A Complaining Bomb

Since I’ve redefined myself as a super soldier, my horrendously harassed life has become a little easier to cope with. I’m trying to no longer see myself as a target of futuristic stalking, which is helplessly depressing, but as a warrior showing these sad wrong’uns how living life is done. Thank goodness all this menticidal warfare is in my head, or otherwise I would lash out at these indescribable cretins and kill one of them off for good, as they so deserve. If one of them had the cohonies to knock on my front door and fight me in person, instead of picking apart my brain all day via cowardly microwave hearing methods, I think I might detach his head at the neck with my bare hands. Just remember, these obscene lowlife gangstalkers hate life and each other, so take all their loathing and dissatisfaction out on their victims. They cannot bear to be away from a Targeted Individual’s mind for any length. It’s like being out of shelter for them on a stormy day or something. They cannot THINK unless they are harassing someone. And the evil they do is directly relatable to the self-disgust they feel for themselves. That’s why they are after our JOY, because our feelings of happiness, when connected to their own brainwaves, distinctly unsettle them, just as their negative emotions of bondage and pain disrupt our biorhythms. Why they connect themselves to us, I have no idea. Perhaps it’s because they cannot stand to live alone, knowing they are putrid and vile inside. They need a human radio on.

Someone once said, “If all of mankind were able to sit in a room alone in peace, the world would be a better place.” Can you sit in a room on your own, doing nothing, maybe a bit of TV or a newspaper? If you can, fair play, take a bow. If you are unable, you are most probably an evil menace to has to interfere with sombody else’s livelihood to pass time. In recovery, we learn to sit with our emotions. It’s very hard. We want a drink, or a smoke, or to pace up and down, or to go out and rape Caroline from three doors down.

The energies I perceive around me, tormenting me consistently from morning until sundown every day without fail, I feel by now I am getting used to. I mean, you never do, but it just gets easier. Some days it gets harder, it all depends. They had me half believing that they were the Eternal Illuminati, invisible, porous, and all powerful. But listening very carefully to them over a number of years, I’ve just about gotten diddly done that they are not worth anywhere near my equal. This is not to say that I have any exceptional breed of greatness about me. It’s just to conclude that they are boring, repetitive, petty, small and unwanted. They no longer scare me, they just annoy me. I’m not getting angry because I have come up against a greater foe, but because they are stupid and will not go away. They cling to every thought in my head like babies to Mother’s apron strings, and it’s thoroughly maddening. They fidget and tamper with me, like toddlers obsessed with a noisy toy, and take turns to step in for one another when I lose interest in each of them. Their obsession in my life drives me mad. I see through their cynical criticism, designed to hurt and bring me down. I know there’s only one way to be sitting in a pub, and that I can’t be doing it wrongly. Sometimes I go for long stretches waxing creative philosophy in my head. They have no idea of how to keep up with me and so instead simply resort to racial slurs. Then they have the nerve to repeat over and over that they are ‘better than me’ at everything, because I am nothing more than a stupid negro who doesn’t know anything about nothing, or nothing about anything, depending upon which you prefer. The fact that I am black and smarter than they are chews them up big time, I reckon. Their uppity ‘we-can-never-be-caught’ snobbery cannot take being outdone by a monkey. They cannot believe what I know and what I tell them and how I respond to them. Not like Eternal Illumnati, but like complete wasteful rags of filth who don’t deserve to breathe the same air as other humans. I mean I can’t be sure, but their reactions are so infuriated lately that I have to remind myself that it is they who are harassing me, not the other way around. I’m starting to feel guilty, talking of them this way. Considering they are stood behind my computer at this very moment, huffing and puffing! Backlash on it’s way…I might be getting punished by a numpty ghoul tonight! Is it a ghoul from the darkside, or a black op who can’t sit still? Seriously can’t tell the difference.

You know what, if I went out of my way and met an attractive girl, or if something else nice and cheery were to happen to me, I think my oppressors would curl up and cry.

As it is, I’m happy that my life matters and that I am fighting for a beautiful purpose such as Joy.