Two Months Away

 Greetings, hope you are still hanging around, and things aren’t going too badly. No doubt you’re doing fine. I don’t think you would agree to swap positions with me. No way. Walking about in my shoes can be such a drag. Surprised I’m still breathing. I’m glad to be back again, despite suffering a bad two months time out away from the keyboard. When I say bad, I mean desperately bad. I’ve hardly had the nerve to leave my home for any liberating reason other than journey to the local grocery shop for provisions, mainly in the form of comfort food. Only today have I bothered to scoff a salad and run around the block to get the old blood pumping. It’s been over ten years since I got myself out and went for a jog! Exercise separates the men from the boys. Nothing worthwhile doing is easy, including the preceding cold shower. I seriously wanted to die when struck for oxygen at the end of it. I’ve decided never to smoke another fag for the remainder of my life. Or drink another poisonous beer. You’ll be the first to know when I slip up.

The idea of popping on along down here to the local internet hotspot to upload yet another heap of depressing drivel hasn’t been at the front of my mind. I’ll try not to lower your mood too much, with the ever-strengthening testimony of my lived experiences. Trust me, I know what it’s like to be brought down as one of the unluckiest men in the world. Hired Hasslers Of The Peace are constantly tripping over each other in order to demote me a notch. That’s what I all em’. They seem harmless on the surface but underneath they worship a hierarchy which depends and relies on unimaginable suffering. They drive me crazy with their skits. Why does every niggling nuisance from around these lawless manors crave my undivided attention? Is it because I live in a town besieged by a thronging flock of invasive foreign terrorists, who, besides some wacky hellscape agenda, are obsessed about how often I take a shower and change my clothes? Why have they moved in next door to me? Why do they traipse after me as part of an invisible camera crew?  I don’t recognise the streets of my homeland anymore. Peeps aren’t happy unless I’m unhappy.

I’ve been ditched by everyone. Now I am truly isolated. I suspected things might turn out this way when researching the topic of Hate Stalking several years back. I thought my life was out of luck. I believed I was having a rotten time of it. Then I heard about societal rejection from birth, about babies being taken from their mothers to be nurtured by false families in fake communities based in synthetic environments, and about hidden agendas stopping at absolutely nothing to keep enlightened individuals from the truth.

The threat to my life has extinguished my protective sanctuaries, such as drug rehab clinics and mental health drop-ins. Keyworkers and counsellors, once comely and approachable in their generous, all welcoming officialdom, now spit in my face and flip me the bird. Every former friend and ally has turned chameleon and rallied with my familiar oppressors since yesteryear to unite and cast me down on a solitary seat firmly cast between pillars of estrangement and alienation which even the authorities take no notice of, apart from to drug and detain you if you complain about the maltreatment or loneliness. I learned, during my research of Hate Stalking, that everyone is a demon.

My ex drug rehab main building has barred-up windows to inaccessible rooms, doors with no handles on these inaccessible rooms, and staircases which lead up to nowhere beyond these inaccessible rooms. I mistakenly believed that it was a magical hub of healing: Now I maybe think it’s a sombre chamber of horrors. What did I expect, eh, from fellow dopes, drop outs, and dead beats, if I can’t even trust my own lovin’ family? I hate to refer to addicts this way, but all they’ve repaid me back with are phony shares and dishonesty. With a constant sour sidedish of latent hostility.

I’m hearing the screaming of innocents in certain places I go. Where’s that Godawful noise coming from? Why’s that child who I’ve never met before whispering insults under his breath at me, about subjects in my private personal life whom I’ve never disclosed with anyone else before? Why am I finding strange unwanted gifts around my apartment? What’s that knocking inside the cupboard, and under the bed? Not more assassins…

The Holy Book recently reported of late that I was due a great fall. You know how it is when reading the Bible, one kinda thinks that the Author Of Creation is speaking directly to you. I must admit that sometimes that damned tome gives me the heebie jeebies. Is it because all my sins are catching up with me? Is it because my moral compass is slowly but slowly flipping to the dark side? If you have to think about whether you are a good man or not, then it means that you probably are, or so I heard somewhere. I am holding fast to what I fear to be the last remaining dregs of any noble substance I might still possess. The world fashioned around me is vast and decaying. It’s streaked with glitches everywhere I go. I am in it, but not of it…Until next time. In case something happens to me, or if this is my last post, then Always Love x