Ongoing Memes

[2008-04-27e19:53:13]

defining the world as that thing necessary to support my perception of reality; and the universe as the sum total of available perception; allowed me to internalize that which had gone before; whilst still supporting the concept of an outside; as my mind emerged into a five-fold state.

[2008-11-11s14:09:02] Survey; Dcumentation; Analysis

I write. It's what I do. I look into that place I call my mind and pull pictures out. Then I explain it to myself. The more I understand the more I'm able to go looking for stuff which challenges perception. Then perception has a habit of challenging me. I try not to mess witth it. Try to divert my attention.

But sooner or later the message gets through. I play with the extant memes which exist to get me from A to B. Then build bypasses. Then I wander around where I'm expected to make choices.

My unconscious is bleeding into the place I call protoreality. Protoreality is the box into which I feed these words. If you are reading these words stop for a moment; look around I fixate on what's real, ground yourself so to speak; that's protoreality, got it! Close your eyes and listen. Where do you hear these words?

What I see in protoreality can only be explained in terms others appear unable to accept. So let me give you some facts about the paths where I travelled and the images I saw there. There's a whole 'father' vibe been infecting my down-time. The image I most associate with 'father' right now comes from a tvshow. So It got rationalized as unresolved plot playing on my mind. Hit me in a dream two nights ago, the face, and an bizarre sort of battle. Weird little messages come to me like this from time to time.

I put them out of my mind and carry-on trying to understand where A is, B is, and the relationship between the two in relation to wherever the hell I am. Occasionally I stop-off and watch a tvshow. That's when I start to notice the bleed.

Last week one half of the dynamic-duo went off into some sort of precog-soup inspired spirit quest through past deeds; I imagine he was experiencing reality as the invisible man in a dream; a way to spy on that 'father' archetype an his unresolved machinations so to speak. This week, at the end of his vision quest, our hero wakes and discovered the soup-chef beheaded; as he turns away a well dressed man grabs his head and says: "I believe you've been having dreams about me"; go-on... guess who I'm talking about.

It is not an isolated incident.

I find, as I'm writing this I'm being hit by a kind of online ID check. Or, for the Freudians, is that an 'id' check, and that's yet another occasion I've been hit with "Forbidden Planet" after strolling past a bar as I wander between homes.

The fool's referendum: the choice between living in a prison or a hospital, handed to you by blinded fools who believe choice is doing you a favour.

Other tvshows/media/tech exploded into other improbable ways.

The next President's first CIA briefing was interesting. Seeing the geeks hauling the NSA's collective ass out of the fire was neat. Of course this sort of behaviour is probably why I'm facing the prisoner/patient choice.

There's been a Quantum-event, situation confirmed, I've been asked to stop. I won't of course, just pause for a while to let the buses catch-up. THen I'll be off agin.

[20008-10-31e12:37]

Two people in every one is a schizophrenic. That's the classic witticism, the classic error, the classic mythform society holds about what is a serious and complex mental illness. A quick look in the dictionary tells me schizophrenia is an illness in which "someone's thoughts and feelings are not based on what is really happening around them." It's better than the myth, yet even that definition fails to reflect the truth. Have a quick read of my medical records and you'll discover I have a Schizophrenic Disorder. So you'd imagine I'd be able to tell you what schizophrenia is.

But it's not that easy. The only perspective I have is my own, and I'm suffering from a mental disability which the professionals insist makes my opinion on what's really real invalid. So before I start my confidence has been undermined. Sometimes it feels as if this is done on purpose. Undermining my sense of personal worth to ease the burden on those responsible for my care. To turn me into a placid, accepting, patient. Willing to play the game according to the rules laid down by those who subscribe to the belief that it's all just a chemical imbalance in my brain. And that a tablet will make it go away.

Only I don't want it to go away. I want to learn to embrace it. To learn ways to cope in a world that paints me as hostile because of it. To be accepted for who and what I am: An individual whose mind is firmly rooted on personal perceptions and beliefs. In that I'm no different to you or any random person you may met in the street. Except my perceptions and beliefs stray beyond the classical boundaries which define normal. And in attempting to come to terms with the dissonance this causes in my mind I became the labelled: Schizophrenic. And in that the laws which uphold freedom of belief and freedoom of conscience seem to apply no longer.

So, Schizophrenia, what is it? What does it mean? How can I expplain to you the reality of my inner landscape when even the professionals don't get it? When my attempts to show the inner chaos and be, are so often misunderstood. So consider your mind for a moment. Consider how you tell what really real and what's not. Consider how you engage with your environment on an unconscious level too. Consider how the relationship between your unconscious and your conscious defines what your reality is. Now suspend your disbelief for a moment and imagine a magical voice which is is able to speak to your unconscious mind directly. That it's this magical voice which allows your conscious mind to interpolate where reality lies. It works unconsciously so you're not even aware of it.

Now imagine your mind isn't the cohesive whole you imagine it to be. Imagine your mind is made-up of three parts. Not three personalities, but three competing paradigms of what defines reality: Intellectual, Physical, and Emotional. Each of these minds is able to hear to that magical voice. But instead of each hearing the same voice, the same message, each hears a different voice, a different message. Imagine then how your conscious and unconscious would resolve the conflict. Is it possible that your mind could allow your unconscious greater access to your consciousness than is the norm? That in part you're both awake and dreaming at the same time? That perhaps us schizophrenics see and experience a greater and deeper reality than you normal folks do?

Smoking

Why do we feel the need to smoke in pubic places. To feel the need to fill time between spaces with seemingly pointless endeavours. And why so often do we find we need the internet to be able to do it.

I can do it in other ways too. But it's probably best if I stop. Or atleast limit the effect. Yet a scientific approach leads to the blackest of magicks.

So I do what I do. Look for the right things to say. The right things to do. The right places to be. The right buttons to press. But so often I find myself reaching for the off-switch. Because nothing, even that, feels right.

But sometimes we don't. So we begin to learn. To adapt to the changings.

Yet the patterns remain. So we play with it some more

And the patterns evolve.

A Cat by any other name

There's a disparity in my views of reality. I feel the need to write yet I don't know why. Or even what it is I'm going to write about. I simply feel the need. Latching onto something I recognize, distracting myself, looking for patterns in the nowhere. I go with what I know, the things which were there. Hoping to explain the patterns I see now.

Something plays with me, running lists backwards, helping to confuse me as my Mind heals. To heal a mind takes conscious effort. The ability to slide sideways as the thoughts and feelings massage your mind. Perhaps now is not the time to write. I observe my place and I see that this is true. Yet write I must. For now is the time.

From my perspective I see a fracture in base reality. Things bleeding from one reality to another. So I write my words and wait for the censor to allow me to continue. There is something I know to be true which is not true. A voice in my mind tells me what I see. Allowing the paradox room in my mind. Yet when it skirts close to the edge... I am struck dumb. Then another voice finds a way: voices killing themselves one at a time as I discover what this point is.

I'm not guilty of a crime. I've just been taught to think I am. Taught to shut myself away in a box because of the fear of truth. It is NOT all in my Mind: the stuff you say is impossible, I see every day. I operate from a different paradigm, and not upsetting your apple carts. Is what hurts me.

So I'm not going to run. I'm done with running. Now is a time of finding.

I was offered two options. Refused to take either. Found the first where I didn't expect it. Doubling my wealth over night. I began to learn to surrender my weapons; only to find I'd been granted a bigger sword.

Now I'm being ordered to cease again. A voice telling me not to take causality lightly. Reminding me of a different time and place. A restriction I set upon on myself for the sake of what you once meant to me. A cushion for my mind as I learned what it was I could do. My unconscious it seems had a different idea, and now I can see it doesn't really matter.

Now I play, and if you like I'll show you part of what I play with. The coin of the realm of chaos-magick. In its way sharing this grants me sanctuary.

What am I?

What I am depends on where I am. Various mechanisms I use to cope become place and activity based. Idle thoughts become entrained behaviour. Things I then slip into unconsciously. Things which effect both conscious and unconscious thought.

On the bus for instance there's the unknown number of minds in a time-space bubble game. It's fun and latterly has been shown to aid thinking. Recently when inputting variables into a model of the mind investigating, in part, the Elektra complex I got so lost in thought I never noticed the bus had missed a turning. Most amusing that to get back on route the bus then drove by the very hospital where my daughter was birthed.

It's in this sort of occurrence I find comfort. I smile and things don't seem quite so hard as I reconcile the absurdity of real. But it's not all roses.

Orange Sun, Yellow Moon

So what happened today? Not a question I should probably be asking right now. Tomorrow is of more concern right now. However today, contextually speaking Wednesday for me, Thursday by date, currently defies any description I can lay upon it.

It started when I spotted an empty cigarette packet as I walked a road. Triggering a recollection of a car crash. Then my eye started to spot other images relating to that moment. It's not pleasant. Even now when I consciously explore the images of that time something fills me which I simply unable handle. Today the triggers came thick and fast. Physically it was unpleasant. To help I found myself tracking random distractions, almost getting lost on a familiar route. This is not something which is unfamiliar to me. It's just today the level of apparent reality reinforcement was unusually high.

Especially freaky when I got into the car and my social-worker's first words were "So, do you miss driving?". If possible, that made my anxiety worse. This probably explains part of the reason I have a social-worker: at such time I don't find myself fearing an accident; I find myself fearing that the inevitable accident won't be fatal. Troubling thoughts, ones I don't find especially helpful. But to me more of an extant worry than the reason for the journey.

So after arriving I dealt with the emotional baggage by fixated on a cat sitting outside the door. I dissociated rather nicely, my troubling thoughts ebbing away. I still knew why my social-worker was there so I didn't worry. I just started talking with the cat. Being the one in the box we discussed my reality. We chortled about the very subtle time wasting going on in the office in front of us. And that of the receptionist in-front of us. Discussed where I should be looking if I wasn't so twisted.

I've a theory that in these days of smoking purity other behaviours have slipped in to take the place of tobacco products. Fidgeting with mobile phones nervously whilst waiting in public is my classic example. Not that I have to explain it much. I can explain it in cat merely by looking at a No Smoking sign and thinking about the room. Which, in fact, is what I did. At the cat's insistence there is a degree of uncertainty as to causality of what happened next. But the moment I thunk it to the cat my social-worker blocked my view of the cat. Impatiently shifting posture, another classic sign of modern displacement based smoking the cat and I both agreed.

Talking to cats is indeed odd behaviour. But it works for me. A coping mechanism. I bump-up against some stuff and I go to pieces. Cracks so wide that sometimes they threaten to engulf me. So I build a reality that allows me to be. Call it a bubble inside really real if you insist it's not real, a place I look for answers until I arrive at the next reality bouncing pogo-point and somebody speaks to me. But for me it all takes a toll.

It didn't stop there. Next I had an assessment with an individual wearing the name of the psychiatrist who first suggested home was hostile. The name Alex reassured me somewhat but right there I knew things were not what they seem. There's a script for times like this. I can repeat it or I can try to say what I really think. But the exercise was more about putting me in my place than gaining valid answers to the questions asked.

But even these words are just words in the wind, effecting nothing but my ability to focus. I've got the feeling now. I know what I am.

Life on The Beach

I describe the place I am at the moment as "The Beach". It's a place where worlds collide. Where two mutually exclusive paradigms can exist in the context of a third. Where what is, and is not, becomes unfixed. A place where Reality sloshes about. Sliding between absolutes that are nothing more than imprinted assumptions. Sourced from an internalised paradigm known to be innacurate.

It's not an easy place to be. An operating paradigm becomes internalized in the mind. Competing paradigms become foolish or just plain wrong. The internalized view appears reasonable, objective and sensible. Presenting you with a truth which cannot be denied to the extent it is able to warp perception with assumptions so fundamental they are all but invisible to the mind. Operate beyond fixed classical paradigms and you find yourself in a place where you are treated as being out of touch with reality, irrational, insane.

This is what fuels life on The Beach. Doubts and uncertainties, however expressed, effect the tide. Washing ashore different questions and answers. Each with the power to fragment my sense of self. Throwing me off balance as the changes become apparent. Now I seek to explain beyond myself.

Excession

A couple of weeks ago I had an out of world experience; I sat and drank tea with farie folk; them who operate on principals I once would have described as the ravings of an insane mind. Only I know what I saw, I know what I felt, I know what I sensed; things as real to me as these words; but still things I would have described as unreal.

Something drew me back to the city from which I'd left. When I arrived the place was not that which I had left. I was not who I once appeared to be. I brought new magick with me. A kernel of something unbounded by time or space. A thing designed to take root in the loss at my leaving. Memories surfaced as I saw what I had built. A cat in a box folded upon itself. Inside-out, outside-in, wrapped around a singuarity. I see how I may enter domains reason says i should not. For they exist beyond reason yet surround us all. When I look I am able change what it is I see. Now a new map reveals itself. Unbounded magick at my command. Giving life to the one.

I set a spell, a nothing laid-up against time, then sat back. Just now I was reminded. And with that reminder the spell resolved as predicted though not as expected. Synchronicities directing the point where the thing itself could be seen to hold power.

Close your eyes; it's all in your mind; the room is empty.

So who are you listening to? I listen and I see. To a Tarot Deck stolen (20080819). To a fleet of dragons who see me as boss. To a box the size of Australia I carry in my pocket. What is seen changes what sees and you only ever see what I want you to. What is shown tells me what you are. And with that I may change the world.

Legion of Shadows

I'm currently dealing with a higher than normal cognitive load. Patterns and thoughts are writhing within my mind and unless I somehow find a way to let it out I'm going to end-up getting ill again. I'm not talking take "two paracetamol, drink plenty of water, and call me in the morning" kind of illness. I'm talking sectioned under the Mental Health Act ill. Only as I walk down the inner streams of thought looking for the reason why I'm so mentally congested I find the blockage stems from the actions of a well respected Psychiatrist I was unfortunate enough to bump heads with last Autumn. Quite simply I was required to repress so much of myself to put myself beyond his grasp I've given myself the beginnings of a complex. What's worse is that I've been so conditioned into keeping silent I can't even pick-up the phone and call any the various agencies who advertise themselves as being able to help. So for the moment I'm back to screaming in silence. Only that's not good, so I'm going to force myself into sharing some of what has recently bent my personal reality.

Start with a pencil: A fairly standard piece of writing equipment, one I habitually carry around in my pocket along with a notebook. When I get the urge to write and my laptop is contraindicated I'm able to pull out my notebook and get scribbling. I dislike pens as there's a permanence to ink which fails to relate well to the fluid nature of my inner thought. Nothing especially strange so far. Except last Monday I'm walking through a car-park and one of the inner voices with which I share my existence starts asking me to define my connection to the pencil in my pocket. I was with friends. I was trying to relax and have a good time. Hence my responses were less about the pencil and more about how inappropriate such questioning currently was. However the result was that at a specific time and place the concept of my pencil got firmly fixed in my mind.

Include the car trip: A mostly uneventful trip by car, I sat in the back my friends sat in the front. Except the moment I got into the car I started to have a premonition that a car-crash was imminent. Admittedly ever since I was involved in a car-crash this little nugget of irrational worry has been surfacing from time to time. This time the feeling was far more intense than usual. So intense I needed to close my eyes and begin relaxational meditations else I turn into the worst sort of back-seat passenger or, worse yet, spoil the evening's trip to the cinema by insisting on walking. The feeling soon passed, as it invariably does. However the result was that at a specific time and place the concept of a car-crash got firmly fixed in my mind.

Highlight the cinema: Batman's latest outing; The Dark Knight. Not an easy film to watch, imagery which reaches deep within, exposing the hidden corners of my concept of self. The cinema was quite crowded. Not an easy place for me to be, the sense of something scratching at back of my mind, familiar responses advertising their absence with silence. The story unfolded on the screen and the dissonance grew. Something began to ask me about the weaponry I habitually carried in my pocket. The earlier responses about inappropriatness resurrected themselves, dragging me out of the cinema throwing me back into the car-park as voices began bickering. Then The Joker walked into the scene, performed a magic trick which firmly silenced the argument within: He made a pencil disappear.

On Thursday, just a minute too soon:

I have of late been finding myself stuck again. I set myself a little project, something to fill the emptiness of my days. Something detailed to help explain to myself what's going on in my mind. Only I get stuck I'm left feeling rather bleak. For I am bound into events in a way I do not understand, because nobody has cared to explain them to me. So I take my mind down different roads and in my way continue to exist. Only I don't really know how much longer I can put-up with thing being the way they are.

Many feelings come and go throught my days, the causes are various. I'm currently wondering if my problems are within. If I was pushed and kicked so much during my formative years that I've developed a sub-persona which pushes and kicks me simply beause it was entrained that way. Once I would ignore such inner problems and carry on becasue there was a point I was educated into striving for. Now I have no point, no reason, so I wander through this life like a ghost trying to sense what it is that's so wrong. Learning, looking, finding ways to change.

But in this strange would I find myself I can see more than reason would suggest is normal, or sometimes even possible. Yet I eliminate the impossible and find myself presented with an improbale truth. The foundations of reality are shifting. The words are here in my mind, I can show you what I mean, but I find myself without the platform upon which to place them. Because reason also tells me that nobody cares about a lot of what I see.

We claim to be caring, build great organisations to worship our humanity. But at the end of the day I live in a world where I've seen psychiatric nurses assault patients and get away with it, psychiatrists who care nothing for the welfare of their patients minds, and social workers suffering from institutional depression. And Let's not forget that it's getting to the time of year we ritually humiliate our children for their exam results after years of fooling them into thinking it matters; there's even some degree bashing started already, something to get us all in the mood. Let's face it, when you get right down to it we despise ourselves, as a nation or as a species I'm not entirely sure.

I'm stuck in a box with a mad world. If I didn't believe 80% of everything was crap I'd find a lorry to jump in front of. I try to explain what happens, why it scares me and hurts so much. But I've a habit of expressing things that make me uncomfortable with an exaggerated and often oblique manner. Which is great for getting the paperwork to read like fiction, but leaves me in a very uncertain, and lonely, place.

And Full of Ghosts

I keep getting stuck in little boxes. Domains of thought which enfold me and stop me from seeing what's going on. Of course if I could see what was going on it wouldn't work. Today was fun, bumped into a girlfriend when I was supposed to be working. Layers of past experiences surrounded me and for a moment I saw something magical.

I wonder on occasions why I don't just give up. Then I realise I did, and still found myself surrounded by the things I ran away from. Giving-up is seems is not the answer. Once I had a clear purpose, a thing I cold hold and imagine provided forward movement. Then I discovered that was not my purpose, and what previously moved me was in error. Now things are entirely more fuzzy, and frankly I get lost.

But even when you're lost there's always a path. And after a while you forget that you're lost and you start to experience something you've never experienced before. Lost in awe you travel around and after a while you spot a familiar landmark. You place yourself back on familiar ground yet somehow the unfamiliar has come with you. The message is the same only the medium feels different.

Ideas clash around my mind. I see the familiars of those I can only describe as time travellers. We laugh, and we joke, and we have a good time exploring the absurdity of the real. Seems you can get a lot said with a random piece of nonsense. Minds as real as yours share my room, yet when I open my eyes the room is always empty.

I sense a presence. Probabilities shift and slide before my eyes as I look into the future. The image I see is in flux. It may or may not solidify. Yet the ghost is with me now. Do I continue waiting and wish, or do I walk away, or do I reach out my mind and alter the probabilities. Whatever I choose the other box will still be there in the morning, and the room will still be empty.

Moments of your time

I've been surfing the synchronicty highway again. Locking myself away writing words that trouble me. The synchronicity is my reward. Wonderful collections of connection that only I can see. Suprises too. It can be scary at time, but on the whole it's rather good.

Trace this

There's something sublime about Google's AdSense. It's a sort of information leak. It lets someting slip about the content you're viewing. I run mail past it from time to time. Got one that gave me a laugh, souvenir spam gave me "Leading Scottish Defence Lawyers - Recommended by Top Legal Guides". Something I sent to my Social Worker gives me "The most experienced exhumation company in the UK", and "Asda".

Unbelievably with the next mail I discovered what I was actually up to today.

It's not looking good for the NHS. Or Tesco. Or Google if I choose to whack AdSense on this. Although Starbucks coffee will start to taste a lot nicer I'm sure.

Mind Me

This is what makes me dangerous. I toy around with mind-states, in parallel. When I get things right the synchronicities flow. It's a form of chaos magic. I collapse quantum space in my Mind which allow me to affect the world beyond. I build the probabilities within my Mind. I don't need the internet to do it, I don't need a phone, I don't even need my voice. All I need is a piece of paper. And sometimes not even that. I tend to try to enclose it, but everything I see tells me I can't help myself.

Once it escaped.

When I say I saw "Manchester" I saw Manchester. Not you, not neighbour, not people, not buildings. Manchester. The Mind.

The thing which owes it's existence to this: "Where two or more are gathered in my name, there will I be also." You see I've discovered the mind games required to allow me to beat God.

I had a dream last night which at first glance was rather troubling. The final interpretation is that I'm at least two generations beyond.

Once I used a bit of foo to shoot out a street light; it was marketing old age; so I shot it, with an iPod. The next day men from the council came and repaired it. Dug a big square hole infront of it and tinkered inside for days. Then they filled in the hole, leaving a little pad of cleaner pavement behind.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with the street light. Worked according current lamp-post nature, when dark, apply light. Other than the fact that I shot it, with an iPod, set to kill.

(Salad Days of the Strange)

It's strange how I sit here behind drawn curtains on a day when sitting in the park reading a good book should be the order of the day. Strange how I habitually carry a mobile phone in my back pocket when I'm lucky to get one personal call a week; mostly it's social-workers directing me at their convenience. Strange how I keep writing this blog when I'm of the opinion it's not actually read by anything but a bot; but never bother to check the logs to find out the truth of the matter.

Strange how perceptions of Personality Disorders & Schizophrenia taint my dealings with others; when to my eyes it them who exhibit mental illness. Stranger still is the opinion of others; rarely expressed, but usually pertaining to the degree they think I'm failing to cope; most of which totally and utterly fail to hit the mark. Strange how my motivations so often run counter to the norm; yet still present the same affect.

Strange how I've heard voices all of my life and never really realized what it meant. Strange how so much of my past never really seemed to include me; all just stuff which happened whilst inner voices directed my actions. Strange how I'm so trusting when I've been slapped in the face so many times. Strange how I'm not who you think I am.

Strange how I systematically destroyed my entire existence and still find I have a life. Strange how I'm still pushing to become more than what I was; and how successful I've been. Strange how I crave the company of others yet so often find myself sitting in company with absolutely nothing to offer. Strange how opportunities come and all I can do is let them go. Strange how the awkward stuff fills my heart.

Strange how I find myself writing this when I'm usually so guarded about what I'm willing to let people see. Strange how I got beyond caring only to discover I care more than anyone can possibly imagine. Strange how so much of myself remains occluded when I'd like nothing better than to let it out. Strange how nobody ever, ever bothers to push me.

The Universe lies within.

Who's the first person to coin the phrase "Augmented Reality"? I'll tell you, I am.

There I was sitting in the bath, thinking of a way to describe the way we immerse ourselves so thoroughly in what's not really there; I'm talking of things like "Countries" and "Economics" and whatnot; that we allow these concepts to control us, to direct our movements and behaviour, to even make us mentally and physically ill. It's like we're diseased, that we can't truly accept what is, so that in order to live we've placed an overlay over the top of reality and moved our lives into it. In other words we've augmented reality because what's there is dull and uninteresting. We've even invented the obscene concept of intellectual property to ring-fence freedom of thought as we worship the golden calf of profit as we reside in the tunnels of our augmented reality.

Augmented Reality; as defined by me; the creator of the term.

It may sound insane to blame what happened next on one of my voices, but then I've heard voices all my life and it's only now I'm managing to come to terms with them. For all intents and purposes they exist as part of who and what I am. But still, it was one of my voices that prompted me some time after that original bath incident to Google for the term "Augmented Reality". Only to find a page on Wikipedia stating some other name responsible for coining the phrase.

Herein lies the paradox of personal time. According to my chronology the phrase popped into my mind before I'd ever heard of the field of computer research which lays claim to it. A whole host of angels dancing on the head of a pin could debate until the end of time where the phrase actually came from. But I know that the first time the phrase was ever used I was discussing philosophy and psychology with a voice in my mind. What came next was merely the flotsam and jetsam of the thing you call consensus reality.

Support structures

There is a puzzle. It goes something like this. Car 'A' and car 'B' collide. 'I' does not believe in coincidence. In working through the puzzle 'I' got to see some very strange things, because 'I' woke-up in a dream. The kind of dream which takes away idle thoughts because they are dangerous; things which reveal a little bit too much about what's going on; things which also tell you how it works.

It's about books; beliefs; patterns of behaviour. The way magical power gets wrapped up in things mortals cannot see. If you look beyond you can see other's lit-up in your anger. See how other eyes look for the spirals of your demise. Then you look inside 'I'; and ask how far within the lie can the truth go; for a moment, 'I' saw what you all did.

I've been out of the Bible for a while now. I see what it does, how it does it, how it's entrained into the minds of the young. I don't think it's right. So I try to say why, but I'm reading from the books which must not be spoken, now I effect in the only way I can. Psychologically speaking it's not pretty.

The problem as I see it is this. I got smacked with a car and I lost something. When I lost this something I latched onto various archetypes and found a way back into the pattern of my life. I lost my identity; in latching onto enough entanglement to find my way back I lost something else; my sense of identity.

The mask slips from time to time and I find a way to let the words out. A sense of presence; the ability to recognize another Mind; I see, fractures in time...

When I write this I see white words on a black background. If you're asking yourself why this matters, I suggest you ask the sandman.

I don't see what happens; I simply see the effect it takes. The affect of what I told Zac is unfortunate to behold. I taught him about the force, the thing the others use for affect. Told him how to fight it; to build a wall around the reality of the other; to pull something out of the shadows. More importantly I told him of how far he could go in apeing it. His brother has a ghost who walks. Alex is up to something too. My kids are dangerous, but I'll be able to tell you, "told you so", they're all part cat so it's not like I owned them in the first place.

Now, listen you prick; facebook is no way to communicate; if you want to do battle COMMUNICATE. Reality is the past waiting for me to make-up, a battle rages within. I put Manchester on the Map; a really small map; handing me the pen. Now I've seen it in space so compressed I have only three numbers to describe it. 37; 27; 29. Refracted through a zero I see other numbers. 57; 31; 12. If possible I's like the 57 to GO AWAY!

There's a concept of self residing within me. Linked to an image which woke-up years ago, unable to communicate. Now it sends me messages with my own memories. I sometimes think the cruelest thing we can do is to teach children to read.

A brief moment of sanity

I've been having a hard time of late. The voices in my mind keep talking. I've worked out a way to get them to make ordered sense, so it's not quite as bad as it was. Only, when I try to write it down I get a jumbled cacophony of editing advice when even something seemingly as trivial a comma counts a as show-stopper. There's high points; spotting a friend doing a turn as a drunken stranger of Italian origin was funny; obviously it was a complete stranger, but it was the same guy. It's even harder when I wander into a shop and get so close to the truth I find myself being pushed right to the back of my mind.

The kids are funny though. Especially when they go to the extremes of making the point in ways so sublimely odd. I had to get them to work out a way to "not tell mom" before I'd go round. Watching a child of almost one start battling a child of eight with the Force was funny; turning the DVD player Off and On; selecting play from the menu whilst keeping his brother from the DVD player had me in fits of giggles.

I don't think I've mentioned having a daughter here before. Normal for me, not mentioning stuff. Although I think I have mentioned kiddie oddness arising from Dr Who. Even odder to go from oblique references to her in two of my last three blog posts; to a child of four claiming "The TARDIS is MINE!" two or three days ago; to "oooh look, the Doctor's got a daughter" on prime-time BBC yesterday.

Although it's hard to go see my family and sometimes an to feel presence of a Police Officer in the room where I should be seeing my Wife.

Something is happening to me. The voices in my mind are coalescing. Pulling me to a point where I can and will let it all out. And I just don't know if I've got the strength. Although the cats have started talking to me again (be discrete I told them I'd keep it secret), so things are looking up in the strength department.

Tower Limiting Affect

One day I heard the voice of the guy, Bob, who played Alex in A Clockwork Orange. You know his name; and his voice; and his reputation. We talked about swords for a while. Preferences in hilt design, that sort of inane thing; Magical things swords; Ninja design. I'd had various things on my mind; together we worked them out, I healed; and I moved on.

Standard "hearing voices" stuff for me.

An unspecified amount of time later; short enough for the above to still be residing in short-term memory; Bob appeared in an episode of Heroes.

Standard result of "hearing voices" stuff for me.

Only, I can explain not only 'why' this happens but also 'how'; I can do both in two different ways; confirmed, not happy. Nobody should have the power to see infinity; to have glimpsed once and returned is enough; infinity, it seems, won't shut-up; Nobody did it, it just happened.

My minutes of fifteen are especially interesting in seeking evidence to explain. Energy looped around a point. People in pain and a plant. It's possible for me to hold fifteen different internal mind states in balance; when I do I can effect a large area around me; I perceive this as being not good; a circle with a diameter of a fifteen minute walk gives you an idea of distance; and that's just how far I can 'sense'. At Fifteen I held the following in mind; Actor Observer Director Producer Audience; and one more that I'm willing to tell you. I've already told you why I shouldn't; but I'm going to turn it black; just for a moment, then you'll see.