Out Of It - Where Did You Come From?

So it’s once more into the fray then, in this 3^rd World War battle for the human mind. I could think of other things I’d rather be doing. I’m taking it all in my stride to be perfectly honest. I know who I am, I know what I own, and I know what they want from me. It may sound naïve, but I’ve never been aware of info like this. I’m starting to begin to accept how important we all are in this melodrama. They’ve spent millions keeping you from the truth.

I remember opening up the bible and being reduced to tears by the first psalm I read. I started seeing childlike images of a cartoonish nature behind the fading, smeary text. My tears were making the words drool and slip and slide off the page, revealing colourful depictions underneath. It was all very life affirming. I believe that revelations like this are scarce and mighty, and that somebody out there didn’t ever want me reading the bible for this reason. They call it the Living Word and I trust in that. Once, when I was reading it while homeless on the streets of Liverpool, I could hear a man deep in my subconscious roaring out the print with me. I wouldn’t say he was God but I’d be surprised if he didn’t think he was. He was a character in my schizo circle who would then become known as The Father. He has several brothers. Sometime the other year I counted all the personalities in my schizo circle, and the full house totalled 30-odd. I hereby trust none of them at all wholeheartedly and remain standing alone. I know a girlfriend who also concurs that all of her angels shat on her as well. That’s just life. Those evil spirits are forever mimicking pleasant presences. But you work them out eventually. They’d con you for all time if able.

I’ve seen evil spirits in their natural form. They look like big black and hairy caricatures of comic sketches resembling oversized creatures with silly expressions. They like to assimilate themselves into people close and familiar to you. They love to look like your partner or your best friend, even when everyone knows that they’re not. I got told, by an evil spirit incidentally, that my interracial pornography use attracted so many into my life. Apparently, sex between members of different races is like a red rag to a bull to them, they can’t ignore it. Good job I haven’t watched it in over a year then. I swear, I’ve seen enough tits n arse to last me ten lifetimes.

Imagine if you’re an evil spirit and you’ve been summoned by the dark manager back to Earth for a simple assignment of possession. You think to yourself wow, what could this be, is it a mass ritual of carnage on an Indian burial site? No, it’s just a man tossing off in a council flat to Barely Legal 18. He’s looping the money shot and sticking his tongue out for some mad reason. Plus he keeps swapping his hands and speeding up. And he keeps looking around the room, as if he’s expectant of company. Maybe his other half is due back from the salon or something. Perhaps she can catch him mid-whack and nip his disgusting habit in the bud, because he’s a filthy fapper who can’t stop playing with itself and doesn’t wash its own hands before he stops to raid the fridge.

I remember many times when I was in the shameful habit of self-abuse, lost in deep dark torrents of XXX material. I’d be out of it on Class As, in a sexual euphoric cloud of delinquency, watching hardcore this and hardcore that over and over again, in a proper trance like, slobbering and everything, when I’d take a glance upwards and notice someone in the room with me. Instead of reacting with shock and horror, I’d simply look away from them and turn back to my restricted exploits on screen. I didn’t care about my perps getting ‘extremely’ close to me. My condition was so out of it that I made it fantastically easy for them. One perp in particular said he was going to appear from behind the settee and pull my underpants down. He said the last bloke he did this to killed himself inside 45 minutes. I told him that I wasn’t settling for that happy-crappy, my underpants were already down, and I was ringing the police. He had no idea that I never get the police involved, because all they ever comment on is my medication. He didn’t appear from behind the settee to try and pull my already-down underpants down, but he did smash one of my mirrors when I was sleeping. I left him some flowers one morning, as a joke.

Yeah, mid-wank, in a trance from drugs…some very weird things happen indeed. I once looked up and saw a giant rat hanging upside down from a chair looking straight at me in fascination. Then it waddled over to me and pissed down my bell end. Serioiusly. Truthfully. Honestly. No lies here. And that’s nothing, compared to other stuff what happens in that state, all alone in the apartment, which is swarming with hateful perps and their booby traps. I am more often than not too frozen with panic to react.

My perps, when I am wiped-out on harmful brain-numbing poisons, simply open the front door and pile animals into my home. No shit. It’s dark, and too late to do anything about it by the time I realise what is going on. It’s the way the animals move, all stealthy and creepy, above the periphery of my f**ked up lowered eyes. I often have strange creatures engineered in laboratories surrounding me in my own darkened home. I’m off my nut listening to female satanic mantra, chugging my bishop sinfully, so what chance do I have with all of my attention distracted. My brains are all blown out everywhere with hundreds of pounds worth of nasty narcotics, albeit terminating my brain chemistry. Things slither all over me and even lay eggs and stuff in my mouth. Parasites in my stomach have audible conversations with one and other.

Then, when they admit me to hospital for ‘neglect’, all they do is inject me with wood polish against my will and tell me I have an overactive imagination. And why the hell can I hear moans and groans of pain all around the building? Isn’t this supposed to be a safe environment? Sounds of torment follow me around, and everyone looks terrified that a goon squad might jump out from around the corner with a machete and start cutting everyone’s ears off. Honestly, ever since I watched that movie Hostel (2005), about a network of torturers, I’ve never felt safe anywhere I go. Thanks for that one, Eli. But in hospital!? Anywhere, mate, anywhere.

I was in a general ward one time when they were all making calls (the nurses and staff) selling me on to other hate breeds around the region. My net worth shot up to £3million. This was for the purposes of pain infliction. Apparently I am very popular and sought after because of my appallingly low pain threshold. I can’t state it to the rooftops high enough that I am surrounded knees deep in sado masochists who wish me great harm around my lawless neighbourhood. All the authorities are in on it and only Christ and his angel ilk are keeping me afloat. If you feel like you are on a hopeless plain then keep in touch for help and support. I live day to day on the edge of my survival wits but am happy and proud to be a soldier who is hard at work fighting for tomorrow’s children not to be unwitting victims of horrible mind control, which is a genuine threat to all humanity.

What if I give up and the next soldier, my replacement, is not as strong as I am, then what chance will he have? I’ve been up against the invisible soldier and the porous soldier, all with his incredible array of weaponry, and I am still here engaged in glorious combat with him and his numbered foes. I’ve held my own against half a dozen assassins in my home, and still sleep next to the window with no curtains bathed in candlelight, with nothing to hide.

I am unashamed, and ready for the oncoming battle. Of the mind. Here’s to it, Amigos.