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.

Believe It or Not

Our story today, Hath Crowned Me, the twenty-first in Aberrant, is very much a true story, and one that happened to me. Even though I have no evidence for the magick portrayed in this story, I still chose to write it, if just to share the wonder. Also, by writing this story, I am in fact providing evidence, albeit anecdotal, but evidence nonetheless. After all, in civil law great reliance is placed upon affidavits as evidence, so consider this story then just an unsworn affidavit.
     There are a few other stories in Aberrant where I portray magickal events that I witnessed. These, again, I consider to be unsworn affidavits. I have told friends about these magickal adventures but they don't tease me about it. In fact, they seem to take me at my word.
     Anyway, the magick experienced in Hath Crowned Me, is fairly typical of the magick that I witnessed while I was homeless and destitute for five years, and they were incidents that always caused me wonder in that formerly sorry state. I still feel fortunate for witnessing these magicks.

A Novel Quest

 Well, everybody, in Sydney, today, it is the first day of daylight savings, which I associate with summer being a whisker away. We will have a good party by talking about the twentieth story in Aberrant, entitled, A New Quest. This story I wrote simply to show off a solution to an ancient conundrum, or saying, really, that one can not get blood from a stone. I have figured out how to in fact get said blood from said stone, and this solution more or less spontaneously occurred to me suddenly one day, without prompting, during my former homeless destitution.
     This fascination with ancient problems and riddles (like if a tree falls in an empty forest does it make a sound?) has been with me most of my forty-five years and I have found solutions to all of them. Not only that but sundry academics I've met over the decades have confirmed my solution(s.) I have actually published a book with all these ancient questions answered, entitled, These Many Voices (not to be confused with my These Many, Many Voices, which is a collection of short stories, not a work of non-fiction), but I warn you that if you do get a copy please be aware that it was written in largely a psychotic state, and is thus a tad disjointed. I have gone back to clear up the book, but have misplaced the digital mastercopy, and so have had to retype the whole thing from my hard-copy. I gave up the job half way through though because it was very tedious. I will get back to it though but might get my printer to convert the hard-copy into a digital Word file. That'll be a whole lot easier.
     Anyway, my manner of how to get blood from a stone I think you will all find reasonable, and cogently argued, but I must warn you the ending of this short story's novel quest is darkly tinged. Still, I hope you enjoy the story.

Even More Personal

Now we are up to the nineteenth story in Aberrant, entitled, Likewise Curious. This story is in my top five personal favourites of all my writings, and the premise that begins the story actually happened to me. In the story, Luisa is a homeless young lass who is so bored that she decides to create something, anything, just to relieve the incredibly immense boredom and mundanity of having nothing to do in her squat. In fact, Luisa is so bored that not once does she think the task an unreasonable objective.
     Luisa, without knowing how, creates this something, a bird. She did so by vaguely staring at a chimney across they way, a part of the squat she was in, watching a pigeon roosted there, vaguely wondering how to create something out of nothing. And then another pigeon, with spiky wet feathers, appeared out of nowhere beside the original pigeon Luisa had been staring at.
     Like I said, Luisa's experience in creating something is exactly what happened to me, but I have absolutely no proof of it ever happening. I always thought that a great shame and eventually realised I could write a story about the experience. That's some sort of evidence. I am also willing to undertake a polygraph test in relation to the improbable events above described. Anyway, this story is one of my personal favourites because it relates a special moment of magick in a life that had been otherwise dark. I also like having proof, albeit anecdotal, that I created the Universe that came with the pigeon I created. Makes life even more personal.

Powerful Thoughts

Well, everybody, now we are up the eighteenth story in Aberrant Selected, entitled, Her Most Earnest Wish. This story is the result of a persistent delusion I had during the full blown stages of my schizophrenia, wandering around homeless in the inner city of Sydney. Essentially, I had become convinced that I could blow up a single thought, anyone's particular thought that I chose to explode for any reason that I chose. The only trouble with this power is that it can easily turn on itself. Thus, I was reluctant to blow up the passing thoughts of strangers on the street because it could well be one of my thoughts exploded unintentionally. And dying from an exploded thought is particularly disgusting, even though I saw no-one passing away after, on the rare occasion, I had exploded one of their thoughts.
     Writing the story was fun because I enjoyed seeing just how far I have come from having crazy thoughts and erratic behaviour. I should also mention while I'm here that since the early days of my writing, thirty years ago, I have chosen to to have mainly female main characters, as most main characters, my senior high school teacher told me, are male. Thus, upon learning this, I have been practicing positive discrimination in favour of creating female main characters. The main character of the story in hand is accordingly female, and she is the only person I know who has successfully exploded a thought. She has a great power.

Freakin' Birds

G'day, everybody. Sorry I missed you all last week but I was a tad under the weather. It took me about a week to recover too. But I'm back to my usual chipper self, ready too to tell you about why I wrote the seventeenth story in Aberrant Selected. The story is entitled, Probably Dishonest, and is the tale of a delusional obsession that I had, back when I was homeless for five years. Basically, back then, I had become convinced that the pigeons, Myna birds, crows, and other such birds one sees hanging around the city had become my particular enemies. The were all, in fact, each one of them, my dreadful nemesis. Why I became convinced of this obvious falsity is unknown. Maybe I was jealous of the fact that the birds got food and shelter so easily. They didn't have to work, didn't have to apply for welfare. They always had someone to chirp with. All in all, those birds were having such a fantastic time just to spite me in my homelessness. Typical.
     The story was very fun to write, one the the best to write from the collection, and I was bemused at myself while creating the tale that I had taken such an irrational dislike to these birds for irrational reasons. Writing the tale also highlighted the fact that where I am now, in safe housing, with a full pantry, clean water, and cleaning facilities, is very precious. This has further reinforced the fact that I will never choose again, either completely or partially, to return to that destitution. You too, I hope, will enjoy the story's irony.