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.