Foreign Entities

I’m currently clean at the moment, and have been for several months, residing in an improved mental state that I call FAIR WEATHER. FAIR WEATHER is the name for a period of abstinence that I have been striving towards for a multiple of years. I’ve only ever achieved it a couple of times. Other people might call it DOING WELL, or LIVING ACCORDINGLY, or CONQUERING DEMONS. Presently, when it comes to the fight of life, I must admit that I have taken a bit of a fistful these last few days. You might even call it a knockout blow. I’ve been struggling with ‘presences’ around me more than ever lately. They live with me in my home and follow me around in my daily public life. I’ve written a lot about the spirit realm previously, and after having plied heaps of faith and trust into what we’ll call ‘entities’, it seems that I have been a fool, for some very disturbing beings have infiltrated my domicile, promising confederacy to begin with, but then wiping their hands clean of me with a tirade of abuse and horror. I’ve been of the notion that supernatural entities have ‘had my back’ for a long time. Now that I’ve met them, I realised that I was wrong to trust them.

It’s called my divine protection into question. Despite ‘losing’ a host of what I believed to be spirits which I thought were on my side, I still choose to believe that someone or something is watching over me. I have to call upon The Lord. The frustrating thing is that the enemy is ‘copying’ my imaginary allies and using them against me. I live in a world of transparent clones, of see-thru mimickers, of apparitional doppelgangers. A squad of male and female characters persistently flock around me, reading my mind, responding to my thoughts, and generally harassing the living daylights out of me. They constantly mock the innermost private temple of my psyche. I can’t grab a single moment alone to myself. My friend suggested that they might be Illuminati ‘Brain Energy Projections’. I believe that they are real persons using some kind of futuristic technology. Among their numbers are also one or two real ghosts. I can see a clan of shape-shifting figures always surrounding me, pointing and arguing and even engaging in violence with one another, but there is nobody there! They say they are going for ‘the kill’ with my suicide during each new day. They even hurt me physically as I lie in bed, with sharp objects, so that I roll from one position to the next all night in order to escape their depraved ways. Don’t forget the voices as well, reinforcing all of my ‘visual hallucinations’. Together, they break my brain down into microscopic fragments, so as I can’t think. Free-thinking is a threat to the powers that be, but I had no idea how determined they are to eradicate spontaneous mental powers. They will spend millions of pounds and work around the clock in surveillance and harassment to prevent a particular thought form from taking place inside someone’s head. Every time I break away from my oppressor’s usual drivel and start to think for myself, with a rewarding idea or gracious memory, somebody either knocks on my door or the phone starts ringing. Or next door start banging on the wall.

I can’t contemplate opting out with induced suicide, but living with undesirables on a daily basis, minute by minute, is excruciatingly tormenting. I see around 40 faces in my head, and they are all laughing at a single one of my negative cognitions. They punish my decisions and doubts. They are not reasonable when I am happy, and they are not fair when I am sad.

I do my best to keep a calm level head and not retaliate by taking it out on my scheming neighbours, but deep inside I want to scream and tear my hair out. One of the presences in my flat actually instructed me to kill the postman, or otherwise it would kill me. I believe there are weakened individuals out there in this unstable society of ours who are bending to these hellborn demands from disembodied voices and invisible presences and the like, and venting their wrath on those who least deserve it. If such a person where to be haunted by a foreign entity who has the ability to physically hurt them, then who would blame that person for obeying its instructions?

I myself must face yet another day of getting to grips with this otherworldly struggle. When I try and escape my property for an hour or two, I find that I am followed and pestered by so called friends and associates who simply want to waste my time on purpose because they have nothing better to do. They always turn up when I am thinking freely. Their timely appearances are not coincidental, they are planned and staged to halt my progress. As soon as we part company I’ll start hearing their voice in my head, or start seeing images from their mind thrown into my awareness. You can imagine how unsettling this is when walking through a crowded high street, with everyone bombarding me with directed mental imagery. I’ve been avoiding and swerving people I usually trust and like, because they want nothing more than to get inside of my head with the aid of a chance meet. I’m the guy who suddenly everyone wants to be around, all pleasantries and niceties to your face, then demoralising insults as soon as your back is turned.

I’m rapidly running out of people who I can trust. The main thing is, however, trusting myself. If I relapse back into the murky world of drugs and porno at this precarious time, my situation might deteriorate from manageable to ungovernable. There’s a demonic force in the form of a woman with humongous boobies lurking for me around the corner, and I must resist. To fall for her charms would be disaster.

I'm In The Middle Of A Party!

I hope that the universe is treating you kindly today. I am having a decent afternoon so far, but as we all know that can turn on a tanner. Earlier, I thought I’d lost my wallet with a hundred pounds in. For a dubious moment, I was eavesdropping on my persecutory voices, waiting for the uproar in celebration. Fortunately, I found it. My wallet, that is. I seek perfection in all things I do, as one minor slip in mood brings forth glee from my oppressors. The fact that someone out there is enjoying my pitfalls and downturns make the pitfalls and the downturns doubly hard to manage. Having a tough old time of it is one thing, but your enemies, laughing as well, while they continually boot you in the bollocks with their dart-tipped lead wellies, is another.

My hygiene has been slipping and so has my abode. I haven’t completed a proper tidy-up in months. It would be cool, I think, to give the presences around me some decent nice luxurious surroundings for them to put their feet up in, as they torture me. It’s the least I can do. I feel like a pig swilling in mud sometimes, with my grimy carpets and smelly bathroom (the drains are blocked). And meanwhile, these glorious apparitions cast in angelic shimmery aura sit on my sofa, chewing my ears off. It makes for a stark contrast. I don’t know if they are TECHNOLOGICAL HOLOGRAMS from the government, or simple boring old ghosts. Whichever, they always look pristine.

Along with the covert brain weaponry being demonstrated on me, I appear to have been swept off my feet like Mary Poppins, and ditched down on some far-flung distant realm where anything is possible, including thought implantation, thought deletion, many other mystic afflictions to do with thought, and time control.

I continue, even though I am 60 days away from illicit drug use, to have uncanny and bizarre visions from the preternatural dimension. Their empire consists of the living, the dead and the fictional. One moment I am in physical pain, as people who are not there cause me grievous bodily harm; the next I am in Nirvana, being rescued by the torment by perceptions of happy children who want to talk to me. I cope with these madcap ‘hallucinations’ by consuming alcohol and nicotine. I’m finding joy in the small things, like food. My current favourite is battered fish with pepperoni pasta.

At least I’m not a couch potato anymore though, watching daytime TV all day long. With a mind as infected with other entities as mine, all with minds of their own, and those probably infected with other minds besides, then there really is no need for Oprah or Jeremy Kyle or Peston. Or The Daily Politics. Or The Sky At Night. Or all of the other garbage they air. Repeats, most of it, anyway. I used to like my television, I’d watch anything to keep my mind occupied, but now my mind is occupied with survival from alien races, mental illness, and gang-stalkers. That was my old life. Now, We’re In The New.

 

Fight With A Slug In Bed

Good morning, afternoon, evening, or whatever time it is at your end. Maybe you are cocooned within the dark recesses of the night, and you are taking a peek while snacking at the fridge. What are you eating, chilled chicken skewers or Babybels or something? Maybe you are on the bus or train. Maybe just monged out on the sofa. I’m hopeless at guessing what you’re doing. Maybe you are watching Gothika (2003), immersed in the bit when the guy from Alien 3 (1992), throws water over Halle Berry’s reflection, and then asks her what she sees in the distorted mirror image. That’s a giant moment in all of movie history for me. Robert Downey Junior was in it, before he became known as Iron Man. In Gothika, while escaping from a padded cell after having worked there previously as a psychiatrist, Halle takes a burly security guard off his feet with a shoulder barge. That scene reminds me of pregnant women lifting cars off their children and stuff. Mothers have insane strength at times, don’t they? What is it with the bamboozling strength of mothers!?

Just been for a couple of pints with whiskey chasers, to warm myself up for this. Sometimes I like the booze after I’ve blogged, other times before, to galvanise those creative juices. Twenty or so hits overnight is a good result these days. I was getting thousands of hits over the summer, and that has really motivated me. I felt up there chumming around with the big writers who have readerships, although it can’t compete with Facebook, in a way. If you have 5000 friends on Facebook (the limit), and you post a status, then you have just published some writing to 5000 people in the click of a button. That’s radical. I miss Facebook.

I’m hoping that blogging is more personal. I don’t care about the five thousand that Jesus didn’t feed, I care about The One, about you. You know who you are. Keep reading, and I’ll keep you. I’ll big you up, tell you how wonderful you are, plus I’ll awfully mean it as well. You can’t get this anywhere else.

You. Are. Awesome. And so am I. Just saying. “Am I right or am I right?” as my mentor used to say. Come on, “Am I right or am I right?”

Apologies for being cheesy. It’s just the mood I’m in. I was going to write about a fight with a giant slug on a bed, but I’ve almost run out of time. I got the idea from church today. The Pastor said that there’s a Christian Retreat coming up later in the year. I thought wow, excellent, I wish it was a lot sooner than October. And then I remembered the last retreat I went on. It was at some kind of hall far up north. If I wasn’t running out of time I’d tell you about what happened there, late one evening. Maybe, if you inbox me politely, I’ll tell you all about it next time, in confidence. A fight with a giant slug on a bed, what can be more exciting than that?

Oh go on then, you’ve twisted my arm, I can’t wait, I’ll spill the beans now. Basically, a giant black slug materialised in my bed at night time and started to batter me. Quickly, I had to keep from being decompressed by it. It was decompressing me! Contorting me, squeezing me, wrapping me up. I was being suffocated and everything. It was so heavy, just spreading its weight about over my body. I felt flattened by something semi-invisible. This thing is crushing me all over, I thought. It had hold of my hands, my every nerve. In the end, I had to stab it with its own pointed tail. But the effort required! Wow! There was something scorpion-esque about the thing. It was about the same size as me, and when it popped, as it did pop, popped with an anti-inflatable hiss, an explosive report, like a sibilant catcall of death, I rolled onto the floor and off the bed in sweet relief, as if I’d just been released from a torture chamber, away from Freddy Kruegar with hot gloves on. I’d stabbed the basta*d! And with part of its own anatomy! Have that, slug! That’s it, in essence, now why doesn’t Hollywood go and make a movie of it? 100% true, no psychosis liberties taken.