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.

Serenity

After a fellowship group last weekend I felt serene for one whole hour. The shares and stories were positive, but I can’t attribute the reason towards this alone. It was just a thing. I walked home, sat there in my chair, and, despite the electromagnetic heathens breathing down my neck as usual, obsessed with every word and heartbeat from me, I felt not just a peace above all human understanding…but a serenity I’ve never experienced before. Someone had a reunion with his kids the next morning; I felt genuinely pleased about that eventuality. God was mentioned a lot. I don’t know why I felt so good about me, myself, and life with everything in general.

Maybe it’s because my neighbourhood has been terrorized by Mason blood for so long. That pesky Mason blood, and all its fearful secrecy…they think that a scream scares everyone away and clears the path for them to cause chaos. I had a spell of locating their pubs and going in to shout my head off at them.

I DECLARE ANY WOUNDED VICTIMS IN THIS BASEMENT ALIVE AND WELL!!! 

(or something like that).

 They responded by knocking on my door at half two in the morning. I shat myself a bit, once the booze had worn off, but as in most of normal play I held my own. It’s okay to be scared, but don’t rattle.

I’ve found joy in humour, that much is a given, I’m laughing at the strangest concepts lately. Calling it weirdly bizarre ain’t the half of it. I believe absurd is the correct definition. I love giggling to myself, it makes people around me panic. They try and interrupt my pleasure by approaching me and muttering any old shit. I was chortling in front of four ladies the other day. Surprisingly they left me to it. I couldn’t help myself. They habitually treat me like a maniac when I am lolling on my own. It’s almost as attention-grabbing as lighting uncontrolled fires.

The heathens clinging/clasping/grasping onto my brain energy for dear life reckon that my joy is their joy, and that they laugh along with me. Funny, but I ain’t heard anything. They just lie, unable to accept that I can laugh at something that doesn’t concern themselves. They try and make me laugh for hours and then turn nasty when I give them a lippy half-smirk, then changing their attitude and saying I shouldn’t be sharing joy with evil spawn. They want to take credit for everything.

I won’t try and describe them because I would have to use the words childish, fickle, stubborn and deceitful. Basically impossible. They pretend their own feelings and emotions, in order to influence mine. I’d call them kids, but that would be an offence to kids. But hey, that’s enough about them. Just so long as they are dealing with me, who can handle them, and not some sweet young teen from the estate, who wouldn’t stand a chance, because she’d be slitting her wrists as soon as they brandished their knives, which they customarily do.

They’re stopped giving me instructions anymore because they know I am growing into authority each and every day. I learned more about myself this year than at any other period in my life. 

Just. Go. Away.