My life partner is in the hospital; psyche ward. He has previously forced me to accept that he would falsely accuse me. Has he done that? Is this part of his/the CIA’s plan? I’m replaying what he said on the phone. Couldn’t even say “I love you back.” That’s Karma for not hugging him last time. If you’re anxious all of the time, you’re really anxious none of the time, which is why They make me feel like I’m a cop, and thus I think it, too.
Cue five thousand comments telling me to take my meds, like the first forty times wasn’t enough for me to understand how dead tracked the average person is. This is just how I am as a schizoaffective person. This is on meds. My brain works differently and you can’t just magick it into compliance with the state-slave machine by taking a couple pills a day or a shot once a month. This is why the western mind is a house of cards. I will demonstrate.
The completely average person finds no difference between these two sentences:
As I became what I am that will be to say that what it is cannot be enough, for what was is what will be to go on into the aether for which there is no turning back to become the man who is more than the machine that defines normative parameters for eschoccliaminas.
God is a unified field of consciousness that arose from the supersymmetry of the ever-present, eternal emptiness to then fold in and on Itself across eleven dimensions to form a topological matrix that acts as a monadic nodal communication system.
Right? Like, one’s nonsense. The other defines the ineffable. People are kept at a sixth grade reading level to control them. That’s why Trump is president; he’s a conman. Hence, why he’s such a good cop, the piece of shit he is. People listened to Jesus not because of what he said but by the authority he spoke. And this is what I understand having been MKULTRA’d because I told my ROTC cadre that my nonexistent sister got me pregnant, because I am different, cuz God knows someone watching three hours of a let’s play of some wrestling video game a day certainly does not fucking have the wherewithal to go through the spiritual work to grow and develop into what I naturally had to become in order to survive in this world that is not being made for my kind.
And that’s just another brand new sentence never before spoken by human orifice or digit I’ve created. Meanwhile, fancy fisher margerie hoolihan spends twenty minutes trying to figure out what the best emoji is to send.
This one, obviously: 🗿
Inserting poem here:
I’ve lived in a grave lack of confidence for most my life for the tragedies of my youth. I need to really accept that I’m pretty damn dandy. Fuck these people who circlejerk around feeling superior by their delusions that they are making the world a better place by in fact making life harder for the disadvantaged with their prejudice and snide comments. I ain’t never been normal and the fact that at 35 years of age I’m still fucking traumatized by how I would routinely get picked on and shamed because I was different says something. That’s how much of an impact one’s words can have, and I feel justified using mine to make sure wounded people get a leg up in this pyre of a world.
I’ve got to get my shit together. My life is in free fall and while I take responsibility, it’s not my fault. I didn’t cause this. Did Neo go to the Oracle or Architect by choice? Neo didn’t cause those meetings and encounters; the system he was in brought him to those points. We have free will, but therein, the only thing we directly control is our intention; everything else loads in procedurally based on how you are and have entangled yourself with Karma.
I didn’t choose to tell my ROTC cadre that my nonexistent sister got me pregnant. My dad chose that, not in one instance, but besides a hug every day after he violently destroyed my life in the years following my mother’s death, where he flashed money to collect gold diggers that would hurt me more with their departure, besides a hug after causing so much pain to me, he never did anything to change or show remorse.
Even in the present day, he can’t even acknowledge he did these things. Same thing my life partner does to me. But he’s CIA, obviously; he said I’m not allowed to call him my handler because it would affect the court case. I’m getting famous, remember? But…did…did he lie to set all this up so I look like Charles Manson?
I was supposed to get arrested for half a year when he set things up that made me think that. But other people did that too. All these cross-talkers in public, I’ve deduced they don’t actually know anything about me. Their local network talks about me, but they don’t know anything about me. I’m sure there’s a handful that read these things I write, and they pass on the messages to everyone else.
But then why don’t they help? I HAVE TO GET ARRESTED AND IT HAS TO LOOK BELIEVABLE. How could this happen? How can people listen to and let their neighbors go insane, screaming their head off, police getting called ONCE when I was being choked and this pisses me off. I have met no one here. No one says hello.
No I take that back. Two men said hello. One wanted me to move furniture out of an apartment I had never been in. Didn’t seem wise. The other started talking to me, then I said something and he started ignoring me. He cross-talked to me the other day. I wave hello, he ignores me. When I drink too much, he shames me.
Do these people not understand they cause things. I cause a lotta things. Because of me a full percent more of human beings on the planet know what topology is. I did that. And while I take responsibility for the holes in the wall and admit I headbutted those fucking holes n dents, I was not the cause.
My life partner uses my traumas against me. He deliberately sets me off. Like, literally trying to push all my buttons. I’ve been running on the assumption that this is for my benefit, to give me chances to strengthen my prefrontal cortex, and it has grown stronger! But, I worry. I look like a monster. He looks like a victim.
Well, he does choose to live like a victim of his mom. He’ll forever be defined by his mom the way he holds onto those traumas and relishes in them. But is that a lie too? Are they working together? What even is reality? I know love, I’ve felt it from my mom and God and likewise my life partner. But I don’t have any of that shit for myself.
I have a ring; it spins and has spiders on it. There’s a story behind it. I found it for someone, but it wasn’t the ring they lost. They let me have it. It represents selfless service. My life partner did something once where he took my ring off while talking about love. I should do things out of love, not service. And there is service in love, but it goes higher than that.
But what do I do? I can’t tell what reality is. They set me up. He set me up. Out of love. I can twist reality that much for myself to be able to ignore and forgive and forget all transgressions. I’m the schizophrenic one. He’s a schizoid, yes, but he knows what reality is. He defines it for me. Is that good or bad? It just is, man.
And, like, he reminds me of things he forced me to do in the side-mouthed context that the police are going to bring it all up. Like, we were walking to this Buddhist center, and my foot wasn’t in horrific shape, but it was bothering me and I realized that even if we hot-footed it, we would miss the time it started. I tried getting us to slow down.
So he insists on getting a shopping cart and pushing me. He brings back one that’s melted. He insists on pushing me. I think nothing of it. It’s clearly a no longer of value cart, so my thoughts revolved around how it wasn’t stealing. Then like a fire happened that day, and he brought up how our GPS was in the area, and this is the shit that sticks out in my head.
Have I been set up? There’s so much shit like this, where I trusted him, and now God says that things can disappear if I stay as sober as possible. But is that manipulation? I’m trying. Why does no one message me? Why does no one say hello in public. I’m too scared to do my juggling because I realize what he has done. And he helped me. He’s the reason I was able to quit meth. And then he fucks with my head. God’s fucking with my head now! How did that happen, I wonder? Are these two things related? Is that what he’s done? He’s made me full-on, hard-on crazy.
THEY’RE RIGHT TAKE YOUR MEDS!
You ever put your big toe in a man’s vagina? You get gravy on it, so keep doing that til gramma comes to spitoonize your sole with a rogue derriere of totally insufficient maricores of marriage. I don’t have time for this ish, ma, don’t even fuck my dick, it’s got nine clits, all of which are ready for a round of roodabockin, like Bitch Marymore didn’t even cause how that which was has been the thing that most took the pride out of how no way could be wiping. That’s why my ass is like this. And why’s that paper pink? You got a bum meme dude. Like, straight up boondocks bootleg boogers. Boy.