Any Distraction Will Do

 ~ⱦ^ꓻ_~🔆 

Where shall we go to today? I have the keys to the kingdom. The bottom of the ocean? A bat cave on Neptune? Underground, in a military bunker? Nowhere. We need to bugger off nowhere. We have everything we need right here. At the sweet spot. With yours truly. I don’t mean to big myself up, but nobody else will. All everyone does is put me down. That’s why I assume complete power when I sit here and tap these shenanigans out. Because not a thing resides here without my permission. This is all myself, myself unadulterated and true. No seedy toxic people dimming things over, stealing the light, saying they are going to ruin your life, and in trying to do so ruining their own. It’s nice to have a pocket of joy, a website, totally with nothing to do with any of them naysayers.

I advise the same to you. Even if it’s only cooking a nice meal. Claim your kitchen, claim your time, and rejoice in the fulfillment from something self-created and tasty to munch on. That’s what I do. I call it dirty rice. Rice with loads of assorted ingredients in. I mix the gravy in as a thickener, not poured on top. 

Any distraction from oppressive modern life is a bonus. Just try not to consume abundant quantities of narcotics and overdose on sexual hedonism. That’s what I turned to over the years, and I’ve wound up here, bumping gums about it until the 32^nd of Neverember. If you have nowhere to turn to, and a fat bank account, then I wouldn’t be surprised if you resorted to heaps of marching powder and subscription XXX, but it won’t sustain you into old age. The fear is growing out of it. There’ll be a void, and how do we fill it? Those flower-arrangement classes won’t fit the bill. Chess, origami and gardening might, but I wouldn’t bet you any amount of dollars to doughnuts on it. Cooking, as I’ve mentioned, is guaranteed.

Why not buy a blender, if you don't already have one? You probably have the best, don't you? How would I know? Lots of variable fun to be had. I remember when I was once at rock bottom and I had a dream. It wasn’t diving into Catherine Zeta Jones’ knick knacks. It was a grapefruit shake.

I was really dehydrated, depleted, and dilapidated. My tap water, due to my offhanded perception, seemed to have bugs in it. It tasted like petrol, if you can believe that. Orangina tasted like car window wash. The only thing I had any faith in was a grapefruit shake, mixed in a blender with ice. So I bought a blender. Now it’s covered in cobwebs underneath the sink, unused in donkeys. Only ever held a six scoop protein kidney kicker. Label advised two scoops. 

I think there’s also an impossibly chunky rat underneath the sink too, but I can’t be sure. Those bites in the night might be tactile hallucinations, like the doctor said. I’ve bordered it up with nails and hammers just to be on the safe side. Now I can sleep with my bare feet poking out. No more bumps in the night.

Speaking of the doctor…I once had a dark milf Indian chick with a mane of flowing brunette locks down to her waist. She looked like one of my hyper-real ideal erotic actresses. I envisaged her handling hard hung men (don't forget the men) on her dinner break, in my mind’s eye. I entertained a semi while she was prescribing me Olanzepine, and telling me that the creatures chasing me on the high street were phantoms of my imagination.

Was the gash on my leg the same thing? It healed miraculously the following day, don’t worry.

What we mental patients need are nurses who come out on home visits and hold our hands while tucking us in. You know, people who genuinely care, staff who are willing to spend some quality time with us in the perils of our psychosis. They usually fall back on isolation rooms when someone is struggling with unseen visual stimuli. Jab, strip, on your own in solitary. What does that achieve? I’ve seen some states in hospital. Scratches all over the limbs are an indicator of running wild through the woods. Schizos always seek nature when faced with the reality of suburbian stalking. Those same old roads and streets, with their familiar chewing gum and dog shit, are fair game for wicked pursuers. They pretend to have guns to scare you, they pretend to link up to intimidate you, they act all big time and important like they govern the order of society. When in fact they’ve been paid thirty quid to be where you are, acting with an air of menace which is false. 

Zilch. Nothing. Pathetic.

Like the dudes I tolerate on a daily basis. When you are scared they are large and proud, but when you face them for who they really are you realize they are not all that. I sincerely dislike talking about them. If you are under their spell, however, info needs to be shared. Don't be afraid, and live your best life.

That's honest and lovin' brethren advice from the 77th Piebalder.