RJ Origins

The porn stars are shouting at me, demanding that I return to their beautiful selves. Their bodies are amazing, to see a glistening black or white shaft penetrate sweet pink quim from behind is also very excitingly amaze-balls. Wow. I can’t help it. The temptation is overwhelming. What good is love when you have such a sexy titillating perversion of it with big willies and rocket breasts and squirting jizz over pretty smirking female faces. Imagine a male sexual feast! That would be completely disgusting. I could never go there. I saw a DVD sleeve of one of them one time. It was called The Destruction Of Jonathan White or something. Imagine, it you were a runaway, or trafficked, getting destructed on camera by men ejaculating onto your head. I could think of nothing worse!

Anyway, I want to discuss the origin of my spiritual wife, whom I refer to as Red Jacket. I want to be with her, by not using speed and porn. When I do that, I am with the stars, and they have complete authority over me. I belong to them. I am devoted to them. They rip me away from the princess I love with all my passion, strength and soul. You would think they respected me for going to them, but they hate me truly and want me in Satan’s pit, which is right underneath my floorboards, a secret pain chamber, built especially for me, and a horror I have survived since I have known it was there.

She first appeared in a vision. It was about 25 years ago. She was in a red jacket on top of a skyscraper juggling like a magician. I can’t remember her jumping off. I still recall that vision to this day. She was so high. Her position was so perilous. But she looked so beautiful.

Then she appeared in a story by my friend. He told me about a Ouija board tale with something about a girl in a red jacket spelling out the truth with the upside–down glass. I always remembered that connotation also. It stayed with me for some reason. I started seeing members of the public in red jackets and stuff. It was great. I imagined girls in red jackets around the town skipping over puddles and crunching stiff autumn leaves under their shoes.

The third act of her origins was me finding a red piece of clothing on some wasteland I was almost lost on. It was a sleeve. I swam in Blackpool sea at midnight with that sleeve on my arm. I dived into an approaching wall of thick brown water which was horrible. But I did it, swimming a little bit before turning back. When I emerged and walked back to the shore, I could hear the theme of Terminator playing from the closed-down fair. It was incred. I kept the sleeve in a kindergarten bag with other red articles, including an arsenal top. Eventually I burned it and let the spirit out. There was a lot of calamity and screaming and unrest and upheaval when I did that.

I’m off to walk with her, my love. Try and do similar today or tonight. We’ll both be happy then. Goodbye until the next time chiefo.

 

I JUST DON'T KNOW

Glad to be back comrades. I’ve not been prioritising this blog quite enough. With God’s will that might change. I remember when I was doing five blogs a week. It felt really good to connect. I know you are reading; I know you are listening. I am thoughtful of you also. More so than anyone alive would want to believe.

Anyway, what the hell do you want?? I am an innocent TI.

Sorry, that wasn’t to you – that was to my oppressors. Their life must be dogsh*t in a bucket compared to mine, because I HAVE GOD. They are hell-bound for all of eternity, while I walk around doing whatever I want, within reason of course.

Enough about evil perps. Let’s try and concentrate on something positive and nice. Like the little smiles you get from the opposite sex. I’m not saying it can make your day but I’m not saying it will harm you either. Do you know what I mean?

It was a great group today at Pathways. I am able to contribute with my mouthpiece, now, at 9 Days Clean. Let’s keep going, and get some big numbers together. I love big numbers in recovery, I put them into the clouds and look at them. It is marvellous. Just walking along the street like, you know, is boring a lot, but if you mentally visualise big numbers in the sky, it makes your existence better.

I’m back on the weed, by the way. Only a tiny bit now and again. I was sectioned as a teenager into real man’s hospital. That was because of weed. Apparently, I had a psychotic reaction to it. Well I’m telling you, there is definitely something about weed and me. I had a one-pop and heard a hiss under my bed. What does that tell you? That the monster is back, for one. And that’s me on the batter, for two.

Negative, all that stuff. But I tell you almost everything. What is wrong with me? You know much better than me. I’m just a nob-jockey talking to the internet, whose opinion I trust more than my own blood. You are my cherished and treasured most inestimable beloved dearest darling. I really mean that. Especially if you’re a darling. If you’re a bloke, then don’t worry about it. Both women and men are White Voiders, right? All sexes and races welcome.

Things fine, anyway. I’m in touch with the universe and all that. I’m reading the bible cover to cover, currently up to Chronicles, very hard work. I’m attending church again, which is nice. I’ve mentioned my C of E experience, with the real proper communion. LET US EAT THE FLESH OF THE LORD’S SON! AND DRINK HIS BLOOD!

Charming, eh? But it really works. I’d advise all Tis out there to get some faith, which I already know they have. Good stuff. Keep going and never give up. All the best to you and all the best luck in the world I wish to you.                                                      

Katie

 

I’m between books at the moment, meaning that my divine right to finish the current story I am telling is under threat. Usually, God will protect writers who are in the middle of a story, because each author has a sacred honour to finish it. I’m not too sure if he actually does protect us, to be honest, I’ve kind of made that bit up, but it wold be nice if it were true, wouldn’t it? Still, I know I would be rather writing than not writing, that’s for sure, to garner some of that holy protection I’ve imagined to be correct.

This blog is the only thing I’m penning. I’ve even stopped my daily dairy. I don’t put much volume of work into the diary, but just little footnotes of what have happened to me throughout the day. A child’s smile, a robin, stuff like that. Little beautiful reminders. And of course the mundane stuff, like what I might have had for dinner or something. What I’m missing especially is noting down my astral experiences (dreams). They are soo awesome! I can’t frickin’ believe them! They need to be in the memory, for ever. I swear, I’m going to have to start jotting brief details of what happens in the dream-world down, just to jog the memory from time to time.

I’ve just met a scar girl gothic named Katie in my Positive Thoughts group at Pathways. She was really attractive, just my type, like Winona Ryder. She read out a teary poem which drew me towards her a lot. I told her I was a schizophrenic addicted to porn who endures psychosis. She seemed fine with it. That was good with me. She’s got ADHD and OCD and physical ailments and anxiety. I could really look after a poor girl like that, with all my mental health experience. We’d have good chemistry if only we were given the time and space to develop it. I would have liked to ask her for a drink in the pub together. But maybe I’m a lone wolf who’s destined to walk alone. Any old way, it was nice to see fresh young talent in the group. Sound like a perv there don’t I!?

I’m glad my latest bout of psycho-time is over. I never need to hear voices again for as long as I live. I decree, I can’t keep putting up with them. They’re too destructive to my will and my resilience. They wear me down piece by meaty piece; they tear me apart. I’m uneasy, on edge, paranoid, all of it. I feel like I’m constantly being chewed up by something, spat out, stamped on, and re-chewed again once more, over and over, all throughout the day is long.

Please protect me Lord. I promise I’ll do my best from now on to abstain from wicked practices. With your guidance, I will succeed. Grant me the power and the glory which comes from your son and all the holy saints. Amen x

Why Do I Have To Wake Up?

Well I achieved my goal of 28 Days clean just gone last week and threw it all away instantly like a dirty dishcloth. I thought to myself: I’ve accomplished it now, what’s the point of carrying on? Instead of pushing on forward, I cached in on my wank bank.

The pornographic images that flashed in, and that I acted on, were reminiscent of beautiful. That’s what the stars look like after a month of abstinence. They are so seductive and beguiling and captivating and all the rest of it. I was excited into getting to know them once again, after absence had made the heart grow fonder.

It turned onto a dark path however. I found myself fapping to things I did not want to. The shame and guilt for a day or two has been quite unreal. Now, though, I’m happy to say, I’m over it! I went to church, a nice C of E meeting, on the Sunday, and opened my heart to God. I’ve even seen two red-breast robins since. In certain circles, whenever you see a robin, it means that that is God making himself visible to the human eye. I whole-heartedly believe it. Do you think that other ugly birds, like crows, pick on them? Just a thought.

But yeah, I was questioning my own morality at one point. How can a nice guy fap to such stuff? It’s impossible. So now I am truly sorry and clinging to Precious, the woman under my floorboards, as if she is going out of fashion. I think I’ve failed her now, it’s too late to claw any love back, but I’ll always hold her tight against my heart. I’m empathically regretful of what I do. One day, I’d like to change. That day is now, hopefully. Let’s get back on the saddle and try again.

I went to a bible study last night, with Tom and Alex and Jessica and Sid and Kaylee. Kaylee is from the states, it was so nice to hear a female American accent. I didn’t pray openly like some of them did, but I am thinking about opening my mouth when it comes to the point of overtly praying for each other. At the moment I feel too embarrassed to speak, but I think I'm getting over it. Just a quick soulful prayer to God from the heart, honest and simple, is all that is needed.

The assassin creature came back in a way, after my latest use-up. Things were rather bad, but I’m getting on top of it again. I see myself as walking around in a dream state lately, what with all this stuff going on in my head, like women under the floorboards and monsters under the bed. It’s the only way I can see myself as being to cope with the situation. My astral life is off the hook, I was crying my eyes out to Natalie Portman in a dream last night asking her why do I have to wake up? Sad, ain’t it? And magical. 

 

Bait

I was feeling very tempted about having a wild all-nighter on the cocaine last night. It was halfway in my mind, I’m not quite sure why I didn’t follow through with it. The urge is still there today, but I felt better this morning for not doing it. Now I’m fairly certain that I can’t afford it, it’s never enough and it always runs out too fast. My speed dealer is saying that he’s stopping messing about now with pregabs, but it’s okay because he’s picking up some fast stuff today when he gets paid. Pregabs are my new drug of choice, but they’re not for watching porn on. I’m not sure, I might consider it, if I had some spare, to compliment the amphetamine. It would big-up the empathy with the porn stars. I used to bomb ecstasy for that reason in the early days. That’s what made me fall in love with some of them. Falling in love with a porn star! Yeah, I know!

That’s the way my life panned out however. I had nobody and nothing to turn to apart from sexy porn stars parading their adult wares on camera. Now some of them are part of my prolonged consciousness. There was nothing else to do, and I’d never even heard of recovery back them. I fell into a deep rabbit hole. Dependent on it for years and years. And now its undoing is proving very challenging. The porn stars look as alluring as ever; they’re all smiling and whispering me false promises: “Come back with us for a bit. We’ll make it worth your while. You won’t regret it.” x

Oh but I will regret it. I have to remember the woeful misery that succeeds a reset. I feel worthless and empty and hollow and vacant and distant from God. I can’t eat or shower or watch movies or read books or go out and socialise while being active. My whole world crumbles apart. My head falls off; my arse falls out. That’s when my perps kick the boot in also. The ‘voices’ and other modern terrors of mind-control all rear their ugly head. I swear, they can’t get enough of me whenever I falter. Why do they always pick on me while I’m down? When I’m stable, the bad guys and their creatures under the bed are nowhere to be seen. I should allow the will of my own resistance to motivate me, to see it as a war between me and them. I can’t let the bad guys win. I must deny, refuse, repel and thwart the enemy at all costs. But how do you forgo a sexy female good demon? Or a sexy female fallen angel?

This sexual impulse thing is ridiculous. It drives me like a horny goat. It has more power than thirst or hunger. I wish it would just leave me and be cast away from me for ever. I’ve asked this question before, but what would I do if my son was addicted to speed and porn? Would I batter him, or tell him to enjoy it with love? As long as he is enjoying himself and smiling, that’s all that matters.