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
