the phone. I didn’t have any money, I was only making an inquiry ahead of payday. It was a brief slip, a momentary lapse. He didn’t ring back, and I didn’t call again once my cash had gone in. I didn’t call my coke dealer either.

A warning. So I got thru payday. But it was all over me most of the day. I went to a meeting in the evening, and was reminded by someone important that this game is a matter of Heaven and Hell. You can be Moses one instant, serving the angel on your shoulder like a good’un, and then, next minute, Satan is all over you like a rash. It’s so black and white. There’s no middle ground. The consequences of my using are grim. If there weren’t any, I’d still be out there in the madness so to speak, chasing that very first unattainable high again.

So, when I’m using, I’m serving the Devil. And when I’m not using, I’m serving God. That’s unfair, isn’t it? I’m only using, not making spells on ancient burial grounds. But it’s the DK, what she gets up to, and I’m partaking in her parlour tricks. She’s a right old witch she is. So I can’t do it.

Can’t do it. Must do it. It’s still all over me today to be honest. Not as badly, but the temptation to self-destruct is still present. Maybe I’m talking myself into this relapse, I don’t know. Is that the way I come across, like I’m chomping at the bit to use again? I don’t mean to. I want to be a resilient lantern, urging everybody with ears to listen never to use drugs, because they are bad for you. It’s not the drugs, though, it’s the connection with evil women. That’s the issue here. Is self-abuse sin, or is it fine in the eyes of the Lord? I don’t think he cares for bloodshed too much.

I’m torn. I really am a randy man. Big dollop of phet, loads of fapping, where’s the harm? But I’m playing around with demonic forces by listening to the DK, and sharing mantras with her. I’m giving rise to unscrupulous influences which should be left way the hell alone. It’s my weakness. Because I’ve fallen for her. She has seduced me whole, and eaten me like hair. What chance have I got against her?

Every. Stick with the Lord, he’ll protect you. But God is just as frightening as the Devil, I’ve realised today. Both walks are hard. Heaven is a breeze, I’m not saying it’s not beautiful beyond belief or anything, it’s just a pain in the arse earning the right to get in there, when all I want to do is enjoy immoral sexual behaviour with the DK. In case you’re new by the way, the DK is an occultist woman who I used to sleep with. When I’m clean from substances and not viewing porno, she hardly matters to me, but as soon as I start fapping and tuning into her psyche, then she takes authority over me. Wish me the best of good intentions with her.

 

What Dwells Within, The DK Wants

I’ve been half-reaching for my phone today, in order to call my amphetamine dealer.

If he has enough in mind for what I’m thinking of is a different story. I believe I am just about beginning to ride the urges out. Every compulsion is like a wave. It has a trigger, a rise, a climax, and a fall. The whole process, so they say, only lasts 20 minutes. But you can be bombarded with wave after wave throughout the day. Writing this might help.

The DK is calling and she wants my life. The DK is a schizophrenic demon/real woman who I have masturbated to for around ten years. I want to give her one final erection. It sounds seedy, I know, but I’ve written a list of the consequences this morning, and it makes for dour reading. Just one of them has the potential to turn my life upside down. I wrote a blog called Away From The Temptress the other day. I felt strong, as I have done for most of the last 72 Days. My goal is 84. That’s three months. The name for that mental state is Fair Weather. I see Fair Weather as the last chapter of my life. We could all die at any given day, and the pessimist in me barfs all over his future. I want to face The Lord in a Fair Weather frame of mind, should something happen to me.

The temptation to just pull my pants down in the living room (that creature always appears in the bedroom) and fap to the DK is incredible. She’ll be with me for twelve-plus hours, until my seed is spent. There’s no rush with her. The only thing is, she wants me to spell out the names of my Guardian Angels, so (I suppose) she can break the deep bonds between us and sever our connections. It’s not the first time I’ve done this, and I sincerely regretted it afterwards. My Guardians mean the world to me, they represent my heavenly eternity. Why jeopardise this, you may ask, to spend just one day with an evil woman? For that answer, you would need to sit down with a glass of red wine and a cigar and talk to the saboteur inside me. I don’t know. I don’t mean to destroy. The DK just gets me off, and in a major way. It’s her Scottish accent. She has a supernatural effect on me. We share mantras together, until the sun goes down and comes up again. It’s all very demonic. She performs wicked practices which I won’t go into.

I wish so much that she didn’t exist. My life would be a lot easier. But when I’m very vulnerable because I’m tweaked on drugs she’s underneath my floorboards and at the door! She talks to me through the letterbox, and says that she’s on her way in with a key to stab me up, and drag me down under. All very morbidly terrifying, at the time. As it is at the moment, I’d just batter her. But now I’m not catatonic off speed, in no mood to mess with any perp, and scared of my own shadow.

I give her all of my power. I’m scared of losing my Teddy Bear power to her. I came to learn through intrinsic self-exploration that Teddy Bears are synonymous with the graveyards of dead children. My love for God’s Innocence is represented by a gigantic metaphysical Teddy Bear. That kind of spooky beautiful sh*t might come out of my energy field when I’m collaborating in mantras with the DK. Do you now understand why I refer to myself as a medium? I’m knees-deep in preternatural soup. She loves all that stuff, when it finally happens, after hours and hours of fapping. It’s how she gets all of her power, directly from my soul. I don’t blame her in a way. If only I could measure the reservoir of my own power, and have a good look at what different kinds of spirits the Good Lord has put inside my heart. I’ve seen children come out of me and everything. It’s very sad when it happens. I’d much rather have something so gorgeous inside than out, looking at me inside my own flat, and having to defend both itself and I against bad omens like the DK, who drink the blood of innocents for a living.

I wonder about what else I harbour in my soul. Let’s have that glass of red wine together, while I light my cigar. We’ll discuss it.

 

 

Two Close Scrapes

I’ve had two close scrapes today. The first one involved walking to the sex shop. I had every intention of viewing some triple-X rated DVDs. It was more morbid curiosity than anything else. I didn’t want to actively purchase them. But the images, once observed, are un-erasable. You can’t un-view those graphic pictures which adorn the jacket sleeves. And once they’re in, they’re in. I want to explore the rest of its delights. That comes with the price of amphetamine (I can’t afford cocoa today). Amphetamine means psychosis. Psychosis means Hell. There’s no simpler way of looking at it.

I changed my mind at the last minute. It’s the first step of a downward spiral. That wall of glitzy DVD cases is far more powerful than I’ll ever be. I can’t risk opposing my own sense of self-worth up against such slinky sexiness. I’ll lose every time. Think of all the many millions of people pornography has enslaved at the present moment. How can little old me stand up to that? I have to hide away from the polished gloss of its seductive artwork. Once I go toe-to-toe with it, I’ll lose every time. There’ll be something especially for me, I know it. Be it midgets or interracial or giant airbags. Something will do perfectly nicely. It always does. I feel like I’m missing out on all the new releases. It’s so powerful! I’ll have it snapped up in a heartbeat.

Instead I went to a cooking group at Pathways. I’ve just been to a Positive Thoughts group. I nearly just walked to get some pregabs too. That was my second scrape. Mood stabilizers. But every drug f**ks you over in time. Just because it’s my new drug of choice, more preferable than crack or ecstasy, doesn’t mean I can get away with abusing the substance, because I can’t. I’m needing more and more of the stuff. Tolerance builds quickly. And it’s the whole waiting around on street corners, after hiking to the dealers. I feel seedy. Not like an Appropriate Adult. That kind of behaviour snares doubts and insecurities in my mind. I want to remain fat and lovely. You know, good and honest. How can I be of help to myself or anybody else if I’m scoring drugs on a street corner?

Barry from Positive Thoughts just suggested that I write about what the last 69 Days have meant for me. Last time I got caught out on 66. Today, 69 is in danger of getting me. There’s something about these two numbers. 69 is a rude number, and boy, today, have I had the potential to act rudely, engaging in fapping (masturbation). I don’t need porn anyway, I have the DK’s voice in my head (I fap to schizophrenic voices in my head often…I know), but like I just got done expressing, I feel like I’m missing out on all the latest releases. Porn is cutting edge, several weeks away mark gigantic breakthroughs in the industry. They are always pushing boundaries and barriers. You may be struggling with the internet yourself. Believe me, I know what you’re going through. Strong bonds are formed with porn stars, depending upon how many hours you spend with them. Some drinkers can’t stop once they start. I’m exactly the same with porn and drugs. The bonds I’ve formed with the female actresses are supernatural. No other way to put it.

This bout of clear-time means a lot. It’s deliriously satisfying to not be psychotic. When you’re been in such copious amounts of unhinged misery as I have (through no fault of my own), you feel relieved when the voices go back to where they came from, and leave you alone for a few weeks. I wouldn’t say happy, but I’m still smiling along with the world, and I’m not surrounded by hate-mobbers and gang-stalkers, or getting bombarded with electronic weaponry, or having to deal with hybrid assassins in my home. Trust me, that makes a lot of difference.

 

AI & Guardian Angels

 

There’s this business of AI. About how it is pilfering real artists’ work and all that. Apparently, it is compiling every written word into a pile to learn from. Well, I say, send it here! I welcome AI. See what you can learn from me, you dastardly autobots! Can a machine write like this? Can one of Elon Musk’s computer-generated algorithms recreate the mind of a schizophrenic fruitcake? I sure would like to see it try.

There’s this talk of robots. They’re the next boom. They can cook, they can clean, they can operate the dishwasher. But will an AI robot ever be able to shuffle a pack of cards? And, more importantly, will it be able to spit-roast the dealer when it wins at Poker? To spit-roast means to ejaculate your essence all over the boat race (face). Sorry to be rude, it’s in my nature (wink-wink). Porn jokes aside…no, hold on, I never mentioned this…Wait for it…Here it comes…AI Child Porn! I’ll be honest, it never would have occurred to me! I never would have imagined the concept. But somebody did it for me. I think I heard about it in the Daily Mail or something. AI Kiddy Porn! How desperate to get laid have you got to be, watching that tripe!? In the famous words of Jeremy Clarkson, “I’d rather staple my ears to a horse.”

Could a robot ever unstick two wet pages of a newspaper? Or pick a hair up from a mirror? Or roll a mountainside cigarette? Do you think, that even with thousands of years’ worth of technology, that this will ever be possible? Perhaps, with another human being behind the interface, but surely not with artificial sentience.

Been reading into Guardian Angels recently. According to registered Priests, it is not advisable to give them names, because this declares authority over them. That’s the first thing I f**king do! Give it a name, rip its knickers down, and back-scuttle it! In the famous words of Roy Chubby Brown.

One of my signature introductions in groups is to welcome fellow Higher Powers into the room. I learned this from a Hearing Voices Network guy called Rufus May. He used to address the voices of the people he was addressing. It was further consolidated this morning by a pair of US evangelists who recommended that it is advisable for you to ask your Guardian Angel to address other Guardian Angels.

Anyway, all fab with myself. Hope you good too. I’m waffling on about AI and Guardian Angels, so things can’t be all that bad, can they? It’s better than talking about ghosts and demons. I’ve just had so much negativity in my life so far, like, you know? It’s nice to think happy interesting thoughts from time to time, and not feel guilty of thinking them. Just the idea of a robot shuffling cards fascinates me. I’m deadly curious to see where that technology goes. In the meanwhile, I’ll fire up the Betamax and make sure I’ve got enough AA batteries for my portable cassette player!

Away From The Temptress

It’s approaching one of the last times I relapsed. The devil got me on the Mark Of The Beast, Day 66, back in the summer. That one hurt a lot. I thought I was plain sailing, but one morning in particular I woke up really horny after another usual erotic dream and ventured into the porn shop. One look at the screenshots on the backs of the DVD cases, and the rest, as they say, is history. I’ve been particularly vigilant this time about setting foot on that porn shop’s premises. The design and feel of the DVDs is too alluring. Proper eye-candy. My dealer has been ringing me, but without the pornographic material, I’m not interested. It has to be both, for me. One can hardly live without the other.

I don’t feel enslaved to the DK any longer. That woman is above and beyond porn. But one thing leads to another. The only sure thing is, that I’ll be buying porn and drugs at some point along the juncture. That much is tried and tested. The only question is, will it be today? Just For Today, they say often in the fellowship, and that’s been my motto for time immemorial also: I will use again, obviously, I’m an addict, but not today.

I’m about to go back into mental hospital. You can afford to relax a bit, as this time it’s strictly for the purposes of visitation. I’m planning to go and see a friend who is incarcerated there. No doubt it will fetch up strange emotions. I hated every second of being in that place, mainly because I couldn’t wait to get out and score drugs and porn. I tell you, there’s nothing worse than that feeling. The horniness bubbles up inside you for days and weeks and more. I was clean for something like nine months by the time I eventually got myself out of there to indulge in my pleasures. It was like a pressure main exploding! But things have never been the same in the downstairs department ever since I got Priapism about 6 years ago. Priapism is an erectile dysfunction. Basically, you have a painful hard-on for weeks that won’t go away. And when it does finally go away, it never returns again the same.

I’m thinking of porn and drugs with a longing, recently, a kind of missing-you-tenderly melancholy. It’s weird. Normally, I’m chomping at the bit, raging for a tear-up. I have an element of Tourette Syndrome when it comes to matters of porn and sex, after several months of abstinence. I’ll start shouting things out aloud to myself, things like “I just wanna rip the knickers off with my teeth!” I noticed it last time. I just get, like, really oversexed and randy, and verbally too. But always to myself, mind. It’s as if I can’t contain it. By the time I purchase the porn, I’m tearing open them DVDs like a man possessed, and snorting cocaine like a man on a mission, like it’s going out of fashion. I’m identifying with that side of my personality now, and trying to tame it. Wish me luck. It’s hard work. Just one more line, just one more scene, just one more erection…