Siberia, Sober

I was in the pub the other day, and I consumed 5 bottles of non-alcoholic beverages. Since putting the booze down, it’s been my go-to thing. Never have I been so disappointed, however. It looked like a beer, it tasted like a beer, it cost the same as a beer…and I was in a pub, which is all about beer. Except that I wasn’t pissed. I was bloated though, it was terribly gassy, so much so that I felt quite ill. I had severe acid reflux later that evening.

What happened? I had a mini blowout without substances. That’s me off that shite now, it’s bollocks, honestly. I’d rather sip blackcurrant soda waters. The coffee in the pub is awful too, I call it steamboat fuel. I’m just sober and natural and high on life. Don’t get me wrong, the real thing (alcohol), has been calling my name over and over. I almost had an encounter with a beautiful pint of Kronenbourg. It looked me up and down and demanded I buy it for leisurely comfort. The first step in AA is admitting that we are powerless over alcohol. When you readily accept this into your heart, it can be quite weakening. How can a pint of beer be more powerful than me and all that I stand for? That’s impossible. With sex and cocaine, I have no problem relenting my position, but I’m not having a seedy pint of lager getting one over on me like that.

I thought of nature, and the cosmos, and my higher power, and how I used to have friends and a job and a family and a social network, and I summoned all my love into one healthy bundle, and I told that beautiful pint of Kronenbourg to sling its hook. Well not quite. I didn’t have to go that far. But you know what I mean.

And it’s the same with pathetic scumbags who won’t leave your life alone. You just simply ignore them. They start to panic when they are ignored, and cling to any portion of your attention desperately. The truth is, despite not being massively important government assassins and weapons of war, they are tiny insignificant criminal wannabes who crave attention because nobody loves them. My hatred of them used to be monumental. Now I actually feel a bit of pity for them. They hate each other and life itself because the devil they serve has banned them from joy. They are not allowed to smile or laugh. That’s why they cannot bear me joking to myself all the time. I must drive them equally crazy as they drive me. The only time they feel any emotion is when they have me crying on my bed at home, unable to venture outside. I promise, I am never letting the toerags seeing me down again. The less said about them the better. They don’t deserve any limelight here at the hotspot.

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HER [SIB]ERIA IS wipe out

Sorry, I’m just referring to a teacher I used to know. She was my first crush. I thought I’d fallen in love with her. Every sunset on the horizon reminded me of her smile. She was all that mattered in life. She said that I inspired her to be a writer, because of my dazzling fiction, which was based on her. I written about us on a bus out of control, it was called Tragic Unity, and later went on to become the Hollywood blockbuster Speed (1994). This is not the first time I have seen my work ripped off by Hollywood. They read the chip implant in my brain and steal all of my best ideas. They don’t even try to hide this, it’s the perfect crime. Tom Cruise even thanks me for them in a downloaded sound file. He says thanks buddy, keep up the good work. They reward me by not cancelling my security benefits.

Anyway, this teacher writes about a mental hospital in the fabric of her created reality, called Siberia. It’s a futuristic hospital. Straight up there are similarities between my work because my first novel was about a mental hospital too. Mine was called Jazat. Yeah, she has a better title, so what. But she puts me right in there, in her hospital, under a different name, but it’s me, I recognise myself in a myriad of forms. I can’t believe what I’m reading, it’s a signed copy from a private bash at Waterstones. Her main character even has the same name as my girl at the time. Her hospital is new age and ethical, they are trying freshly sanctioned schemes to engage criminals in compassion, mainly by showing them re-enactions of their crimes and administering special empathic drugs.

Loads of strange psychic events happen when I’m reading my special teacher’s book, too strange too mention like, they’re like a million to one chancey. One thing she relates her creativity to is bubble gum. She told me this in person before starting the book. She says that writing is like chewing bubble gum. Conrad Williams says that writing is like drinking water. I call it ‘wrangling’. Some call it ‘going. Anyway, I’m right at the end of her novel and bubble gum comes into my mind for some reason. I remember her quote. Then, two lines later, one of her characters is chewing bubble gum. Then I see a vision of her, an implanted vision, in my head, of her blowing a bubble. Via the chip implant.

Later she starts taking me to her hospital in modulated dream technology, deep in Siberia, where I meet several of her other ‘fav’ pupils from school, and various other randomers immersed in the detritus of my memory. I once read up that to fight invasive mind control methods like chip implants, the only defence is to turn to God and love in order to avoid becoming brimmed with hatred, which is the purpose of it. But how could I use my teacher’s grade-A fondness if she was one of the controllers of the evil program wreaking havoc in my grey matter?

I complained to her literary agent, implying her in remote neural monitoring and cyber harassment, but she just simply had me locked up because of my long steeped history in madness. Nobody believes a word I say. So, no wonder, when I start dishing the dirt back out to where it belongs and emanates from, it comes back to stick. Now I really am locked up in a real institution, going to her make believe institution in my dreams, and still rereading her stupid dumb bestseller book about me.

Her evil is Siberia. Her Siberia is wipe out. And her first crushy face is lodged all over my chip implant. They do say nothing can hurt you like love can. All the people I used to love are now my enemies, in this WAR ON JOY currently going on in my life. In Christ, it’s perfectly acceptable to show love towards your enemies. That’s what he advocated.

Today, instead of being an embittered old croak without pleasure in my life, hating all around me and wishing harm outward, I will be a shining exemplary beacon of love and friendliness to all I encompass. Please bless this vision, Lord, and help it to be true.

THIS IS HOW I WANT TO BE. IN CHRIST. WITH MY MAIDEN (ANGEL).