Relaxed Day

Just hanging around the town today, laid back, calm and peaceful, no conscientiousness or anxiety which usually comes along with being followed by an evil invisible tribe of brain projections and purps in cloaking suits, drinking coffee and chilled still waters, smoking freebie cigarettes,waiting for my ham butties and tuna sweetcorn pasta later, payday tomorrow, jobs a good’un. Having nothing for several days has given me plenty of appreciative time to think and reflect. I can’t wait to get spending again, loads more of fine eating, measured drinking, and being generally gut-busting merry.

You may think that what the Old Man Of Coniston does to me as rather alarming, and perceive me as a lowly hapless victim of his great immensity in wickedness. Make no mistake, I tell that sado knife licker the score when I can be arsed. I’m fairly competent at standing up for myself. But mostly I exist in my own little world, a kind of post-suicidal limbo, where the curious clash of one world against another (my internal: my sense data’s external) is never quite so boring that I lose all faith and hope in remaining occupied hour by hour. I’ve learned to split the day up by doing one small thing different, and that usually leads onto something else slightly different. Like going the shop, walking around the estate, going to see a few and far between mate. My sleeping time atm is ten till ten, although I do nap in the day. This period fears me a bit, as it’s long and draining and I keep waking up afresh with only an hour or two passed on the clock. Yesterday the authorities turned up at my door and tried to let themselves in to annoy me with procedures. I pretended to be kipping and ignored them. They detain me because I have shining within. I’ve figured this out. Because I’m glued to the Narrow Path. Don’t get me wrong, I stray all too commonly to the Wide Path, it’s delights taste deliciously (and dreadfully🙈) sweet, but I’m after stopping that altogether, and cementing my footfall to the thoroughly rewarding Narrow.

I racked up my 30 Days Clean Notice yesterday. That’s massive that, compared to Day 1. I feel safer. Anything can happen to you in psychosis on Day 1-4. You can get lowered onto flaming spikes after being scalped by an Indian. Your fears become a reality. Being consistently bogged down by evildoers, the world can be an intensely gloomy arena to extol one’s virtues. I’ve sacrificed a crop of angels in my misgivings this year, but I retain them in my heart and I fight hard to win over their fellowship still to this day, as a reformed candidate from the guy who let them slip away. I always talk to them. Over the years, plenty of energies have discarded my physical body. I am now clenching onto the last remaining vestiges of any. I feel confident that there is still something mega important residing within, despite having thrown a lot of angelic anima away thru sexual sin. It’s obvious by the way I am behaving. Judging by my predicament, I should be wracked with negative emotions and in a permanent state of trauma, but instead I’m looking forward to the England World Cup game tomorrow night, with a few beers to flit the time down away with.

30 Days is 30 Days. A lot can happen in that time spell. Time to recover, to heal, to feel better, to garner optimism, to start anew, to feel improved. I’m looking to build on it and shoot for that magical three month abstinence period again. My popular spree numbers are connected to the bible. I feel like I accrue some of my mental ability biblically. Some of the things its said to me in the past are mind-blowing. If I were to use now, and lose this rarity, I’d be back in a screaming squalor of suffering which hardens my heart and blasphemes the Holy Spirit. Three months is special. Beyond that I am daring to dream. Only cocaine and sexy women in the way. Believe me, it’s enough of an obstacle. I wish they weren’t there. The most powerful thing in an evil kingdom, I think, is not a cutting-edge killer with a weapon, but an old-fashioned typical boring old woe-man who happens to attract your lust. A killer can be disabled, or fled from, but try fending a bitch’s pheromones off when she is gagging for your enslavement, and you are burning for her steamy, wonton, pointy-breasted, long-legged, naval-pierced, pink-lipped attention.

Thanks for being present and casting your eyes over my typings. I plan to keep chiming in with recurring reality checks. Hope your world is safe, not mundane, and if I may not ask for too much of a good thing, slightly ever so magical. I wouldn't take that away from you, no matter who you are, no matter what you’ve done.

~I-AM-THE-ANGEL-MAKER~

and I am the dreamer of dreams

WORLD/MOVER [&] WORLD/FORSAKER

on.whom.the.pale.moon.gleams