Another day to get through here. Not a problem with a true and pure attitude. I’m almost too busy not smoking to concentrate on my character defects. I’m trying to rectify myself one fault at a time. I’ve been distracted by the accusations of a false schizophrenic reality for far too long now to pay heed the real issues in my own personality. All that crazy psychotic jibber-jabber has origins in fear, whereas I now reside in a peaceful and stately mindset free of danger from creatures under the bed and suchlike. Truth be told, I threw my bed away into the communal garden. The neighbours complained about this and later accused me of setting fire to it, in order to have me sectioned, which worked. I have to be on my best behaviour at all times, and even then I take the brunt of someone’s blag every so often.
But if I am to suffer on, then I insist I do so with righteous correction, instilled by a loving Father. I’ve realized today that I do not need a weapon to defend myself from constant psychic onslaught: I AM a weapon. I’ve cleaned up my diet (a work in progress), I’m doing a bit of exercise, I’ve dropped the substances, so on and so forth. Big deal, isn’t every one doing this in the New Year, you ask? Well, I’m proud of myself. Because just several weeks ago I was on the streets with only a single backpack to my name. My home had become an unbearable Golgotha which needed fleeing from. Public hatred of me had grown so intense that the local chippy poisoned me with hallucinogenic toxins. Secret society members were releasing lab rats around the places I was sleeping, to deter me from getting comfortable. When I came across an inviting doorway, a construction team would suddenly appear and insist I move on. Operatives were walking past me with growling attack dogs. Compared to the devastation waged against me my whole life, little hindrances like this are now a joke to me. But everything still hurts a bit, because I am a very sensitive individual. I have the skin of a Rhino, you require one to write, as one troll comment can dismantle you, but underneath I am as soft and gentle as memory foam Butterfly slippers. An old woman called me an Angel the other day. She was the nicest person I’ve met all year. It was probably a windup to cheer me up before a fall.
Yeah, I’m attempting to better myself. This is done in the face of The Power Of The Public House. I still frequent ale houses to watch the sports, but alcohol is currently off the menu. One pint of premium lager and then I’m smoking and taking drugs and womanising, in that order. Maybe it might stretch that far, maybe it might not, but that’s the embroidering nature of polysubstance misuse; they all cross-stitch into one another and form skilful interwoven strongholds to render you nuked and puked and down and out for the count. No, you won’t be washed, dressed and active tomorrow. You’ll be riddled with psychosis in bed, getting stabbed by invisible demons who are not really there. If they’re not really there, then why is it hurting? Oh forget it. Let’s go back to the pub. If we can drag our arse away from bed.
Except everyone in the pub is now talking about you, and the demons have followed you there. Not to mention the Chinese Terrorists. Don’t forget the Russian Spies. And the seductive painted harlots who wait with sharpened n varnished claws. Wouldn’t it be nice to F**k The Pain Away? Like Peaches Geldof. R.I.P by the way. Another drug-related death, while we’re on the subject, and a star extinguished too soon. That’ll be me if I’m not careful, straight up. My dealer has now started trying to kill me with product that is nothing like cocaine. Like a fool I still keep going back to him on occasion, because of my lingering death-wish from multiple suicide attempts. He’s a smiling assassin. If my destiny whimpers out without a battle cry, I’d prefer to be taken out of the game by him.
I think he secretly makes his murderous powder with a mixture of homemade products such as creatine/arginine/glutamine (that’s the safe stuff) plus extra more exotic and dangerous ingredients from the dark web, which come under the generic label of ‘Killer’. People say, “What effects doth killer wreak?’ I reply that it does what it says on the tin – totally wipes out all mental processes, so that you’re just a sexual ‘thing’ with a hard-on. Thoughts and sentience flood down the drain. You’re merely carnal instinct, like an animal. This could be why I attract strange-looking creatures! In the grip of an evil spirit masquerading as your most titillating fantasy, one has to be vigilant. Especially on payday, after a spate of bad luck, when one feels under the weather, and sharing intimate affinity with a she-devil seems like a snazzy idea. And this is a wizened G-Unit preaching. What chance have the up and coming insecure mummies boys got? Against cosmetically-enhanced witches in make up? Twice their age, doubly streetwise, and sly enough to wean them off the Narrow Path? With lust, with desire, with cunning, with charm, with the Dark One?
God’s Armour Needed.
Urgently. Seriously, Put It On Now.
Don’t Waste
A Moment.
There are some Cruellas out there who will whisk away your children and then come back for their toys. More disturbing is the fact that you might condone their actions in the mad passionate spirit. It happens in a blink, cloaked by the thirst of the libido. A sneaky succubus will wipe the memory of your children before pleasuring you, and a soon as the passion is concluded you will hear the tears of your firstborn as it wails in the moonlight from the unguarded bedroom. Then the succubus will unfurl her wings (which she stole from an Angel) and fly way with your offspring to some creepy cavern closer than you think, for harmful deeds best remaining undisclosed.
Remain Vigilant Against Succubus!
