I remember
one particular vision I had when I looked across the local park into the window
of a battered wives hostel. The sun was reflecting in the glass, a gleaming
coin balanced lowly on the horizon. My mind entered the room and I saw an angel
slaying a ring of demon with a glowing sword. The whole room was ablaze with
sparkling fiery light in fact, apart from the demonic figures, which were cast
in black, motionless in slaughter, offering no resistance.
I felt that
the ‘vision’ had something to do with my mental state at the time. From that
point onwards, I began to feel slightly better about myself. I’d been feeling
especially low up to that moment, encroached in ghostly activity around my
home. A few years back, I mistakenly believed that a slovenly gaggle of gang-stalkers
represented demonic activity. These were actually low level community-based
operatives trying to come between me and my love. There’s a movie based on the
principle of nosey, interfering outsiders/intruders called The Adjustment
Bureau (2011). They stage accidents
and stuff when you are on your way to a date. Anything to rob your joy, because
they have none themselves. Those hellbound vermin! Those wastes of life! They
have nothing of note and worth to do but stick their dirty oars into other
people’s waters.
I want to
write about Slime Girl, a teenager I
bumped into right after this vision, but my aversion to these rotten and
impossible rogue riffraff is blocking my inspirational trueness for this young
sweetheart. I mustn’t let them achieve this, as that is the entire point of bland,
macabre, heartless perpetrator – they want your undivided attention so you can’t
contemplate the finer things in life, such as jolly, motivating, uplifting, enriching
serenely transient figurines such as the one and only Slime Girl.
I call her Slime Girl, incidentally, because the
first time I saw her, she was playing with a tub of slime in the street. Slime
kits are available in some thrift stores over here. What a wondrous little tiny
sighting of youthful innocence and wonder. Aw, she was so cute! I wanted to
cover her in slime and take some pictures! It’s as puppy lovey as a boy with a
soccer ball or a remote control car, is, a girl with a packet of slime.
Please
excuse my childlike regard. I am aware how this may come across. For your assurance
and peace of mind, I wouldn’t go Googling ‘slimy young girls’ on the interweb.
I had a similar problem with a footballing interest, when I searched the term ‘dribbling
skills’. Yuck. Some other minds out there just don’t work the same as ours. I’m
surprised the Thought Police are allowing me to express my very palatable
opinions on the subject of any young girl whatsoever, to be frank with you.
After my
vision, she was older and teenager and more womanly and mature, as if she had
gone through similar developmental phases as myself. Tough, character-defining
phases of development, although nothing quite so stringent as the toils of my
dastardly plight, with demons and devils and assassins and gang-stalking perpetrator
and Chinese terrorist and Russian spy and all the rest of that complete utter
nonsense. Just leave me alone for two minutes of the day why don’t you so I can
take a normal breath inwards and forget you lot exist for a moment.
The rigours
of adolescence were drawn into her handsome features. She appeared as the same
soft butterfly of a girl, yet slightly more roasted by the charcoaling of a
hard graft life, a stronger and recently updated future model of herself.
Our passing,
our crossing of paths, our synchronous divided junction…was preordained, I felt,
orchestrated by the heavens, because I felt wonderful after casting eyes upon
her countenance. It was such a relief to cogitate someone I had forgotten,
coinciding with my vision. She gave me just as much kraft, in the blink of one
single eye, than years of sharing floor-space with countless other friends,
family and colleagues ever had.
Had can strangers be so meaningful? How can they matter so much and
assist you so divinely along the way? And how can other people who are so
heavily and dependently entwined in your affairs matter not one jot?
I’m surrounded by hatred
While love sits idly
Beyond the horizon
How can this be?
External, exterior love that is, maybe. The love of a sexy partner, lol. Don’t fret, I still have love in thine own heart. It’s the safest place for it. Nobody can wrench it from me. Nothing can make it jobless or kidnap it. I believe that it has to be given away, or forsaken, and that nothing can steal it willy-nilly. I should know, because I almost swapped mine for a cheap counterfeit. That cheap counterfeit was sinful lustful sexual pleasure. Maniacal addiction almost robbed me of my love also. Desire may shepard us from death, but that death inevitable can lead us to damnation. I read about it in Buddhism. Hardly fair, is it? The mere act of coveting the flesh of the opposite sex can detach us from our destiny. Over time, unshackled.
They don’t teach us about love in school. Listen, I’m a tall heavy full-blown G-Unit ugly strapped hard-ass criminal townie, so talking about love is soppy. But I’m also a gentle giant who collects childish sentimental memorabilia such as unicorns and teddy bears, so don’t be alarmed when I say that I refute all things satanic and pray to a forgiving Lord in Heaven. For years now I’m been led astray by painted women shall we call them so it’s about time I worked out my eternity and made my peace with God. It’s either squishy slime with sugary dollops of love up there in the clouds…or depressing blood-spatter in Hell with perpetrator.
You decide. I know I already have.
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