Writing sure is cathartic, getting pain off one's chest, getting that irritating hair out of one's arse. My recent contretemps at the end of a thirty year liason with a non-friend, Bawl Vasselino, has been like a broken leg that hasn't healed well, in fact it's gone purulent.
Forgive me for repeatedly moaning about it but it hurts BAD, and writing it out helps heal the ghastly wound. It's only human that I should be upset, devastated even, this false friend's abuse honestly came out of nowhere, we hadn't had an argument, the last time we met we parted on the usual good terms, laughing in bonhomie. The only difference to all our other regular Thursday night meetings was that he carried off a bag of his mother's Oxycontin painkillers. And he must've gobbled up some, in a drunken stupor, for old times sake. And months later he's still tagging me online with "wanker", the poor creature having only a one word vocabulary.
This is my last word on the matter, in time I will forget him and all the rotten apples I've met along the way, humans so greedy, selfish and stupid they got enmeshed in a horror nightmare called "hard drug" abuse. Many of them didn't have abused childhoods, they're just weak links in the human chain. I've nursed them, I've helped them, and I got kicked in the teeth for my troubles. The human race is doomed, in a hundred years we will be extinct, from sheer perversity. How good is the human condition? Goodbye junkie/alcho shock-troops, you'll disappear into a puddle of your own shit and vomit! Ha, ha, ha!
Think about it, shooting up heroin every day for 25 years, once to three times a day, depending on how much mony he'd scammed, then 5 years of methadone, then Buprenorphin for the next 10 years. When I focus on the facts of such a habit I'm shocked, I've never shot up drugs even once, it's obviously driven him mad and turned him toxic. He's now lying to all his hagged junkie friends that it's me who started the harassment, that I've also been a junkie and a drunk in my early life, and most of the braindead believe him because they've got to justify their own stupidity.
His ex-girlfriend and ongoing beard, Maya, messaged me to come to a wake they were holding in a nearby park to mourn the passing of some fellow deadbeat substance abusers who had died a few years ago, in my mind it was a bit late, and an exercise in "virtue signaling" to bullshit each other what caring, magnanimous souls they are.
I replied, "You've got to be kidding, what a mob of hypocrits you are, terrible role models in your egregious drug habits, enabling the destruction of your so-called "friends" by encouraging, giving, taking and selling skag to these "good friends", especially the poor creature who lived next door to me and who made me privy to the nasty goings on in her life, Ursula."
"You pack of mourning arseholes were particularly abusive towards her, referring to her in obnoxious terms, relating how you couldn't bear her and what a shitbag she was, and now you say you're mourning her, two years after she was given a hotshot by another junkie monster. What a pathetic joke! The creep you're all protecting, Bawl Vasselino, sponged her life savings off her for many hits of smack, I heard her crying day and night, "Give me back my money!!!" and you're so fucking braindead you believe his lies and allow him to assassinate me like a rabid lynch mob!"
One-brain-cell Maya shat her pants and is now squawking about the "horrible message" I sent her. A quick reversal of the facts, now I'm the bad guy who's doing all the stalking. I can't really be shocked, this is the modus operandi of weak, callous, dumb humans, indicative of the flawed human condition, not everyone a waste of space, but very much substance abusers fit the bill, they who have killed off billions of their brain cells in their long addiction. That's the sad thing about the brain-damaged, they don't KNOW they're brain-damaged, in their sluggish, ditzy minds everything is peachy keen, yet they can't rub two rational thoughts together.
One nasty result is they "gas-light" anyone who they decide to victimise, who gives them a reality check and relates the truth of the matter. I'm the mad one, I'm the one saying nasty things, I'm the suspect monster committing destructive acts because I'm mean and rotten at heart.
Few of this abusive gang have ever had a real job while I've been a Registered nurse for much of my life. None have achieved anything like me, I've won world prizes for my art, my films have shown all over the world, my art and designs have sold in many major cities, and now my third book "Punk Outsider" is taking off with the hip cognoscenti giving it rave reviews, and these zombie-like failures are jealous. I've been arrested 7 times on civil disobedience charges in the struggle against the proto-fascist, environment vandals of the LNP and this rogues gallery of dope-heads, for all their saber rattling, have done nothing but fart in their manky beds. Yet I'm the "wanker!"
Fuck 'em, I'm walking away from them, I never want to see them again. I don't know why I ever associated with them in the first place, I thought we were all "artists" together. What a pathetic joke, losers and users the lot of them. I actually tried to help them, for years employing them, promoting them, giving them a space to operate, what a fucking waste of time and humanity. Like a rabid sewer rat this creep Bawl Vasselino, to return the favour, has tried to spread his bubonic plague of lies. I'm the liar, I'm the drunk, I'm the drug addict, I'm the "bastard" What an arsehole. Few junkies get past 50/55, very few reach 60 if they keep up with their bad habits, their body rots and their brain goes toxic. He's 58, bloated, bald and red-faced, he'll be dead soon, but not till he inherits the family 3 million dollar house and blows that up his arm. And I continue to eke out a living in social housing.
I'm reminded of those movies where paranoia rules, the original "Gaslight" with Ingrid Bergman for instance or "1984" or Kafka's "The Trial" where most of the passing crowd or the whole of society is trying to surveille, control, brainwash, drive mad a protagonist, who in return resists, fights back, refuses to believe or give in to the accusation that he/she is the criminal, just for existing, for being a thinking individual, for caring and trying to help instead of exploiting and fucking.
I watched one such horror/sci-fi shlock the other night with Christina Ricci called "Distortion." She moves into a high-class, cutting-edge techno-controlled apartment house and soon starts to think the tvs, computers, security cameras etc are trying to brainwash her into doing something really nasty. She is conned into killing a small child, an elite band of technocrats thus proving they can make someone both believe in and do something horrible, the opposite of their true nature. Thus humanity in its entirety can be controlled. In fact, under attack are the elements of "humanity" we hold dear, soon to be gotten rid of by the fascists taking over the world.
Kindness, democratic freedom, individuality, resistance to cruelty, clear thinking, empathy, all such qualities are to be destroyed or distorted, that's the goal of cruel billionaire Overlords. And it's happening right now in dictatorships around the world, very much in the putrid air here in Australia with the undermining of our freedoms, the cruelty shown the poor and vulnerable, the trend towards militarisation and war by the so-called Liberals, though Laborites fall in line also. Sometimes when a mob is yammering about your badness of character and the need for your demise you don't have to be paranoid that maybe their accusations are true, it's more likely they are fascist-media brainwashed, drug fucked brain-damaged morons and weak, vacuous, system suckers, taken over by an alien force as in "Invasion of the Body Snatchers." ("Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean THEY'RE not after you!")
Bawl Vasselino constantly bullshitted to me how he would fight the nazis, how he would stick up for me and protect me if THEY came for me. In actual fact he is a neo-nazi, he's acting as if under the command of our murderous Overlords, he'd like it if I was disappeared, he'd be willing to snitch on me to the Pigs if he got the chance, he's a weak, empty shell of a man, like a Gollem sent out to destroy rebels. He's never gone on a protest march, never handed out an anti-fascist pamphlet, never written a revolutionary song, always grimly silent, (for fear of giving himself away), hardly ever smiles, just hisses at his mirror while he re-arranges his bad comb-over. The big shock is that he's human also.
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