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Hi, how ya doin'?

I'm just writing down here some snippets of some dreams which I had earlier. Everyone knows that people are bored by the recollection of dreams, so prepare to be bored, I guess. 

My recollection begins at the top of my old house where I grew up. I'm there, and the bedroom is a triangular as ever, and there's a lightlike thrill tinting the edges of everything. I hear some music coming from the hallway, and then I realise I am not in my top room bedroom, but my folks bedroom, yet the music is still coming. I go out and investigate, and there is a small speaker at the bottom of the stairs and electronic music is blaring from it. I look at the speaker and I can feel the vibrations coming off the front, and they are directed up the stairs towards the door of the top bedroom, and I get my ear in and follow the vibrations up the stairs. The vibrations are very strong, and there is a thick stream of them, and as I follow them I become aware of some other speakers at the top of the stairs, and I try to find the sweet spot where the sound should be strongest. Yet when I find it, there is no sound at the sweet spot, and I place my head there, and look for a minute, and I face the door. Then there, standing at the door, are two men. One of them I know: it is Aaron, and he is responsible for the music. He is staying in my old bedroom. It seems that the other man is his boyfriend, but this is not clear, and in fact I am reluctant to guess that he is, for I wouldn't want to be presumptuous. In any case, Aaron was showing me the techno tune on which he was working. And the tune comprised several notes, with two phrases, and he played the first phrase, and it was fine, and then he played the second phrase, and the last note was a surprise, and went up, and was very surprising. 

A little before this part of the dream I was in a field where I lived in some type of cabin or shack, and what I remember was looking up at the stars, and some of them moved. Some of them moved back and forth, and I thought, 'There is evidence of alien life.' Yet before I could be exposed to this display of alien existence the entire sky became distorted, with all the stars moving back and forth, and I considered this to be some effect of transmission, and nothing to do with aliens after all. And there was a guitar in this part of the dream. I remember sitting at the shack which was on one side of the field which was in fact a hill, with perhaps a forest behind it or maybe a road. And on the other side of the field was another shack, with someone, perhaps Aaron, living there. 

Nicholas was in my dream, in his musical capacity. 

I often dream that I am living in a bungalow that is built upon an estate which, in real life, connects me to Shakespeare's Corner in Mill Hill. It is a quaint little one for an estate where roads interconnect and there are little houses and bungalows, and there is always a drug scene - that is, a drug scene in which a main occupation of many individuals is to deal drugs, and within this village there is a man and he delivers the drugs. 

At one stage of dreaming I am lucky enough to catch Nirvana playing live, and they are playing hits from Nevermind, and the stage upon which they play, to all but seventeen or eighteen teenagers, is small, and probably I am here where Kurt killed Smells Like Teen Spirit for Top of the Pops. I can get a close up of Kurt's face, and the more I look at it, the more he seems to take on features that my own face possesses. There is a young man here, and he seems like a younger version of Eric Weinstein. This young man is a new character in my dreams. When, at one moment, I am in the mode of remembering his name, it comes up as a double syllabled name - Wein ein, or Wein mein - something like that. Perhaps I am enamoured with his personality, for there is something 'cool' about him, yet nerdy at the same time. This young man has appeared in deeper parts of dreams I have had in the past. I am thinking of when Nirvana murdered his song on Top of the Pops. The young man reminds me of a character who would be a frequent presence at the parties thrown by my brother's friends. 

On the verge of dreaming it is often the case that I think about the mathematics I am doing. What seems to be apparent is the rumination of my unconscious of the form of formulas upon which I am working. And yet, the forms, recently, are never clear. That is, there is a fake quality to them, as though I am not really doing mathematics but imagining that I am. I think what is happening is that I am compensating for my lack of real ability in the subject. Nevertheless, the conclusions are as shocking as every 'eureka' moment I have ever had, and they are certainly compensation. 

Qualitatively, there is a graininess to my dreams. They say we dream when we are stressed about something or other. I think I may be getting stressed about the course, even though I am effectively ahead. In real life, I find it excruciating that I cannot wake up every morning at an early hour and do my work. For those days are the days when I really can get things done. Those days when wake late, say eleven or twelve, I cannot get my rhythm, and the day is wasted. This is a real frustration to me. Even those days when I have woken early, yet need to go out, even that one hour away from work disrupts everything for me. It is not that I haven't been working. But in my mind those days are too sporadic, which are those I get a lot done. I aim, with all eager intentions, to get eight hours a day done. Yet, this is not happening. Maybe once a week I can do that. 

I slept in the day today. I have done no work. But my intentions are good. It is now nearly half past one in the morning. I have several tasks I could complete. I guess I should try now to do some of them. 

Dan

x

Hi, how's it going? 

And in today's blog I shall be engaging in the pursuit of examining last night's dream. And to stave off the boredom I shall be delving into the investigation of the residual latent late night imagery of the dreams of nights, and any nights, I may be able to remember. 

But first there is a curious anomaly of the imagination which I wish to relate, personable to myself in particular, and particular to an experience that I had a little earlier on in the day. 

In fact, it was in the afternoon and, having awoken at an early enough time that, by twelve midday, I needed a nap. And so I lay down, and was relaxing in the weariness of the morning's work, and was drifting with the feeling of thoughts. It was such a feeling, that I noticed, that the experience of my thoughts was not so much an intuition of inner awareness, of some self-luminated observation, yet it was a feeling of the feeling of my thoughts - that is, the way the thoughts were structed in the biophysical structure of what I know as my brain. Thoughts would come, yes, but I was concentrating (in so many ways) on the perception of the constructs of thought, rather than the thoughts themselves. I enjoyed such an endeavour. Effectively, the content of the thoughts was lost, yet I felt that a self-illumined presence of light could be physically felt somewhere at the top of my head. Such was the subtle pleasure of the feeling, that in some nebulous state of half-consciousness, I began to visualise the sense in which my eyes were not closed, and could begin to see myself, still laying in my bed, yet in the light of day, as if my eyes were still open. 

I have fears, and am most concerned, that one day I will transition from the happy vestibule that is my own physical body, and into another mind, and hence will surely know my own death. Such is the legacy of my deceased acquaintances (hello uncle mick). Hence, I shook lightly out from the phase, and yet kept my eyes closed, and I was able to be refreshed within twenty minutes and no more. Therein lies the tale! 

However, last nights dreaming can be approached in discussion by the inclusion of a memory of a lane, and one which led to the house - somewhere far away, perhaps in Greece, or Saint Lucia - that belongs to the father of my good friend Adam, and he drove there in his good Mercedes, and it was a fine house. 

There is a nuance of a Miss Piggy type female, largely like unto that porcine version of a female acquaintance, Aoutif, upon whose large bosom was written some paragraph in some gothic, or other style of academic writing. 

Yet, I am failing to recall these reflections at the current time. 

Yet, I am at Glastonbury, and have gone there with Richard and Rob, two friends with very different characters. The former is a medical doctor, and the latter is an IT technician with musical sensibilities, and yet they had similar stature within the dream. Coffee is served at one of the festival's tented cafeterias, and I can hear the festival booming in the background, and I am now alone, and this is about hash. It is a lovely plan to visit Amsterdam, and the famous coffee shops there, and I am playing cards, and that is a dreamscape. We traipse across fields, and at once a boat can take us across some field, and I fell into the water, and was pitied by both the doctor and the technician. Yet the field is vast, and tractors and trees and worn paths draw my attention to something else, so far away. 

There is a building. Or, there are buildings, and there is a causeway, a canal, a bridge, art museums. It is London. 

I am glad I have quit recreational drugs. There are remnants of my druggy past in dreams, but now, and even in those, I am aware that I have fully come off them. The traversal around festival sites is now still nebulous, but grainy, and bitty, and with pixelated luminance. Sometimes I cannot tell the difference between dreams and reality. And I enjoy my thoughts. I suppose many people do. I enjoy the thinking styles, and the exploration of time and consciousness. I watch a central light. And sometimes I engage in the avoidance of the light, and other times I engage in the light fully. I was once enamoured with language and its games, and yet now I am more natural and more concerned with expressing momentary observations, within the limits of my own learned moral rules. 

Sometimes I have good days, and other times I have bad days. I feel I have learned a modicum of control I once never had. You have to have a certain amount of pain to know your limitations. Some of my behaviour has often led to painful experiences, and I feel this is a natural impression of ethical law making, by the intuition itself. I feel settled into life now, and I hope it remains like this. I am lucky in this sense. 

In the dream of Adam's father I felt as though he was of a mind to consider me troublesome. I would like to know to what degree he actually thinks this way, it being the case that I haven't seen David in many years, yet have recently had good conversations with his son. 

I daresay it is hardly worth pursuing the psychology of logic, yet it is tempting. 

I am afraid my endeavour has not been a success. I cannot remember my dreams. All I can remember are country pathways, and routes past tractors and haybales, going towards a distant compound, enclosed by fences, and I know this is a contained unit within which I envisage a perfect white woman, all brunette and full of druggy fun. There she is. I can see a festival, and these places are my most exhilarating environments. 

There is a machine, all cogged and churning. And there is a field. That is the entirety of the recollection. 

I have nothing more to add. 

Daniel

x

Hi there, 

And this morning I am sounding off about a curious and perplexing nuance that has graced my relationship to a girl whom I often claim to be my girlfriend, Tamsin. She will never read this, unless she suddenly becomes computer savvy, or if I suddenly die and my blog posts are somehow made available, but I'm not going to badmouth her - she's lovely. 

She read my book. I gave her a copy of the manuscript, and she read it, and now, in short, when I talk to her, he voice is filled with pity and ... some other emotion that I fail to pinpoint. 

Yesterday I had my final wisdom tooth extracted, and Tamsin was supposed to visit in the afternoon to print off some tracking slips for her Ebay buisness. But when the time came to it, I was out of it, my face was swollen and numb, and all I could do was sleep. So I postponed the visit. But when I did, she said, "Okay, I won't come over today because you're..." Yes, Tamsin, I'm.. "Because you're ill." 

I'm not ill, Tamsin, I've had my tooth out, and my face is numb, and I want to sleep. 

She has read my book, and that means I've let her into my life. Previously, she saw me as the worldly, intelligent and creative person I made out I am, and now she sees me as... ill. 

It is a strange and perplexing nuance of our relationship. She has read my book, and now, somehow, someway, she thinks she is better than me. Or somehow has some insight into my life that I myself do not have. But there is nothing in my book that I wrote that I am not aware of. Something she has read has given her a sense of superiority. Perhaps this is just an occupational hazard, but I tell you, I find it so interesting. There is something in my book that has been outlined, that has answered a question in her own mind, that has been unsettled for so long. And now she's read it, she thinks she has to pity me. 

I am so giddy to see her. She is visiting this afternoon. 

Myself, I like to be able to say the issue, and have done with it in one sentence. I'm likely to say, "You shouldn't pity me, Tamsin," and just say it like that. But perhaps I shouldn't be so explicit. However, her new manner is an unnerving and disconcerting feature of her behaviour. Although, it could be a good thing. Perhaps she will be more understanding, or something, or more motherly, or more likely to want to have sex with me. I am so giddy to see her - to put plain this curious nuance of her new manner. 

Perhaps I should merely go with it. That is, watch her new expressions, as she deals lightly with my ways, and pities me as I do everything in the same way as I have done since I have known her. 

But what's curious is what was in the book that made her seem this way? What particular sentence did she read that caused her to have this new and surprising superiority over me? It may have been my chapter about God, or it may have been that part when I've come home to my parents, hammer in trench-coat. Perhaps... perhaps she has found a new reason to fear me. Perhaps that, and she is afraid of me, afraid of what I'm capable of. 

Perhaps she just knows me in a new way, different than how she knew me previously. 

I'm so giddy to see her. 

She often changes her manner, from phone-call personality to in-person personality, and so maybe the difference will be slight. And I suppose I should be happy that my book has changed somebody. And, like I say, perhaps it will be an occupational hazard of having written a book, that people will read, and find things our about me, that should be left in the cupboard. Yet, at least we will be able to talk about the book. She will give me back the manuscript, and give me that look, like, "I know about you!" She will laugh, with the feminine shyness of an Irish imp, like she did that other time when we watched porn together. 

In short, does she now pity me? Has the book answered questions about me that she once had? Is she right or wrong? Can she trust me? 

I'm so giddy to see her. 

Dan

x

It's a hello from me, and hope you are well, 

A recurrent theme for me at present appears to be manifested in the form of an observation as to my life, that there is scant circumstance, and for fun, and for storytelling. But what if this situation was just the ticket? What if it was just what the doctor ordered? What if, as once evidenced in a solitary happenstance on the fields of Green Park one Saturday afternoon in 2005, I am actually quite boring? 

Then I would actually and most probably be in the mode of being most likened to any other self respecting sane person - that is, in a state of happiness. Do not take issue with this fact. For I am sure I am like many others, and such others as, you may have seen, are happy as the proverbial pig in shit. Do not mock me for my tediousness, for I am like the Caribbean pirates, and Dickensian plot-drivers, and heart-essence that gets at least a modicum of American ghostbusting television shows their viewership. I am a ghost. 

The year has shot by, and now it is September, and nearly October, and the weather drops in temperature, and the nights draw in, and evenings are more peaceful. And I should not forget the essence of the season, that after a stiflingly hot summer, we are content to watch such changes, and from the comfort of our homes. You have to appreciate the fact that in being encouraged to confine ourselves from fear of infections, at least we are warm inside. At least the world will move on all about us, and at least we are digitally connected. And in light of such connection, we can appreciate the delight that now, we are content to keep sparse our communications. That is, we keep them sparse in the sense of necessity, and only working life gets to have the key. And this is fine. Boring, but fine. 

For me, today marked the first of the really chilly days, the day that tells you of looming winter. And I know that for some, such days bring about a cause for complaint. It must be observed however, that this year we may not have the chance! For me, this time of year brings back memories of old days, being that I was born in the winter months, and have always had reason to look forward to them. People will want to complain, but they won't be able to, for we must keep inside in any case. But I will not have such need, and am yet anxious to extend the sensations and feelings I have at these days, as they draw colder, and become darker, and I can pull close the curtains earlier and earlier. 

It is good, that I am fully off everything, except those things on which I have to be. And even those things I have become used to. Some have spoken about their desire to re-enter that world of inner recreational strangeness, and I say, let them have it. I talk of old friends and, as I myself am seated at the entrance to phase one of true old age, I sit there with calm recollection. 

One good old boy sought to reengage, to a welcoming reception, with my life, and I suppose that is one happenstance. This is the construct of aging men's world's, that it all relies on past friends who have gone their happy ways, and returned, and just in the nick of time to regenerate the feelings that we used to have, and it makes me happy. It makes me happy that such subtle nuances of middle age can affect us so deeply, and make us pensive and nostalgic. The boy was our drummer. He has not been in touch for many years, and we worry about him. Yet for all our worry, there is nothing much to be worried about. For he is still that good old boy, to me, to all those who know him. He spoke to my mother, and mother called me, and I contacted him, and... the old boy has not changed. 

We took acid together, Nick and I. I have a sudden recollection of this specific instance once when, at the woods, when all our friends were there, and our girlfriends, and the music, it all got a bit much. His missus at the time, Sarah, she was closing down the hatches, and making the old boy very concerned... too concerned. She would fuss and mollycoddle, and bring up all kinds of unnecessary motherly feelings for Nick. And then the old boy got his hatches closed in - you could see it. It all got too much for him; he was under too much stress, getting confused with all the negative attention. Who needs it? In any case, the good old boy fell down to his knees, and then a whole crowd of them gathered around, fussing and mollycoddling, and I knew the old boy needed his space. All I can remember is the big man Eugene, getting in on the scene, with his big face and big concerns and I shouted... "FUCK OFF!!" It was all getting too much, and everyone went quiet. 

I suppose that little outburst is a cause of some personal embarrassment to me, myself. I often wonder if it changed their perceptions of me, these little friends. But I thought they might understand. Nick just needed his space. 

He still needs his space, I'm sure. One phone call, out of the blue, and after all these years, well, perhaps it's not enough to assume that the boys are back. But I know we want it. I know we want nothing more. People like me and Adam, we just want our band back. 

And I told Adam, it's not your responsibility to save Nick. We have to take him at face value. We have to let him drive everything. Nick is sensitive, and so are you. I could tell Adam was perturbed by the resurfacing of the good old boy, and I knew he wanted to reach out, to tell Nick he is loved, and that he is forgiven. But Adam is not good at that. When Adam wants to help someone, what happens is that he ends in the mode of destroying the person. Because in truth, it's Adam who wants the help. 

Adam, in fact, has a lot of untapped rage within him. He claims to have dealt with it, yet I know he really wants to lash out. Well, maybe lash out is not the right term. He is very sensitive. Adam wants to return all the pain he has had in his life, and instead of having the chance what has happened is that people who have hurt him have petered out and dissipated and there's no one to shout at. Now, Nick is not exactly back on the scene, but the good old boy represents something special to Adam, who wants to make Nick understand something about him. I shouldn't psychologize about it really, because sometimes I don't understand Adam, and perhaps Adam has tapped into some things that I myself wish that Nick understood. 

Do I resent Nick? It wouldn't be fair if I did. What I can however safely say I do resent is my own reactions to his personal behaviour when those good things did appear to be happening, at the time. I resent my own inability - not to control Nick, but to befriend him so that we could have made something of the band. I know, there's more to life than the band. But I had dreams like anybody else, and we were good. I have had the dreams of beautiful nights in the club, playing to the mosh-pit that heaved under the crunch of our deep, happy grunge. It hurts that me that I couldn't see it for myself. Things could have been so different. 

Adam is like me. He wants to shout at Nick to tell him WAKE UP!! THERE'S STILL TIME!! But curse the good old boy for his unconscious taunting. There's nothing more we can do. 

It is what it is. And that is the reality of the situation. Life, like the changing of the seasons, is turning, and from a physical entity into a subtle remonstrance of the past. When you can see this happening, you are already at a loss to prevent it, because in many ways you yourself have brought this about, and in the end it is what you wanted. But it happened. The lives of the youths, that they lead so carefree and even deep into maturity, you can sense that they are a million miles away now. You can see it when you look around, and even all the old people can't see you, because you are not attractive any more. You know you are not attractive, because you yourself have lost the attraction to those youths, that you once were. You have come through the problems of sex. You have come through the problems of popularity. You have reached the other side, and now it is time to reflect, and undulate in your maturity. 

This is phase one of true old. I suppose I am welcoming it, like welcoming back the promise of the past. 

Daniel

x

Hello, and hi and how are you?

There I was having lost my phone within the studios of the secret art factory, and having been privy in this society by some historical route, that was that I was at the mean, and there was a cavity - a cabinet - and I found the cabinet, and it had some papers inside it. And the papers had notes written on it that had been written in 1981 - except it couldn't have been 1981, for then i was so young, so it must have been 1991, and the notes pointed to a memory. This memory was a scout master's presentation of some nature concerns - perhaps a link to the planting of a tree, and yes, perhaps that. 

And then the master was giving a talk in some community hall, and the full room listened adoringly. And then afterwards, I spoke to the man, who here was Weinstein, and I told him, "You are like Isaac Newton in your own head. And by "in your own head" I mean "in your own head"!! And then I was allowed in the society. 

And then in the society, I was given a canvas - a huge blank canvas. Except the canvas had on it the picture of American president Abraham Lincoln, and free reign was I given to paint over it, and I did, and was in the society to make this art, and there were others - other artists - at their stations, and one was able to go about and use any paint to make your own art, and paint on any canvas, and use any paint brush, or any colour, and be influenced by any way. 

And there were scenes; different scenes, and different characters, and different masters. And I was able to paint these scenes and change them in any manner in which I saw fit. And my favourite scene at first was that in which the scene was the muppets, and these characters in puppet form, in a scene of utter beauty:- that of the surroundings of wooden childhood, and I tried to enhance the scene by somehow trying to make the puppets bigger, by putting them higher, and they fell, fell behind the pianos and tabletops and then the next scene. 

I placed my phone down, and was brought to another canvas, and painted on it. The place here was a huge bunker, and very easy to be lost within. Then a girl from another world told me some joke, and it was very funny in its own way, and then another girl, from another world, shouted, "I've lost my phone!" Then I knew I had to find my phone. 

But before I searched for my phone a master here brought me to a place and said, "Open your mind!". And then the scenery was so vivid and clear - clearer than any scene I have ever seen in reality or dreaming, and I knew I had to represent this image, but there are no clear objects within it. The only clear object I have to go by is the here and now, in reality, that reality which is the immediate reality, yet it was in a dream. 

And then I did go on a search for my phone. And I found the lower echelons of the bunker. A television broadcast was taking place in which there was a muppet dog doing some children's show, and there and then I went to my left. And my paintbrush was still in my hand, yet bunged up with thick paint, and soon I realised I was on a boat, at the edge of the water - at the rear of the boat, where the water was so close, and I dipped in my brush and cleaned it, and was fluid once more, then went back inside the boat, water to the front and right. 

And there were a line of strangers, all in some echelon of realms, pulling like rowers on the rope of the painted road and its yellow, truculent lines, marking some boundary - and they rowed. Yet although they seemed like in some kind of tortuous hellish scene, they were happy to live in this echelon, and the light of consciousness took me through the night. 

So I woke up, and the world in the darkness of my room was painted like a canvas and I was able to follow the light of consciousness and did so, into the bathroom, and past the sleeping cat at the edge of my bed. So I realised, as I used the bathroom that my life is some kind of art, and you know I almost forgave myself for the terrible things I have done, for it could be seen that I have done them all in the name of art. 

Daniel.

x 

Blogging, and blogging.

Hi how are you? I'm frustrated. Perhaps it's the heat, perhaps it's something deeper and real. But whatever it is I shouldn't feel the need to be cathartic about it, because I just ranted about it to my girlfriend (fuck it, I'm calling her my girlfriend) for about twenty minutes over the phone.  

When covid-19 hit... in fact I'll go further back... before covid-19 hit, I have to say, I did not enjoy living in society. I'm sure I'm not the only one who felt it, but there was a belligerence, a tension and an antagonism evident everywhere you went - even in the town I live. I have several examples of times when I had to suffer the brunt of someone's internal insecurity, whether that would be coming from the attitudes of the right in terms of Brexit, in which their fear of a changing society would culminate in aggression, or whether it would come from their, admittedly ignored, psychological issues about their own sexuality. I have to admit, I'm happy in my sexuality. I have had problems, and perhaps these would be tedious to explain, but when I see others - closeted, undisclosed in their internal outlook about sex - I am bored by it. Bored because this problem they are having is none of my business; it is their issue; I have dealt with mine. Deal with it by yourself. So if I happen to walk by and you see that I am a happy person, living in the outside world, that has nothing to do with you. I'm not saying I don't want you to have dealt with your problems - because I do! I want you to know who you are, and not be deluded into lies that you have been led to believe by whatever algorithms you find yourself in submission to. If you think you are "sussed" in life, that you have everything in life "sorted", and then I walk into your view, and you can clearly see that there are things you have not dealt with, that is not my problem. I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not going to look at you and say, "There goes a bright man, with all his issues in hand," when all I see is a child who is too afraid to face up to himself, and say the things to himself he needs to say. If you're not there, you're not there. 

Perhaps I am a little arrogant in this matter. Perhaps I don't have everything under control. Perhaps that is true. The thing is that I like the truth, and I know things that other people don't naturally know, because I have worked to know them. I know, they think their intelligent. And maybe on some human level they are. But I don't know who they are, so how can I explain to them that they haven't worked as hard as me to know the things I know. These are very basic people. It doesn't apply to everyone. But those people to whom it does apply, I'm sorry but you're going to have to read a hell of a lot of books to catch up with me, because you're of a certain age, and I'm not going to bow down to you to recognise you for the things you have thought or learned or thought you learned, when really there is a whole other universe of knowledge that you have not yet realised even the existence of. I'm sorry. You don't get to look this smart by watching Game of Thrones, or drinking every night, and fucking your girlfriend every night. You'll have good things, don't worry. You'll have a wife, and you'll have your job, and you'll have your children. It's just that, personally, I am not interested in that life. I am not interested in you. So don't take your aggression out on me and try to communicate that I owe you something or that I should in some way look up to you. Because I find you very sad. I'm sorry. 

So, when covid-19 hit, in a way, I was glad. Society changed, and people like the sort of which I describe were no longer able to assert their masculinity in the way they had before, because by law we weren't allowed within two metres of each other. Society was sparse, there was respect, and people gave each other space. There were few people on the streets. And I was glad because I could finally go outside and never have to worry about these aggressive apes getting in my face about things. By law you couldn't do it. It must have been very frustrating to them. 

Yet it seems that my happiness in this matter has been very short lived, because four months later it is as if we have learned nothing. You can't go outside without this evident antagonism from all sides. It's as if you're being challenged by people for walking down the road. I'm trying not to say it, but it is too tempting, and I know that deep down, somewhere in the pit of your heart, you have realised you are homosexual. I'm not saying that you'll have to come out and go down to Soho and have anal sex with the first man you meet. But on some level, you have thought about it, and you are guilty of thinking about it, and we know. I'm sorry. Just don't take it out on me. I've dealt with it. I'm happy in my sexuality. 

I know. You now think you have to fight everyone about it. You now have made it everyone else's problem. But it's your problem, and that's life, and you have to deal with it. 

Look at you. You're sixteen years old. You think you're some kind of gangster. My friend's, we live in Mill Hill in north London. There is no gangland here. There's an elderly community here, just up the road. Do you think you will get away with looking at people in the way you're looking at them, and not get your arse kicked? Wake up. We are humans. We don't care what hole you want to put your little willy inside. Deal with it on your own, like the rest of us had to. Don't take it out on me. Don't spoil society like it owes you something. 

Anyway, in short, I think the social bliss that was apparent for four months here in Mill Hill was very short lived indeed. Perhaps it's the heat, perhaps it's a seasonal sensation. But for a while we were there. Maybe we'll get a few more months of relative peace out of the situation, but rest assured it is coming back and within ten years we can expect to live in gangland Mill Hill, and covid will hit again and we'll have to go through the whole thing once again. What a shame. 

Rant over. 

Dan

x  

Hello, how do you do? 

I just thought I would smash one out for the sake of love and loving kindness, and sex. 

She's mean, my girlfriend. I don't even think she realises she is my girlfriend. Why are girls like the way they are? Perhaps the problem is me, and that I should never have chosen to give love to her unconditionally. Perhaps the problem is that I don't act romantically enough. If I had the energy, I would. We're not like that. But she is mean. 

Wait a minute, is it me that's mean? Does she desire for romance? Should I send her flowers? And prove my love? 

Perhaps that's it, and perhaps I think I'm an unconditionally loving man, when in fact, I should shower her with gifts and jewelry? 

She probably wants to feel like a normal girl. Not like a used up rag. 

I should buy her flowers. 

I'll make a point to buy her some flowers. Because I do love her. Maybe she'll love me back. 

Daniel

x

Hello, welcome, I welcome you, 

And this will be, since I have not the time available, possibly my final blog before my exam, and this is an early morning, Thursday the fourth of June, and my exam will take place on Monday the eighth of June. I therefore have four days including the rest of this one to prepare, and I must admit I have been extremely lax in the performance of calculations and equations, and still have yet some remaining reading to do in the name of revision. I must study to completion the rest of Unit 25: Particle physics. Being a most diligent and thorough person, my technique has been that I have basically rewritten the content of course material out in my own words in its entirety, and I wonder at the thought of the use of such an endeavour, such is true. In fact I know, from past experience with study, my failing has been complacence, and this way of working is the best way I can think of that will crystallise my understanding in all areas. In theory, the equations should go well, for I feel a grounding has been gained in the conceptual and definitive areas of such topics. That is, I know what all the equations represent; that is, I know about their connections in terms of derivatives. On paper, it seems, the story could be quite different. Hence this should be a short and concise blog - an outline of the situation. Dickens would be merry, and would drink his merriment. 

I must plan, to the letter, the entire engagement of the upcoming test, and probably not without a loving impression. After all, one wishes to carefully plot time in the most decisive manner, in the sense of a happy experience to be had. Planning is a task through which all fearful concerns can at least come to dissipation. And I wish to outline my thoughts as to the venture.

• Sleeping: the exam goes ahead at 00:01 on the morning of June the 8th, and I have found my days normally begin at about nine or later. I wish to organise it so that I am out of bed by at least 02:00 that day. This means going to bed at least eight or ten hours prior, at four pm on the Sunday, which means staying up the night on the Saturday before. I say it now, and planning shall fruit, yet I yearn for the taste! 
• Refreshment: I venture to ensure the supply of several cans of energy drink (Monster, from the garage across the road), perhaps some packets of crisps or nuts and chocolate bars, and at least a whole fifty gram pouch of tobacco, of which I shall pre-roll thirty or forty cigarettes, and happily keep them within grasp, but only for the reasons of the celebration of the day. I shall need milk, and a good supply of coffee. Nescafe Gold blend should do the trick, and can be procured from Iceland in refill packets, and also the convenience shop where they do the off milk. 
• Studying: Due to the few hours remaining, the organisation herewith should incorporate no more than 48 hours of serious practice, that is outlined as to which topics I should cover, and know in their entirety, and be confident in their working. I should get my fucking head down on this effort, such is the case, and I know it to be true. I've been so lax, yet time has been its usual relative demeanour, and goes fast or slow as and when it pleases. This must be done. 
• Privacy: I must put my phone in airplane mode, and not answer calls. I must not answer texts. I must concentrate. People will phone, people will knock at my door, something will happen. 
• Comprehensiveness: I must be diligent and thorough, and persistent, and clever. 
• I must be philosophical, and scientific. 

These cannot be the only plans, yet all else is within grasp, I feel. 

I must close now, and go to bed, and dream of future credence. 

I bid you farewell. 

Daniel 

xxx

Welcome ye, 

Hello there, how are you? How am I? How, indeed, are things going for you right now? Bloody fantastic, I must interject, and there it is and there you have it. Well, and perhaps not so good. Perhaps my mind has deteriorated, from the inundation of surplus hours and hours of studying and working - mainly, in the physics regime. Yes, for I have gone quite, quite insane. And by that I do not mean to say that you yourself have gone insane, but that I myself have gone quite, quite doolally. 

I just spent an hour working on a topic of physics, namely (and what was the topic), the blackbooty spectrum. And it was over an hour, in truth, approximating to approximately two hours, or two and a half hours, and I took down the particulars. And henceforth, when it all culminated in a conclusion, I was dismayed, certainly, to find that the problem was indeed a classically moot concept, which was not in use for the solutions to the problem. And now I find that the problem is indeed a "heads up" in the mode of the quantum solutions, yet imagine my dismay, to have all my good work... thrown down the pan!!! 

I guess I don't mind. I actually performed one of the equations. But I wonder, how can the open university expect us to be able to keep up with this immense workload? Well, I imagine, that that is because I was two weeks behind, for the reasons of the coronavirus. 

Remember the coronavirus? Do you recall that era? That was a strange time indeed, forsooth. We all had to stay in the house and try to keep abreast of things. That reminds me, I must check upon the daily round up of news. But before I do so, I would like to mention that I am not so fascinated by the questions of conspiracies in light of the current situation. 

Now it says here, that the United Kingdom has the greatest number of deaths in Europe. We are second only to the United States. This is certainly a good reason to stay the course inside. So I must be wrong about my considerations of the COVID-19 disease being, in its capacity, a psychological phenomenon. I simply cannot understand how we have had so many deaths? We all locked down, didn't we? We all stayed in quarantine. But the good news is that the NHS is handling the situation. 

The news certainly is a bitch. I feel a little stunned, and now a great deal more worried. Have we reached a peak yet? Why are the elderly dying? They are vulnerable, but where did they pick up the virus? It's a state I'm in that equates to confusion. Why are people in care homes picking up the virus? Is it something to do with the NHS? I am actually in shock. Nearly 30,000 deaths!! I wish I was able to help. I wish I was able to say something comforting. 

And there I was, thinking about suicide. 

What would happen if I were to test positive for Coronavirus??

They are saying we could have done things differently. We're in week seven of lockdown, and they think we could have done things differently. 29,427 people have died, as of the fifth of May. I would like to know if that's exactly related to coronavirus, or there are other factors. Yes, the elderly and vulnerable are dying. Why can't we protect them? 

I haven't been watching much television. In fact, my only source of media has been the open university website, and I think that's as good as any. We do not have to be so morosely attached to the mainstream media, however, perhaps I should be a little more in tune with the feelings of common social discourse, maybe. 

The lockdown is working, they say. So that's good news. 

I should personally be extra careful, because I am a smoker, and a fairly heavy one at that. And they say, that you are four times more likely to catch the disease in that band. 

I still get the sense of a psychological cause... Am I a fool? I should not spread misinformation. Media is just fine, in the sense that we as humans are in fact central to natural existence. In a strange way, the media can help keep you sane - at least, further from real insanity. I don't want to say what I'm thinking. 

But now, I must interject, that it is of utmost importance to treat the coronavirus as a true and real threat, and not to mess around and joke about with claims of conspiracy, to treat the coronavirus for what it is - a virus that is killing people all over the world. 

And there it is again: That thought of psychology... It cannot be put into words. I would like to redeem myself by asking about the science of COVID-19. 

I must say, I feel at odds with my situation, that is, of being on benefits for illness. Yet I am trying my best to keep on with work, and perhaps this is the best I can do. I am doing the best I can to do my bit, which is merely by quarantining and locking down. For the worries are social, economic, scientific, political. 

I'm listening to a science podcast on the topic of the psychology of conspiracies. The points being made are, that conspiracies are a way to help people understand their anxieties, and the world; that social media is spreading misinformation; that people who lack critical thinking abilities are more likely to believe in conspiracies. I conclude that the virus is a real physical threat (if it ever needed to be affirmed). Narcissists are more likely to believe in conspiracy theories. When you are in an environment that increases your uncertainty this makes you more susceptible to conspiracies. When you believe in one conspiracy theory, you are more likely to believe in others, for example, if you believe the virus is man-made, then you are more likely to believe in the 5G conspiracy theories. Confirmation bias. Proportionality bias: the coronavirus event is a massive event. Many people are out of their minds with fear. Me? I'm just out of my mind. 

I have problems. I'm glad I'm studying science, for the narcissistic reasons (obviously), and others. But why am I so skeptical about the governmental and scientific evidence about the coronavirus? I must remember that I am in fact a paranoid schizophrenic, which means that I have had experiences, and none more so than in the last few weeks. I have problems, and have had experiences, but I have good reasons to believe the things that go on in my head. I also have good reasons to ignore those things and connect into the mainstream media. It's a strange world outside, I can assure you, and I'm not sure I like it. I miss people, real contact. But now, I am coming to think that the scientific and social view of myself is a far cry, in fact, from the philosophical and spiritual person I was once trying to attain to in life. Some people have called me a plethora of things, from genius, to queer, to dickhead, to paranoid schizophrenic. I feel the medicinal view is the most debilitating, for it is the hardest to accept. Yet, in fact, that is who I am. I am not the Christ, I am not a God, I am not an angel. I am a paranoid schizophrenic. That is how the doctors see things, that is how my mother sees things. That is how I should see myself - even in light of my esoteric views on the topic of what we take to be authority. Because I have been studying science for a very long time, and I wish to pursue science, and gain credence in this subject. I have to relent and even acquiesce to the whims of medicinal, or medical authority. And I had such hopes for the psychological legacy! 

I am not there yet. Perhaps the diligence must be strenuous, and perhaps the work will not be fun. But the fun is over. I want to see this pandemic through and make it over to the other side. You know, I couldn't explain those conspiracies nevertheless! So that is it. 

Now I think of it, I have been lacking a modicum of faith recently. Faith is like a rule of life - it will always rear its head in your moments of despair, and you can fall back on it. But science is truth, and reality. It is really the best way to accept your life. I want to retire from my fears about the way society identifies me. I want to accept myself. I'm a paranoid schizophrenic. 

Best wishes

Daniel. 

I must blog, and welcome., 

A lot of people are scared, I imagine... I personally culminate my fears in dreams. I might as well blog about those. 

I dreamed at first that I was phoned by services in mental health saying - Martin Katz is unwell, and it is because you are increasingly psychotic. I could see their meaning in this, and although I care about Martin, could not see how I was currently in a breakdown. And, from where I remained (a house in the Garden Suburbs), my brother Ryan and I laughed at their request I come in to be examined. Yet services, in the form of psychiatric nurses, managed to get inside the large house, where I was asking my brother to get me some hash, to calm my brain (which these days would not do such a thing; but make things worse). We laughed at the services, but soon they were entered into our place of residence and threatening my brother with anti-psychotic injection. I fought this, and we were in the right, but I have an image of their trying to restrain Ryan and inject him. My only course of action to avert this disaster, was to grasp Ryan by a piece of flesh on his back, that must have hurt him. Yet we were still in the right, and services had nothing on us, yet they still persisted to save Martin's mind by the action of medicating me, and I brought out my phone to "go live" on facebook and the phone had been recording the audio of the entire debacle, much to the dismay of the psychiatric nurses (they appeared sanitised and medicinally clean). The dream ended with a vision of Ryan being held by three of these nurses, and then I awoke, and went to eat a piece of bread with cacik. 

And the next part of the dream, when I got back down after food, began. And there was Rochelle (a friend of my sister's), and my sister, in my mother and father's bedroom, and there was pink and perhaps allusion to childhood. I picked something up, perhaps an illness shard by the girls, but as much is not clear. But nevertheless I picked up an illness, in which small caterpillar-like creatures squeezed out from white pores in my skin, and I had to go to hospital. Here, everyone was having a similar illness, and there was my mother, perhaps suffering too, I don't know, yet in any case there she was sharing a bed next to someone I feel pained to say was my mother's auntie and friend, June. But my illness worsened: Caterpillar-like animals crawled out of pores in my skin, and I was worse for wear, but since it was an epidemic, I was able to leave. And in the dichotomous position of leaving or staying, it was the case that many people would contract the same illness, including doctors. We all took our positions in hospital beds, my mother, my mother's friend, and a doctor who became most unwell, and yet tried to help us all. Then, my sister being quite well and not in the vicinity, my brother arrived to take care of us by purchase of drinks and snacks, and meanwhile the hospital ward was going mental, with the epidemic taking full effect. And now, my brother exposed to the illness, he contracted it, and found this out by talking to a black girl who told him of his condition, which Ryan could not believe, and called out to his black friend, Keith, and apologised to me in the process, yet I understood the whole thing, and have always wanted to feel this understanding. And then an inpatient was there, Alistair, and had a deck of cards. He was a Scottish man, and knew every trick there was (I also had a deck of cards). His method of trickery was rough-edged, yet we compared tricks - well - Alistair was able to trick me a number of times, and I myself was unable to gain leverage over his mastery... his double-lifts were better than mine; his mind-reading tricks were better... The small, brown hair Scot soon turned out to have been a doctor all the while, and smiled at my efforts, which nothing could beat him. Alistair, being victorious, went back to his position as NHS hospital staff, and my illness continued. However, now, I wanted to leave, to get home to see my father, and went out into the hospital ground and found a bus, and went on the bus, and went back to my area where my father was waiting at home, where I really wanted to be. There was some altercation on the bus upon which some frenzy was taking place to do with the driver and passengers, and money, and it was a full bus, with mothers and .... mainly mothers, and i got back there to my area, near the park. 

I spent the rest of the night feeling weak with a respiration issue due to smoking. I could not sleep in, and need to work. Thinking over my time in life, and my failings before God, I finally resolved to fight the illness and woke up to breakfast and sit down to work. 

I must try to get on with things today. I am now on Unit 23 - The Fermi gas and solid-state physics. It is nigh on impossible. I shall be lucky to pass, but we shall see. 

I fail to be able to see what else I have to blog about. 

Wait. 

Yesterday was Martin Katz's 64th birthday. I sung him Happy Birthday several times. Martin cried throughout the day - it can't have been a very nice day. At about six o'clock Ryan needed my assistance in doing some tree work, in which I had to help the boy with picking a stump-grinding machine off his green van, and on, and off again, and I love that boy so much. And whenever I work with him, I feel an affinity for manual labour. But, however it appears to be the case - through mental health issues, or academic work and so on - I am at heart a cerebral person, and have not much love for this type of working. Nevertheless, I was able to see my boy, my brother, and we had great... how you say... banter - and we laughed and joked, and we bantered all the while, back in the old town of Burnt Oak, where we spoke of past friends that live in the area, and chatted and laughed about this or that, and it is always nice to see the boy - my boy. I took snaps and films as he chopped down tree stumps with his chainsaw, and then ground them out using the machine, and he (the boy) is becoming even larger in his arms, and fitter in his general fitness. We laughed and joked, and by the end I was able to leave the conversation we were having, which was about the species of trees, and whether one could tell if a tree was male or female, and their names, and their birth names or species name, and then people around being categorical as unto a tree (I have, for example, recently named a Copper Beech by the name Henry, which I thought a good name) - I was able to leave the day's talking on a high note, by activating my deepest charm, and finally saying something poignant as we departed - something I have always wanted to do. But before this I received a WhatsApp message from my sister Corina, which said that her three year old son Rio was enjoying the gift which I bought him, which was a third-party nintendo machine, and by the looks of the picture, it seemed he was really into it. 

Then later, Corina texted me the information that Rio found gaming difficult, but that he would try. He's just like all us Besties - we all try. We all try. 

Peace, and good morning to you. 

Dan

x 

To whom it may coronavirus, 

I'm going to smash out a quick blog post here and hence we begin with no particular destination in mind. 

First thing. I have had experiences, of the mind and body, which I would love to put into writing. Have these experiences recently been put into context, and hence into the category of "not worth talking about"? Well, I bloody hope not. There's all sorts of things I want to say. What you must know about me, firstly, is that I'm a paranoid schizophrenic! It's not a pleasant characteristic, yet I am glad I can be lumped in with that stigma, for it can at least assist other people to help understand me or, if not understand me, at least give them some kind of counterpoint with which to contextualise my ever so underhanded dealings and ways. That is, when I come bowling down the street, and they see me coming, and they are overcome with the fear of the holy Lord, by dint of antagonistic and fearsome ways and dealings, they can, when they come to know me, be placated in the notion of this fact of my nature. I am mentally ill, and it's me and not you, and you can rest safe in the knowledge that I am the outsider, and not a perpetual God, which is what I really am. No. I am a paranoid schizophrenic. 

So, in light of this new knowledge, here are some theories of the Coronavirus, that may or may not be deemed conspiracies: 

• The coronavirus is a man-made virus, created by the Chinese government, in effect to partake in militaristic dealings with the United States and everything that's going on between those two countries. 
• The coronavirus is a highly advanced scientific technology, that transcends the comparatively basic science we may associate with the construction of the first theory's version of the coronavirus. It does this, with a view to advancing the "Wi-Fi" connectivity of the human brain - a consideration that the good Lord Himself was unable to construct without the assistance of His finest brains, all of whom have a special part to play in the rising of the current pandemic, personally and necessarily. It connects with the erection of the Huawei 5G towers, which may or may not have merely been a "red herring", that coincided with an evolutionary shift towards the illumination of the collective mind. 
• The Jews did it. 
• The coronavirus pandemic is not a real pandemic. It is a construct of the imagination of: 

1. A paranoid schizophrenic who is in fact a patient in an ongoing condition of seclusion, in a locked ward on a wing of Broadmoor Psychiatric Unit, with a mind so unwell that even the administration of the strongest antipsychotics can not prevent him from imagining the entire ordeal. 
2. A man who, in the year 2001, has committed suicide, and is receiving communications from God about future events, as a product of the rewards of the afterlife. He has committed suicide, and left his family and loving girlfriend to try to continue life without him. Yet the constructs of suicide are on the other hand as complicated, and now, only the residual version of himself now exists, and he lives in the future, passing knowledge back to himself, at the crux of his life and legacy. He sits happily in the perpetuity of suicide, with just his imagination to keep him in sanity. 

• The coronavirus and COVID-19 pandemic is a hoax, and was put in place to create an entirely new world society which will be maintained for the foreseeable future, and which culminates in: 

1.  The eradication of every unnecessary economical trading element, which have been hitherto blockades to financial advancement, for both government and social individual alike, the overhaul which has improved the financial situation for all. 
2. The overhaul of the education system, which is now to be continued using the available technology that can be employed from the safety of the home, and by parents. 
3. The overhaul of the family society, which is now a case where families are spending good quality time together, watching each other grow up and engaging in healthy, wholesome activities as a family unit, on a daily basis and at length.  
4. The overhaul of the policing system, in which criminals are now unable to continue to do the crimes of which they were once able to do. 
5. The "wringing out" of social prejudice, which is borne out by the two-metre distancing rule that everybody must adhere to. 
6. Etc., etc... 

And so it goes, and there you have it. 

In other news, the course is going well, and I am greatly enjoying it. I have spent a great deal of the day studying for it, and also spent some time making adjustments to my computer, which now boasts Windows 10, and for which I have ordered superfast fibre broadband. 

I really must try to go to sleep now. 

Best wishes. 

D

x

Hello all blog men and women,

I begin my entry by putting down the great feeling I have associated with the practice of learning physics. It is one of happiness, and contentment. 

How glad I am to be finally off the marijuana! It makes study so much easier. 

In addition, it is nice to have chosen to pursue this endeavour of study, and I'm sure you will agree, what an endeavour. 

That other old love of mine, music. I'm sure I will come back to you, one fine day. I'm not very good at music anyway. Well... 

This quantum mechanics is mind-blowing. And how practical, and how complacent one can become. How expedient to use the time in lockdown to do something as nice as study, thus. 

The practice of physics, I have yet to consolidate. But by Lord, I'm anticipating the practice to achieve fruition. 

I am feeling mildly confident, however, as to passing this level 2 module, and wish to continue to higher and higher levels, and I put this down in writing with a view to crystallise my whims. This has worked up until now. 

And in other news, the quantum state of my mental health is now reaching a level of boringness that is so dire that I must be cured of it. Yes, sanity is of necessity the most mundane of all positions; to come to learn to love it could be the greatest struggle of all. So we must pass this knowledge on to sufferers of addictions. For at least in normality you can get something done, and I just recently have approached the idea. 

And what is normality for me appears to be a world apart from that of many individuals, in the current age. We should have this down by July, and we will help each of our peers through it. There is more to this quarantine than meets the eye. I must say, tonight we move forward to attack tomorrow, without qualms. I know, it is starting to get boring - all this waiting until the curve is flattened. All we need is a little patience. And perhaps a little altruism, and perhaps a routine. But that is all. We are all a little tired, and we all need a hug. 

As I am able to claim, I have a fine girlfriend now, with a beautiful mind. Yet, it is not possible to hold her. For such a pleasure, one must absolutely be patient. The goal is to forward our notions with a modicum of diligence, and diligence with satisfaction, and it can be done. We must all do this, every single day, and we hope nature will support this goal. In short, we must use this eon to place our house in order. That is the simplest it gets. We will have the assistance of government, but we must assist them to assist us, and without waiting for the gift. We understand the plight, and pray the economy can handle it. Don't be astounded by society's unbelievable grit, especially to a Brit! (but also, all across the plane of the Earth.) And hope is not the only emotion. Everything is going to be alright. 

And so it goes, everything must be got out the way. I have just given myself a half pill of sleeping drugs, which didn't work, and the very blog we currently read was not finished and no matter the pill taken, you must go until satisfaction, and do so like you are on some other drug; it is only right. I do not understand why much of our planning does not go well on the initial run, lads. Okay, I knew the time was to be a whole hour of, and of full complication in the new and good thoughts we learned, somehow, during the course of the day. Why you didn't merely continue like you knew you had planned, I fail to know the existence of a reason. And you know, it makes me so tired, that it is one of the reasons I knacker my life and life's energy. There's the boy. 

What an interesting change of affairs; forgive me my verbosity. For the lessons of the day, have made it so clear in the eye, that there is more to be said, and all changes, and we start to get used to it all, and we try to believe, and it all comes to nothing. There is more, and what a failing day. That started too well, and ended badly as it could, and within the final three seconds. And for an hour's sleep, well how would that be the a thing? I do not know. It makes no sense. I want it to be a thing; I wish it. 

What story I would like to tell is borne out in the events of the day: in short, I awoke, I worked and spoke to my best friend, and I spoke to my girlfriend, and spoke to a receptionist in the NHS surgery at Mill Hill. And she advised me, and provided knowledge, that I have a prescription to collect - of perfect sleeping tablets which have failed me tonight. And it had royally annoyed me. HE really does laugh at our plans. I mean He pisses himself. And all we can do, and all you can do, and all I can do is follow the course, and try to feel the plan that He has. 

It is religious. The whole thing. I need be like you wish me to be surreptitious, for feel my annoyance. It is anger at myself, and I am only ever angry at myself. I fail too much. I had a thread there, and now I cannot feel such a thread, and this will always amount to ushering in the sorrows of youth, whatever those may be, you slaves. COVID-19 is driving us all insane. Some think it's a conspiracy; some think it is God. Others think it is natural psychology, and I have been wondering at the consequences and ways and means of the psychological methods of infection avoidance. I really have, you know. I always say it. It is natural psychology. That is, COVID-19 can be solved through psychosomatic means. Those are all original theories. Allow me to explain. 

Even the common cold is psychosomatic ( I do not know the exact science). Such a conjecture needs to be understood. Psychosomatic phenomena relates to what the nature of the world dictates, and such a point is made. The nature of the world is made of at least a dichotomy: The man made and the structure of what is allowed in the physical universe, which are both (let me assure you, but do not take my word for it) in connection to reality, and this is the pain of punishment. You must be true to yourself, your nature, and the natural world around you. You must try remain in cohabitation with all these effects, and knowing that morality is the connection, is not such a terrible point of view. for morality can tell how phenomena shall pan out, for it is in the world, and in you. I do not know the exact reasons why. But my hunch is that when an action made by a human is made in the name of being good (not necessarily a relativity of morality), you will instantly see that there is a good that comes from it. This is the point. It is simple: be a good person, and refrain from depravity, and refrain from destitution, and refrain from desperation. (Although I have failed in timely fashion at this latter instruction). Keep government as a vessel of human sanctity, borne of what is thought right, within these confines, and constructs. Use the restrictions and recommendations to your advantage; see them as pointers to help us all achieve a cleaner society. For all my own libidinous desecration, life is a learning curve. Perhaps that is why tonight I have failed. And I will fail, and I will continue to fail, and it will be to my own disadvantage. It will hurt. 

I will not achieve what I originally set out to achieve, here in the thread. You know what I mean about this. IT could have gone so well, and I had doubts. I very much certainly doubted myself. And here is my plea, and here is my prayer. Dear Lord. Please forgive me my failings, and know that I will always try to do your will, no matter the scene of connections to my failings, that I cannot understand your ways. I am not a God, I am a human. I have had a routine for three weeks now, and one night you asked me to change such a routine, and I failed to accept the request, and I am sorry, and please forgive me; I take not the living piss. 

We go again, for the hour is nearly up, and I have done the best I can to solve this crisis, as some coronavirus doctors and professors have so diligently done. I know, Lord, that I could have done better in my day - I pursue the next with great anticipation, and forgive me for shagging your leg whenever I see you at my table; you are wise and great, and I would do anything for you. I was confused by your anger, and now my capability to complete the original task is clear. I have said, and it is said, that you laugh at our plans. But tonight I may have possibly laughed at yours. Yet it is a strange and difficult task to be sensitive to your feelings. I thought what I gave was enough, and I am human, and I fail. The thread was lost, but it is still unsalvageable. I hope you will forgive me! Forgive me Lord, and let me not fall into mirth and hilarity, for I have killed a thousand thousand, and I was sorry, and I never knew pain. All those lost, and the science behind the regeneration of their souls.... I am sure everything will be alright in the end. And I know my place; I know my thoughts (some of them fully). And I know that I will cry to be sensitive to the most important things - they are difficult to navigate, all amongst the notions of personal disbelief in your ways. I struggle to come to terms with the extremes of my responsibilities in this life, I am sorry I took your love. I will perform my utmost to understand my position in this critical time of pandemic and pestilence. And I am sorry that I threw burning hot water upon all the thousands of creatures that fell from the garden pot which I lifted. I did it from curiosity, and from that they seemed so ugly. I hear their screams, of these insects, every day, and it crushes, and I know it made your anger over boil. I am sorry Lord. Please forgive me. Hear my screams, as I scream in the night, throughout the night, every night. 

I will not cry tonight, but I know of my failings, and I know your jealous, and merciful ways. I have faith in you, my Lord, please take me back into our arms, tonight. I love you. 

Daniel

x