The people walking along the street don’t mind me sitting in my car. I mind me sitting in my car. I should be doing things, building things, creating things, or even just working mindlessly in some job that does not matter to anyone. I should be doing anything but this. I am doing this, but I can’t move. Going anywhere just seems a waste, I can’t go home as I don’t feel at home there, I can’t go out as the idea of talking to people scares me. I could go a drive but where could I go? Anywhere. How do I get there? I would need petrol, I don’t want to speak to anyone. I could get petrol a coffee and a packet of crisps all at once. Limiting how much I have to talk to people. I don’t want to eat, I feel nauseous, it must have been that waiting room. Coffee then? I’ll be sick, don’t buy one. It’ll be waste, don’t waste money, what about the plastic waste, don’t waste money or time. I have all the time, well let us go somewhere. Where? Anywhere? How? I look at the car, I could clean the car, it needs a clean. I’d have to go home and get the hoover. Don’t go home. I can’t go home. I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes now people will be wondering. I turn the engine on, I put the radio on. I should really dust this car, that is a lot of dust. I can’t go home, don’t go home, stay here. Yes, I’ll listen to the radio for a minute. I want to explode, I need to cry, I need to scream. I want to bash the steering wheel. I just sit there and don’t look at anything in particular but everything in general. It all wells up.


The words in truth, we never know what they are. We try and pin them down on the page but they dance and change shape, never being peaceful.  I try and keep my mind blank as I read through the words, any place where prejudice can creep in it. Tainting what I am reading, with what I already think I know or have been conditioned to think. The words control us, every aspect of our day is controlled by them, we feel we have free will but it is nothing more than illusory.

The room is starting to darken, slowly at first but now providing me with problems with reading. I reach over and witch on the light. One fluorescent bulb slowly sputters to life, before bathing the room in its sickly white glow. I can feel my eyes already rejecting this light, not quite believing in its fake daytime glow. Later my head will remind me of this light. The words make sense at one level, all around me the structures are built on words. How can I deconstruct the world without using words, even primal noises will eventually become a form of language. Language will always grow and evolve from sounds.


After sounds and words will come written language. Written language is true magick. The magick that will make you act how it wants you to act. It is not the fairy tales and fantasy stories of our youth but true fully blooded magick. Look around you just now, words will be filling your mind, explaining to you the world you are looking at. How else would you understand the world? Have you thought about the way other animals see the world? Do they also describe with its words, did they describe the destruction that humanity wrote large across the environment? As seas have dried up did the fish mourn? As forests came tumbling down did the trees scream? When the glaciers melted did the freshly released pathogens shout in glee?

We find it inconceivable to live without words but also find it hard to believe that any of the other lifeforms on this planet also use words. We were so anthropocentric we could not see that the writing was on the wall and once it was on the wall we carried on, as if the wall was going to be destroyed why worry about stopping the damage now? Words used money as an obfuscation to the damage we were causing.  We obliterated the planet and the words allowed us to do so if we had stopped and saved the planet the words power would have been meaningless. Meaningless power is worth nothing.


The language it controls us. Language is the one true God, that is why we use it to shape our image of God. Without language, we are nothing and would have no understanding. It is used to corral us. We think we have an abundance of words but we never use them all, we use a very narrow strip of them. If we used more we would find power.Read More »

Grow Up

Was I doomed to spend the rest of my life not being invited to reality? Just sitting here in my own little world, struggling to make sense of everything that was going on around me. Trying hard to picture how to untangle myself from the consciousness I had created. Is this all life was? A struggle to make sense and shape of everything you hear and see?  Was there an easy solution to this problem, again I headed back to thinking about salvation. It must be easier than this, a final switching off of the mind that was causing me to slowly break down, unable to communicate with people, too worried to be taken the wrong way, misunderstood, when I all wanted was to be accepted, to be part of a group, a group I had never felt part of my whole life. I was always on the fringes, I could find no way to not be on the edges. I had problems articulating what I wanted to say as I was too worried and anxious about every word or sound I made. If the people I loved couldn’t understand me, how then could other people understand me. I think back to the time I took my ex to London, I was so anxious to not disappoint her; I spent the whole first day with a migraine, that left me physically unable to do anything other than collapse on a bed and want to die. This was one of our first trips away, and it set in motion a pattern for most other trips, I would be so anxious to not offend anyone or upset her that I made myself ill on every trip. Every trip involved a day or a few days of me being unable to do anything through fear of upsetting people, people unable to understand my accent only made the issues worse and I always felt massively alone, even when surrounded by people, unable to articulate my feelings, until eventually, I made myself really ill. The pain in my head forcing me to beg a god that does not exist to kill me. Why is it in our darkest moments that we suddenly find god, is god nothing more than a comfort blanket to our soul’s despair? The pains would be so strong, I would become nauseous and throw up, the actions of throwing causing the pain in my head to magnify, igniting a vicious circle that would only end when I became so exhausted that I finally passed out. Alone, drenched in sweat, ignored by everyone, even the god I was praying too. The pains slowly subsiding; eventually, I could crawl out of my cocoon and then just face the arguments of how I ruined every trip by being ill. I could never find the words to describe why I had become so sick, so painfully ill, my vocabulary would just leave me, and I would just sit there in silence as I was once again berated. Made to feel tiny and insignificant, a being that could never truly be loved, all I caused was pain and misery, unwittingly unleashing it upon her life. I was a source of misery, and she was a patron saint for putting up with me and did I not know it. I was being destroyed, every one of these one-sided arguments piled on the pressure so come the next trip I was already worried, anxious, terrified that these moments of pure anxiety would wash over me and drive me back towards pleading with a non-existent god to kill, surely an exercise in futility. Still, I could never find the words to express my anxiety, any attempt being shot down with the simple answer, “Grow up.”