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!