93 Testament
My Testament to God . . .
Dear God,
Why must I be made an underground, provocative monster?
I was at the wrong place, at the wrong time, working in a supermarket after my final exams in Architecture at the Welsh School, highly stressed, disregarded and faintly self-rubric in my plans to escape. The heart of England had been lost on me, I was desolate, AWOL in my convictions, and pleasantly surprised by my ambitions to create a Jungian disbelief in life, and make my World social & political aims, liturgical, as a self-imposed deity of belief, of peace, and of a movement of one, to 7 billion. To replace our wisdom of war with a go at negotiation, mixed with empathy for depravity and to ride the waves to the snowy lands of home, and make my claim for World Peace. Not really a domination clause, but a discrepancy in the benevolence of economies based on war. While the treacherous girl at the desk, stated a list of 100 names to the Police who arrived on the scene to take over the intercom. They were either the dead, the dying, or the ecstasy takers, and dead and dying from it! I can go without drugs.
I must have said the wrong thing at the right time. If it were not for the misunderstanding of a friend, publicly and abstractly admitting, he had written: ‘Do not go beyond this point, turn around now, or you will die . . . &, I can hear the echo of your voice’. Then, I had not been let into the secret, that there was a realm of voices, I was unaware I had said anything to him at all – watch for the Blueprint – DD’s revelation. The push and the struggle is to cram the mission of work, and spell the truth, but unfortunately the localism of it, became personal, so all wars are over, I repeat all wars are over, and the beginning of history is in my neighbourhood, and then you can stand out from the crowd. But healing, deeply inside of us has been a long time coming, from past travels, and unwanted childhoods – a faculty of London, before XR turned up with a plan for them to fight. This was a trap from a higher power, not for something I had claimed, but had indignantly, affronted, by my way of contemplation, finding the personal, and sacred, to heal deep scars, of running away from two friends, one mentioned above, to the recourse of their blueprints, later to get the better of me, if not their own making; and my own bout of two drugs. My fatherhood of those two men, similarly organising my mind by themselves, and freeing my spirit from innocuous translation, meant I just could not break down in front of them, for fear of the same happening to them, so left them both to be helped at a later date. They only feel for you, once they have made you utterly depressed; if feeling ambushed, as if that is normal for them? In which case I utterly recoil my manoeuvres and should have stuck around for the best days of my life, not to internalise every emotion, and walk with Jesus alone. I hollered so many times, it has been 14 years, to the day, in March 2020, making noise, to react, when I expect exponential happiness, impossible hope, and unrequited love from every Philadelphian, woman and child.
It has been hard, to make it. So, sorry for over the years, being used, and mistaken, abused and lost, but to this day I don’t know if I’m a target for others, or if it is the expression of self-reverential trauma? None of these results, were right, but what I was experiencing was not right? Excuses were told, by telepathic means, later that drugs, and paedophilia, had caused the mind such guilt of others, that their own trauma, of fatherless lives, forced them to set me up. No excuses, this was crime making crime. This was retribution for being hoaxed, spiritually shouted at – as an instruction to the conscious, then into the subconscious, that as the brain works, it had to be expressed. I feel little shame, now forgiven by self, Jesus and family, and friends, as I have never intended, and never actually harmed anyone, therefore, it is like being a robot, cajoled into provocation, potential crime, and self-indication, promises of freedom, making a deadline, marriage and friendship, promises of a party, less abuse, and a meal at the end of the day. But I was worried, I would commit suicide, in a pact not to carry on. Wrong again, there is always the divine hope, from even the person next door, that all can be relinquished again, and again. So, don’t, it is a spiritual fable. It was, just, I could not see myself rearing children in this demise. So, I took the past two years healing up, working through trauma to a delivery of repose.
The wrong trip, the wrong call. As, if my luck of demonic experiences could not get worse, I awoke, face down, with a crack in my skull, having tempered the street with my version of Peace, for not wanting to feel more spiritual drugs. My body possessed, and OPP, was to be the product of those high, and condescending, making me a demi-God of hell. I entered the room, reached for a bottle of vodka, and tasted anti-freeze, with a woman, who had explained, two hours earlier on an MA course, ‘my main character is murdered by anti-freeze’, my slow death would be unbelievable in my condition at the time. Then, I took out 6 bottles of Peroni months later, and tripped out, as if I were on LSD, I assume spiritually spiked, or I was virtually murdered and came back to life, with constant visual hallucinations, I lack suffering from, these days. My head was in a bad place, and I started to collate my thoughts, and wonder what this forced purgatory was good for.
I feel like a hero, I have done my best to go from underground, to digging my way out, and making a decent life, working hard the past 14 years of quasi-hell, this is heavy, not a reality of my own, so, I disown the problem, and send it home from class, and hope from today, like every day, when one has received this truth, the altercation of harassment will be replaced by utter respect, and love, to myself, a hero, with a power unknown to man. I find I have one foot in heaven, one foot in reality, these days, with the power of God, and the Lord, by my side, and of course my heart’s God. I have never earned a good wage, because commercial practice uses one for cheap goods, you don’t cost the earth, because you are not making the earth. So, follow your heart, not your mind, and you will heal mankind. I look forward to respectful architectural practice in a high-end office in the future, when I return.
Today, I use voices, as a form of commune, and make the most of my hidden skills, to make positive a situation in loving kindness, to be pleased with my day. Being exemplary in my field, of writing, and architecture. I still have made no money from my entrepreneurial ideas, through this site, yet a great deal, have been used, so I am on the paper trail, for where my riches lie. I am still upset with hacking, and being told, I’m a rich man, when I have none to prove it. The best thing that has happened to me, is finding no traumatic stress left to deceive myself, for I have grown, into a reasonable, responsible, and talented young man.
The clues, as to where a part of my consciousness lies are in the lines of a Roots song: ‘Step into the realm’ (The Roots, Black Thought & Malik B, February 23rd, 1999, MCA Records).
‘Step into the realm, you’re bound to get caught, and from this Worldly life, you’ll soon depart.’
It goes on . . .
The ghetto is infested, with more destruction, in a corrupt society, so we’re starting a fire to stay in good health. BT belongs in a ward, with a mic, for he has an illness of sorts. The self-proclaimed lame, saying they’re bold, don’t deserve the applause. I’m stuck on money, so I deal. I stop propaganda and backtalk. Warn them, I’m the silencer, more ill than going to hospital, building the richest 5th foundation in the wilderness. He’ll fight you, if you trespass, he promotes the cypher slaughterer – (my initial spiritual awakening – assailant still free to abuse, only one suspect?), slapping me senseless with his mic in his hand. No longer do they want stardom, just to kill the mic, because they have cash.
You can cypher yourself, this time, O, sufferer, and leave people to feel well, for that is what all human life deserves!
In effect, BT is a medium for telling, feeling the hype, being popular as a #TRUTHSPEAKER, not trying to be popular.
But do those followers of the cypher, feel their heart in this World? Love is the only drug I need. Love/Drugs=Happiness. To modernise, with a method of the past, for some spiritual knowledge has been attained; this means we can go on into a system that concludes itself, and be within the continuum, of the natural, organic, biological, and visceral nature of life. When is the last time, you went to a friends house, to listen to the radio, and have a drink, in silence, just as company, not being the 2D digitally obsessed, life maker, of 1’s & 0’s, line after line, feeling spirited into existence, yet alone. That is not organic, but to say ‘Hi!’ in the street and feel the power of shared community.
I feel I am getting to know myself better now, so I shoot them with my love hearts, why must I be provocative all the time, if it is not in my nature?
The hacking must stop! Spiritual or otherwise. It started with Jack Johnson Zig-Zags, then, a mobile connected to an F.O. Satellite, and black hoods on the screen; then email hacking and the mouse moving involuntarily – I could not hold down a job, at home or at my place of work!
Later, are you HIV+? On the error screen, and I never have been, I am just a beautiful person – all this, since 2001 = 19 years of purgatory, after losing love, my father’s health, and being expounded to lower quarters in Cardiff, for public life and its associations to me and EL on the ground, ‘Would you prefer all those castles in Spain, Or the view of the street from your window pane’ (Van Morrison, ‘The Street Only Knew Your Name’, Philosopher’s Stone, Polydor, 1983), returning from Tenerife, Spain.
Later, spiritual sodomy: Sorry find a man! I am not a Gay.
Later still, the worst: I gained personal physical & emotional pain and suffering, loss of companionship, loss of consortium, disfigurement to my nose and left leg, loss of reputation, loss or impairment of mental & physical capacity, and loss of enjoyment of life.
All because someone took ecstasy with me, after a best friend responded to an authority asking what’s wrong, response (WRONG) I think he’s mad! We could make him mad!
Plus, the police have always corruptly gone against the law they claim to defend, and set-me up by a Gangsta: “Gentleman Jim, with a knack for swindling” (The Roots, ‘Somebody’s Gotta Do It’, The Tipping Point, Geffen Records, 2004 n.b. Martin Luther cover – with right ear covered.), swindling me – the real Gemini Boss, stealing and skanking my own brain, with Phrenology (The Roots, album, MCA Records, 2002), a philosophy that does not exist as a whole paradigm of the mind, but the things that hate you, you start to love, because they build you up, until spirit-wise your left language brain has left you, for outer reaches of the atmosphere more recently, now the right's decided to return and pay attention! - STOP.
(The real Gentleman Jim was an ace brown boxer, famous for quicker footwork, and shorter jabs, to win, over bigger opponents). I feel like the only genuine gentleman.
Deception was the key, and namely: from alien’s, this left me with no room for error, or freedom of movement, yet I still stake a claim in my home City, these aliens deny me of, with Butch Estate Attitudes, they have imported for a drugs/sex festival, the flesh and the spirit equally are NO COMMODITY.
My first experience of a voice in my head, was after, “She makes the sign of the teaspoon, he makes the sign of a wave.” (Are you OK?/ So-so), (Paul Simon, Diamonds on the Souls of Her Shoes, Warner Bros. Records, 1986); sadly I got opened with another’s marijuana joint, and was left for dead. 2004, an ex-girlfriend at a party!
NOW I HEAR THERE IS A BLACK ECONOMY RUNNING MY FATE, BUT ENOUGH LIFE LEFT IN ME, TO STOP IT WITH THIS RETORT.
REMEMBER INTENTIONAL INFLICTION OF EMOTIONAL DISTRESS, BOTH HARRASSMENT AND TOXICITY IS AGAINST CIVIL LAW.
CIVIL LAW IS THERE TO REMAIN CIVILISED.
MHA = ANTI-CIVIL LAW = IATROGENIC.
PHYSICIAN FIRED = FREUD ALIVE!
The key is to be sincere in the presence of others and alone, to prove you care enough to reach each others needs contentedly on a civilized basis. My bought of leprosy has not helped, a burning left foot, for years, based on Big-Boi's Lieutenant Left Foot, as if that Gangsta had taken it upon himself to make every 'it' solipsist statement a hellish reality. No respect to him or her says the world, when we are wasting precious time and could be protesting against government powers not pushing for Gold.
I do not want to make a drama out of a tragedy, and would rather it were comedic again, but until we have a party and not worsening hell on this planet, or at least in this war mongering country, we cannot feel positive enough, through wear and tear, to enjoy making this planet better, the exact Anthropocene ideology we need, to get on with the job. It would be better not to get depressed, and celebrate life's virtues for what they are, with a sense of ecstatic, conceptual realism.
I'm not God.
I'm just a man.
A-Men
#TRUTHSPEAKERS
@APIAWOP
Love, Andrew x
RSVP.
