Back Intact

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relapse.acknowledged.heart.

soul.intact.conscience

forgiven.rebirth.announced

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Damn! I said. I knew. A storm was brewing. Lord, I have failed you! Only kidding. I just had a single day off, that’s all. Now I am back in the saddle and feeling clear-minded. I think I may have just gotten away with it. There was joy and peace at stake, as these are the commodities which I feel illegal drugs and stroppy comedowns strip away. Fortunately, I have maintained my inner emotions after frying my brain with overpriced dodgy white poison. The sad thing is, I want to do it again. I know this is wrong. I should be declaring never ever more, but a single day, after 53 off, is no great shakes, is it?

I’m proud of my latest spree, there was an exorbitant amount of growth. All that development doesn’t disappear down the swanny after one wrong decision. I keep what I can remember and apply it to my future self. We learn from our mistakes. We’re proud of our accomplishments.

I’ve just been opposed in apology class for this attitude. The challenger said I was justifying myself. You may well have expected tears from a fresh wounding, but I am well over any of that shame/guilt/remorse nonsense. Not saying that I don’t have a conscience like! But I refuse to stand weeping in the corner for a month until my biochemistry returns to calibration. I feel okay about myself, relieved even, the only thing that went wrong was my neighbours faking a kidnapping skit, trying to get me to react. I think. I can’t be sure. Sounded like a kidnapping (and worse) right next door. I didn’t pick up a knife weapon and charge to the rescue. Keep pushing me though…

Oh, and something crawled into my mouth too, when I was sat there monged out in high sexual tension, it looked like a parasitical mouse, I’m accustomed to being crawled over by creatures a lot, but squeamish things like that don’t bother me anymore. I just swallowed a glug of chilli mayonnaise to wash it down.

I wish I wasn’t weird like that.

Strange stuff happens to me, I don’t engineer it.

I run a clean, proud home. If my government base neighbours decide to inundate it with genetically-enhanced animals, do you expect me to pack my clobber and flee for the hills? That would render me with no abode, and destitute, whereby the targeting would ramp up. No. I sit there with the little bas*ards until I come down off the drug, then deal with them later.

Admittedly, it does get a little embarrassing when you’ve got electromagnetic moggies pissing all over your head, and you’re sat there playing with the canary in the coalmine. But it’s privacy (I wish). Nobody is watching (as if). Apart from the neighbours. And everyone under the floorboards. How can they see me? My schizophrenic voices (who needs them) apportion blame to an invisible camera crew (can’t invisible people have cameras?).

I don’t know.

But. Most importantly.

I don’t care.

Nothing is coming between me and my self-abuse pleasure thing. I’m aware that all this sounds like I’ve swapped true love for the wide path (shouldn’t he have stopped behaving this way by now!?) but it is what it is, I’m making no excuses. Giving into my needs, when I’ve spent years rebuking them, isn’t gunna knock me off kilter.

I’m barely out of psychosis, I’ve relapsed, I’m this and all that, but I’m not letting my eye stray away from the Lord. I believe that I am chosen for God and nothing can come between that. In years gone by I would be drenched in fear, wondering if I would ever stop sinning, but Christ, it gets so hard all the time, I think I deserve a day off now and again under the pressure of natural manly desires.

Sorry, anyway, for what it’s worth.

But I can still write (thinking is impossible sometimes), and I ain’t done that dirty billy or porn yet either. I been giving it careful attention though, to no avail. With the coke, although I hit it quite hard, I get a second chance at life. My mind returns after a couple of days in the sack. On billy, it’s complete wipe-out with no saving grace.

In saying that, I don’t mind having no mind anymore. When a conflux of mind readers are harvesting your third eye imagery into a computer, you tend to wanna close up a little. Give ‘em nothing, Malone.

Hope all well in your world.