Got This Got That

I’ve been getting followed around now for many years, by the same people. There’s been one bin-dipping vagabond in particular who is in the library where I do my blogging every single time I visit, sat there smugly, watching me from the corner of his eye. I’ve finally just gotten rid of the eyesore only to have another watchman take his place immediately. This ‘confronting’ the enemy isn’t going so well thus far. Once you start asking the question, “Are you following me?” you find yourself asking everyone and his dog the same thing. One day sooner or later they’ll be up for a tussle, if I can find one with any minerals, and I’ll be incarcerated for practising kung fu without consent.

I just want to get a few things straight in my life, before I bite the bullet and get done for murder.

I have a future. Now that I’m not drinking or smoking, I can realistically ruminate upon partaking in some exercise. This may take some time to set into motion, because usually, whenever I feel like getting active and running, I lie down in comfort until the feeling goes away. A future to me may mean only several more years of life extension, but if I were to carry on down that route of chain-smoking and necking lagers, I would only last at best several more months. I’d accepted my breathless, bloated fate many moons ago. Those poisons had a vicelike grip over my behaviours, I could not stop, first thing in the morning I would go the shop, I couldn’t imagine being without. Now, there are many ongoing dramas in my life, but self-assassination by harmful chemicals and corrosive fluids isn’t one of them. I will survive much longer now than I previously thought. Sans beer; sans fag.

I have love. Yes, despite wanting my organized stalkers crucified upside down along the high street, I still have love. I refuse to be embittered by hatred, like the cold-as-stone voices which abuse, molest and rape me without even momentary cease. I have high-vibrational compassion going on richly in my life, with empathy and peace. The ring of evildoers around me insist that they have love just because I do (if I had a mouldy butterfinger they’d want a piece of it), but they are lying about it, they are loveless and envious and jealous of my giftings. If I had only a single chipped marble to my name, then they would want to take it off me. They wouldn’t leave me with a pot to pee in. I am a big soppy pants when it comes to love, I wouldn’t dream of ever wanting to snatch it off anybody.

I have joy. Christ, do I ever stop laughing at the silly immature daft perpetrators surrounding me? Instead of being frightful I find them demented. I simply laugh at anything now. Even dark stuff. As long as I am giggling, that is the main thing. Because the Devil hates jokes. Do you think there is laughter in Hell? You’d be wrong if you did. I should know, because I live above it. There’s plenty of whining, but no guffawing. I. cannot. Stop. Laughing. At them.

I am powerful. This is big-headed of me to admit. I don’t mean the deceitful power of supernatural influence, where dead souls serve power over love, but I mean the self-inferred determining power which comes from putting things right with God. I have always been getting walked all over by hostile operatives in the neighbourhood, because I was using drugs and sinning with my loins and not in the scripture, but now I am an iron shank for the Most High. In fact, sometimes, I feel like the Most High. That’s how powerful I am. I walk down the street, and despite never-ending evil opposition, I walk anywhere with my head up fearing nothing, least of all not cowardly sado masochists. Whom I batter.