Guard Down

(🎡) This latest two day ‘blip’ had me strictly planted in the doldrums, but yesterday I snapped out of it and had a little dance to music. Today I’ve been to class, which was off the menu I thought, so that was positive also. I decided to keep my mouth shut for a change and just listen. I’m still processing the awfulness. I didn’t want to spill my guts about being targeted for imaginary psychosis and all the rest of it so soon. Not until I’d computed exactly what the frig had happened.

My harassers don’t half grow a set of cohonies when I’m strung out on narcotics. They know that I wouldn’t say boo to a goose, when usually I’m on the batter. They completely surround my home. The neighbours are terrible, their properties are being used for observation bases (and worse). It’s hard not to react when I’m sober, but on a speed comedown I’m easy pickings. And boy do they pick at me well.

Because my guard was down they got down to business. I think I saw a child being kidnapped. It could and most probably was a skit, I can’t be sure, but it wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t vulnerable. I want to apologise to my God for being a helpless druggie sometimes. If not for addiction I would be in fine fettle to deal with gangstalking. As it is, when I am catatonic in the midst of a synthetic hell, with no brain activity, and other people’s graffiti on the ceiling in my own home, I am an elementary target with no effective mental defence (EMD).

I hope and pray that you are not a soldier in this Silent Holocaust, and going through similar rigours of organized criminality. If you are getting stalked, then stick around. I get by with a faith in God, even though I’ve suffered the loss of multiple other higher powers who jumped ship at the first sign of mutiny. Now I stand alone in the face of adversity knowing only who I am and how I came to be this way. Chosen, I believe.

I escaped some of the comedown by reading a good book about addiction. Gossip Girl goes to rehab. It’s bad enough, on top of normal life, but being targeted as well? Forget about it.

Ah well, life goes on, and I can only make another concentrated effort to protect my peace and my joy. I feel like telling myself never again, but I’m not sure what the point is. Every time I’m doing well I screw it up. But I do keep doing well. That counts for something. At least I have some recovery to abolish. If I used every single day I could not imagine how bad my life would become. It’s only these sprees of revival which give me any hope. The way I fight back defines me. And this written testimony, of course. It’s not as creative or inspiring as I’d like it to be at the present time, but God willing I’ll be back to my best sooner rather than later.

Other than that and me, I wish that you are well on this day. I’m battling this contest so that somebody else out there doesn’t have to one day. There’s an agenda out there who wants us all hooked up to a computer with our brains siphoned off. I know this because it’s happening to me.

But monumental ape strong!!!

The Kidnap

 

Glitch looked forward to spending his ten grand fee for kidnapping this latest victim. He planned a holiday to Spain, relaxing in the English bars and tanning his bod on the beach with Dry Martinis in hand. There were secret cameras in the victim’s bedroom, linked to Glitch’s phone. Glitch always had his phone out. He charged it religiously every night to keep the battery active during the days. Today, he’d charged it this morning, because it was now night. 3am, to be exact, a time when the target would definitely be sleeping. He could see the target was sleeping on his phone screen, as snug as a bug in a rug. He wouldn’t be soon. He would be chloroformed and dragged out of there, feet first, into the waiting van. Glitch’s accomplice was the driver. His nickname was Burnout, because he had a history of arson. When they started kidnapping people in Brazil, Burnout often torched the shack once they were done. Not to destroy any trace of evidence, but because he liked looking at his shadow amidst all the curling flame and smoke.

There was a soundproofed garage not far away from where the victim was headed. Some implements waiting for him involved a claw hammer, a ripsaw, and a selection of novelty bladed articles fashioned specifically for purpose in a shady tool shop in Belgium. The buyer apparently had a special futuristic cutting-edge helmet which, when placed around a dead guy’s head, could resuscitate him back to life. Eternal preservation. This part blew Glitch’s mind, and he half thought the buyer was lying, trying to show off or something. He was up to date with the Torturer’s Handbook 2025, and, so far as he knew, there was nothing about life after death in it.

This victim was a vagabond, a runaway, with no security on his poxy downbeat council flat on the periphery of an unlit cul-de-sac. Not even a door light to scare the cats away. Glitch extracted a cut key and prepared to enter. Behind him, Burnout spat on the ground in derision of the victim’s poverty, something he frequently did before entry. The van was still running with its back doors open.

Glitch studied his phone. The cameras in the bedroom had audio, and the wastrel guy was snoring peacefully. As he neared the key to the front door lock, the victim suddenly stopped snoring, rolled over, and sat up. Burnout craned his neck to see Glitch’s phone.

“I'll be Goddamned, it’s true,” he said.

Glitch and Burnout had been warned of this. They had been told that the target had a protective ghost who woke him up every time he was about to be kidnapped. This was the eighth attempt on his life. Glitch had been confident that spooky stuff like this wouldn’t happen to him. He was too professional to be slipped up by anything so make believe as a supernatural entity. He was Glitch, for Christ sakes!

“F**ker’s got a guiding hand,” Burnout whispered, and retreated. Glitch retreated with him. It appeared that he wouldn’t be getting his Spanish retreat after all.

In the darkness of an empty room, a man with a ransom on his head heard a spirit whisper two simple words: “Love you.”

Zombie Publications 2025