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.

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.