Resistance

Yo there compatriot. How are things? I’m still stubbornly resisting the lure of interracial pornography and Class A substances binding together to land me in hot water. I’m getting tempted all the time over the last few days. I just wanna go the sex shop and buy some merchandise then pay a visit to my dealer for some phet. I call the sex shop the loop shop because I’m always in there throughout different phases of my life. I wouldn’t wish it for my son. Just a thought: Can you still have kids and be badass? I saw a gangster in a blacked-out Merc yesterday but his tone was lowered by the crying baby on the back seat. All my kids are spiritual. Ghosts. At least five of them. I don’t count.

Any old way, what shall we talk about today? I’ve more or less explained my sexual desire. Porn and nicotine are the most addictive things in the world by my estimation. Drugs are merely an aphrodisiac to sustain the fun. I shouldn’t be so rude. But it’s not as if I’m talking about blue-veined nipples and throbbing penises is it? Don’t forget that ever-so-tight arse. And the big long legs that never end. And the vulnerable shoulders. And the sharp black nails. And the vampiric lipstick. Plus the piercings. And all the rest of whatever floats your boat. With Class As.

Enough already. I’ve been ‘connecting’ relatively well. I’ve been sharing in groups about my mouse mainly, that magical creature I told you stood on its hind legs and threw a crumb at me. It squeaks in the mornings sometimes but unless I’m strung out on a comedown I don’t perceive it. When I’m on a "psychotic" comedown I see a lot more than mice, let me assure you. On one occasion I was surrounded by giant slugs and snails. Their smell was atrocious. That’s just one example. On another I was surrounded by bad spirits (they were in the curtains because they express themselves through fabric), and a good one called Bennie came in and battered them all for me. That was aboveboard beautiful in all sincerity. The way she strode into battle with her weapon…

I’m 50% Rare. That’s halfway towards 28 Days. After 28 Days I become Rarefied, entering a different mental state from the ordinary. I can’t wait for it this time, if I do it. I’ll be hanging around there for much longer than only three days like I did last time. It’s hard getting there in the first place, but even harder staying there. The longer it goes on, the stronger the compulsion to use gets. That damn loop shop…at least it’s not internet porn though. I’ve been away from that for two years now. Shop bought porn is basically get what you’re given. There’s extremely limited choice. With the web you can have exactly what you want, more or less. Or at least that’s my experience. I’d be there all day and night online, fapping away like a naughty little boy. The fact is though that I’m ashamed of it and I want it out of my life. All of it, even the lame tame shop-bought. So good riddance, at least for now x

Another One

 I have a reliance upon your castles been up in the air today. Mine are too, and towering. One of the things I want to discuss now is my aversion to meth amphetamine. I’ve totally gone off the boil with it. Given, it’s only been ten days (10 DAYS!), but I’ve never been so distant from the urge of using as I am as and of the moment. I don’t know how that sits with you. I don’t know if you don’t give a flying one whether or not I ever use again, or whether part of you thinks maybe yeah go on mano, make it clean. I hope you have my best interests at heart. After all, you are my inestimable White Voider. Hey, I have a new name for you: Blank Documenter. What’s your real name? Would a comment hurt all that much? I live for comments and likes. Only joshing there, don’t worry about it, I’m not that sure how to look at them when they appear, I’ve only ever had two, and I found those pair months after they were posted. They were from a dude called Stephen Heslin, a mate back from the Bongs in school. Stephen now writes erotica for Amazon, and the Bongs was a chemical wilderness not far from where we lived. I say chemical because of the local gas plant. It was hilly and woody and got changed into a primary sewer before being converted into a motorway. My friend Patrick Bennet died in school sniffing gas on its shores. Rest in Peace, Patrick. And all the best to his brother, Glynn. Glynn, who was much welcomed at my younger brother’s funeral, knows a guy called Kev Drugan, who calls his one-hit-knockout punches “pearlers.” Imagine having a name for your punches? Yeah, he’s just a bit tough like. Offered me out in jail once over a pair of hair clippers. I politely didn’t open the door to him.

Kevin was imprisoned for battering a local can-collector. You know those guys who recycle aluminium cans? I don’t mean to condemn publicly, nothing of it whatsoever, nobody is reading anyway, and I’m free to write whatever the holy mackerel I like. I’m just saying. I’ve been done for worse. Shame on me but I ask the Lord for forgiveness and I believe he grants it me. Hopefully the same to Kevin.

There was a really long metal slide on the Bongs. We used to dash-sail down it on a ragged sheet of metal. It was so dangerous, but we were only kids; we had the hearts of lions. This was when we weren’t experimenting with the concept of masturbation together in the one lad’s home who had Sky Tv and RTL, a channel which played late night porn completely for free. I recall one geezer blasting his load and shouting “Moma Mia!” What do you blare out during orgasm, eh? Don’t say you remain tight-lipped. Personally, I shout, “Hello Montana!” If you comment that then I’ll write a piece of flash fiction about The White House –– and get it published. 

Watched Venom last night, for the parasitical curveball contained within. Totally unfactual, hardly anything to do with a parasite in my opinion. The only part I could identify with was the inkblot bloodwork animation sequence at the end. Spiderman was the Holy Spirit in it by the way, at the death, in that little teaser. It’s hard to explain why Spiderman is the Holy Spirit by the way, he just f**King is so shut up and listen. Just kidding with my aggressiveness there. We’ll end on the Holy Spirit shall we? Ta’ra for now peeps!x

Female Company

 Hello there my White Voiding companion. I sincerely pray that you are allright. I’ve had a hard night on the booze. Vodka, if you must know, shared with a lady friend back at my flat. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her about the mice, and none showed up in her presence. Her name is Vicky, we’ve been meeting in the pub for a week or two, last night she asked me if she could come round. I had to clean the toilet and the sink quick-time as she was on her way in a taxi. When she arrived I handed over my last can of beer and gave her a fag she flicked into an empty can of cola because I haven’t got an ashtray. Things to do on today’s schedule: Buy an ashtray.

She wears nice eye makeup, is quite slim, and burps a lot. I say, “Bless you,” every time she does so. It was fabulous to have some female company back at my place. When we got bored of my music (Royal Blood), she played some Pixie Lott on her phone. When I stare at the screens on phones when music videos are playing, my imagination does strange interesting out-of-the-way oddball things. Anyway, I paid for the vodka (twice as much as the variety I’d have bought), and, I must say this, the quality was evident in the taste. I’ve learned that life is too short for cheap vodka. I’m not too sure if you agree?

When she left in a cab, I was buzzing to Royal Blood again. Several outros to certain tracks really fire up my inventive mental agility. I imagine one of my female characters scoring a goal at Anfield and screaming into the face of a masked Spanish Inquisitor as she leaps over the barrier and confronts him in the first row of the crowd. I have different scenarios to different songs. To Fang Mich Auf by Unheilig, for example, I imagine a heroine woman fighting lions on the beach with a shotgun. Certain evocative themes bring certain images into the brain. I’m listening to that one now by the way.

I visited my nephew afterward and gave him a copy of my best novel to read when he is older. It cost me £40 in a taxi to get there and back and I wasn’t even allowed in. But the book was dropped off and that was the main thing. I’m kinda regretting it because I was thinking pissed but that’s the vodka for you we act outta character don’t we when we’re on it? Yeah we do. Any old how I’ll wrap things up here and just wish you all the very best until we talk again, which will be very soon. Thanks.

Still Here

Hello White Voider, it’s really special to be back with you on this delightful day that God has rewarded us with. It feels like we’ve been apart for a lifetime. I hereby do solemnly swear that I’m taking precautions as to not let this distance ever be so great again. I’m in love with you, that much needs saying straight off the bat. I love the fact that I can drop you a line anytime and hopefully inspire you to continue battering your struggles, as I am battering my tribulations on a daily basis. I’ve just destroyed my pornography, which always gives me a boost and a sense of instant relief. I feel the grace of God preserving me through these quite simply horrendous, hideous and harrowing times. I’m having none of it for very long quite soon. I plan to stop smoking and drinking and get back in the gym. There’s no mad rush to do so though. At the moment I’m quite content with a fag and a can in my hand. It’s sad but true. The pressing issue is talking to you, my ever oh so precious important mighty White Voider.

 I’ve still got rodents in my flat. My enemies call me Black Vermin. That might sound like a hurtful cheap insult but I’ve been called worse and I am a writer (master wordsmith), so it bounces off my rhino hide like water off a duck’s back. They can call me anything, I don’t care, they are just trying to strip my humanity away to treat me as sub-human. That’s their method. I feel sorry for the trans people who are getting tortured, as I can only imagine the names they will be getting called by the hate mobbers. As for the mice (no rats visible presently but I’ve had them), well, one of them stood up on its hind legs and threw a crumb at me. Have you ever heard anything like that in your entire life? I sure ain’t and it happened to me. I see it as a magical creature in a way. Several weeks ago one of my major parasites gave birth by laying an egg inside me. It hatched and I imagine it to be a giant claw with an eye on it or something. Parasites are very strange to look at, on a par with the stuff that lurks deep under the heart of the bottom of the ocean. They are very frightening and that is why I have never googled them in my life. I have only ever saw one single photographic evidence of one and that was on Jerry Springer The Opera Movie. Why don’t you do me a favour and google human parasites for me? Maybe collate some pictures. I’d love you to have an opinion on the subject. Perhaps we can prattle on about it one time in the near future. After teatime, maybe.

What else? My faith is strong, I’m just fighting depression day in and day out. It’s hard staying active, connected and busy. I’m currently in the library as usual, as I have no computer at home. I can’t afford to have one with my online sex addiction, the temptation would be overwhelming. I don’t mind blogging in public as long as the building is open and the network is online, as it hasn’t been for the majority of the morning. I had to go to a mental health drop-in to kill some time. A 6”2 tall woman runs that group. She’s a large lady and I like her a lot, she’s very friendly and is joined by a volunteer named Clint who you can talk about anything with. They seem to be genuinely interested in my affairs which feels nice.

 I met a lady schizo in the pub the other day (and even went back to hers wink-wink); she said that she gets called a Bastian by her voices, which apparently means a cross between a bastard and a lesbian haha. What will the hate campaigners think of next eh? Why do they have to be so cruel to people? Why can’t they be like yours truly and just wish for the greatest goodwill to all mankind? I’m sure you’re the same. Never give up on reading this blog and discovering more about my own personal journey and truth. I promise I won’t let you down. Over ‘n’ out for now comrades x

Snapping Out Of It

My promise to the mirror failed me and let me down. I have since reopened the Celluloid Corridor and used about ten times since. Until today, the day when I decided to snap out of the looming depression, my life has been boring yet chaotic dismal disarray. I’ve just walked out of church, and I needed it. The sun fell through the leaded glass during fine song and lifted my spirits. I need lifted spirits to keep on facing what I need to face.

I’ve just, recently, since the last time I blogged, over the previous two or three weeks, been mad gung-ho for bombing illicit drugs. I call it poison, not a drug, due to the negative effects it wreaks upon the body. I mean it is amphet, what else can it be, but it’s just so strong and dirty. I’m ashamed and embarrassed, obviously, writing of this nature has no good reason to be on any blog associated with my name. But as we keep saying here, we’re always dead honest about the news feed we put across. Aren’t we, boys and girlies? Yes we are!

It’s sad and tragic. Or maybe you’re thinking: What’s this guy’s problem, it’s only a thumb of speed? If you think I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, then you should see me crying in bed. Only messing, I hardly ever cry. You know what I mean though…sad in bed. Not functioning. Not doing the things I was doing only last week. Not even eating. Wishing I didn’t have to breathe. Clinical depression does my bleedin’ head in. the word ‘depression’ makes me want to cry – not just for myself, but for the many sufferers currently going through it also. If you are one of them, or if you have any other kinds of mental difficulty, or if you are or know of someone who is going through technological harassment, then please accept my nod of condolence across the airwaves.

I may be a failure to myself sometimes, feeling sorry for myself with the Celluloid Corridor (those god-be-damned interracial babes!), but I don’t deserve this life of perpetual bedevilling aggravation. The lower I feel spiritually, in myself, the harder my perps stick the boot in. My kidneys are burnt out (immense pain), my throat has a presence inside it (not that far off the kidney pain), and my parasites have been breeding by laying and hatching eggs (where do you talk about that one?). Not to mention the reappearance of rodents in my flat (great). I’m half-inclined to believe, alongside my perps, who deliver permanent 24/7 voices into my private skull, that my life isn’t fair to me.

Where do we go from there though, into wallowing? I’d rather get G-UNIT again, and back into my training. The weight has fell off me lately, as that awful poison has stripped my appetite. Today has been the first day I’ve chomped on a brekkie in over a month. I’m hoping this is the start of something new. As you can probably tell by the writing, it was only six or seven weeks ago that I was bouncing around in a rarefied state, looking a little barrel-chested, large and in charge. Now I feel like a junkie whippet with a workload ahead of him. I’ll try and let you know how I’m getting on in a week or so, trying to reel back in the losses and transfer them into gains again somehow. Wish me luck in prayers and I’ll send one straight back at’cha.

Recovery has been over too. There’s no bonding there. I realised on my way over here to the library that you are possibly my best bond. I’ll say anything to you. I hope that your problems are nothing like mine. If they are worse, then please pray into any available light for strength. If they are negligible, then count yourself lucky and appreciate the rest of your day (or night). Perhaps you are a bullet train driver who burns the candle at both ends and never leaves the ‘DeStruCt’ button alone. If so, we should have a drink together – and that’s another thing…8 weeks off and then back on it because of Charlie. It used to be decent fun and pennies well spent but now it’s a terrible disgrace to mankind. Whenever I waste cash on that nose garbage I want to batter myself for months afterwards. Don’t forget to remind me…it’s only money…but for crying aloud, when’s it ever gunna stop? I was 44 the other day. I really should know better. I swear I’ll be in a better place the next time we (I) talk. You too x

Organs

 Apparently, there is a global trade thriving in China today – for your organs. Once they’ve picked you up off the street for loitering without intent or whatever, they’ll blood-test you to make a database. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of leg room in the death camp. You can stretch your legs as much as you like but by all accounts the food is crap. When a client comes in from Europe to buy an organ, the database is checked to find a matching victim. While still alive, the victim’s organs are forcefully removed and sold for around 300 monkeys each (about £150,000). They only give you 2 paracetamol during the rookie operations because over there life is cheap.

Benedict Rogers, Deputy Chair of Human Rights, said that “Livers, kidneys, hearts, lungs and corneas are being cut out from innocent people who have not consented. It’s a gruesome mass scale trade like something out of a horror movie.” He added that he’s going to batter the culprits after he’s brought them to justice for assault and taking the piss.

They are picking on healthy people who have never drank, smoked or done drugs. So their work is cut out then. These kinds of people do exist however in random population pockets and for them it’s squeaky bum time big time. They tend to follow principles of tolerance, kindness and truthfulness, are non-violent and do not retaliate. Easy pickings once they catch them then. Someone needs to step in and start kicking off about it. Who can defend us? they ask.

I’d batter them for you as well. This is so insane and out of order. I almost refuse to believe it is happening. Is it too much of a broad sweeping statement to declare the whole of China a criminal state? You hear stories of the government removing people’s throats and lower abdomens and then hastily cremating the bodies to destroy evidence without the relative’s consent.

What a f**king world we live in. How desperate can some dudes be for cash? I’d love to see their face if they pulled out my organs and saw the state of them. They could have them for nothing don’t worry about it. Then I’d put them in a JCB and pour them into a vat of nuclear reactor fuel, pull them out, and tw*t them all over the place. I hate to sling insults around but disgusting horrible malignant bast*rd vermin come to mind. Cutting out another person’s organ on 2 paracetamol! Get a grip! That kind of behaviour doesn’t belong anywhere on this planet, and you’re giving the lovely people of that continent a bad name. Massive shame on you.

Man In The Glass

I’ve used amphet for the last ever time since my last post. This is due to health reasons. Maybe this blog has been reduced to nothing more than merely the howlings of a rambling junkie, but I assure you that there’s a helluva lot more to my life than a bit of substance misuse. When you perceive Joe the Average Junkie, it’s usually crack ‘n’ smack you think he’s tweaked out on. How many ‘speed freaks’ do you know? I’ve heard it time and time again from all users alike – speed is dirty, speed is filthy, speed is a nasty drug. The jury has delivered its verdict. But is speed the worst? I’d argue that it is.

I’ve just done the whole Man In The Glass routine. That’s when you look into the mirror and promise yourself something. I declared out loud that I’m never going to ingest speed again for as long as I live. I’m surprised it’s taken me this many years to be able to do this. It’s almost as if I’ve been saving it. I’ve sowed a lot of faith and hope in this routine and didn’t want to waste it when I didn’t really mean it. It’s a big step to make a vow between you and the mirror.

Let’s be honest, I’m 44 next month, my jobbing career as an addict is reaching critical mass. It’s over, okay, it’s just over. There’ll be no more homely warm sessions where the world feels at one with itself, coming up off a double-bomb in privacy, sewed up in fabrics of fire cotton and passion cashmere, like a little gnome all happy in his little greenhouse. Now I’ll have to sit with life and face it head on. Which is what I’ve been doing quite a lot, to be fair. Sat there, no television, brooding, occasionally reading. Thinking back over my life. And now perhaps, thinking forward.

I’ve had sharp internal pain for over a week. The agony has been ridiculous. I blame the phet. It might have been a kidney stone. I couldn’t sit down, couldn’t lie down, couldn’t walk at one point. It hurt every time I breathed in and shifted position. For a scary moment, I thought it was going to kill me. Paracetamol and Ibuprofen could hardly touch this long-term chronic pain but I gobbled them anyway. I was too immobile to make it to the doctors. I wouldn’t have been able to sit in the back of a taxi to make the journey to A&E. I was paralysed at home and screwed.

So my connectivity has suffered and my volumizing has suffered, along with everything else. I couldn’t sneeze or cough without pain. My whole life has fell out of the window inside a week! It’s remarkable how pain changes your outlook. Now, coming out of it (the monkey is off my shoulder but the circus is still in town), I feel revitalised, radicalised, born again. I’ve re-evaluated my existence.

And re-emerged feeling POSITIVE. And dare I say it, euphoric!

Back To Earth

 

Just as I got to where I wanted to be, floating around with confidence, zeal and zest, several days later I fell back down to Earth with a thump. This was thanks to the reintroduction of amphetamine into my daily routine; another harebrained and nutty decision I have to live with until I can find The Rarefied Atmosphere once again. It was great getting there, and I am proud I accomplished that goal, it’s just so heart-achingly painful to leave it behind once having experienced it. I opened up the Celluloid Corridor once more with some novelty interracial. Watch Isabella Diamond (or whatever her name was) get stretched to the max with 11 inches of monster black meat! That interracial gets me every time. It presses my buttons like no other kind of porn does. I hate to be writing this way, but I’m dead honest about the way things are. I paid £55 for four discs and knocked on a dealer’s door after deleting his number. He was out. I left my number through his letterbox and asked him to ring me back, which he did.

I bought the celluloid fodder several days before using. For the next two mornings it was in my head as soon as I woke up, the screenshots off the back covers refusing to go away, tumbling around in my head like coins in a dryer. I can look at a picture of a woman and have some kind of strange ESP crap go on (Extra Sensory Perception). I can feel emotionally engaged and bonded just from meeting someone for a moment via their image in a photograph. I call it CHARACTER IDEATION. With lust and sex involved, it can be all the more of an issue. And, I hate to mention this in a public place where people who might know me may be reading, but there’s just something about a woman with an Afrikaan’s pecker in her mouth. It’s the demonic equivalent of a woman on a horse, or a bicycle. Hate to say it. It stirs my juices sexually, just as blogging does creatively.

Once the pleasure is over the psychosis ensues. I used to call this Dogsville but now I call it Popsville or US Gov day. Usually because everyone is having a pop at me when I’m spent up with no energy lying in bed with aching organs from the phet because of dehydration. Every man and his dog has a voice in my head. Over time, a lot of them have grown positive and support me from the original master command persecutory voices. These are mostly celebrities who claim they are working for the US Government. Hence US Gov day. I sit there talking all night to disembodied voices and for a change they are actually quite pleasant and nice to converse with. Friends, family, celebrities, politicians, the lot. I know how this sounds. Explanations on a postcard because I’m out of my depth.

RARE is real though, even if all the voices aren’t (as what I call the Chemical Imbalancers would say), and again I’ve destroyed the Celluloid Corridor in a bid to get back there. That was a week ago. I happened to be rescued from the psychosis this time by a football tournament which I’d forgotten about. I was lying there gutted when I suddenly had a protein shake and a banana and just got up off my arse to go and play football. I had a great day and made some new memories instead of lying there getting emaciated in Popsville. Having a knock-a-round with the lads is one thing but a big tournament at a pro POWER LEAGUE complex is another entirely. I happen to have previous experience in WINNING footy tournaments on a big scale so as expected I fared well individually, even though our team didn’t make the knockout stages this time around, rather unluckily. It was great fun and a real life-marker for me. I wish I could play in a tournament every week, it would make me happy. The organisers even laid some free pizza on (although I have to admit that the vegan option wasn’t too special).

With only four outfield players, time and space were tight so there was a lot of pressure once you were in possession of the ball. Beating a man or finding a pass was hard. I hadn’t played for years so it was extra tough. It was pleasing to see a team with female players as well. I love to play against girls because you can relax on the ball and have a bit of light-hearted and jovial general tomfoolery.

I met Stuart Sinnot from my home town of Widnes playing there for a different team. It was nice to have a catch up, I’ve known him since we were kids. He’s got his problems with addiction like me and we had a good chat. He said that RECOVERY was the most important thing in his life. And, as I’m learning to discover, probably in mine.

 Anyway, I’ve got an appointment with the bottom of my bed, where I’ll be doing 54 press-ups in order to get barrel-chested. I’m fighting back at life with exercise and nutrition, chicken and dense greens all the way. I’ve included arginine into my supplement package for the bigger pump and burn, always looking for the edge. I go to the disabled toilet in Sainsbury’s supermarket to have a little posedown and check out my gains. Large and in charge, baby girl, large and in charge. See ya next time. I hope this reached you well x.

General Rant

 

Now then. Here we are once again. I’ve decided to take a day off from typing my novella up and stop by here for a while. How are things? All well?

I’ve just been to church. I left slightly early today, immediately after communion. I feel like a Soprano when I go to church, all gangstered up and that. It’s important to pay dues to the big fella. He’s the only fella bigger than me so I feel I oughta. I’ve just eaten the flesh of God’s son and drank his blood. Metaphorically, of course. I must say, that church wine has some kick to it. One little sip goes straight to the head.

Still working out at home, not quite back in the gym yet. Chest is sore from 54 press-ups off the edge of my bed. I call 54 reps a Picture Book, named after the total amount of cards in a complete deck. I find this a nice number for repping out to, usually comprising of four sets, depending on the exercise.

I’m buying a blender this payday week, because I simply can’t tolerate lumpy protein shakes anymore. Lumps in places where they don’t belong make me gag. I’ve spotted a £25 jobbie in Argos that’ll do nicely. So from next week (I’m avoiding them until then), my shakes will be nice and smooth. And I’ll be getting massive and huge!

I’ve been ‘connecting’ quite well in recent weeks (socializing). I’m almost in that special mental state which comes from abstinence of vice. I’m feeling clean. Not quite serene yet, not quite pristine yet, not quite supreme yet…but not that far off. It’ll be any day now when I ‘become’ something else, that better version of me. This hasn’t happened for nearly 6 months. I’ve been lost in a wide stream of sinners. Now I’m tearing free and making a break for it, clothed in the righteousness of God, hopefully.

I read half a long novel in just a day yesterday. I’ve started buying books again from Waterstones. I think Jack Reacher may be in for a run-out in the next couple of days. I believe that books make you smarter, that they improve the internal monologue inside your head, never a bad thing if you ask me unless you are trying to sleep. And talking of sleep – WOW! My nightlife is incredible. Amazing insightful dreams each and every dusk without fail. They beggar belief!

That’s it. Not a lot to say. I better get back to typing up my novella. It’s going really well. I’ve done the first long short story in five days. The book should be done in a couple of weeks if I keep up the current pace. It is hard being consistent though, isn’t it, in life? I’m usually dependable for streaks and spurts but useless over the overall distance. But so far so good. Catch ya next week or summet!

Pad Workout

 I’m kind of training again. (The way I feel, there’s no kind of about it.) Yep, my muscles are aching. I feel like I’ve done an exhaustive chest workout by doing 35 press-ups off the edge of my bed. It is quite sore, just the feeling I’m after. I started on Wednesday, it’ll be my third pad workout (pad means jail cell) on the trot later this afternoon. I’m hesitant about joining a gym until my pad workouts are consistent. They’ll give me a little platform to build upon. Plus, pad workouts are pure G-Unit.

I spent £35 on Creatine powder and Glutamine tablets. Holland & Barrett didn’t sell the Glutamine powder. The tabs will have to do. I call these two supplements a natural course. I can gain roughly six or more pounds from the associated water retention. Eventually, I do want a shot of test in my arse, I just don’t know how or when. As I get older, perhaps. If it is good enough to keep Rocky out of Australia, it is good enough for me.

Now I need a good protein shake. (It is expensive getting back into shape, but still an ample amount cheaper than Class A substances.) It pays to spend well on protein, as the cheap stuff is weak and blobby as it doesn’t mix very well because you need 6 scoops of it. With the quality shakes, just 2 scoops will see it thick and tasty. My only problem is that I don’t use my fridge because my electric meter is faulty, so I won’t be able to have them whenever I want. I’ll have to buy milk from the shop and make a shake right away while it is still cold. When I had a working fridge (Damn you Southern Electric!), I would put them in the freezer for half an hour, until they were a bit icy, then take it to the gym with me. By the time I finished my workout, 45 minutes later, the drink would still be nice and chilled.

I’m hoping they sell shakes in the gym I join, so I can have one on the way out, but I doubt it. Immediately after working out is the best window for nutrient intake, and I’m used to a semi-icy shake and a protein bar. Now it might have to be a bagel and some bananas. I’ll find a way to get massive and huge, trust me. Where there’s a will there’s phat muscles.

I’m hoping my muscle memory will kick in and activate ASAP. MM is basically your muscles remembering how big they were once and getting there faster the second time after shrinkage. Gains can come breakneck when you train smart. ATM I’m doing plenty of stretching and posing, trying to get limber and flexible. It is not feasible to get lumpy and tonky all over as I’m not a professional bodybuilder tanked up on juice (no offence); I do however want to improve my mind-muscle connection and own the shape God has given me. Like Arnold said in Pumping Iron (1977), the pump is better than sex. I’ll be looking into asking my neighbour to purchase me some Nitric oxide off ebay soon as well. Have I spelt that right? Isn’t that what they put in cars? I’ve only ever tried it once but the pump from it was very noticeable.

My bubble gut is a problem, but power lifters have bellies and they still look strong and powerful, so it is not too ego-deflating. I’m still learning to love myself and that means being happy with my body too. Christ, listen to me. Next I’ll be banging on about getting some of Rylan’s Colgate powers (white teeth). £2000 roundtrip to a Turkey dentist please…

The last time I joined a gym, it shut down the next day thanks to Covid. That was the last gym session I ever had. I did it back at Walter O’Malley’s oldskool hardcore gym here in the town of Warrington, NW England, between Liverpool and Manchester. I’m hoping that very soon this will change and I’ll be deadlifting like a maniac any day next week. Deadlifting is a monster exercise for me, I grow like a python who has just swallowed a cow. The hard movements really separate the men from the boys, especially legs. I hope to be squatting and leg-pressing my way to glory in around the same timeframe. Please wish me luck. A simple quick prayer or two would be greatly appreciated. As always, thanks, and keep coming back. I’ll be here for as long  as possible x

RARE

There’s a place in my head that’s a better place, a happier place. I call it The Rarefied Atmosphere, or, rather being RARE. I’ve known about this place for about 15 years. All it takes as qualification to get there is abstinence from drugs, pornography and fapping for a set relative timescale. At the moment, I’m halfway there. So I’m 50% RARE.

Addiction has a shape for me and it is a triangle. A triangle has three sides, right? Then drugs are one side, porn is another, and fapping is the remaining side. Together, when housing myself who is trapped hopelessly inside, they form a formidable trap. It can be nigh on impossible to break out. I am powerless over my addiction…

It feels dangerous writing this in case I slip up making it look like a stupid game. The heart of the matter is that it is actually life or death, physically and spiritually. Now that I’ve published it online makes it all the more serious. To be honest, it’s been the biggest thing in my life ever since its inception. Very rarely am I am able to admit to this with such a level of honesty. This is the first time since never.

50% RARE feels great. I’m more confident, more chatty, it’s like been on crack. Imagine what it feels like to be floating around in The Rarefied Atmosphere? Life is amazing there. It is totally different. The way I wake up, my head, how I perceive God’s glorious green Earth. Wow. Take me there. My own special place which I created all by myself, which no one can ever trespass in or take away. I can face anyone or anything when I’m RARE.

You can throw in your hate campaigns, your psychotronic weaponry, your gang-stalking, your spy satellites, and your psychosis as much as you like. I’m living and I’m happy and I’m getting over my faults and that’s all that matters. Hell, you may even see me back in the gym again.

I don’t care that I’m black (unashamedly), that I’m poor (not that poor), or that I’m anything else negative you can think of. It just gives me an inner peace which can’t be bought for all the money in the world. Literally nothing can compete with it. Why? Because it is head space, and the whole world is a state of mind.

(Have you seen the song State of Mind by Holly Valance? It’s a great little dance number. Wasn’t she in Hollyoaks? I met Rebecca from Hollyoaks in Liverpool once in a coffee shop entrance. I marked the occasion by complimenting her on the role she was playing at the time. It affected me quite a bit because of the similarities between that and my first crush with a teacher. It was tragic and beautiful, that role with Justin. A word needed to be had.)

To cement my dedication to RARITY I’ve made a pact with an angel called Prue who takes the form of a young Chinese girl. This has involved snapping some discs and deleting some numbers. Sounds easy, but it is not. You are effectively wiping out your history and everything else who you have become. It is overhauling your lifestyle.

I said I’ll start to write about my angels/guides/imaginary friends in good time and I probably will do, just to prove to you lot how mental I am. Only mental people are welcome here, I’ve just decided. Addicts or mentals or ex-porn actresses. I’m not fussy – there’s obviously something not quite straight about you or you wouldn’t be here, would you? Don’t worry, that’s the way I like you. Until next time, keep coming back x 

Mountain Walk

Howdy there, I pray that this reaches you in positive spirits. I am okay apart from aching lower limbs due to climbing a Welsh mountain the other day. You wouldn’t have fared well if you’re afraid of heights. The views were truly beautiful and there were even wild horses which belonged in some fairy tale nirvana scene. I was worried because, living on top of a mountain, they had no shelter.

There was a slight gradient (just a bit) and I swore to myself that there would be no more walking up mountains. I prefer flat walking because the lower limbs don’t ache but the only thing is that you don’t get the accompanying breath-taking views and panoramic vistas. It is immensely satisfying once done and one is blessed with a sense of accomplishment when stopping for a bite of lunch at the peak of a summit (no litter please).

I would recommend mountain walking for a taste of something different and don’t worry I won’t fail to warn you about the pitfalls:

1.     1. Weather: It’s either too hot or too cold, get used to it.

2.     2. Luggage: I just don’t suit bags, I never have.

3.     3. Dinner: Isn’t there a shop around here?

4.     4. Litter: For Godsakes, throw it away.

5.     5. Vertigo: Shouldn’t there be a handrail here?

6.     6. Getting Lost: I’m physically fit, I shouldn’t fall behind.

7.     7. Wildlife: Do sheep charge when threatened?

8.     8. Toilet: Don’t worry, it is not too blowy.

At one point I was getting angry at the guide because he was getting addicted to all the highest points when I wanted the easy route. A walking stick may help but not me personally. I prefer to travel light.

They do say nature is great for the soul and I have to agree! Here’s to the next wonderful hike in sunny Wales! x

Celluloid Corridor

 Guest Blog by Stephen Kendrick

I’ve just destroyed my porn collection. I call it the Celluloid Corridor. I only had six DVDS this time. They were worth £100. Throughout my life, I must have eradicated them about seven or eight times. The first time was the biggest collection. We’re talking about 50 titles, most of them original. I burned them in the forest because I met a woman I loved. Her name is Bennie. She is still my artistic muse.

Every time I buy porn from the sex shop, I feel my Granddad in Heaven looking down with a frown upon his face.

I made eye contact when I met her in an art gallery and fell in love pronto. It was kinda preordained, because I’d wrote about lovers meeting in an art gallery way back when in college. The story was called Eternity. She’s blond with German heritage and she rides horses. That’ll do me.

Until I met her, the power porn had over me was hard to comprehend. It was my life. I never believed I’d ever meet someone. All of my feministic ideals were derived from the celluloid actresses I was salivating over on the silver screen. Bennie is prim and proper. She’s not working class like me.

In between the first destruction and the last eradication was made up of internet porn. As of now, I’ve not watched internet porn for about 2 years. I had to get rid of the net to get rid of internet porn. It was the only way for me. One night, when Bennie told me to, I put my laptop in the bath. There were about 27 hardcore internet videos on it. And that was that.

It’s difficult. The actresses call out to me like wolves from the other side of a valley. Until I incinerate the Celluloid Corridor, they are impossible to ignore. The temptation is too strong. They are too sexy and beautiful. When I wreck it, I feel instant relief wash over my soul.

Hopefully this time will be the last time. At the very least it buys me some time away from my crippling addiction, because it takes time to amass decent celluloid. I call the sex shop the ‘loop’ shop, because I’m in there every year or two. If I could predestine my son’s life, I would choose to keep him far away from the Celluloid Corridor. It’s just not a healthy place to occupy. Nothing wrong with it for some, like wedded couples behind closed doors for instance; but for me, a single man with an addictive personality, it is a no go.

My advice to you, if you are struggling with porn, is to destroy it every now and again. A good time to do this is when the novelty starts to wear off. When you introduce something new into your collection, it is probably going to batter you for a while. As soon as it starts to feel old, get rid. I promise, if you’ve never done this, the relief is sweet. You can start again at any time, but it is nice to give yourself a break.

Streaming is different, because you can’t get rid. I’ve never viewed porn on my phone, so I can’t comment. It was always a darkened room and a 40 inch TV for me, or my PC screen.

Good luck.

Hate Campaign

 This is for anyone specific who is going through a trial of hatred or smear. First rest assured that you are not alone. I’ve been through it all when it comes to gangstalking. What you need to do is go and see your doctor…

BULLSH*T! Doctor my arse. It’s so infuriating when people say that. I only hope that they don’t know what they are talking about, because if they truly understand and they are still recommending doctors then that would suggest they are quite cruel. This is a real world issue, not a heady one.

I’ll keep it short because I’ve written quite a bit about this going back some years ago. If you are new I’ll save you all of the codswallop about defence against this phenomenon. You can carry a camera around with you at all times if you want – a phone, for example – or you can decide to hold onto your love. Yes, that’s it, the best defence against hate – LOVE.

Sound metaphysical? It worked for me. You need to find something in your life worth loving and simply love the ass off it. It’ll get you through. I’m sure you already have that. If you’re struggling, rewind time back to a place when there was love in your life, and seize it again to cherish and keep. The bible says HOLD FAST TO WHICH IS GOOD. And you’ll always have God. If you do have God, then you’ll almost certainly, in my opinion, have love elsewhere in your life also.

If you have no love and no God, then I’m half-inclined not to believe you. Perhaps you could love yourself a lot more. I’m sure you’re a decent person or this nightmare wouldn’t be happening. Hey, why don’t you even extend some love this way? I love you. I love the way you handle your drama. I love the way you always get through it. I love the way you never lash out or respond. You’re just like the way I was with them. Total ignorance. Apart from the one time I broke and ended up in police custody. Wouldn’t be the first time…

I know you’re like a burning gas canister which wants to explode. I know all those insane emotions. I’ve been there. Maybe we’ll talk later some more about it. I don’t find it depressing anymore, being followed by a group of plebs; rather, I find connecting with you more liberating than I could have imagined. Somebody did this for me: A nice little word of advice in the face of evil oppression. It worked a treat. I’m trying to repay the favour, but I’m finding it hard.

Just never lose your love, and that’s it.

And here’s the wonderful part – you can’t. No powers in all creation can come between it. They conned me for seven weeks that I’d thrown my love away, but it was just another blag by them. That’s all they do – lie. It was a terrible time of my life. Now I have it back and it’s the most valuable commodity in the universe. This knowledge should be a state secret.

Leave it there for now. Have a great day or evening or night or whatever x.

Perfect Litter

 I don’t believe you have ever seen a Staag label displayed like this. I say this because it was so difficult to get off the tin, being heavily glued and all. It took about 15 minutes to peel off. I started collecting litter during a stint in hospital last year, just before Christmas. We were locked in our rooms due to Covid and it was a real challenge keeping the mind busy. So I started making sure that I peeled labels perfectly, with no rips, from their contents. I even put up a poster in my room saying THIS IS A RECYCLING ZONE.

I’ve still got months’ worth of litter. Mainly I prefer particular chocolate bars from back in the day, that kind of classic confectionary with a sentimental value, but now as you can see I’ve moved onwards and upwards to cans of chilli con carne. That Stagg chill really is quite nice though, you know, absolutely beltin’, if I do say so myself. I’m not quite sure where I can take this hobby, I was thinking of decorating my walls with it all. But the key is no rips, tears or damage while unravelling the packaging. It can be very tricky on certain products. Club biscuits are the easiest. I might be wrong, but I’m thinking that something like a Pringles wrapper might be impossible. It depends how heavy they are on the adhesive. It’s nice to think though, that after all this time, and in freedom, this perfect litter game is still keeping me busy. I got a blog post out of it anyway.

I know what you’re thinking, by the way. Yeah – since when did I become so boring that I have to talk about litter? Maybe you know about blogging, or maybe you don’t, but let me tell you something…it is not all that easy. I’m not a journalist or a brief, with material and ideas falling out of my ears. I’m just a regular guy – perhaps not even that. I don’t have a career, or a family, or a glittering social circle with plenty of friends and acquaintances, nor any holiday experiences to write about: I’m just a bit of a redundant spazzy writing off his wits. Hey, who you calling a spazzy. This is motherf**kin’ G-Unit!

You know what I mean. Nothing special ever going on. I went out for a bevvie the other night with my G-Unit posse and after a couple of hours I was taking the knock, wishing I was back home reading Clive Barker on the sofa. That’s where I excel, in the comfort of home, with a can and a good book to read to my five angels. More about these five angels soon, I promise, I know that they’re not boring to you. They started when I invented some imaginary friends because I was overwhelmed in my flat by hate campaigners and bad spirits – the Devil, for a better word – so I had to pull something out the bag. I also have seven wife figures who accompany me but that’s a different story. They all form ‘My Muse’ so I’ll never be short of words to write about anything ever again. The only thing is, you have to be in the ‘write’ frame of mind to discuss such heavenly topics, and I hardly ever am! That’s it, keep coming back.

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