24-7-2021: Day 43
It was a storm of psychosis in a teacup, as some might say, over a grim breakfast from the Golden Arches. I had survived months without a Fire-day, and along come three in rapid succession.
Fire-days are the times when the Voices seek to overpower, rule, and conquer. And on these occasions, when I would usually just neck a downer, this time I rode it out. I felt proud, but then there were the strange symbols, hidden meanings, and hallucinations of the mind. I went down the K-hole, wolfed down the McMuffin, and, ruined in a morning, took myself back to bed.
I feared the worst – more drugs, more psychiatry, more loony bins, and a longer period in exile. So, I ordained myself a duvet day, on recommendation from the Finnish Angel. Then the thought occurred, that without this darkness there is no light, without light there is no darkness. I turned over, in search of a little piece of peace.
29-7-2021: Day 48
I stared into June’s eyes, the rebel with a cause, from the Handmaid’s Tale. She was on an NGO boat to Canada, from the evil clutches of Gilead. Shellshocked, traumatised, demons running amok, she represented the face of resistance in the face of terror. She was broken, heart carved out, a soul on fire. Somehow, she had escaped. Margret Attwood had seen another path for her girl.
Mine was a dark night of the soul again. As the energy forecaster Lee Harris coined it. Lost in a battle with the forces of darkness, the agents of shadows, where again I lost my mind in time and space. Watching the rolling newsreels of flooding in China, deep state mining and political muckraking, set the tone for the evening. The black mist rolled in. I necked my 7.5mg psych drug quotient from the state authorities and rode out the night under the covers.