We were busy having a conversation yesterday about all the absurd fear-based gimmickry I’ve observed in the digital realm, while observing niche adult material. I described in slight to moderate detail a very small proportion of some of the madness I’ve experienced over the years. Being locked away in a darkened room, engulfed by community based operatives and the dark energies they attract, has took its toll on my sanity. At one point in time I was expecting anything to turn up on the screen. I started seeing pornographic actors who I recognised from the local boozer; even members of my own family popped up on some of the dodgy videos. I spent a lot of time avoiding the faces of the actors, it was all very awkward. One woman I became aware of in one scene was relieving men while bathing in a bathtub full of urine. I couldn’t be sure of what I was watching at the time. I thought I was imagining it. Surely it couldn’t be Miss Henderson from four doors up. The camera was clever and misleading. It was when I became aware that I might be viewing snuff movies that I started to panic ever so slightly. Who knew the true nature of these shocking movies? There was no blood, but there didn’t have to be to make me afraid.
Sometimes, a mere expression can unsettle you. Angry people are scary, for example. For one unhinged period all the actors were saying they were getting punished with pain by the director, and that I was going to hell for taking enjoyment in watching them. I would hear screams and yells of torment from my next door neighbour to reinforce the fear. I’ve still never asked him what the Billy Whizz goes on in there. He’d probably lie about it anyways, blame me about it all, and get me locked up for crimes I never committed, like he usually does. Do my neighbours ever stop writing police statements about me? They’ve even planted drops of blood on my clothing while absent from the apartment. Rule One of Mind Control: Accept your domicile as a perp walkway. Yes, they do come in. And you don’t have to be out for them to do so. What of it. Keep trepassing. I’ll catch you one day.
Because I was zonal on chems though I could never react rationally to all this zany tube fodder. I kinda just went with the flow and got lost in the gnarly knotty intricacies of my sexuality, pulled in by painted dolls and shapely studs. Meanwhile, the movie I was watching was beginning to remind me of a slasher movie, not a bluey. I wouldn’t say I was watching people dying on camera, nothing of the sort in plain eye, but I was perceiving all manner of negative subject matter such as murder and bondage being transmitted through the footage, which I didn’t trust the authenticity of, via subliminal methods.
I’m not feeling very tempted today to revisit the so-called pleasure dome of sexual gratification. You may be aware that when I wasn’t watching hardcore on the PC I was involved in real female mantras from the other side of the wall. I don’t wish to give airtime to the lady in question but this particular type of self-abuse calls into play every aspect of my moral fibre. She is a sadistic masochist and her husband is a bloody marine of all things. He and his army friends take the time out to harass me now and again, trying to provoke me to run. They interrogate me in my own property and threaten me with lawful kidnap. I simply adopt a civil tongue and explain that I’m sorry for the adultery and implication in her curses but I wish to be left alone as a single man living solitarily as a peaceful law-abiding citizen. Sometimes it’s like being in the middle of a court hearing run by criminals.
There’ll be life and death here today, he says menacingly. I’m always strung out when they harass me.
I call all this naughty behavioural stuff rude voodoo. I’m trying to escape from its clutches by living cleanly and soberly, away from drugs and alcohol, which have a habit of nose-diving me back into the lecherous revelry of that world. I’m doing okay at the moment. I’m not a bad soldier considering everything I’ve been through. I thought I was merely a vegetable having out-of-body experiences in psychotic states, yet I now understand myself to be an agent of God been weaponized and activated for the real life combat I presently find myself quagmired in.
My oppressors thought they had me like a rat in a trap, catatonic and petrified and addicted to lust, enfeebled and exhausted and nothing but a plaything for their cruelty for the rest of my life, operating on a low vibrational frequency reading just like them. They called themselves black operative body snatchers who were above the law. They’ve had me incarcerated for nothing and medicated. Not to mention all the blasted rest of it. But look who’s calmly writing about what he is passionate about with joy in his heart, having the last laugh, while they break out in mild panic every time I deflect my attention away from them by talking to a fellow addict in the recovery centre for all of two minutes.
Pfft! Psychotronics, organized community stalking, slander, fake-assed mental health conditions, 24/7 reconnaissance and surveillance…all to run around with invisible suits on calling me names behind my back, praying earnestly inside their black hearts that I miss the next bus or trip over a banana skin. Apparently, they’d be set for life if I ‘hung myself’. Crikey, how long is that gunna take? I tried that already and botched the jobbie. All you need is some greasy slick rope, they advise, although they are unwilling to provide it themselves.
I’ve never been so happy though, now that I’m progressing in life with finances and vices and everything else, so why the bespeckled bejesus would I quit while I’m ahead? Just because a Chinese cannibal has decided he wants to be my best friend, and live inside the damp walls, despite not paying me a penny of rent, why should I get up and leave? I don’t much mind who invades my privacy, it’s been receiving rampant abuse for donkey’s years, I’m all but used to it. There’s really no big deal, don’t worry about it. Just turn off the dripping tap and switch off the lights.
None of your 21st Century Soft Kill rattles me.
The other night I was in tears laughing my head off at his latest petty attempt to disrupt some personal merry event or other. I think he was busy hiding one of my socks. How can perverted monsters who nobody loves be so jocular at times? I think it’s because they are all impossible nobodies. It lowers my frequency to rub elbows with them, so I’ll avoid giving them airtime. They crave unparalleled attention, it makes them feel big instead of being overshadowed by my wits all the time.
They’ve promised to hijack this blog away from me. They don’t want me to have a single thought in my head. Their thought erasure and memory deletion is on the increase. But that’s enough about their deeds. Honestly. I can’t entertain wicked stupidity. They’re too depressing to ponder. I’m just glad that they are occupied with me, instead of some young girly teenager who can’t defend herself. Please, don’t worry, I’m a highly effective soldier specifically engineered for this kind of menticidal warfare. It’s difficult to swallow but I’m beginning to accept it. The main thing is harbouring virtues in your heart, which I do. Once you are overtaken by bitterness you want war with everything in the war. I want nothing but peace and harmony and goodwill, and most of all a nice vibration. I’m the happiest warrior who ever lived.
Someone said that ‘everything vibrates’ lately. When radiating/emanating soulful vibes, I believe that I’m giving Heaven a glimpse of what is to come. As long as I can resist their evil ways for another couple of years, I should be dandy. I have these years in my future, now that I’ve ditched the poisons (touch wood). So I can stand and fight for my joy. I can love and laugh, which is far, far beyond anything even remotely close to what these cowardly timid dimwits are able to do, and a truly beautiful option for the meek and wounded. Not weak and wounded, meek and wounded.
Now there. Go play.
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