High Beams Visible

It’s one of those days when the words are proving hard to come by. I’ve no shortage of ideas when it comes to writing, just a question of where those ideas belong. I’m not sure about putting everything here on the blogspot. One look around this ill manor and I feel you know me well enough. I’m merely another bohemian with problems. Who isn’t? I’m unashamed to call myself a free thinking creative. Indeed, this is why I have issues looming in from exterior parties. Don’t worry, I’m capable of looking after myself. Just. As long as I stay In Christ. I’m becoming steeped in wisdom with every passing season, it seems, with my hairline and my belly and my beard. I’m trying to smarten up my lifestyle a bit. One eye on the diet, one eye on the future. Futures are not guaranteed. Futures are amazing, priceless, and, for us struggling/recovering addicts, rare.

There’s only so much I can write about this state of being. I’m thinking of a private volume of fiction at home, unpublished online. This is for me only, as it’s important that one is one’s own biggest fan. I get a lot of mental strength from my own literary efforts. Some folk might call this power. It breeds more toil. I’ll be calling this oncoming body of work The Museless, if it ever appears, as I believed I lost my muse late last summer. Fortunately, gladly, luckily, it has returned. Not so long ago, even the thought of this I’m doing at the moment, being sat here typing about not much at all, seemed farfetched. Writing about ‘anything’ is an accomplishment, either when facing the block or losing the muse. Seriously. That’s why I’m currently quite proud of myself.

What’s the alternative, being sat back in the council box climbing the walls? Without booze or smokes, that possibility sounds like a chilling prospect. Nah. None of it. Get yourself before the keyboard and share your feelings with the world, methinks. Others disagree. One friend told me I was ‘off my chops’ to share anything personal with a stranger on the web. Strangely enough, he was a stranger on the web himself.

In a way, this blog has been based on falsehood, as I’ve written about relationships which were fake in the past. Now I’m all strung out alone with nothing but a handful of hugs and kisses in my heart. The hard macho image is over. I mistakenly presupposed that I was walking with a convoy of Angels. These so-called loving beings turned out to be Chinese Terrorists and Russian Spies. Such a con is easy to fall for if you’ve been targeted since birth. I’m a nice regular stand-up guy who sees the best in everyone. But now the gloves are off. Each night I now sweep the flat of negative energies by going around and whacking empty air with a broomstick. This lets the invisible black-ops know that I’m not falling for their love bombs anymore. Sometimes I spray fire their way, from a homemade blowtorch. To the layman/observer, this behaviour looks totally nuts. And you wonder why I’m in and out of hospital every five minutes. But I swear, Your Honour, I can FEEL someone with me. Who else floods the sink and robs my odd socks!?

I know another victim/target/sufferer (I identify as victor) who said that everyone thought she was making up the story about her harassers, until one evening a brick came through the window and clocked her on the forehead. Then they still didn’t believe her. They thought the brick was in her imagination. So too the smashed window pane and resulting concussion in hospital. An imagination like that, and yet still no insight. Only stranger things happen at sea. And also, of course, on the hit series, Stranger Things. I only saw the first season of that Netflix caper. Something about sensory deprivation and aliens behind wallpaper. Bit strange to say the least. Winona Ryder kept me captivated. What a babe. Just my type. Wondering…has she ever let a sex tape leak? Quite a fair few of these raunchy celebrities have, haven’t they? Would I break my abstinence from self-induced pleasure to view it? Oh go on, I think we’ll make an exception. Bollox. I wouldn’t break my no-fap spree for an orgy with Little Mix.

I’ve just met a guy in group who is 134 days clean. He was supported by his mum, who was ever-so proud of him. There were smiles all-round from people doing well, including myself. The world is so much more bearable with everyone wearing beaming grins. When you live above a dungeon of blood drinkers for a living, you appreciate little spectacles like this. Such as a room of people laughing. As usually it’s just me, climbing those chilling council four walls, smoking and supping, viens and arteries snagged with the remnants of cocaine, hanging over tipping point beyond the comedown, wishing ever so politely that I were brown bread. I warned the 134 day man about this, should he relapse. DON’T DO IT!

There was even some happy-clappy brunette fresh meat there who identified with herself as, aside from a reasonable narcotics apologist, a ‘Dark Empath’. No, she didn’t have vampiric makeup on, before you ask. She had Uggs, scars and a Farmer Giles accent. If not for the off-putting dialect, I might have had to smuggle her away behind the bins and insert my breadstick into her cookie jar. If you know what I mean. I think you know exactly what I mean. Just my kind of lass. But better with the makeup on.

I had quite a puff of an anxiety attack yesterday, I get them often because of constant scrutiny from my mentally handicapped harassers, and I would have done anything for a caring mother to call and speak to for comfort on the blower. I had a peculiar sensibility that there was God, no Heavenly Provider, no Safety in Faith, no Holy Spirit…and I felt quite desolate, to stipulate it in lesser terms. Thankfully I get over these distressing bouts of conscientiousness in several hours or so and emerge the other side feeling relieved and stronger. I could be getting attacked by a mind weapon for all I know, from a drone or something, for Chris’sakes it wouldn’t be the first time. Who knows where all our doomsday emotions come from? Not from the Lord, that’s for damn sure.

I’ll be fine, so long as that pesky FEAR keeps away. Last time I felt real fear I was running round the woods semi-naked holding an armload of clothing pegs, for some mad reason. I was trying to blag my pursuers into thinking that I had an imaginary assortment of semtex on me. Made sense to me at the time.

I just feel so alone when these pockets of negativity strike, I don’t know who to turn to or think of. I tend to look inside myself. I see a lot of swirling conflictions within. My addictions are ugly and hard to swallow. I find it difficult to accept what floats my boat. Any kind of sunny path ahead is equally tough to visualise with schizophrenic voices hissing their usual hatred. I’m trying to focus on that handful of hugs and kisses I mentioned, that which separates me from ogre. The hard macho man goes out the window. I just want to be a likeable dude with a dollop of love in the marrow of his bones. A big softie, like, ya know. The gates are open: I simply have to walk through. 

Boat Ride

I remember visiting Llandudno with my neighbor Marik. We were both under God’s Instruction to capture kidnappers and torturers in Wales. Our paths crossed for one earth-shaking day. We decided to get two train tickets. Good government officials were behind us all the way, what I call White Ops.

When we arrived, we had fish and chips. The wrongdoers on display were obvious. I didn’t hardly have any idea what was going on, I was relying on Marik a lot. There was some sinister-looking old guy sat next to us. I felt like leaving my seat, picking him up, shaking him by the lapels, and asking him where the f**k he kept his TV (torture victim). It was like being in a movie by Eli Roth. Everyone was reading my mind, as is usual in psychotika. He whispered under his breath, “I detect fear, Lucifer.” Talking to his numpty deity. The enemy holds fear against you as if you’ve squandered the whole mission and are not worthy just because it glimmers across your mind. There’s nothing to be ashamed of about feeling slightly afraid of something. But the way the Devil uses it, it’s as if the game is over, as if it’s a neutralizing constituent of the battle process. I’ll readily admit that I’m a bit scared. But I don’t rattle. And there is no courage or bravery without jitters.

Our job was just to detect them and the White Op government officials shadowing us would deal with the fallout. Round them up, get them arrested, most importantly save the victim. Marik was indicating that we follow certain people. We were in a world where they were blatantly walking around with their victims, prodding them with knives underneath their jackets to keep them subordinate. He had a real keen eye for them. He could spot them a mile off. On the surface, it might look like a mother and son, but in reality, it was a cruel woman and a kid who didn’t belong to her. You would think that they would keep their seedy exploits contained to some kind of underground basement, but no, they liked to parade their victims in public. They liked to pretend to be normal.

Some random guy pointed at me, aware of what me and Marik were doing, ratting out pain-inflicters for the government and God, and shouted, “I want him rock hard!” He was referring to my pornography use. Instead of embarking upon a special mission with my foreign gifted friend, he wanted me back home playing with myself watching porno. All these gang-stalkers feel powerful when I am fallen with a self-induced erection at home behind shaded curtains watched sleaze. I laughed out aloud. I still find it funny to this day. The fact of one man wanting another man ‘rock hard’ is humorous beyond all belief. Verbally stating it to a stranger, for Heaven’s sake. He shouted it in front of everybody. Even the voices in my head were laughing at it!

We got on a boat. I keep shouting out to God out of nervousness. Declaring Him, like. The whole world knew what me and Marik were doing. All on the boat were reading my brain. My fears of water elevated as we traveled out to sea. I felt totally insecure and vulnerable. It was a new experience to me. I started singing a song in my head out of uneasiness, and several children on the boat started singing it along with me, laughing and giggling. Their faces were magical. The kids alleviated my tension. They kept staring at me and chuckling and smiling. They made it all worthwhile.

There was one woman with a child who looked like she was going to faint with trepidation. The infant looked nothing like her. She had a victim, she had been found out, and she was trapped on a boat with me, Marik, and White Op government officials. Caught! I’ll never forget the confusion in her gaze, and her lacklustre defeated body language. There were several Chinese who were trying to perturb our mission by making me feel fearful. They kept taking pictures of me and saying, “Chinese Win.” But not before a giant spirit of a woman flew over the top of the boat. I felt better when witnessing that. It was insanely enormous.

I also saw myself engraved into a mountain, a giant image of me, looking like a wizard with a magic wand. I clicked my fingers and saw this even more insanely enormous gigantic lizard with a blue sperm whale in its jaws. I believe in the lizard realm as David Icke describes it and I also firmly believe that they are on my side. The hallucination was probably the best one I’ve ever had, all carved in on the details and contours of the mountain. How big are whales! And how big was this lizard! To have it trapped within its jaws!

There was a plethora of other wonderful things happening that day. I’ve done my best to get the essence down into words. It’s hard. I know it sounds crazy. But, even to this day, I believe it to be true.