We were gabbing weren’t we yesterday about local groups in my town trying to set me up for prison by getting me arrested for attempting to protect children who are victims of grievous bodily harm in public skits around me. They want me to react by trying to save a minor from abusive false custodians. These custodians will most likely own all the correct documents if I tried to accuse them of unlawful kidnap. I would look like the villain. So, I can’t go nicking kids away from fake parents and starting my own crèche in a council flat. But neither can I completely turn the other cheek.
If I rescued one and took it home to safety, I don’t think that raising a child out of abusive conditions would pain me. In fact, it would be the most beautiful thing in the world. There are qualities listed online about what equips one to be a successful father, and I meet n exceed them all. They are basically simple virtues. I don’t care about what society labels me as. They can take their mental health diagnoses and tipple them into the dustbin. I’ve never heard so much garbage in all my life. Those medical professionals are better writers than I am. In their not-so sacred records I am guilty of firebugging picnics and dollhouses at weekends and tampering with electricity switchboards at other times, amongst other hair-raising habits which maximise ‘risk’. The talented wordsmiths who create the accusations necessary for section make up all types of slander from attempted murder to attempted rape.
My lovely neighbours invent elaborate statements for the authorities which are inspired by television programmes. When I am detained in the back of police vans, and there are fire engines and ambulances present in the cul-de-sac wherein I live, they all walk around my turned-over property for a good ole fashioned close-up ganders. The forensics go over every inch of my property, searching for anything incriminating.
In my younger brother’s bedroom, they blamed his ‘excited delirium’ on a hammer. He later died. But that’s a different story.
Truth be told, I am not really a typical danger to anyone. There are no blood-stained machetes, or bondage ropes, or tommy-knockers, or toothbrush shanks, or anything such else like that. There are no indecent downloads on my personal PC computer, because I do not own a personal PC computer. Christ, wouldn’t they love that. But they wouldn’t find any dodgy deviance there either, because I’m completely straight with my sexuality.
Have you ever heard that idle boast, at least I’m not a paedo? Well, at least I’m not a paedo. So now there. Load that one into your tumble dryer and shrink it silly.
[I have been with a man however. Hold it... He pulled me by pretending to be a music producer. When I got back to his studio, all he had was a Casio keyboard with no pitch wheel and a broken knob, perched on an ironing board as a makeshift stand. He wanted to film me singing on his phone under a bare light bulb. I became convinced that he planned to drug me with a hypodermic syringe filled with a tranquiliser whenever he had the window of opportunity. This notion was deduced by sexually illicit photographs stickered to his walls. They depicted what I presumed to be previous visitors like myself in certain pornographic predicaments, complete in The Lord with gozzy eyes. They had none of the glitz and glamour screengrabs from my boutique shop’s wall of filth have. I played one or two impromptu chords on his ivory plonk machine and hastily skedaddled out of Dodge, mugging him off with an excuse about a job centre appointment with my Flexible Support Fund Advisor, and considered my avoidance of male rape while unconscious a most fortunate escape.]
And hey there, Uncle Sam, why you’re busy admitting to yourself that your reasons for mental retardation detention are a mockery, why don’t you burn my criminal record also too while you’re at it, because most of it was orchestrated whilst dosed on alcohol, which of course isn’t my fault is it, if it’s a legal poison which can be bought on any street corner. I don’t get this police state, and some of the maggots which enforce its wacky statutes. It monitors me, poisons me, tortures me, and then starts physically whimpering when I crawl back to my feet and write about my plight to a fellow sufferer, because they can’t bear to see me exchange a mutual smile with someone genuine.
I tell you this, Dear & Precious White Voider: Somebody out there cannot stand me not to be in torment. It’s not enough that I am simply unhappy, they crave torment. Suppose that I’m not enlightening you on anything new about the world there though, eh? Whatever you do, protect your joy and happiness. Never let the bullies see you down. When you smile and laugh, I smile and laugh with you, because your bubbly enthusiasm for positivity is unsinkably infectious. And isn’t it just a bummer to these losers when we share a splendid chuckle?
I can’t stop laughing lately. Half of it is nervous energy, because I’m haunted by the Devil. He makes me leave insults to the relatives of serial killer victims on distasteful nasty web forums. I’m even banned from gore sites for being too graphic in my trolling.
What is wrong with this world today? Know what I mean? Or Narr Meen, as my boy Paul says it. Can’t harmless creative people get together and enjoy life with sterling intentions anymore? Our life is difficult enough. Growing up and getting old is, I’m finding, such a testing challenge. I’m only trying to rent a book out from the local library, yet maniacs are running around me off their chops, freaking out in case I meet someone else with a positive vibration and God forbid enjoy a conjointed giggle with a student nurse reading a similar book. They bump into me on purpose, interrupt conversations I might engender, and insult me under their breath from an unpunchable distance to dampen my mood.
!!!NOT TO MENTION TORTURE F**KING CHILDREN IN PUBLIC!!!
(Which I don’t like, by the way. Now it’s a deep breath before we commence. To something else other than this hotspot. Because it’s doing my head in. So surf somewhere else. Watch tube TV. Or take a hike in nature or something. But, most importantly, be happy and vigilant until we talk next time. Your protective commander, over n out)
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