10-6-2022: Day 366
The moon was hanging – moody white, in the ice blue evening sky – over the choppy seas down by the King Alfred complex in Hove. Actually.
The kite surfers were cruising the rip tides, the fishermen angling for sea bounty, and the teenagers were knocking back cheap booze, as the sun went down over their ten-story love song.
I was reflecting on the closure of the full year cycle of ‘The Pill Diaries’ – my personal Herculean quest to ditch the chemical addiction to Big Pharma psychiatry meds – and the long walk to freedom from their systemic shackles of paranoia, fear, and guilt.
As the countdown clock to the summer solstice ticked down in my mind’s eye, I tuned into a kite surfer’s soul adrenalin buzzing, carving a smooth pathway through the pounding waves. And relished the challenge of one day being out there with them.
12-6-2022: Day 368
The ocean was welcoming, the tide gently rippling on the pebbled fringes of the headland, as the beaming sunshine rays shimmered on the azure blue waters beyond. The masses and classes were dotted in tribal cluster gatherings along the beach off Lancing Green, cautiously wading out into the cool cool waters.
I was crouched by the rocky groin, watching the beach action unfurling, beginning to tell my story to the Girl in Black and The Boy, who were sitting eating chocolate churros by my side.
The story – painted in precise, painful, traumatic brushstrokes – recounted my journey into the hellish fires of the Soul Asylums, now sixteen years beyond my right shoulder.
As children, who crave truth, authenticity, and peace of mind, they listened on with golden ears. They interjected with curiosity on prison cigarette tokens and anaemic state institutional chips, without standing as judge, jury, or executioner.
As mainstream knee jerk programming demands.
And as the tide turned, the swimmers returned to shallow waters, and my seeds smiled in the sunshine as the story closed on a nail-biting cliff hanger. Leaving the next chapter hanging on the breeze, we made tracks for home.
13-6-2022: Day 369
Standing in my own power in the fruit &veg aisle of a multinational supermarket behemoth, I was busy eye scanning the fellow shoppers, contemplating the miracle of food, life, and abundance.
And, lost in time and space, I found myself wondering why everyone looked so unkempt, downtrodden, and long in the canine, as I handpicked the pick of radical red peppers.
As the rock n’ roll seer Ian Brown called it – here was the beating consumer heart of the first world problems – big shop couples bitching about rising food prices, solo pickers tutting over the fading shine on their granny smiths, and spoilt kids crying rivers over spilt overpriced nut milk.
Here was a microcosm of the broken-down system in freefall to oblivion, on this planet tilting precariously on its axis. And this was the passing thought eclipsing my world, loading up the fresh barcoded produce into the plastic supermarket bags for life.