A Telepathic Romance

Well, everybody, autumn is slowly creeping up on us here in Sydney, meaning that Christmas is getting steadily closer. Typical. Anyway, today we will talk about the twenty-eighth story in Aberrant, entitled, Such Possible Love. This story I wrote to express to others the experience of having a woman always in one's head. Let me explain.
      I have mentioned Elizabeth before, here in these posts, a woman that I am still madly in love with after over twenty years. Trouble is she's very upset with me at the moment, and has been so for decades. Thus, my solution has been to telepathically communicate with her, the closest I can get. So far. This story then was written to let others know what it's like living entirely on one's romantic imagination, especially when it seems so real.
     Of course, some of my friends have told me that I am obsessed with Elizabeth. I prefer devoted. Like Will Benton said, more or less, in Trollope's, The Benton Estate, 'I can only love the one woman. Her or no-one.' Like Will Benton it does seem very shallow to me to fall in love with more than one woman.
     Anyway, I am still these days telepathically communicating with Elizabeth (usually when I am very intoxicated), and I have also started begging here forgiveness on Facebook Messenger, in the real, non-telepathic, world. Wish me luck!

Powerful Characters

G'day again, everyone. Here in Sydney we've just come out of a heat wave that lasted for about two weeks. It was roasting! Anyway, now we are up to the twenty-seventh story in Aberrant, entitled, Born of Necessity. Basically, this story is about Death taking his first holidays. I decided to write about Death because I have written many stories with God and/or Christ as main characters, so I only thought it fair that Death, being so important to us all, should be included too.
     Writing the story was fun, almost as much fun as writing about God. My obsession with these large characters (God, Death, Adam and Eve, etc.) is partly due to the voices that only I was able to hear. I would spend many hours with them, and these large characters, exploring the nature of Reality, and in some sense, deciding its fate. I used to read a lot of phantasy novels when I was young so that is probably where I got my predilection for potent people.
     Another reason I wrote this story is so that I could fictionally visit Melbourne again, where the story is largely set. I have a soft spot for Melbourne as when I was young my parents would take my brothers and I there each year to holiday. I also wrote about Melbourne in my book dealing with my homelessness, King Street Blues. I shall be returning there soon for another holiday, and I may invite God, Christ, and Death along too. Who knows?

Stranger Than Fiction

Well, g'day again, everyone, hope you too are all enjoying being back at work. Sorry I missed you all last week but I was a wee bit mentally unhinged. Nothing serious, just the effect of reading too much over my holidays. I didn't think it was actually possible to read too much, but I now stand corrected. Anyway, today I will tell you why I wrote the twenty-sixth story in Aberrant, entitled, Charles and Eve. This story I wrote to tell, again, of some magick that I had witnessed during my five years of homelessness. Basically, about halfway through those five years, I had become utterly convinced that I would find Eve's missing rib, Eve being the first woman. Yes, I know that Adam has a rib less than Eve, but this did not shake my delusion at the time, firmly convinced that I would find this rib of Eve's.
     And surprise, surprise! I actually found the rib, a few days after the delusion had taken hold. I was very surprised indeed. It was the size of an average care tyre and had a lot of meat on it, cooked well done, and no fat. It was lying discarded on the footpath in Newtown, inner city Sydney.
     I ate all of it. Quickly. Yes, I was semi-starved.
     This story then was written to show this magickal experience. I still firmly believe that this large, succulent rib was destined for my ravenous appetite, but I am sure my current psychiatrist may well be skeptical of such. Still, you never know.

Brodsy

G'day, everyone. I hope you are all enjoying a more pleasant Christmas than we all are in Sydney. It was actually cold here on Christmas Day, the first time I have witnessed such in all my forty-five years orbiting around the sun. Anyway, this week we are up to the twenty-fifth story in Aberrant Selected, entitled, Saving Brodsy. This story I wrote about my friend of longest standing, Louise Fraser. I first met her when she was the girlfriend of a former friend, around twenty-four years ago, and we have kept in contact ever since. I find it easy to make her laugh.

     Louise I have nicknamed Brodsy, because like Franz Kafka, who had his own personal editor, Max Brod, Louise is my personal editor. This has been the case for several years, and everything of mine that goes out into the world seeking a publisher has first gone passed the eagle eyes of Brodsy. I of course pay her for her services, and having a personal editor definitely gives one an edge in the vicious publishing industry.

     This story, though, is a fictionalised rendering of Brodsy. It was a chance to tell her thank you for looking after me, as much as I would let her, while I was homeless. Brodsy and I have also, to a certain extent, grown up together, so when I was writing the story it felt like I was with the big sister that I have always wanted. 

     Brodsy these days is verily happily married, and has three young children, two boys, and a girl. I have told her several times that she is an excellent mother, mainly because she puts a lot of work into looking after her family, always putting them first. Not only is she a great mother but she is a great friend too. Thanks, Brodsy.

Such a Party Animal

Well, here we are all again, and this time we are up to the twenty-fourth story in Aberrant Selected, entitled, Very Loud. This story I wrote to dispel the common conception that psychiatric facilities are closely akin to jail. Nothing could be further from the truth. This particular story, like most of my stories dealing with mental illness, is set in Rozella Psychiatric Hospital, a fictionalised Rozelle Psychiatric Hospital, near the centre of Sydney. During most of my admissions here I was taking large amounts of illicit drugs, and this did not stop whilst in said psychiatric facility. It used to be fun committing myself to the hospital because I got free food, and shelter, there were bathing facilities, and I still had my precious drugs.
     Taking illicit drugs in psychiatric hospitals, at least in Sydney, is very common. All the drug users eventually find each other whilst in there, and then spend the remainder of their time in there getting stoned in each other's company. It was great fun.
     I haven't been admitted to a psychiatric hospital in over fifteen years but I imagine that they retain their own mini drug cultures. That being said, if I am ever hard up for some pot, and can't find anywhere to get it, I might just book myself into the local psychiatric hospital (I know how to play the game to get in and to get out), and there I will be sure to score some choice pot. Or maybe some acid. Who knows?

Far Too Sleepy

G'day, everybody. Here in Sydney it is the first Saturday of what promises to be a gloriously hot summer. Before it gets too hot though let's have a cool look at a cool story from Aberrant, entitled, Reality Dreams, the twenty-third story in the collection. This story I wrote purely for therapeutic reasons. In this case it was to explore the fact that I, at the time of the story's writing, was sleeping most of the day's twenty-four hours. This was a habit I had got into, because I was bored and couldn't keep myself occupied, beginning from the early days of my former homelessness.
     I don't generally discuss this very bad habit of mine because I feel ashamed that whilst others are working so hard, here I am, lounging in bed. I don't even really talk about it with my psychiatrists past and present. But since I really do need to talk about this problem (which I have since resolved) I decided to write about it, to have a good natter with my subconscious about the problem. It seems to have served its purpose as now I have regular sleeping patterns.
     There's a few other stories in Aberrant that I wrote purely for therapeutic purposes, indeed, my entering a full remission with my paranoid schizophrenia is largely due to a particularly intense art therapy session I had, once while I was in a psychiatric facility. Further, art therapy is highly regarded by medical professionals, it sometimes causing miracles. It certainly caused the miracle of my own remission. Anyway, I guess I really should be glad that I have such a potent tool as writing in order to solve the big problems. Maybe I should be President of The Universe? Only kidding; sort of.
   

Madly in Love

G'day, everyone. I've been sick for the past month or so and thus have been unable to post here. It's not uncommon for the mentally ill to become physically ill, not directly because of the mental illness, but because the mental illness means that they do stupid or risky things. Anyway, I am recovered now, and am here to tell you why I wrote the twenty-second story in Aberrant, entitled, Madly in Love. I wrote this story to once more have a good time, albeit fictionally, with the main character of the story. In real life, her name is Jeanette and I first met her upon one of her admissions to Rozelle Psychiatric Hospital. She was, maybe still is, bipolar.

     Jeanette and I got on very well, seeming to just somehow click together. We were both involuntarily committed to Rozelle so we made the best of it. Jeanette was a very vibrant personality and I was definitely romantically interested in her, yet alas she had a boyfriend, whom she said that she loved very much.

     I never saw Jeanette again after she was discharged from Rozelle and this story I decided to write many decades after we parted in order to once again pal around with her. Wherever she is, I hope she is okay, and still has someone to love her.