Trivial Tales... Strangers In A Strangely Stupid World 2

Trivial Tales... Stranger in a Strangely Stupid World: 2 I should do some more reading. Going through a bunch of books while tidying only served to remind me of how many there there is I really want to read. The best thing is to do it rather than worry about it. There’s the lack of funds to worry about, the hassle, but reading keeps ideas and enthusiasm flowing. Still, the problem is the anxiety is ongoing. I often do think it would be better just to do the 'legit' thing and that’s take up p/t jobs. I forgot to mention earlier that that may be why I get less stalking hassle than I might; the fact that I don’t go to a regular job. In all fairness, I’ve never had anyone ringing me through the night and keeping me awake/disturbing my sleep. Who am I kidding? The whole thing is designed to interfere with all aspects of your life, past, present and future. My opinion is it’s cop surveillance and harassment, with community elements for the most part. Suddenly I’m living the life of PKD. Only he had less of a guilt complex I think. It didn’t stop him being a published and prolific writer. I do seem to have a significant destiny though, and it must be as a writer. Numinous events would seem to indicate this. As I’ve said before, there is a solution to it all, and it’s only a matter, not of finding it, but of listening, of being open to it. The answer I think, is not in trying to shape “reality,” meaning influence illusions head on, but in how one chooses to interpret and react to them. The answer will always lie in forgiveness. And it’s as useful, “crucial” even, to take that on faith as much as try to grasp it in linear and logical terms, through reason. For example. When that crustyfaced bint intentionally thumped into me in the charity shop in Morningside I could’ve waited across the street, after nipping into the grocery next door to buy some eggs say. At best I could have wound her up – and she wasn’t alone – by following her and keeping her in my sight wherever she went and not letting up – the arrogant bitch. But now I see this may have – hell, would likely have provoked further harassment through others. Because by attacking I’d only be reinforcing their own projections and unforgiveness through my own. And, as I've since discovered, there's usually more on the scene, sudden in plain sight, as that's their style; it's what they're all about. It's what creeping fascism is all about. Sneaking totalitarianism, getting it's way, reaching its goals through stealth, until it can dispense with the subterfuge and bring its naked hatred out into the open, revealing itself for what it always was all along. A thought. An artist in the area took a dislike to me and cheated me out of £15 in change in a very sly manner while distracting me, this in the art shop he works in. He sells paintings their also. I was in the habit of looking in the window to check them out. Quite pleasant in their way, but monotonous in that they all had the same intentionally childlike lack of depth or any real perspective. Only one evening when I went by on the way to the supermarket, and a large one with pride of place in the front of the window distinctly had my name on it – BOB – along with ELVIS on another part, both “blended” in with the abstract foreground areas in place of pure colour, as some artists might. My (very) passing resemblance to the dark looks of “The King” has been remarked on, and not just by me. If anything I look more like a

dark-haired big-nosed Bowie. A classic example of gaslighting in this instance. It does seem to come naturally to the narcissistically mediocre mindset. Unfortunately I didn’t photograph it. I might not have had my camera until later. I acquired that through my gaslighting, narcissistic dentist. It’s an epidemic. I kid thee nay. Our chronically passive-aggressive society. Only this twonk believes in 2012. Now it’s just occurred to me this may have have been another exercise in gaslighting. How weird would that be? But there was an assistant in the room at one point when he spoke about it, along with mentioning Terence McKenna and others. No wonder I’m nuts. Nor is it the kind of thing that gives me much faith in the veracity of 2012, or perhaps those who believe in it, or claim to. I think the Carey material puts it into perspective and does the job for me. It seemed to do the job for L also, who kept my copy of The Third Millennium – along with a boxful of other books. She interpreted the channellings in the light of her belief in her own elitism and sense of superiority, and in fact, used it as a way of reinforcing those distortions and delusions. As the mediocrities will. And that isn't what it's about. And here’s another paradox of sorts. Why am I wondering what the hell I can do about a vocation – I was never truly just an artist – looking for solutions around it through writing about it when writing itself is the answer? – overall. Now that’s irony. Or plain stupidity. The answer forever staring me in the face. Not even hiding, obscure. I think I may have got too used to seeing writing as a personal tool, and not something I share with others as a whole – seeing it as a means to make a living or even some income at all, rarely comes into it if at all. I think if I don’t do it, then I’ll be as good as giving way to the life-negators; the soul destroyers. A turn of phrase. I doubt the soul can actually be destroyed. Spirit – being of God, can’t even be touched. I’m gonna write those right-wing fascist creeps right outta my hair. You know I gotta right to say. I hope I get the woman with the great big tits. I’ll offer to paint her. The funky bint. So will I work a ten hour week or what? And pay CT too? I could do two large paintings a week in ten hours. Or one good one. I’d better er, get the finger out and try and get them in some galleries. The more the merrier. You have to wonder when it will hit the vengeance stalkers that while they waste their life producing nothing, I spend a good part of mine producing artifacts of some beauty, along with this eclectic concoction. At least it has some perceptive and isn’t one-dimensional. But I feel much the same way about standard/conventional work, and they probably don’t see it that way at all. Then again, they might, if they see themselves as local heroes, protectors of the community, policers of the universe. Recognition of sorts by their own for fundamentally talentless individuals who would seem who have nothing to offer of lasting value. And where’s the real satisfaction for them if no-one else is around for them to revel in their own cleverness in their war with God, projected onto people they see as different? “Suddenly” I'm in the X-Men. Only, they're the ones who can “predict” the future, tell who are the potential or actual criminals. How prescient of them. How modest. (Weatherman's Amazing Claim!: “I can foretell the future”. Biff cartoon/card). And they will ignore anything that would seem to contradict that interpretation or hinder that goal. And that's the giveaway. That it's as much based on personal resentment for their failed, doomed little lives and relationships. Incapable of love, they see all their failings and hatreds in others, blaming them for

it. And they'll find all the evidence they need, or rather, the ego will because that's what it does. And if it doesn't, well, it can indulge in specious generalization, infer, based on bias and distortion, prejudice and set it up in a way that would seem to confirm their conclusions to others. Their own worst enemies. Interesting times we live in; as this psychoses spreads across the world. Nor will they give art or literature much credence, or the value of forgiveness and sanity for that matter. Sanity comes with forgiveness. Choosing hatred is asking to live a parody of life, a life of self-imposed terrors and constant anxiety/fear. Which they then externalize and try and dump onto you and have you live and feel that way.