Part 3… Chapter 12… Time goes fast its 2009...

Oh hello, let me see. What do I have to say this time. It’s been awhile as usual. It’s becoming a habit. It hasn’t been a regular pick up the pen to flit away the days thoughts with ink.
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Christmas saw the smile on my face as happy as the Mona Lisa and as false as the Christian celebration of their Christ’ birthday. In a season belonging to the Pagan Wheel of the Year. The almanac of our Sabbats and Esbats have been stolen to control the masses with order and faith.
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Bloody sacrilege lol.

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​For the first time in my life it was hard trying to keep the smile smiling with good intentions. It was all staged, and the performance wasn’t good enough for an applause from the audience. So, I got pissed and before I knew it, it was all over.

Thank Fuk!

The New Year came in without any bangs in the bedroom, or should I say living room. Although that was the obvious inevitability but hey ho, the year had begun.
A letter I had anxiously been waiting to arrive in 2008, finally made it. With news I wasn’t expecting at all, and mores to the point news I still have a confusing and conflicting understanding of.


I cannot understand how the police statements, my partner’ and my own don’t tally. In short, they say this;

‘He’ States:
‘He hears a scream. Ignores it. Hears it again. Wakes up. Gets dressed. Walks to the living room. Balcony doors are open, he looks over. Sees me. Jumps over to help’.
There was or he 'feels' that there was, an intruder/burglar as certain items of his are missing.

‘Hmmm’, are my thought on that. They have been from the first time he said it.

The Police Report States:
‘There was no third party involved at the scene. No evidence suggests that there was. Neither does it suggest that I fell over the balcony myself.
A high percentage of circumstantial evidence suggests that I was 'thrown over’.

I Abstractly State:
‘I enter the pub using the fire escape stairs. Saw ‘Him’ on the bed? It could have been the night before when I came back from closing Crowley's. I head towards the living room. I ‘may’ have heard something’.

I went along with my partners memory/possible intruder.

I didn't know why I went along with 'His' version of the night's events, but I/We did and it didn't make sense next to the police statement.

From what the evidence suggests, a fight/scuffle had taken place judging from the disarray of the living room. A smashed half pint glass which used to hold dried daffodils, was knocked from the book shelf and scattered over the floor. A glass of coke-cola knocked over and spilt. The two swivel wicker chairs had been spun and faced the wall. My bangles and necklaces were found in various directions on the floor. My laptop turned upside down. The whole room was clearly saying something had taken place but there was no evidence of a break in.
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It’s time to call in Scooby Doo and the gang me thinks, because this certainly is a mystery case.

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In my mind, I have a piece of coarse unbleached cloth affixed to a wooden frame being supported on the easel. A truth in textile is waiting to be painted onto it. Embedding each coloured brush stroke into the canvas. Bursting its story from the depths of my thoughts to make of it what I will.

Without my own recollection, there is nothing of worth to retrieve. 

There are only three colours needed to paint my story, I know that much. The only colours I can see mixed on my palette are different shades of black. Ready to be sprawled onto the fibres creating its background like a tattoo. Cascading to the centre and merging into multiple shades of grey like charred coals.
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With red hot lava bubbling deep inside my volcanic mind is ready to cover everything in the deep shade of blood red… exploding like fireworks.

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​So, no-one knows what happened. Everyone has conflicting statements. Memories are void for the two concerned and evidence is sketchy. 

It’s a shock to my system right now. All of it again is filling my emotional world with now angry tears of why and why again. Why am I fuking here. I didn’t fuking ask to live in a fuking wheelchair.

What path am I on?...

Who is on it with me?...

With so many religions and so many gods, if there is just one of them on my path I wish He or She, would come clean and just give it to me straight.

What is ‘My’ mission here on earth? Hey, am I the chosen one? lol

‘Mind over matter prevails in all situations’. Is this my preaching? Hahaa! Fuk me. I think I’m going slightly mad.

I know my preaching right now would be more off the scale with my Pagan beliefs and totally not on pare with the New Testament, The Holy Quran, All Hinduism Gods/Goddesses, the Buddhism Tripitakas, the Sikhis Guru Granth Sahib. Judaism’ two religious books Torah and Talmud, Confucianism with its four texts, Jainism with The Agamas or Shintoism Kojiki…. 
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Can the list get any fuking longer?

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There are so many, which makes bumping onto one god quite likely if they are all around us rather than in our thoughts. Brainwashed into us as children only to be questioned when we’re adults.
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This doesn’t amuse me. It pains me to think I’m even thinking there is a god never mind the off chance I’ll bump into one for the truth. There was no guardian angel watching over me on the 16th July 2007. Only man’s bloody intervention keeping the surgeon happy rich and the patient lives disabled and poor.