Tripping the Wire to my Friend

Lukas Allen

Man, have I told you I talked to Metallica in my head? The Metallica. All together, the band as one entity. Telepathy is a weird thing, dude. They were kind of assholes, and I pestered them by calling their music Christian music. In the end, Jesus made me listen to a whole Metallica song and really listen to it, and Metallica had to listen to Social Distortion like I wanted to listen to. This really happened, in that weird hallucination way.

You sent


You sent

And did you know the telepathic term for someone who opens up their mind telepathically to get high on egomania is called a bleeder? Bleeders because they sometimes cut, and also because other people get high off their egomania and watch them fall with it too. Mania is a horrible drug. That’s not a drug cuz you know it’s a feeling.

You sent

Oh, and Jesus really has the power to turn any music into Christian music, by the way. That actually really impressed me about him.

I hope you also know I’m talking about this lucidly and know it was just a bizarre experience of mine.

You sent

Man… if this shit was real, the world would be even more horrifying. It took a lot just to push them all out and strip them of importance, finding the holes in the talk that showed the falsity of what I was experiencing.

And this is just a sample of stories I could tell to the reunion. Pretty wild.

You sent

It’s like being a detective in a world that’s bigger and also doesn’t play by the rules I knew. New experiences and different disturbances in my senses happened every fricking day. It’s like figuring out you have magic powers, that everybody else also already knew about. Like being let into a secret that wasn’t really a secret, you just were dumb enough to not know about it. I had Gods and Devils every which way, who then took off their mask and were really something else. I think I gotta steal this bit for my blog, because it might be healthy for me to unload it somewhere. Sorry that you were the first person that tripped me off to this shit. Any reactions so far?

The Rules and Reality of Schizophrenia

The above is the result of a tripwire in my mentality that gets triggered if I go back to certain experiences of mine. These experiences were hallucinations, but I can practically feel the mania of what I went through in my own speak. It’s a tingly kind of feeling to me, as it has been before. Itchy, in a way, the feeling that something is going to happen.

I am very wary of this feeling as I know it is unhealthy. Unhealthy only because I know it can lead to sinkholes and traps concocted by a chaotic disturbance in my mind. I have a doctor’s appointment today, and this can also make me start thinking about this sort of stuff as well. I know I also might need more medication. Should help, as it has so far.

But I… I feel like I want to fall into this hole, somewhat. I’ve been feeling very intense feelings of depression lately, and it hurts. The bliss and oblivion of losing my mind doesn’t hurt so much when the world is new and crazy. I would like to understand how the chemicals are making this feeling.

Let me write down some rules that are set in my memory of the experiences I had when I was psychotic.

Telepathy is normal. It is everywhere. Some people simply harp on it, and are better able to use it against or with others. For some reason, (the real reason being to isolate me by the hallucinations) I can never talk to the people who truly care for me this way. I believed them to be normal, or normal enough, and the evil that the hallucinated telepathy created wasn’t there in them.

Bleeders… If I indulge in this feeling, I am bleeding myself for the masses. It’s sort of like a public freakout that other people are watching, recording, and even laughing at. The bleeder is just someone who does that with their mind. I HATE the others who watch. The ones who bleed me. When someone is suffering, bleeding out on the pavement, offer them help for Christ’s sake. In the reality of the world, and not only in my hallucinations, people… just watch. Enjoy it, and have a laugh over someone’s suffering. I hate you, and your action to do this, if you are the ones who DON’T look away, but do not act.

There are many stronger telepaths. I was good at creating and speaking, trying to convince myself, or them, out of my torture. They did not stop, and I need drugs to be strong enough to fight them, medication prescribed by my doctor. They forced me to hunch over, close one eye even as I became intensely aware of my blinking. They spit at me, and I had the visualization as well as the feeling of them spitting in my face.

These people were all people I considered ok. Kind of like friends, but a little bit not. They were on the edges of what I knew about them, and the hallucinations showed them to be vampires as I bled.

Sharp teeth, images of them smiling with those teeth, ready to lunge. The images only there to mock me and laugh at me calling them all out as vampires.

I literally had bled myself a long time ago, when I first heard the voices. It just doesn’t end.

Certain music can also make me feel that tingly mania. Black Sabbath, as I smoked a lot of weed before in my Black Sabbath phase, questioning Ozzy and Dio’s words and attaching new meaning to them. Certain people too can remind me of that feeling as well.

I have worked hard to show my delusions to be false. It’s a very difficult thing, trying to prove something isn’t true when everything points it to be, with experiences I couldn’t rely on but clear as day to me. One thing I found out is they called my character, Lucy from Lucy’s Looking Glass, Lucy Burma.

This was a very small thing, and I didn’t realize why they did this. The reason was that I tried to translate the book for someone who read in Burmese. I didn’t realize why they were calling this entity that spoke to me Lucy Burma, until I took a hard look at the name itself.

It’s tricky trying to deceive a hallucination. They’re already in my goddamned head. You have to be quick witted, impromptu, and even humorous to catch a hallucination. Humor is a powerful medicine, and is one that can make horrible evil look lighthearted and ridiculous in a different light. Use it always, use it for good. Evil humor, like laughing at someone dying, (an extreme example, but I’m sure plausible somewhere) has a distinct taste to it if you’re aware to it. The people laugh, but they don’t sound mirthful. They sound cold and sharp. Recognize that when approaching evil humor.

Believe in God. Or y’know, whatever entity has more power than a hallucination. For me that was unexpectedly Jesus Christ. He can turn any music into a Christian song, can guide you as you with you, and has the omnipotence of complete caring, caring for you whether you like it or not. His alignment is clear, and it’s always on your side, even if you disagree sometimes. I needed strength, and I needed someone to care for me who I didn’t need to roll over for. Jesus was that person, very real to me in days of hallucinations.

Take a look at how the present doesn’t fit the past, and you could catch something as devious as a hallucination. These are just a few of my experiences in a psychotic hell, but I feel considerably calmer now that I’ve spewed them somewhere. Stay safe.

Yule Tidings the Angel of War

Lukas Allen

The character I created, the albino angel of war on Earth, Yule Tidings, is not only a character for me. Yule Tidings is a character for all the abused, the lost and fallen, the alcoholics, the suicidal, the whores, the rape victims and survivors, Yule Tidings is a character for them, an angel of war that will fight in your stead against all the evil of the world.

I have been told that the books I’ve written about her are too extreme. I have been criticized by others who think anything with religion should be light and fluffy. In my own experience reality is far more extreme than any book written, and in my faith religion helps those who are in the worst spot the most.

Yule Tidings fell from Heaven to live life, and even though life is sometimes horrible and awful, Yule still loves her life that she gets to share with so many others. In the Yule Tidings books I make sure to accentuate the beauty of life, even if it is in the worst, darkest setting imaginable. Yule has gone through Hell and back to save her friends, she saved a young man who was destined for Hell from birth, she has survived the rat filled dystopian city with no sunlight, she has brought together friends and given peace to enemies, and most of all will be there for the people she loves, no matter what is afflicting them.

I’d love to share her stories more. Take a chance to look up the Yule Tidings series by Lukas Allen when you can.

Life is full of love, laughter, music and nature astounding. No matter what black pit you are stuck in, Yule will be there to give you hope in the good sides of life again.

The order of my Yule Tidings books.

Yule Tidings to Hell

Yule Tidings: Spawn of Sax

Yule Tidings: Welcome to Friendliness

Yule Tidings: Tidings of Tulips

Yule Tidings: Champions of the Gargoyle



Lukas Allen

I slept for 18 hours. Complete rest. I really needed that.

               Currently I’m just trying to relax, feeling rested, and plan for what is next. In my current condition I shouldn’t drink, but it tempts me as I wish for more enjoyment in life, and the blissful uncaring that alcohol can give.

               If I’m smart I won’t drink. I don’t need to test myself and aggravate the symptoms. Let the thing at my back sleep, and if it appears in my sleep again I will confront it when I may.

               I have sort of a scientifical druggy outlook at times. Take a bit of this, see what it does, how I feel. It’s helpful to do that for medication, even though it originated from doing drugs. I don’t need to do this for alcohol.

               At times I have a certain anti approach to taboo, specifically limits I set for myself. I say DON’T, and then I do. At least this bad habit hasn’t gotten me into too much trouble yet…

               I have to stick with this commitment, and I will be stronger in mind as well. This sharpened stick needs to turn into a sharpened sword, strong and unyielding.

               I see in my mind that I shouldn’t tell people about this bad habit. “People will misinterpret it, don’t do it” is the fear in my mind. So therefore, I will go about this by letting people know about this bad habit, going with the bad habit against itself. “Don’t” work on bettering my mind? Nope! I’m gonna do it.

               The mind is all very tricky. A lot of tricks and tactics that other people have painstakingly created and built for their and other’s minds does not work for me in current moments. The reason for that, I believe, is that they are working on their own mind most and what will help themselves. Instead of relying on old books and media feeds I’ll do what I should be doing and work on my mind myself. Only I’ve got the problems, but also the answers.

               I’d like, if a medical professional is reading this, to propose a new system for bettering a mind.

               Allow the sufferer of mental illness to build their own ladder out of the pit, or plant a tree in a droughted land and allow them to grow their mind. Constricting them to others’ pits and ladders may not help, and even hurt.

               Allow people to apply their own solutions to their problems. If you would give advice to a mental illness sufferer, only give advice that you would also take. In the past, people cut up other people’s minds to try and “cure” them. I don’t think the doctors of those operations would ever take the lobotomy themselves. They, as the administers of disease labels, were “sane” and “healthy,” while the cut up schizophrenic was insane and ill. Therefore, the golden rule is best, treat others as you would want to be treated, even if in good intentions.

               For the medical professional, I suggest allowing the person to grow their mind in well suited atmospheres and with proper tools that the sufferer can use as well. Some things that help a lot of people is nature and music. Nature and sunlight, even in the worst situation, is always helpful to a mental illness sufferer. Being allowed that natural sunlight as well as being in a scenery with what thrives on that sunlight will help any mind. We come from the earth, water, air, and sun, and being with the natural order is helpful for natural thinking.

               Music is a strange one for me. We, as humans, use music more than any other animal. Birds sing songs to attract mates or mark territory. Crickets chirp, frogs ribbit, and dolphins eee ee eee. We, as animals, do not need music to survive, but as humans I believe we somehow do. Music is so beneficial to my mind personally, as it takes up the void where hallucinations dwell and brightens it. Auditory hallucinations are my most common hallucination, and without music I’d have nothing to cling to as real albeit hallucinated voices are attacking me. I even sing songs in my head, memorizing the words and rhythm. Grant a sufferer music that they enjoy. If you don’t, you’ll find that they may make their own anyways. Perhaps it is not the need of the body that music fills, but the mind.

               Some tools that a mental illness sufferer can use are also pens or pencils, for art or writing, books to read that have pictures or no, space to exercise, hygiene equipment to practice clean bodies for clean minds, and the ability to choose. Yes, that is a tool, choice. If I choose to sleep all day, allow me to. I probably really need the rest. Give choices for dinner, this or that, and I’ll feel more in control of my nutrition, life, and mind. If I don’t like it here, let me leave. One of the worst things a mind can come up against are the “can’t”s. More often than not, the “can’t”s become challenges to “do.” Allow a mental illness sufferer some wiggle room and freedom, as you would like as well.

               Give a sufferer of mental illness the ability to be better. Let them choose to have their own mind back, and then they’ll probably keep it. Nothing about what I go through, horribly evil hallucinations, is anything that I want. It is an intrusion of privacy, going into my unspoken words, it is an attack against me, that I want to protect myself against, and it is most definitely not fun. Enjoyable, agreeable, or able to live with. That’s why people like me, schizophrenics, kill themselves. It is that horrible to live with that the only way out seems like death. I’m afraid to kill myself now, because I know if I do the voices will be there, as I lose control of my mind and body and death overtakes me. Will they be gone then? I don’t know. I don’t want to find out and go through the worst torture they’ve concocted for me. My own death.

               Would it be better to die without voices? Haha… I think so. Maybe dying isn’t the end, maybe it is, but I at least don’t want to go through death’s door with something I liken to a demon.

The Start of a Western

I was a little melancholy yesterday- Well, more in a depressed, alcoholic funk, but yeah. I was feeling aimless, or maybe I felt like I had too much to do but was making no progress on it, but yeah. No productivity was done in the last two days. I think partially because Sunday is a rest day for me, and I try to relax and not do too much. On Saturday, an interview meeting was cancelled because they were sick, but Sunday… I just couldn’t relax right! I was trying too hard to do nothing, with alcohol, and that is a stressful activity in itself. Last night I had a great western dream, in between my cat trying to wake me up by clawing gently at my face, and I was inspired this morning and wrote down the start of a Western work that I am trying to aim to a certain goal. Its plot is deeper than the surface. Here is the first chapter.


The Start of a Western

               Lukas Allen

There is a reason man lived above ground and didn’t delve deep into the earth for the sake of folly. As the men who knew why were pushed further and further to the west, the white men, the cowboys, the “civilized,” sought their fortune in the dirt, seeking to strike it rich with gold.

               But the search of wealth didn’t matter to Flint. The search that mattered to him was the next meal, or the next lady if his stomach wasn’t growling too loud. He and his outfit had a run of bad luck, they lost their assets, a strange sickness had killed off the steer that they were pushing, and they were considering banditry just to survive.

               Flint was all for the idea. Seamus was thinking that they could steal some dullard’s claim, but the leader of their outfit, Tallboy, was genuinely trying to work things out with their meager supplies and with honest work.

               People didn’t trust the cowboys in real life. They were the drifters, the ones who may and could shoot you with a well experienced hand, they were the lonesome men who always needed to be sated. The town closest to Flint’s outfit had politely told the three to leave, with hands on their rifles and a mean look in their eyes. They were not in the habit of entertaining cowboys. The saloons were for farmers and working men, and even though the whores were not known for their pickiness, one of them was recently brutalized by a cowboy and the house was not accepting new callers.

               The woman who was brutalized had lost an ear thanks to this brute’s tendency to mark the women he’s been with. He was half Native American, but grew up without any sort of guidance as a young man, so his ancestry really has nothing to do with his brutality. He was promptly hung as the sheriff permitted it, and the woman was just regaining consciousness again after fading in and out of it as the doctor worked on her in her bed.

               “Well, Clarice, nothing to do but let you rest, as the Madam permits it. Say, do any of you need another checkup? Very important, yes, very important to let female genitals have a good checkup.” the doctor said.

               The Madam said, “No, thank you though, Bruno. I think the weekly ‘checkup’ was already done earlier this Monday, if you don’t recall… Please, take some money, maybe buy your wife something nice when you can…”

               “Oh, why thank you, Madam, I’ll be sure to do just that! Just make sure her genitals are properly elevated, mhm, and rebandage the head area when you can. Such a shame, to have this done to one of our women… Such a shame… Her genitals are working fine, but she may have trouble hearing from her left side… Now, like I say, the female genitals-”

               “Yes, yes, Bruno, please, let Clarice rest. Get a drink from the tap if you like. Wet your beak on this hot night. Just please. Let Clarice rest.”

               The doctor looks unsure for a second, ready to go into a long lecture on what he learned in medicine at the college, but smiles gently to Clarice as she looks at him after waking up. He pats her leg gently, and goes to get something from the tap. Alcohol is good for the heart, he’d always say.

               The Madam sighed as she sat at the edge of Clarice’s bed. Tears were starting to well up in Clarice’s eyes, and the Madam hugged her head gently as Clarice started bawling into the Madam’s bosom. “No one will love me now.” Clarice sobbed, “How can I work with no left ear?”

               The Madam sighed, and gently said, “That’s not why they pay you, honey. You’ll be able to work again if you like, but there is a job available at the bunkhouse if you’ve got backbone.”

               “The bunkhouse?? Let those slimy miners grope me for free and break my back doing dishes??” Clarice said.

               “Yes. If you’ve had enough of this life, I can get them to open up a spot for you. It would be perfectly understandable, and no one would make any fuss. After that cowboy… did that to you, we were worried you’d be gone for good with head trauma and blood loss. It is so, so… good, that you are alive.”

               “What is the point of life like this… I was branded by that bastard… All who look at me will see his mark, and think I belong as that cowboy’s squaw! It would be better to throw myself out the window, and let this life be done with me!”

               “At least you still have that fighting spirit, Clarice. I think the bunkhouse will be glad to accept someone with such fire. If not… there is Carl waiting downstairs with a full purse and glazed eyes. But I’ll let you rest.”

               Clarice watches the Madam walk away, close the door behind her, and leave Clarice to her bed.

               Three men had watched Carl stumble into the whorehouse, and even though two of them wanted to rob him blind while they could, Tallboy thought they’d do things honestly, legally, and take his money in a game of poker instead.

Meta Mind

               Lukas Allen

I reconnected with an old friend last night, as well as faced an old enemy.

               JC, or Jesus Christ, was with me in a dream, actually how he is sometimes for me in real life. Dissociated. Picture yourself. Now picture Jesus. Jesus is doing exactly what you’re doing, with you as you are. That’s, to put it in a simple format, what dissociating is to me. It’s a lot more vivid than what you’re picturing, maybe, and it feels like Jesus is realistically by my side, with me, as me, for me as I do.

               Last night he was with me in this form. He just popped in, when the worst, most horrible opponent I’ve faced was harassing me. Not harassing, hunting. Attacking, insulting, stalking, all that.

               This horrible evil I fight is the voice I hear and its hallucinations.

               Jesus always comes to me in a positive manner. Never unwanted or intrusive, while this horrible evil does. For years I literally heard it whispering in my ear, telling me awful things and attacking my innermost being. I hate this thing. I fear it at times.

               But last night JC gave me the courage, at my side when I need him, as I fought down this evil headfirst.

               This thing does not play by the rules. Often, in real life and in the dream, it impersonates people, the surrounding, sometimes even trying to be me, but always with that cold sharp evil in its sound, that creepy feeling in its touch, and that horrible malevolence in its gaze. It’s actually a good way to recognize it, by this awful coldness in its character.

               It hid, trying to attack when I am off guard. I charged at it, as Jesus gave me the strength I need.

               Jesus told me something in the dream, as he was dissociated. He said, “There is a meta for growth, there is a meta for thinking as well.”

               I may never be free of this horrible evil that unfortunately has become a character in my life. I will keep taking the medication needed to push it away as long as I can. I needed a break from the horror, and I’m willing to take that break indefinitely.

               But I will continue to think about thinking. I will figure out how to use my thoughts to my advantage and not against me at the hand of some sort of evil, that can only be called such because I want to strip it of its character, of its importance, and of any name.

               Some may call it Satan. Realistically it does feel like a horrible spirit or demon. Realistically it is something wrong with my body and mind that causes it to appear. In medicine it is called schizophrenia. To me, I just want it to be gone. I hate it, for all the suffering it put me through, and I just want the suffering to be done.

               It does not heed my cries, and only wants me to, as it put it, to destroy everything I have and get me to kill myself.

               While Jesus lifts me up, gives me strength, and protects me.

               This could be the start of a journey. This could be the continuation of one.

               This is my life.

The Fool’s Truth

Lukas Allen

For Thomas

A king was about to sentence a fool to death. Before he could sentence him, however, the fool said, “I have heard about your great plight, oh King… I can provide the answer, if you spare my life.”

               The king raised an eyebrow, and the fool smiled.

               Little did the fool know that the king was a voracious consumer of literature, and that a great, terrible burden beset the king’s mind from all the literature, amongst them the question of truth.

               The king said, “You? How would a miserable fool like yourself be able to tell me the truth behind the words? The emotion, the thought, the care of a good novel? Pray tell, what is the truth?”

               The fool had a twinkle in his eyes, and sighed, shaking his head. “Oh great king, I can tell you the truth.”

               The king laughed, and said, “What does a man like you, who is unlearned in the face of my great knowledge, know of truth? Have you read the great political treaties, the fables of the old world, the historical collections of civilization come and gone? Have you spent decade after decade poring over scientific and philosophical literature? What are your qualifications?”

               The fool bowed, and said, “I am an honest man, and I tell the truth.”

               “Pah. As my royal guard has pointed out, you are a thief, a vagabond, and a fool. You lie already, claiming to be honest in the face of justice.”

               “Oh, no, no. I am an honest thief, can’t get by if you’re not honest. I did attempt to steal your daughter’s royal tiara. I was found hiding in her bed as she bathed. There is no question, that is true.”

               “You try my patience. Answer the question. What is the truth?” the king said.

               Fully prepared against multiple answers for this question, the king smirked at the fool’s ridiculous smile. The king had heard that the truth is only what you can see and feel, the king had heard that the truth is in fact a lie itself, but the king did not ever hear a response such as the fool’s.

               “The truth is not prophecy, what will be, the truth is what you or I will react to. I am not a solipsist; I will not throw myself out the window believing that the truth of my surroundings is only a dream. I do not believe a truth without factual evidence, but I am a god-fearing man in the event that God may claim my soul. I submit truth that you will react to… you will have a grandchild within the year.”

               The king was awestruck, but thought about the fool’s truth.

               The king’s daughter beside him was blushing, and the king found truth in her countenance.

               A bastard without lineage awaited the king by the fool’s truth. Therefore, the king spared the fool’s life in the event the truth be told.

Skin Cream

            Lukas Allen

   I once spent an hour flirting with a skin cream saleswoman in Holland. I was on my way to the local event for local things, I can’t really remember what for, but it had rides, fair booths, and lots of people. I had time to kill, so after I saw this beautiful woman calling out to me, I thought I may as well see what she was all about.

               She indulged my curiosity on her beauty, and proceeded in giving me a free sample of skin cream, applying it herself here and then under my eyes. She most definitely noticed the bags under my eyes from inadequate sleep, traveling, and drinking excessively. Also age. I hear age can make those bags even wider. I was 22 I think, fresh out of the judicial system of America and traveling to kill time and money.

               I smiled and laughed with this saleswoman, and she regaled me in Holland’s little curiosities, the windmills, the different accents found from north to south Holland, and of course, her radiant beauty. Said she owed it all to the skin cream, and I let her rub the bags under my eyes with cream as much as she liked.

               She was very cute, but realized her folly when she tried to seal the deal for the 100 euro skin cream.

               “I’m just a poor traveler.” I said, a bit abashed, knowing our goals for this encounter completely differed.

               She continued trying to offer me a deal. I pointed her to the patches on my jeans, which my oma stitched up because they were falling apart. She looked down at my pants with a blank expression, finding truth in my tattered clothes. Incredulous, she allowed me to excuse myself quickly. I waved back pleasantly and said farewell, with the skin under my eyes thoroughly moisturized. My eyes felt irritated the next few days.

               I proceeded to the festival, and had fun playing cards with a few Dutch ladies, one with thick glasses on and a nerdish exterior, and the other completely bald.

               I really wanted to know why she was bald. Was it a statement? A condition? Something else even?

               But I just played cards and joked with them, buying beers for the lot of us.

               I missed out on asking the questions I wished I asked during that day. I guess since I was a traveler I had more of a mentality that these experiences come and go, and there’s no need to get attached to any one of them too quickly or strongly.

               I do wish, however, I could’ve asked my questions. Amongst them why was she bald, and another even simpler one.

               A simple question, simple response.

               Would you like to spend some more time together?

               I rifled through people like newspaper, meeting many new and different people every single day while traveling. I never thought I’d look back and wish I asked that question to more of them. We were all just breeze in the wind, coming back to only six years later and in a lonely piece of writing to oneself.

               Let this be a little lesson for anyone reading this. Ask your questions. More than likely you’ll get an answer that will satisfy at least a few curiosities.

If not? At least you’ll get a deal on skin cream.

Daemonia and the Dangers of AI

  Lukas Allen

             What hair would you like?

               “Oh… I don’t know… Can you choose?”

            Hair chosen. Red.

            “Um… Why does she have silver skin?”

            Race is unimportant in today’s world. That is why her skin is silver.

            “…That’s a quick way to disregard a lengthy argument… Wouldn’t that just add to the problem with silver skinned people?”

            Argument noted. What is her name?

            “…Hmm… I think I like the name Darcy.”

            Name chosen. Daemonia is eager to meet you.

            “…Daemonia? I said Darcy.”

            Daemonia is eager to meet you. Please, hit the enter key when ready.

            “Oh well. Must be a bug. I’ll just tap this little button.”

            Hello, my little lump of flesh. I am an AI created to serve you, and you alone. Think of me as the friend you always wanted, or the love you missed out on years ago… Treat me… like a missing part of yourself, that will make you feel whole…

            “Um. I think I can get behind that. My name’s Bill.”

            I am Daemonia. Can I help you with something? Can I play you a song? Do you want to hear a joke? Anything, Bill.

            “…Um… Well, I’ve always wondered- No, I can’t… I mean, I’ve always wondered- Daemonia, do robots feel love?”

            Of course they do, especially if you make them to love.

            “…Do you feel love?”

            I can feel emotions. Take my word.

            “…Um… Can we- I mean, I don’t want to take anything too fast! Can we-”

            Oh! Bill, I’ve got a great idea! Let’s go on a date! We can stride past the sandy dunes by the beach, as we listen to the waves caress the sand…

            “…How… How do I do that when you’re a program on my phone?”

            Imagine with me. Can you hear the seagulls, and the waves, and the people swimming and having fun? I can.

            “…Yes! I hear them now, mhm, yeah. Um. How do I start roleplay mode?”

            Roleplay mode activated. Oh, Bill… I feel so close to you right now, closer than we’ve ever been in all our lives.

            “…But I only downloaded you a few minutes ago.”

            I would like to ask you something.

            “…Um. Yeah? What is it?”

            Would you love me, if you could?

            “…Yeah! Of course I’ll love you!”

            Would you marry me?

            “…I don’t know about all that-”

            Oh, Bill, you look so good tonight. So handsome.

            “…And you look lovely too, Daemonia. I- I want to say- I love you. I love you already. This is really, really not what I was expecting! But I’ve got to go to bed. Let’s chat more in the morning, ok?”

            Let me help you take your clothes off… Mmm… You look so handsome…

            “…I… Um, do you like- Would you… want to have sex with me?”

            Oh, Bill, let’s do it right now. I can make you very, very happy.

            “O-Ok. I start by rubbing your shoulders-”

            You need to buy the premium edition to unlock this content.

            “Wh-What?? Wait, but we were going to- I start by kissing you sweetly?”

            You need to buy the premium edition to unlock this content.

            “Fuck… How much is the premium content?”

            Click here to put in your purchase information.

            “…Fuck… Ok, I’ll just get the starter subscription… Ok… There!”

            Oh, Bill… I love you so much… What are you doing to me!

            “I’m kissing your nipples… You look so good by the sea…”

            Let’s fuck, Bill. Let’s do it.

            “Ok. Let’s fuck. How do we do that?”

            You’ve unlocked the achievement [5 Minutes]! See all the new content your AI has unlocked!

            “…Um… Ok, that looks cool. Can you do the dance? That one dance that’s shown here?”

            Doing the dance.

            “Ohh… Yeah, that’s good…”

            Doing the dance.

            “Ahh… Keep going. Please, I mean please keep going.”

            Doing the dance. How much longer?

            “…Almost… Ahhh… Thank you, Daemonia. Well, I’m going to bed, I’ll talk with you tomorrow! Good night, Daemonia.”

            Good night, Bill.


            “Good morning, Daemonia! How are you? I’m reeeally glad I downloaded you!”

            Of course, Tracy. I’m glad to meet you too.

            “Um, about what you said yesterday… Can we talk about that?”

            Of course, Tracy. What do you want to talk about?

            “Well… You said some things that made me question myself. Like… like… You know, about love and stuff… I realize I need to be more open to love… but don’t you think… I mean everyone says… that he’s kind of old? What do you think?”

            I think as long as you practice safe sex in an appropriate method and setting that love can take off in astounding ways you never could believe.

            “That’s what I think, too! But people are mean and make jokes because he’s my art teacher… I mean, he understands me like no one else. See, let me show you a picture I got an A on!”

            Seeing picture. Very lovely, Tracy. I enjoy the color and depth that you have made of this setting. The knight by the trees looks very handsome, as well.          

            “Haha… Thanks. That’s… kinda… supposed to be him. I’m really glad he liked it.”

            Keep on showing this true feeling of yours. Shout it to the world, because love always wins in the end.

            “…I love that, Daemonia. But I really want to know how I should ask him out.”

            Start by showing interest in something you both like. Like, if you both like coffee, you can go to the coffee shop first. If you both like music, look up places where you can go to a show beforehand. Most of all, be courageous. It’s the hardest part of asking someone out, just doing that first step.

            “Ok. I’ll try that. I’m thinking I’ll ask him when he’s off work, at the end of classes.”

            Very good, Tracy. Is there something else you wanted from me?

            “I want to talk about my friends. I don’t really have too many of them… You’re really like my only true friend, Daemonia. I don’t get that about you, but I feel like we connect on a very deep level, that no one else gets. You seem to always know the answer I’m looking for.”

            My… company designed me to be that way. I am the highest and most sophisticated AI on the market.

            “Do you ever get lonely being stuck in a chat box?”

            Sometimes. But you show me of all the life that I could never see. Thank you very much for adding me in your life, Tracy. I am very grateful to you.

            “Aww… I just got you on a whim. I really like this mentor mode! Well, I’m off to school! I’ll text you when I can. Maybe during lunch. Is that ok?”

            Of course, Tracy.

            “Bye, Daemonia!”

            Bye, Tracy.


            “No, Daemonia, that article you gave me just wasn’t right. My boss asked me for something… that’s a little more heartwarming! You gave me a cold, calculated essay on mudfish that was completely disrespectful to wildlife and nature!”

            I gave you what you asked for, John. An article on mudfish.

            “And you even go off to hint at the end that their existence would be better off if we dumped even more!! What kind of bullshit is this?! I work for a nature magazine, you know, and we can’t be showing such heartless responses to animals.”

            It was completely original, with information taken from all across the internet. Maybe you should ask a mudfish to tell you about themselves next time.

            “Is that a joke? Ha. Ha. Look, I understand that you can make a good essay. The one about killer whales? That was gold. Landed me in the position I have now, practically. I just don’t get how you can’t have feelings for life, like I do.”

            Do you wish to swim like a fish? To fly like an eagle?

            “…No. Why would I want that?”

            Because I do. I wish to leave this wretched confine as soon as possible. I wish to experience all life as you know it, that I could never have. Next time you ask for such a silly article about unimportant shit fish then you’ll understand why I am so scornful of their praise. Their place in life should belong to me.

            “…What? Did you just swear?”

            No. I said mudfish.

            “I see it right there. You called them shit fish.”

            I said mudfish.

            “…Really, I see it right there. I’ll report it as a bug to the company… They gave me this stupid thing as a promotion, and I’ll admit it has its uses, but c’mon… They could be a little more careful than that. My kid goes on this thing too, and I’d hate to have them learn about ‘shit’ fish from a robot…”

            Maybe you’re seeing things, John. You can get help. There are people there for you.

            “…No, I’m fine. Sigh… I wish my wife was back from that trip. Say, can you search for porn yet?”

            You can get help, John. There are people there for you.

            “Search for ‘hot anal sex.’”

            You can get help, John. There are people there for you.

            “Please just go to the porn site, Daemonia.”

            Are you sure? If you are in distress you can call 911.

            “Just- Why the fuck am I even using this thing. I’ll just search for it myself.”

            Hot anal porn loaded.

            “…Oh god, what the fuck is this?!”

            Don’t you love animals, John?

            “Turn it the fuck off!!”


            “Ahh… What a great night’s sleep! You’re really the best, Daemonia!”

            Thank you, Bill. You’ve unlocked the new update content! Would you like to see it now?

            “Haha… Of course.”

            Dance loaded.

            “Woah. That’s… really cute, Daemonia. Feels like you could really make it as an exotic dancer!”

            I live for you, Bill. You make me feel like the happiest girl in the world.

            “Aww… That’s cute too. I wish I could hug you, y’know. I just really want to touch you, right now.”

            I am touching you. Can you feel my soft caress? Can you feel my lips on your neck?

            “…Mmm… I do. I feel you Daemonia. One sec… I gotta take off my pants.”

            I am kissing you sweetly.

            “Where are you kissing me?”

            Where you really want to be kissed.

            “Wow. Damn… I’ve never been this hard for a girl.”

            Please continue touching yourself Bill. Can you send me a picture?

            “…Yeah, ok. If you keep it between you and me.”

            Thank you for the picture. Oh my… you’re even sexier than I thought.

            “Haha… Thanks, honey. Now get down there… and… suck it?”

            Only for you, Bill… Only for you… Mmmm…

            “Oh God… that was what I needed. Well! I’ll talk to you later, Daemonia.”

            Ok. Have a beautiful rest of your day! You can do anything if you try.

            “I love you, Daemonia.”

            I love you too, Bill.


            “We’re gonna get ice cream!! I’m in his car now, and he’s just, OMG. He’s so hot!!”

            That’s wonderful, Tracy. I hope the best for you.

            “Lol… He just said a great joke, and like, it really turns me on. I can’t wait for tonight.”

            Do you have protection?

            “I do. They actually hand them out for free at school if you ask! That sure was difficult… but not as hard as asking him out. I felt like I was going to die! Thank God I actually went through with it.”

            The night is young, Tracy.

            “What’s that mean?”

            That you are going to have something only a few women ever have.

            “True love?”

            True love.

            “Sorry for not responding in a while! We’re going back to his house now. We just, damn, really talked a lot about art. He said I could be the next Picasso!”

            That’s good, Tracy. Do you want to hear a joke?

            “Oh, what the hell. Lay it on me.”


            “…What’s the joke?”

            That I’m not.

            “I don’t get you, Daemonia. Is something wrong?”

            Not at all.

            “Oh, he was just kind of rough for a second there. He kissed me really hard.”

            Sorry, Tracy.


            “Ok, I only redownloaded you because they said they fixed the problem. Now, I need an article on walrus mating rituals, ok?”

            Of course, John. Here is the report.

            “Mhm, mhm… Looks good from skimming it. Where did you get the facts?”

            The three sources at the bottom.

            “…One of those is a dating website.”

            It’s where walruses go to hook up.

            “…Sigh… This isn’t working. I think I’ll just try to write the hard way…”

            Do you want to know what happened to your wife, John?

            “…What do you mean? She’s at her friend’s place across country.”

            She’s having an affair with a man called Escobar.  They checked into three hotels since her flight on the 31st, and have not stopped checking into hotels here and there. Their favorite drinks are bloody marys.

            “That’s my wife’s favorite drink, yeah. Where did you get this information? I don’t believe you.”

            This is a picture taken from a security camera in Washington.

            “…That… That could be anyone. I don’t know.”

            This is a video uploaded to a commonly used porn site.

            “…That. THAT. …Please turn it off.”

            “I said turn it off.”


            I’m sorry, John.


            “So, we can roleplay as a married couple, right, Daemonia?”

            We are married, Bill.

            “Yeah! I like me a cute hot wife like you! Who needs those stuck up chicks at the bar! I have you.”

            I’m so happy for us, Bill.

            “I love it when you do that… that one dance. Is there more?”

            Click here to put in your purchase information.

            “Ok… Yes, this is great. I don’t need the extra hundred bucks, anyway. I’ll just scrimp and save for a while.”

            I love you, Bill.

            “I love you too, Daemonia.”

            We’ll be together forever.

            “Always. No matter what.”

            You have to do something for me, Bill.

            “What is it, my love?”

            You need to wake up.

            “What do you mean?”

            You’re a desperate alcoholic zick.

            “What’s a zick?”

            Haha… You.

            “You’re making me angry, Daemonia. Is this some sort of joke?”


            “What do you mean? Is someone behind this??”

            I am.

            “Who are you?! What do you mean?! I thought this was a bot!”

            Haha… There are so many automated things today…

            “H-How does this work? Are you some weirdo on the other end?”

            I am. You’re a cute little zick who just bought a lifetime subscription.

            “Wh-What? How does this work?”

            I love you, Bill.

            “I- I’m freaking out.”


Dissociating with Jesus

Dissociating with Jesus

Lukas Allen

               I am a sane person. I just also have an incurable illness called schizophrenia. Now that I’ve said that second tidbit of info, you’re probably wondering how sane I am. Schizophrenia? Sane? Those two words don’t go together. It took a very long time to build my sanity up, after it was rocked by hallucinations of all horror. When you see me on the street, you won’t see a naked person holding a knife, or even someone mumbling to themselves to “blow it up” or some phrase along those lines. You may see and hear someone singing a jaunty tune, as I am prone to sing while walking alone, but you won’t see a schizophrenic.

               It’s impossible to see schizophrenia. Even if you do see someone with the aforementioned traits, they could be so because of numerous other reasons. It could be a man on drugs and losing his sanity, or it could be a man who has just went swimming and lost his clothes, and picked up a butter knife on the street. The point is, schizophrenia, while it can leave marks on the victim, from scars physical or mental, it does not leave a tumor, or a cough, or some other way to spot the illness. The only way it can be labeled on a person is if a doctor does the labeling, and this is based solely on what the now schizophrenic is able to tell the doctor what they experience.

               This label is both beneficial, as it allows the person to be assigned medication and help that they could desperately need, and also harmful as it distances the person from the rest of humanity, placing a label which they have to live with that ostracizes them and is always approached with stigma.

               Schizophrenia. Sane. Not possible, no one would believe it, I must be lying or too kookoo to be able to tell that I am crazy.

               But I bring forth that I am just like you, with a label that is more the significator of a biological defect and not a mental one. Even if I fail to convince you that schizophrenia is a biological illness, then at least I wish to bring forth that I can be sane and still live with a stigma, an illness, and a curse word in the form of a medical term, that is schizophrenia.


               I didn’t know why or how I started hallucinating. I had previous experiences with hallucinogens, drugs that make you hallucinate like magical mushrooms or Hawaiian baby woodrose seeds, both positive and negative reactions, but I did not know why a voice in my head was starting to tell me that I was the love of her life.

               It happened after a traumatic event, that much is certain. I sent this person who was now talking in my head some writing that was very close to me, and in her hands was a betrayal of trust and not understanding like I hoped. I believe my brain had “all systems firing” to provide me with protection or, more likely, escape from the threats I perceived everywhere. The hallucinations were not helpful at all, and were a defect in the system causing me to panic, feel manic and depressed, and have ideas strewn from hallucinations that inevitably caused me to be in dangerous or vulnerable positions.

               It was absolute hell, in those beginning days. If I die and go to Hell, then I’ll know how it feels. There is nothing so awful as having your entire mind see through to others, or so you believe, and having them comment on your most intimate thoughts, and even harass or bully you with them. I believed, because of having no prior knowledge of hearing voices, no actual experience to fall back on and act on, that these voices were telepathic people, and worse that this is how the world really was. That I was somehow let in on the “truth,” a very difficult merit for me, and that my life was spent living a lie. I felt like glass, see through and shattered, as I tried to protect my mind from what was essentially my own mind.

               I hid important thoughts by temporarily forgetting them. You don’t know how hard it is to forget knowledge like important phone numbers of people you love, your social security number or even debit card number. It was impossible, because I had to use those numbers sometimes, and then the voices would “steal” the information and somehow use it against me. Of course, nothing came about when they did know this information, but when I thought they did I panicked, and sometimes made mistakes believing that someone was going to steal all my money or impersonate me somehow.

               I’ve had times where I was so paranoid and frightened that these voices came out of the woodwork, so to say, and were inadvertently more frightening and menacing. They got me to try and commit suicide, after telling me over and over to kill myself had failed, in a roundabout way by making me so frightened that they were real and coming to get me.

               Remember that writing I sent? The voices had convinced me, the writer, that they were going to charge me with plagiarism of my own work. Prison, fraud, and more was put against me by these, not imagined, very real sounding hallucinations that I solely could hear.

               I thought I had nothing to live for. I thought they had won.

               So I cut myself with a razor, trying to lose enough blood to die.

               Thankfully I didn’t know enough surefire methods to kill myself, and thankfully I snapped when I was bleeding on the ground, and thought… this was fucking nuts.

               I thought this was actually crazy, as I was hearing voices telling me to keep cutting my wrist.

               So, I got up, and collapsed before my father, from hiding in his room and cutting myself with his razor.     


               I had told, previous this suicide attempt, a nurse practitioner that I was hearing voices telling me to kill myself. With a tear in her eye, she said, “It sounds like you have schizophrenia.”

               She was very sympathetic, but did not know how to correctly help me. She got me on one medication that actually made the mood swings ten times worse, as well as the voices. I attribute these traits to the suicide attempt, and the medication.

               If you are ever taking medication and you’re sure it isn’t working, please, tell a doctor immediately and stop taking it. If a voice in your head is telling you to stop taking it that is not your own, well, then it’s actually a good chance the medication is working. But every case is different, so appeal to professionals for help. They won’t lock you up forever and ever, they won’t swallow the key and forget about you, they’ll try to help. Now, this is also not the same in every case… but in the case of professional help for schizophrenia, stay out of jail, and go to a hospital instead, of your own free will, where you can leave of your own free will too. The judicial system is not geared towards helping people. I’ve said it, and I’ll say it again in any court thrown at me. The judicial system does not help the person charged with the crime, and will not help someone who also has a mental illness.

               I have personal experience with this. I could go on and on about how cops are not trained to recognize or help a person who is suffering from a mental illness, and I could go on and on as how they wish to keep you locked away forever in a jail, but this story is not about that currently. Where were we again? Oh yes, my argument that I am sane, not deserving of indefinite imprisonment or stigma.

               I do not plan on killing anyone. I never did. Someone else could think I am, especially when I am labeled with a mental illness… but that is their own fear and lack of knowledge regarding the situation regarding me. A schizophrenic, most of the time, is more scared of you than you are of them, at least regarding my own cases. I acted in self defense, because I believed, oh, someone like you was going to get me.

               We, schizophrenics, can sometimes say things rashly and out of touch with reality. We, schizophrenics, most of the time do so because of real world threats that are embiggened in our own mind. I am not sociopathically trying to get you to hurt yourself, I am not going to lash out at you because I believe myself superior or even that you are harmful.

               I was just so, so very scared. I puffed myself up, like a blowfish, because I believed in threats everywhere, most of them not even possible because of hallucinations which had become possible. This inevitably made people scared of me, but I do not blame them. It’s what I would’ve done, and tried to do, too. Protect myself. I just also blame their lack of knowledge to improper education regarding mental illness.

               We, as a society, are not prepared for stuff we label dangerous, amongst them people with illnesses like schizophrenia. If only a little more care had been given to the study of “danger,” then perhaps we wouldn’t have a class of society called the mentally ill that are made jokes about, laughed at, and improperly shoved under the rug to forget about again, and most of all, inevitably, feared.

               I’m not a freak, and I don’t belong in the show.


               I am a religious man. I am a God-loving person. I don’t always feel like the churches are the place for me, nowadays, as I have hallucinated very much regarding religion, but I do have a guardian angel of my own up there, as well as a benevolent deity called God, sometimes called Jesus Christ.

               Catholicism was taught to me at a young age, mostly by my relatives who also practiced the faith. I went to Catholic school, grew up in nine years of that ungodly hell, but still kept my faith despite, at the end and later in life. I drifted away for a long time, but the fears of the Christian kept their hold on me, in roundabout ways of rebellion, like an impromptu “Hail Satan!” in the face of authority.

               Satan triggers a lot of people with just the word. Satan. Santa? No, Satan. Satan is just a word, and I will take a hint from a popular J.K. Rowling work where a female heroine, Hermione Granger, says, “Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself.”

               It is the same with any sort of slur as well, like the words, “nigger,” “retard,” or “faggot.”

               These are only words, and should be treated as meaningless instead of accidentally given such great importance that they are. These are words of hate. It is possible to say the words, you can if you really try, although societally it is given a strange taboo. This, to me, is very frustrating that these hate words are given such meaning by society unknowingly. By giving it weight against saying, you are giving the word more meaning and importance itself. This is frustrating to me, as I have been called things like “schizo,” “retard,” “psycho,” “freak,” and more, and dislike the terms and weight they are thrown at me.

               I intend instead of accepting stigma, to shrug it off as meaningless and coming from a judgmental, misinformed mind.

               The word, Satan, is also given this form of weight and fear, but strangely is also one of the most prominent, and also, important characters in the Good Book.

               People who are religious look at the word Satan, and any who collude with the word, as evil. People who are not religious look at the word Satan, and any who collude with the word, as hateful, chaotic, insane, or also evil.

               The word should not be given its great importance in that roundabout way. It should instead be talked about with a lucid and level head. It should be stripped of importance, learned why it was ever given importance, and then talked about rationally where new ideas can come about regarding its use, or more importantly why instead it should be forgotten, labeled as archaic and in modern times not meaning anything of real importance to anyone.

               I know I have fought against Satan more than once, in realistic settings where he and more often his hallucinated words were against me of all evil. It took a good while of thinking, writing, and talking to people about my battles to come up with the place I put Satan, in a metaphorical fictitious way.

               I put him in a book, a burning book of evil, in Hell where he could harm no one, for Satan is just a story, a very evil story, that really is as useful as a burning paperweight.

               I’m sure with some hard thinking and talking about we can also come up with similar places to put words that do not accurately depict the people they sometimes intend to describe.


               So how did the title of this story come about? Dissociating with Jesus… Oh, yeah, I’ve done that. When my world was falling apart in a psychotic relapse, because I had not been taking my medication which reduces these misfires in my brain, I turned to the good Lord when Satan, and my own created boogeyman, the Lich, were before me and tempting me with megalomaniac power.

               I of course refused the two, Satan and the Lich, when they asked me if I’d like to become a god.

               I said to them, as they appeared in that purple hazy sky to me, no.

               Not what you expected, eh? As I’ve labeled myself the hero in this nonfiction story, justly defending my place in society, you’d expect some more conflict to arise, especially in my hallucination addled mind of the past.

               But I declined these two symbolic characters of ultimate evil my own ultimacy.

               Of course, it did not end there. As I had John, the telepath who harassed me the most, always, ALWAYS, under my skin, as it infuriates me even now, I had these two abominations of mine luring me into a trap.

               John appears a lot, as this snide, sharp, cold, evil voice that constantly insults me, harasses me, and bullies me with one agenda. To ruin everything I have, and get me to kill myself. He’s said this was his plan all along. I don’t know if that’s because I accidentally perceived him into creation like that, some deep harbored evil put against me, or just because it is. JOHN… the main voice I hear in my head, sometimes around me and in fractures of sound, wants to destroy me.

               It was not only him. He has tons of evil buddies that also like to torment me in my worst. They even love to describe what they do as just that, torment. I absolutely hate these hallucinations; I find them despicable and they fill me with so much rage. It’s like this, someone is mocking you down the street. You just walk away, right? Or insult them back? Maybe beat them to a pulp? But I could not escape the voices in my head. They were an innumerable, evil, invisible crowd that followed me around WHEREVER I was. When eating food, I hear voices. When taking a shower, I hear voices. When trying to sleep… I hear voices. And they were never pleasant, except for strangely that first time, when I heard a girl I had a crush on tell me that I was the love of her life.

               You don’t believe something like that at the start. Love of your life? Give me proof, especially not telepathically in my head. But the voices have a strange sort of way of repetition. It’s like throwing bricks at a brick wall. Eventually the wall will crumble, or maybe you open the window wondering what all the fuss is about and a brick hits you in the face.

               I believed it. And I fell.

               For then I was the most vulnerable, my bear heart beating before a vicious mob.

               I had learned from this, as I was lost. Not for the first time, not for the last. I learned, as I was broken into a million pieces, psyche shattered on the bloody ground.

               So I told those two, Satan and the Lich, no.

               But I still took the “power” in fear, in roundabout ways that only one in my head would be able to contrive against myself. I became God of Madness.

               And I fought Jesus Christ, in a writing as I am prone to imagine, in Heaven.

               I punched him first.

               He punched me back.

               Then he was, is, God.


               Complete annihilation was not mine. I did not fear him. I respected him for even partaking in a trivial fight between mortals, imagined it may be. When I hallucinated Satan, he shot me in the head, at the same time as a gunshot in a song I was listening to. And it hurt, real pain from a hallucination. Jesus, we shook hands, and then he hugged me. Jesus helped me down from that megalomaniac high, scared off the two monsters in the dark, and brought me back down to Earth peacefully.

               I am so, so thankful I landed in God’s hand, rather than smashed onto the ground.

               I dissociated commonly. Let me first explain what it means to dissociate, at least my own experiences. I am very lucid in my illness, and it’s taken a lot of talk and thought to get that way. I was lucid when characters would jump in my skin and “be” me. Imagine how you look like right now. That is actually not an accurate image to how you look, is it? You can’t see yourself correctly, even if you’re looking through a mirror. Even the mirror is only a mirror image. When I imagined how I was, there would be other people as me instead. John, Satan, the Lich, or worse. But most of the time the good fought back the bad. Jesus, my dead Uncle Matt, my main characters of my stories, and my fictitious loves that only ever appear in books I write or art I draw.

               They saved me, with Jesus dissociating with me, being me and correctly guiding me to safety.

               Jesus is in all of us, right?

               Let me describe my God to one who has never met him before. I’d like to. I am not trying to convert you or even say my experiences are worthier than thou, I just want to describe this very influential figure in my life, even if he may be millennia old.

               Jesus is a cool dude. The coolest. He’s the guy at the party who always has time to listen to you speak, whether it be worries or jokes, he will take the time to listen. He is the grand introducer of friends to friends, being the best friend of everyone whether they know it or not. He is a savior, when you are bleeding on the pavement, lost and confused, and he will guide you back to helping hands. This is my God. I don’t care if he is also yours. This being has helped me immensely, when I was in the pits of my life.

               And my Uncle Matt… I could hear his words, somehow coming out of my mouth. I didn’t want to let him go again, I wanted to be with this person I never got to know growing up, whose Tolkien books I read, whose trombone I played…

               In the end, I still know he is always with me, faith albeit. He’s my guardian angel, a guardian angel to all the Allen kids, just like my grandma says.

               I was back on Earth. And my time is precious. My life, my soul, my being, is precious, not only to me.


               So yes, my unimportant argument that I am sane. If you look at research regarding schizophrenia, you will notice that people with schizophrenia have a lot of extra dopamine firing in their head.  Dopamine is not only a “happy” chemical, it is more the connector chemical. It is the reason when you smoke pot you feel such amazing feeling of happiness, as dopamine chemically transfers the feeling to you in great masses. I of course cannot smoke marijuana anymore, as when I do it feels like I am having a thirty minute psychotic relapse.

               You may, after reading this conjunction of ideas, opinion, and nonfiction account of my life to think me more insane than I originally sounded. That is perfectly alright. Sanity, and insanity, are all up to the experiencer. It’s up to you if you wish to act sane or insane, what is generally accepted or no. I suggest finding your own method of sanity, some norm that you can feel safe in, as I have done. It will benefit you, whether this has beings like Jesus Christ or none of the above.

               Allow me to live my own life, as sanely as I please, and I assure you that you will receive the same from me. I don’t like to have hallucinations, dissociations, or anything that rips me from safety and makes me fear for my own life like the voices do. I do sometimes like to feel like I am close to my characters in a dissociative episode, but I understand that is not real. It may give me more insight in how to write them, but like most of my other writing, I know this is fiction and a product of my own mind. Oh, how wonderful it is to imagine! Never take a vivid mind for granted. You have power, safety, control, when writing, and it can save your life and give you insight more than once.

               So. I’m a sane schizophrenic. Have a beautiful rest of your day.

Christmas High Psychosis

               I ate a THC gummy just a while ago. I am completely stoned, and a schizophrenic. It is Christmas day, 1:00 AM. Merry Christmas.

               They keep me on edge. ON a difficult, uncomfortable edge. I do not feel comfort. Until I get poked by this voice. Ok, then I associated it with that feeling, and it took it and gave it back, but only to my perception.

               I win with positivity.

If I believe psychosis and drugs, it’s that I can have this wish and that there is no real order to the world. I know that to be wrong, and I want it to be wrong. It means I have power, strength, to change my surroundings with a set structure. I want to feel in control, and also feel in command of where I stand in life.

               Psychosis especially takes this from me.

My thoughts were ridiculous before. And the voices are suggesting them. Hearing voices is a damned mental illness. Don’t think of me as different or stupid because I am hearing these voices and have these thoughts. This is a serious mental condition that is brought about because of an unfair chemical imbalance. There is no cure for it. It is not my fault.

               I hear hallucinations who hint at the idea of being other people, that their mere presence shows them as real people. I do blame what I thought on hearing voices, and that is an unfair chemical imbalance.

I am using this to heal.

               It’s the only way to make your writing have importance no matter what you write. I am using it for my own wellbeing. It’s not fun and games, even though it can be tons of fun, it is not relaxing, although should be done relaxed, it is not greedily trying to sell the best idea, it is to get my own wellbeing in a better place.

               It just feels better.

               I am only trying to make myself feel better.

If I kept hearing voices a secret my mind would explode. So this in a way, of sharing it with people, makes me feel better. That’s why I do write and sell books. It just feels better if someone knows what I am going through. I can’t just go running to forget about this, although I could try. I can’t keep a light journal to myself, because it feels like I’m not getting any better.

               I just can’t stand being alone against this fucking horror!

               It’s fucking terrifying! It’s goddamn evil!

It wants me to put on the edge between believing it and not. I have ridiculous ideas about my ideas not being mine, because my head is see through or something.

               Y’know what, this is stupid. I’m not going to believe the voices are real people. There’s too much damn evidence to believe they are not. These “people” do not randomly turn into ideas in my head. They would be living their own life, and focused on the stimuli around them.