OK so once again I am incarcerated for no good reason at all, in Mile End if you please. Brick Lane ward where is apparently no such thing as a book to be found. I have only the clothes I stand up in. There are no words to describe how much it sucks, how dark and sinister the whole thing is. Jasper if you read this pls help me. Solly I think this is beyond him. His number is 07858 593636
I am two-dimensional. I am a living, breathing cartoon character. I am a caricature of myself.
Such a life is demonstrably advantageous. A cartoon character doesn’t feel. It can engage in cartoon punch-ups and experience cartoon concussion.
A cartoon character is impossible to ‘take seriously’. A cartoon character knowingly sends itself up with every word it speaks.
A cartoon character has a kind of spurious ‘popularity’ in that everyone thinks they know who the cartoon character is. When in fact you and I both know? The cartoon character is no one at all.
People confuse ‘reality’ and ‘fiction’ all the time and often prefer their own ‘fictional’ world. So by becoming a cartoon I am literally giving everyone who comes into contact with me, exactly what they want. This is a FANTASTIC self-defence strategy. I’m a cartoon! How threatening can I ever be?
I love my cartoon life. Being able to slip under door-jambs and through window-cracks, or have people unwittingly wipe their feet on you are just added bonuses.
Cartoon characters are universally loved. They are never considered difficult, crazy or awkward. They always act predictably and ‘in character’. And it must surely go without saying that they are so much more at home in this world of illusions.
There’s just too much baggage at this point between him and me and the rest of the ‘tribe’.
Maybe I see myself in him as I too do not ‘try’ to be ‘liked’ . There the similarity ends though. He wants to be loved and I no longer care.
I’ve moved on, O such a long time ago.
That doesn’t mean his interests are not very close to my heart. But I am merely ‘using’ him as I do everyone else. I have no heart whatsoever. This, above all is what ‘life’ ‘showed’ me if you like. That we are all essentially utilitarian and cold. We don’t give a crap about human life unless it serves us in some way.
Seeing someone who still has a heart and indeed living at close quarters with one is quite a novelty for me, after so long hanging out with the spiritually dead.
If I ever feel another emotion I swear I will shoot myself. This is what they all do, the guys (yes, mostly guys, surprise!) on Reddit Sanctioned Suicide. They hold a gigantic long metal thing to their heads metaphorically speaking, all the while screaming ‘make it go away!’
If I didn’t feel so much the same myself I’d not hang out with them. It’s not as if I have better things to do though. I don’t.
Solly is a powerful black magician and ignorant ‘bottom feeders’ have been giving him the oxygen of publicity for too long. You made a rod for your own backs and now it’s come back to haunt you. Karma is inescapable, and she isn’t even me!
He drinks every day from morning until night, smokes drugs, anything to dull the pain he can no longer tolerate. Self-inflicted pain guys. The ‘male’ god is a masochist. You heard it here first. ‘He’ behaves like a self-harming teenage girl. Look at Jesus, or if you prefer, Yahushuah.
Old habits are hard to break. He can’t stop with his pathetic ‘black magic’. You know what it is? He picks up objects and puts them back down in ritualistic fashion. He also prepares small packages of drugs and mysteriously leaves small torn up piece of rizla paper and bits of cigarette all over the place (thanks Mike Skinner/Craig David). This sadly, is the nearest he gets to creativity. Alcohol, needless to say, is the ideal ‘painkiller’ to fuel all of this circular activity.
I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. God is neither male nor female. God transcends all duality. Anyone is free to be anything they want. Bodies don’t limit or hold us down, they are simply a convenience, a vehicle as it were. We’ve existed/survived a 3D existence in a hell realm ruled over by a black magician who some ‘peeps’ mysteriously want to worship. They too become addicts! Addicts of church! Addicts of ritual! Addicts of EVERYTHING THAT HARMS THEM putting their own children in danger by taking them to a ‘church’ of sex magic and penile worship.
I don’t like to beef too much over petty stuff but the second mysterious disappearance of cash that I had carefully stashed in a safe place this morning has me more than convinced that we are being shafted.
No one can tell me anything, to see me in person is to basically shut your mouth unless I invite you to speak. None of this is my fault so don’t think about blaming me like, ever. The buck stops with me and if any of us get out of this ‘alive’ you will have me to thank (it’s not mandatory though).
If I wasn’t keenly aware of how rife this ‘sex magic’ is – and how many fools worship and love it – I wouldn’t bother posting about what happened to me today. I acknowledge that I am a little ‘pissed’ as the Yanks like to say. I wouldn’t go so far as to say ‘pissed off’, ‘pissed’ seems more polite and milder somehow. Look, black magicians came in and stole all your worldly goods, creamed off the fruits of your labour leaving you in the dirt. Why are you not more bothered I hear you cry.
I’ll tell you. I didn’t want any of it anyway.