General Thoughts

 My voices are saying that we are better than you, we are better than you, as is usual. Hence me not listening to them, as is usual. Just been to the coffee shop and the pub for hydration purposes. I bought two large vanilla lattes (extra wet…that means no useless foam at the top). The pub was crammed with rampant pure girly buttocks, honestly, there was fish-netted ass everywhere. This is because of a concert in the local park. All the bitches are dressing down in the tropic sunshine. There’s so much smooth tattooed flesh everywhere, all different girls and ladies, different ages, different sizes, you have to be careful with your eyes, or they may be led astray to a plunging cleavage you didn’t see coming.

I learned that looking once is natural and nothing to be ashamed of. Looking twice is undressing them. The third helping is adultery.

But do please remember, that all sins are forgivable apart from one, and that is blasphemy against the Holy Spirit, which involves renouncing The Lord from your life on a permanent basis. Only a fool would be so crackerjack crazy. Walking away from his glorious glow takes a hardened heart who cannot bear the beauty of his mercy anymore.

Please Lord, keep my heart soft and spongey. Keep me touched by the Holy Spirit, a soul who warms to empathy, compassion and kindness. Keep me in love with the way children move, and always regard innocence as truly sparkling in my mind’s eye. I cry, and am proud to cry, at the littlest thing. I have cried this morning already, just a single tear. If I may share it with my readers…oh yeah, it was an idea about a witches tribulation, I’ll write more about it soon, it comes from an idea buried in an ancient timeline somewhere, suffering makes me cry, and abject beauty does too, as with solitude, misunderstanding, pursecution, many amongst others.

I’ve always been a big old softie at heart, Lord, but now, oh now, I am fearing just a tiny bit with an inkling of uncertainty that I may be the monster some people genuinely see when they peer my way. This is born not from years of slander but from a rising sense of frustration, despair and rage, ever so slightly in my members. My fervent desire for women also rears its ugly head Oh Lord. This mixture of unpredictable wrath and insatiable sexual wanting are natural parts of me and I sure won’t let their guilt and shame stop me on my spiritual journey towards your seraphic heavenly realms, but my many opposers do not feel the same way. They will use anything to unsettle me, especially a bonky storm of my own making.

I’ve done great so far Lord, in my humble opinion, there’s nobody dead or covered in blood, please let me just advance more along the route, in monologue with inwardly angelic factors who I distinctly believe reside within me and are listening around the clock, to flipside the evil mind control. I have let down my ‘higher power’ of late, by not listening to it and giving in to the temptations of the sinful lions. Sorry, did I say lions? I meant to say loins. I need to regain total holy control and start pluggin’ in daily again, for starters.

Because, if things get out of hand, and I don’t listen to my own great humble advice, I might be sat here without knowing what a single word to write. That’s how it works. This fleeting capacity to share gets on up and leaves sometimes. That's why I mentioned my muse yesterday. She isn't certain, from one calamitous relapse to the next...

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WILL IRENE CONFESS? The Spectral Virus, Representing

She sits there tied up by her bosses who are determined to find out where this ‘Ghost In The Machine’ came from.

Smack her around the head and ask her about it then.

We are sooo getting sacked for this.

She’s only a cleaner, no one will miss her.

But won’t the floors get dirty after two or three weeks?

Better that than Born Slippy. Can’t you clean up properly or what?

And she’s the head of department?

She gets a robotic hoover. The others only get mops and buckets.

That’s where the sentience comes from then. A hoover or something. I mean, how do those robots know where to move to? It’s obvious Steve Jobs has put his brain into some of them. He’s too goddamn clever for his own good!

I think he’s a gimp.

A gimp!? What special type of mental arithmetic helped you work that one out?

The fact that he’s balding with gigs. That’s gimpish.

So most people I meet over 4o are gimps?

Especially if they have a keg as well.

Pardon me, but what’s a keg?

A dock-off power belly. That’s a keg on ‘ya. 

These things are bad luck and no one’s fault.

 But they are your fault though.

 Aren’t they though.

You should use caffeine shampoo to stop the male patterns, contacts instead of gigs, and do crunches instead of drink lagers. Dead. Pish. Easy.

Don’t forget the medicine ball.

Is that a glob of phlegm?

No, it’s a heavy ball you train with. Ask Jack.

Who’s Jack.

Some sick paedo who abused me by enticing me in with his medicine ball. That’s f**king Jack’s back.

At the youth club? When you was a kid?

Yis.

Did you sue?

He died the day the trial was supposed to begin. Some people say he escaped justice.

Where exactly did he stick his medicine ball?

Underneath his ass, mainly, while he sat on it. Then he sat me on him.

Was he erect?

Did something happen?

Did he come buckets?

Nothing like that. He just repetitively stuck his tongue down my throat.

I bet he smoked woodbine didn’t he.

No. Mints helped him forgive himself. Tic tacs.

I’d hardly call tic tacs mints. You wanna a big softmint or a trebor or a XXX.

Those XXXers are bangers.

Jack was pure XXX.

Sounds like it.

 I do what he did to me to my own kids now. I can’t help it. But only my daughters, not my sons.

Why do you do that?

Mainly because my wife just ain’t givin’ out anymore. Anyway. Irene…