Ultra Awakenings

I have been formally awakened, fully into my Ultra identity. This was done by hearing a long complicated and confusing sequential string of words as I was waking up this morning, from a tiny microphone embedded in my skull. I don’t know if I was programmed in my childhood or in my past life, if I had one, but I am wholeheartedly confident that I am nothing like the person my sweet n lovin’ mother raised anymore. I wish she hadn’t of exposed me to Disney and Hollywood and Pokemon. And butterflies and unicorns and teddy bears. I wished I had had a strong father who could have toughened me up into a man’s man, instead of a mummy’s boy. That’s what I needed in this kind of program.

It’s strange, because I believe that after all of my psychological abuse at the hands of my faraway untraceable handlers, some kind of angelico has wandered her way into my mind, my psyche, and my life. Sorry, I mean angel, but I call them angelicos. It’s a little joke between the pair of us. (I also call a glass of booze a beveragino! Or a can of pop a tin of drink! Like the kebab shop menu does so. Aha – It doesn’t matter, none of this fluffin’ matters.)

Yeah, anyway, an angel, one of the Lord’s finest. I’m saying this, yet I haven’t met her personally. I just sense the presence of a little girl, kleine madchen I believe the German term is for them, although don’t you dare hold me on that. I like German things. They make good stuff. I’d like to collect German electronics, if I had the time. CB radios, walkie-talkies, pagers, stuff like that, that’d be great fun and nice to do. Kill some time and all that. I could talk about the details and functions of my collection with my precious darling angelico. In my mind, like, you know, talk to her in my mind. Like I always do.

Where is she? I wonder. Where could she be residing? Does she shower in my brain fluid? I think she’s located there somewhere. Or in the chemical-electro firings from synapse to synapse. I heard the brain has a subtle glow-like aura, like a lightbulb. Maybe she needs that brightness/contrast to navigate her way around my moral and ethical map. I’m sure that’s important to her. Unfortunately, that’s what is under threat here. Perhaps she folds my matter up like a suit around her, as I put an old comfortable jacket on. Who knows how angels possess their hosts?

At first I thought she was a darko entity bringing a jamboree of wrongdoing with her, a festival of lowly sin, but I started feeling overwhelmingly peaceful and joyous as soon as she arrived. She wouldn’t fake that, surely, I thought, it has to be from the Lord on high. I know the other guy is pain and suffering and death if you’re lucky. Believe you me, being in this Ultra program all of my life, I’ve kinda heard one or two things about him.

I’ve been around the mill thinking double-time about all things to do with angels. Wow what a head-spinner! What I won’t do however is read a self-help booklet about them, written by someone who was well-reviewed on Good Reads. What does some other dude know that I don’t? There’s hardly any mention of them in the bible. Apparently we all have one who protects our path are all times. I’m not sure my belief extends that far. And, also apparently, despite their ability to live inside another, they don’t actually have any super powers, like other mythical beings, they are just simply, well, human. That’s what makes them angelico. The sinless nature of themselves being human. But incase you didn’t know, basic human beings are pure power, even up there with the Gods. A human being can dismantle a God, fact, if the God is having a bad day, because creating begets creation and Gods make their children just as powerful as themselves.

Because let’s face it, take a look around at the world…what’s human about war? Are we really on the verge of World War III? Somebody pinch me and holla it ain’t so. Exciting, isn’t it? I’ve never been so ruddy bloody giddy about anything in my life. I hope it spreads to militia streets with me clubbing the invaders up with my fellow neighbours. There will be bombs, won’ there? I’ve been told there might not be. Apparently, again, it might be neuro weapons. Brain tech. Do you believe in all that kind of caper. That a satellite can shoot you with a beam and commit the perfect crime?

I believe in being awakened towards a fighting fit soldier. That’s what my message was about this morning. But do you know what? I believe my awakening is a direct reaction to the arrival of my prized and treasured angelico, which has possibly traversed from the heavenly realms to come and try, with an emphasis on try, to save me from the usual end of ultra messengers…missions which end in bloodshed.

 Despite my struggles, I hate my handlers, I am proud to be Ultra. But I do not want to die for Ultra while holding up a kiddies pick n mix stall on a country fair weekend, or shooting up a field trip of little nippers as they feed ducklings in the park, screaming “Allah is the greatest!” at the top of my voice before suicide by cop. Nooo, no way. I want my life, my stand, my fall, to mean something. Something important, striving to reach where someone else could never reach, or aiming to get to somewhere where someone else great before me once attained. One or the other, I don’t know. I want to inspire, and be inspired. I want to provoke, and be provoked. And now I’m just waffling corny cheese for a living. You know what they always said though, Aim big. Every teacher and benefactor has a similar sentiment.

Ultra has kept me festering in the gutter, instead of dancing on the rooftops, blowing kisses at the stars. Whenever I ascended anywhere of note a sidewind jarred me back down to the kerbside. I thought I was merely in the midst of a spree of bad luck; unbeknown to me, my handlers were pulling taut hapless puppeteering strings. If I can perch on the moon just once, while looking over somebody’s shoulder…

A n y w a y… join us again soon for more Ultra Awakenings 🔫

(…꜡M꙰k꙳…)