Having to shit in a bucket, in front of the world.

on occasions it'll cut deep.....enough to sever.

this nightmare, or perhaps the feelings it releases are those I've never felt before but at one time wanted more than life itself.

My first marriage was in 1990. That's a long time ago, an entire world away in many many ways. I could be describing the life of someone completely different, it feels that way.

Anyhow, by 1994 it was all over. The sense of loss is indescribable for one, the sense of freedom indescribable for the other. It changed me profoundly, mentally and physically. I lost 120 lbs in 3 months. but that year wasn't finished with me yet, I'd have to loose my mother to cancer first, then an entire house, its contents along with 3 cats and a car. Not forgetting a new job 300 miles away.

....and all I wanted was my wife back, my best friend.

I would fantasise about her coming back, I could feel the hot adrenaline well up inside me, sinuses clearing and the weight of my body would vanish. Elation personified

It would physically last for a second or two, but mentally, for days. I think sometimes that it saved me, other times it felt like a curse. 'Cos the comedown would be brutal. Ying and Yang, Black & white

I've been coming down for over 20 years now, I'll dream of those feelings, they are just as real as they were in 1994, I'll feel my sinuses crackle clear and the surge of elation throughout my body...... then the fall, crushing realisation you're back in your prison cell, having to shit in a bucket in front of the entire world...... and you deserve it.

THAT was this mornings delightful brush with mirtazapine. It physically drains me, I could sleep but I daren't, its one too many bad dreams/nightmares to cope with just now.

Dead sister encourages suicidal shooting.

I thought for awhile about posting this, its kinda disturbing (which in itself is not unusual for me) in a very real way and for me, is very telling and personal......exactly the kinda stuff Tim Berners-Lee imagined while belting down to the Patents Office

Well, this morning I got handed a bullet by my dead sister, Susan. She pointed to the engraving on the side of the round, "Make use of me" and said I should follow the instructions and 'Make use of it'. A recurring reference from my dead sister to kill myself. Ive no intension of following her advice by the way, I never listened to her when she was alive so see no reason to listen while she haunts my nightmares either.... Nice try Sis, but next time I want a full body apparition with a few clanking chains etc etc.

KIller of motorcyclists and the oily rainbow mustache balm.

So I'm turning right into a car park on a right turn only lane, I get half way across and a scooter rider ploughs into the side of my car and rag-rolls across the road and crumples into a wall with a sickening thud......

I carry on across the carpark and park up. I've just killed a biker. ....cock.

I wait for the police to arrive, I don't go over to see my handy work, just sit in the car, very still, while the local environment escalates into manic mayhem and a plethora of waggling fingers pointing at the monster in the crumpled Mercedes.

Sirens, shouting, screaming.... then a knock on the window, there's a copper looking in, he's wearing a flat-top cap not a 'bobbies' hat, probably easier to wear in a car I suspect. I'm offered a ride to the local cop-shop, I'm a little excited as Ive never been in the back of a Police car before, will it have hard plastic seats or just normal 'consumer' ones? Its the type of thing that intrigues me, I'm odd like that.

After what seems like hours, I'm told I need to attend the local magistrates that evening for a hearing, along with the dead motorcyclist (he's allowed to be 'living dead' so he can give evidence - hmmmmm, that's a new one).

As the evidence rolls in its looking more and more like the motorcyclist was speeding and misjudged his manoeuvre, resulting in him t-boning my car.

During the summing up I end up in the magistrates car park, kicking back while the boring bits in the main court have their 'T''s crossed. I bump into the dead motorcyclists sister. She wasn't mad at me, she seems to have known her brother was an arse when it came to riding a bike and always thought he's end up dead because of it.

She was hanging around what looked like a beat-up 'white-van-man' vehicle, and indeed belonged to her. She invited me over to take a look and I was surprised to see the cabin had a fully erected 5 piece drum kit installed behind the drivers seat. Behind that was a fully stocked cocktail bar with optics. To the left of that a cashier's till and station. All the interior was fitted wall-to-wall with red velvet and edged with golden tassels.

Its at this point I was transported to an underground shop that specialised in a moustache balm that gave your 'tache an oily 'rainbow' sheen and attended by the long dead parents of a distant friend of mine.

As things were getting slightly out of control, I woke up.... again.

So I'm back at the IMC (Infrastructure Management Centre, IBM). This is a frequently recurring dream/nightmare. Ive been called back to fix some local networking issues (again). Problems with Frontline machines not being able to connect. Once again the issue is down to cables failing due to 'Entropy' (Ive been watching far too many Quantum Mechanic videos on YouTube). This time Fizz from Coronation Street is in charge, she is cold, grey toned skin with small black dead eyes.......the hallmark of an IBM manager. This is later confirmed as she rises from her sitting position and I notice her cloven hoofed feet........ From this point onwards its downhill, cables just crumble in my hands, down to the wire which then electrocute me. The pain pulses through my left arm, a faint recollection that I've felt this before... it continues into my shoulder.... FUCK, this is a dream isn't it?! ..... That's not an electric shock, that's my 'Frozen Shoulder' acting up... guess I'd better wake up, wince a few times ten drag my fat carcass into another pointless day.

A loss..

Nothing for months then BANG.... woke up in floods of tears, the real deep ones that wash over you like a tsunami, so quick as to overtake the emotion so your first thought is "what the hell??". Then it hit me, overwhelming despair and loss. The kind that tastes of iron and snot... I'm still reeling from it an hour on. The focus of this feeling is the loss of a cat, not one I know from real life, but from a dream. A black cat, lost to a flood, I couldn't find him, the hurt and blind panic so real that just writing this has me uncontrollably weeping.

Fuck this. I no longer know if this is down to Mirtazapine or . . . .'just me'.

I spend the next 10 minutes after waking huggling 'Elsie' who was curled up fast asleep on her bed. Her 'WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!!' attitude helped more than I can say. Thank you Elsie, for being you and bringing me back.

Elsie: touch me....... and I'll kill you...

My evil plan to rule the world (...of best selling romantic novels)

I'm Evil. So evil that I've been impregnating random women who then give birth to swarms of bees that have the ability to write number 1 best selling Mills & Boon romantic novels.
Because of the fame that ensues I'm in constant demand to impregnate more and more unsuspecting women, who then give birth to more swarms of literary bumblers.
I become a multi-millionaire but get denounced as a bad father who not only cant name all his children but confesses that "they all look the same to me". It rapidly goes down hill from there.

One of my many many insectoid offspring

Drumming and the vow of secrecy

I'm the drummer for 'The Wonder Stuff' again..... Its 'after gig' time and I'm putting my gear away and there's a few interested kids on-looking. I end up being interviewed from under a table by several 8 year olds. One particular 8 year old with a heavy 5 o'clock shadow carrying a Sony DC-T5 professional cassette recorder jams a mic into my facehole. I then go onto explain the drumming industries secret 'secret of secrets' that must never be told..... 'You just hit those round things with these stick things'...

The planet falls silent... even tho' nothing has been broadcast, the entire planet now knows the 'art' of drumming is a fallacy and the only skill required is the ability to hit round things with stick-like-things..... and it was me who broke the drummers vow of silence. My twitter feed explodes in a shower of hatred, hostility and adverts for sheds.

Artists impression of the Sony TC-D5 (without mic) which was rammed into my facehole.