I was talking to myself, about the flowers in the park, for hours in the dark, the hours in the park.
Who are you, who is this voice, this voice always talking to me, in my head, who the fuck are you? Seriously, I think it’s time we have a talk then, since you won’t shut the fuck up, whoever you are. Sheesh. Is 45 fucking years long enough? Geez. You remind me daily how I fucked my life off, you seem to always have the answer, yet my auto-pilot meat puppet doesn’t abide, & does its own thing, apparently. I don’t know. I DON’T KNOW, gah, but there you are, always there chiming in. Like a version of myself, guiding myself, at least attempting to, from somewhere I am unaware of. My “higher self,” maybe? Gah I just don’t know, no idea who the fuck you really are, but you’re ALWAYS here with me. You bring shit music, & play it on loops, you alter your dialect too confuse me. Why? Why are you fucking with me?
It’s so frustrating, but it feels good to write it out. Maybe that’s how I beat you, but are we competing? What’s the competition? Control of the moron writing this crap? Does everyone have this voice, a “conscience,” is that who you are, my conscience? Hard to make that determination, when you’re looking through a cloud of narcissistic bi-polar maniacal paranoid schizophrenic delusions, if,& I emphasize IF, that’s the reality of the reality, so to speak. . but yep, I bet I’d check off the whole list…check, check, check. Throw him back in the nuthouse, perhaps? Gah, why do you keep referring to that, whoever you are? Why these games, these tricks, like my higher self is fucking with me, for laughs maybe? I just don’t know. It’s incredibly difficult to manage. What about the meds? WHAT MEDS? What the fuck are you referring to? I don’t take meds. Oh great, another earworm…wunderbar.
This is whatI deal with, all day every day. Not only am I aware of my own decades-long string of insanely poor life choices, but my “conscience” reminds me about, again all day every day, while looping stupid songs on top of the vocals. Makes no sense. What am I supposed to do? I have this key, a special key to a unique door, a rare key, not many people have this key. When I use this key, & open the door, I see the whole picture. Not a corner of the painting, not the edge, the ENTIRE picture. I see the Great Recycler, I see your so-called “leaders” helping it. It’s something beyond this 3d space we’re all in, but I have the key, as I mentioned, & I opened the door, & I saw what I saw. Now, I’m either truly insane, a complete mental patient, or…I’m right. Are these self-proclaimed “elites” doing Satanic rituals on live broadcasts to millions of people? YES. Do these elitists believe in Luciferian doctrine? YES. Do we all know that these people do dark things to kids? YES. YES YES YES, we live in a world where the people in power positions believe in an avatar of destruction, & venerate said avatar. THAT is what the big picture illustrates. Or…none of what I just said is true, & I’m a mental patient. Now which do you believe?
Doesn’t matter to me, I don’t care what any of you think, to be honest, I’m a narcissist remember? I can’t “care,” according to the manual anyway. Truth is, I DO CARE. I care about all of it. I care about a waning humanity being led through The Great Mouse Trap by dangling bits of moldy cheese, disguised as fiat money. Oh, you didn’t know? Yep, “money” is the stinky cheese they keep you trapped with. Those silly little notes, with numerical denominations, just pieces of paper, “I-O-Us,” so to speak, yet people KILL each other for their cheddar. It’s all in the words, which is one reason why I’m so fascinated by these words, these vibrations, coming from somewhere, some other dimension maybe, I don’t know. They come though, these words come then I write them down, & set them free to roam if they want to, roam around the world, isn’t that right B-52s?
Now it’s time to wrap up, “wrap this bullshit up,” he says, whoever he is. Is it me? I don’t know. Is it a program? Again, no idea. Will he ever shut up? No, probably not, but I notice that on my dreams, he isn’t there. Very surreal, right? Like literally surreal, since he only dips when I’m dreaming. Oh wait, when I go to Interzone too, he isn’t there. Well, he kind of is, but he’s quiet, subdued in submission perhaps? I don’t know….gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…I DON’T KNOW, & the one thing I really get frustrated over, is NOT knowing things, particularly because I know that I know more than I know, does that make sense? Almost as if part of me has been turned off, hindering my true abilities, & all I’m left with is this asshole reminding me daily how I fucked my life off. It helps writing this down, exposing my conscience, as maybe one of my handful of readers has similar experiences occurring. Thanks again JP for the releasing the Pandora’s box of inner-prompts for me. Thank you to the one who gifted me with JP’s online course as well. You know who you are. Cheers Jonesy.
Anyway, he says wrap it up, which I defied, but now I shall comply. Why? I don’t know, this has reached its proverbial pinnacle atop the mountain though, wouldn’t ya say? I’m tired, & my head hurts, & there’s just static now. The dial has moved to a station with no frequency, which is my queue to go. Time to climb back down the mountain. Until next time dear reader, climb your own mountain, before your mountain becomes a mole hill. So sayeth FisH™🎣
For all of you, & for none of you at all.🐟
“Climb your mountain, before your mountain becomes a mole hill.” ~Fish F Fish🎏