I woke up after the standard dream manipulations into a fresh cacophony of gibberish from my stalkers. I always try not to mention them here, as there’s more to me than being a whistleblower, and they crave any semblance of limelight I afford them. My sexual thoughts puts benzene in their pencils, if you know what I mean. They even take credit for this blog, believe it or not. They say that they are putting these words onto the screen through my fingers via my head. Or though my head via my fingers. They act like I’m a puppet of theirs, but like a dream come true I’m starting to see them all as puppets of mine. Unwanted puppets which I’d like to burn on a bonfire, I have to say.
They can’t bear for me to be cheery. If I am, they are cheerier. If I am breathless and laughing myself to tears, which I do often, because I’m going prematurely senile, then it is they who are giving me the joy. If I find a cash five pound note, then they find two. They are ridiculously petty and immature. I’ve said I’m not going to insult them anymore, because like the potential of all worked-up tongues, my words have the capability to pierce to the marrow. I don’t want to hurt my sorry clan of cling-ons, I simply want them to rot in Hell without bashing their gums about my phat belly. They always talk about my phat belly. I know what my own belly looks like.
To anyone out there who is hearing voices and suffering from hallucinations, which are either brain projections or invisible suits, but not a natural disease, please do not panic to the point of despair. Simply quit your vices and you’ll be fine. They prey on our own downfall and they want us to pull the trigger ourselves. Suicide makes them HORNY!
I first saw ‘invisible men’ on the day Corona Virus broke out. I’ve had them chatting all manner of sh*t in my ear ever since. At times it was hellish, they were chasing ‘my fear’ (not me, my fear) all around the estate throughout the night. I’d finally return home, relax, only to ‘partially see’ a blood-soaked weaponized invader invite himself in through the wall. So I’d leave, and start the dance, or shall we call it chase, all over again.
I’ve been such a scaredy-cat in the past, aw man, you would think I was a hopeless coward with the jitters. Two things here: I wasn’t. Plus: There’s nothing wrong with being a hopeless coward with the jitters. These are hardcore criminals with a budding thirst for brownnosing their way up the chain. They will stop at nothing to see innocent suffering. It’s okay to be terrified out of your wits among this devil spawn. I’ve seen people so scared they’ve been running naked down the street away from emergency services. I’ve practically been that person myself. Who to trust? No one.
But alas, people, there is hope, because after putting up with their grief for so long, you start to see it bleedin’ at the cracks. They are just a bunch of bored sados who can’t survive on their own.
We do better than survive on our own. We thrive while surrounded by them. So may you lot live long and watch me progress.
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