Quick Check In

Raise a toast to surviving another hectic day and night on this manic planet, people! I’ve barely scraped through myself. I mean there’s hard, and then there’s hard. I’m getting battered every time I turn around at the moment. You wouldn't believe what's going on in my life. I doubt you'd want to swap heads with me for longer than thirty seconds. You'd be hopping out of there after just several thoughts, not to mention the chemically-unbalanced hallucinations that appear with almost each and every one of them.

After several days of staring into space in my slob gear, I've finally managed to get down here and arrange a few sentences together (not these ones). I've found a few ideas which are really clawing at the page, instead of swirling around lifelessly in this head of mine you wouldn't want. I've made a start on a short piece of work which will scare the pants of you. I swear, you'll want to sleep with the light on. Stay tuned for more info, as I'll be posting it soon. Stay safe also too.

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.

Precious Says Hello

I mentioned several months back that there was a woman underneath my floorboards getting punished by repulsive gleaming sharp blades, used by perpetrators who are less than nothing without their gleaming sharp blades, every time I gave into the sometimes irresistible temptation of my sinful loins and viewed porno while taking illegal drugs.

In my warzone territory, I am accustomed to hearing screams emanating from beneath me, and so have been accustomed to bearing them for many years. When I first heard a protracted, drawn-out, long-winded yell of mortal anguish from down there on one occasion, early on in my toilsome struggle, I considered taking an overdose on the spot. Just as I lined up over a hundred tablets, not girly paracetamol by the way, but hard-hitting, high strength anti-psychotics, my ex-girlfriend rang me out of the blue, whispering words of false love into my ear. She turned out to be in on the racket too. The racket that makes money from innocent suffering.

The broad actually getting battered, the gal being garrotted for all I knew, this damsel in distress mode, en femme in extremis, has sounded like to me to be an inextinguishable soul. I’m not quite sure what is going on down there, but it sure ain’t no charming fat man selling candy floss at the fair. Hidden evil is not the term.

She begged me to stop, stop playing with myself, but I was unable to. She asked me to delete this blog for mentioning her name, the name of Precious, and she was so disappointed, so resigned to hopelessness, I almost erased all memory of her. As you know, however, sometimes all we remember is that which we are trying to forget. The heartache of slipping backwards with the lust was paramount. Knowing that someone was getting hammered with bright gleaming blades (and worse), so close to me, with me holding myself responsible, responsible for her torment, crippled my mentality like an elephant squatting down on my pea-sized head. I felt crushed like under a Blue Whale, like an insect under an Atlas Stone. I’ve been through a lot, and I know all the aggrieved say that, but nothing could have prepared me for the sheer internal discombobulation I experienced when I severed the connection between me and Precious. She called up:

“They won’t hurt me if you don’t watch it! Every time you watch it, and ingest those horrible toxins, they peel my skin back all day long! Promise me you’ll change and become a good man!”

Despite the gravity of the situation, I continued to let her hopes down and view illicit material. Massive jugs and painted smiles, you know the one. I just sort of blocked her screams out, numbed by the drugs. My medication also muted my emotions. Then it occurred to me one day: Here I am on the bones of my arse in the dark, kecks around my ankles, slobbering over a tranny getting her back doors kicked in by three big buck immigrants in 4K UHD, about to blow my beans into Kleenex, and some beautiful woman is getting wounded beneath my floor space, shouting out my name to help her over and over. This is no joke, I thought. Her aggressors would speak:

“After we’ve finished with your cutey-pie darling soul mate, who you can’t save, because you’re council tenant and weaponless, then we’re pulling out her goofy teeth, and we’re coming up for you in approximately eight minutes. Yeah, for kidnap. Get ready to meet Precious. She can’t wait to say hello. Say hello, Precious.”

“H e l l o…”

They always threatened to drag me down there with her. Who was she, should I be partnered with her? Was she someone close to me, an old flame I’d forgotten? I have a long-lost sister whom I’ve never met, could it be her? How many others did they have, aside from this rosebud? I’m not sure about you, but I’m not an expert on seedy underground labs governed by bored masochists. How many victims are they usually content with? Just one? A dozen? A hundred? A thousand? Just how big is this secret bunker of depravity I live above?

To be dreadfully honest, I don’t much give a damn about what a rotten stale and bland bunch of sadists do underneath my floor boards, or, for that matter, who they do it with. As long as I can stroll around up on the surface in the sunshine then it means bugger all to me. Hell is none of my business. I haven’t offended God all that much in my heart, apart from ignoring Precious, and, for this, I am uttermost sorry and regretful for failing her in the past. She makes me suicidal, when I don’t take notice. Every night I hear her crying out my name, and every night my deepest soul responds to her screams with more screams of my own.

I’ve kicked my negative vices (so far so good), and now myself and Precious are on good terms, albeit separated by what feels like different realms, even though we are within earshot of one another. Hers, mine, our perpetrators are put off by our positive bond. Their loveless emptiness despises love in others. They can’t hurt Precious, and they can’t hurt me. They continue to hurt each other though, in all of their engulfing loveless emptiness. Their empty lovelessness. As the bible says, evil slays the wicked. God preserves, and protects, loving binds.

Another Day Getting Battered By Perpetrators

Teched-out last night as usual, as I am around the clock lately, with sincerely malicious perpetrator brain weaponry. It feels like a heartless government official is swirling a whisker upside, inside and around in my napper, jumbling all my thoughts up, deleting my thoughts, so as they topple and spill into ridiculously daft computer game animations, which have absolutely nothing to do with me or reality. They brag about implanting pictures in four dimensions, then berate me for not being able to do the same, which is hardly unsurprising, because I’m not a Tesseract expert. My lovely charming perps are constantly running mind control imagery through my head these days. They reckon they are doing this with their minds, as if they have some kind of natural psychic phenomenon going on. In truth, the images are computer-generated. I don’t believe that the human brain can insert video nasties inside another brain for 12 hours of the day without a BCI (Brain Computer Interface). With the advent of this extremely sophisticated technology, the criminal heinous users will try their darndest to convince the victim that they are some kind of omniscient deity. They will also tell the helpless, stricken victim that he or she is some kind of omniscient deity as well! They repeat this mythical accusation in order to justify their ruthless persecution, saying, as they bang on at me so very often, that they crave power. And believe you me, it does take some power standing up to these mad perverts.

I don’t know, ya know…it’s like knitting fog, dealing with them. There are so many! They form an orderly queue*, waiting for a prompt from their bag of shite ‘leader’ so they’re allowed to tell me to itch my nose. They say they get happy every time they make me itch my nose. This sounds tedious, and it is. They are so angry, so bitter, so hostile. Their contempt grows more deep-seated by the day. Their sharpened tongues spit nothing except vulgar vileness. Every minute of the day they harangue me, including now, as I type. Do they have to swear all the time?

“Andy, everybody hates you. When we’ve finished drinking this goblet of infant’s blood, we’re gunna break into your house and beat you with clubs. Then you’ll be coming down into our seedy lab we got Ze Germans to build underneath your floorboards, to be skinned and crucified in Hell. Don’t worry, because if you survive, you’ll be rewarded on Christmas. We’ll let you shag a dead pig. Now you know where the bathroom is, so go and get a razor blade and slice open your wrist. You know the one, downward stroke. And do it double quick-time before we kidnap you!”

I’ve heard this discord over and over and over again for the last 12 years. It was terrifying before I discovered they were numpties. Now, because they know that I know that we all know they are bell-tips, they have stonking erections for my suicide. They practically fall over one another to insult me. They are practically interested in my fingers and my genitals.

“Why are you biting you nails? Why are you sat with your legs crossed? Why are you drinking your cup of tea like a queer?”

And, when in the shower…

“Why are you washing your filthy woggy nut-sack like a coon?”

I’ve heard them break into tears, panic, and even HURT EACH OTHER simply because I am enjoying a nice meal, which they hate. I’ve realised lately that ANYTHING I do positive literally wounds these trough-feeding cowards in the heart. They want me wiped out so much, and ended, that they cannot bear me to crack a smile or entertain a cheerful thought.

Every time I think of something pleasant…

“You’re not having that! You don’t deserve to think!”

It’s depressing talking about them, because they watch me the same way I used to watch blue movie stars, infatuated and obsessed. Voyeurism screws you up royally in the end. I should know it, having watched at least 30,000 hours of hard-core over the years, and that’s a conservative ball park figure. Double that easily, for perps watching me. Do you think my mother is proud, lol? What about their mothers, for Christ’s sake? Actually, my charming mother is part of this. It’s not right to spend your ENTIRE ADULT LIFE studying another human being’s genitals in clandestine quarters. Instructing him, while you’re there, umpteen times a minute, to scratch his or her forehead. Don’t forget to adjust that ball-bag properly also too.

“We’re in your head forever! You’ll never get us out! Your life is a waking nightmare for the rest of all eternity. There is no escape!”

Being said in a scary voice of course. They can die and rot of starvation down in their specially-crafted pit for all I care. However, despite the sharp and steady degeneration of my targeting, some sure and steady miracles have been happening too, helping me to keep my spirits up. These marvelous signs and wonders are even more bizarre than hearing disembodied voices and hallucinating, but they are very difficult to put into cogent words and sentences. God is inexpressible, isn’t he? Peace Beyond. The revelations seem to revolve around, at the moment, among several other fantastical notions, children and orbs. I’m not shy of a bit of time-travelling at the weekends too, if you believe in that kind of thing. Told you I’m special. I’m still processing the dramatics of it all currently, and trying to work out the best role I have to play in it. If you’re listening, Alan (My Superior), then the mission is going very well. It’s all very frightening, wondrous, and amazing. Isn’t life a bowl of cherries, eh! See ya next time! Take good care of yourselves, and each other x

*Q. What do you call a queue possessed by a demon? A. A line dance