OK Call Me Obsessed
Archive for February, 2017
The Bullfighter Dies
Powerful dreams can come true guys.
This…the killing of ‘men’ by bulls is something I would pay to watch and I don’t care who knows it.
Spiritual Hip Hop From A Falsely Convicted Rapist…Sigh.
file://desktop-q7tu9pg/Users/Zoe/Music/Unknown%20artist/Unknown%20album%20(03-02-2017%2004-51-36)/
OK, I’ve worked at this for hours and am simply unable to get a direct link for you. But for anyone who cares enough about what’s going on in today’s world? Copy paste this link into google or whatever. It contains the entire album of highly spiritual hip hop created in my locality by my ex Ezra who now languishes at Her Majesty’s Pleasure. I’m not geeky at all and my best and most persistent efforts could produce only this but I hope it works for you (I only had the CD and was wanting to share it on the internet, if anyone has any better ideas for me please let me know?)
But hey I’m supposed to be all fine about kids younger than my son that I talked to on the internet to being found dead on a hotel floor from suicide?
I’m supposed to be all fine and happy that the creator of this song and many others Ezra is currently serving nine years for ‘rape’…alleged by his gf of 15 years and babymother who he was so faithful to all that time? Who loved his son to pieces and was his main carer for the first three years of his life until she basically ripped him away from him with the false allegations?
If this is any kind of cautionary tale it would be one strictly against fidelity or monogamy. But in fact I guess the sadder reality is this. Beware of being faithful to the wrong person! It can turn around and bite a chunk out of your ass, if not cannibalise you completely. And women are even more dangerous than men!
But since this blog is ‘all about me’…right Barbara Lisicki of Equals Training? I will simply dwell on my own feelings about this for a few nanoseconds if I may.
The loss of Ezra to prison was and still is utterly devastating for me. To actually witness the farcical ‘trial’ from the public gallery was a mindfuck of the first order.
The reality? This guy was a beautiful, endlessly creative gentle giant who would scarcely hurt a fly. He wasn’t without flaws anymore than any of us are. But a rapist? Ahhh go rape yourself you dumb white trash POS. You knew he wanted to move on from you, with every good reason, so you decided to essentially ‘bury’ him. And if that is not evidence of a controlling, predatory, psychopathic and sadistic mindset I honestly don’t know what is.
But I actually DON’T blame the girl and would not engage with any kind of catfight with her if I met her (sorry to disappoint any cunts who enjoy that kind of thing). She simply used a system that was stacked against him and in favour of her to remove him from her sight and thoughts since he was now an inconvenience who might dare to come between her and ‘her’ beloved son in some way. So she was rehoused, given heaps of sympathy and in every way richly rewarded for playing the victim card.
But hey! I’m meant to plaster a fake smile on my face am I not, along with the rest of the commuter robots, and go get a freaking honest job? Would that one existed huh? Look at the job specs! Great team player, self starter, works from own initiative, game changer (ugh), bubbly personality (double ugh)…
Yanno what guys? This entire ‘reality’ is one gigantic pisstake. The best advice I can offer is to try to see the funny side and take the piss right back at these clowns.
But you know what else? I don’t just BELIEVE in the Law of Karma and what goes around comes around. I actually observe it everyday. Hang in there Ezra. Most real people know what a sex offender looks like and it ain’t you brother.
Shout Out To The Netherlands!
We love the bones of you guys and you’re a land of literal giants with very enlightened views on assisted suicide, and great breakfasts. Thanks for reading and you have my vote!
You also speak English better than the English do. Respect!!!
Tribute To Maurice
Yanno what?
I don’t NEED to write a tribute to Maurice. He’s so enormously and fabulously ‘up himself’ (remember, it takes one to know one) that a tribute from me would cause him nothing more than the tiniest of chuckles.
Plus, I’m frankly completely exhausted and spent after a very full working day. Up yours Jeremy Kyle!
But I guess I just want to mention that he came for a visit yesterday morning. We reminisced about our bad old days together and made each other laugh. He no longer was scared to enter what we used to call ‘the dungeon’ (ie, this house). He met the lodger and they instantly connected.
Maurice is HUGELY talented in so many directions it frankly makes you dizzy. I fully understand why I was so besotted with him back then. And he loved and still loves me too but we have both moved on…of course.
So yeah. Maurice is his own tribute. And I feel exactly the same. A walking tribute to my own immortal and superhuman greatness.
So no tearful Oscar Acceptance speeches will be found necessary…yes Gwyneth Paltrow, that was aimed right at you you dumb American crybaby. Go fuck yourself as I have so often had to. You had the terrible taste to marry Chris Martin so I have neither sympathy nor pity for you…you’re beyond help. Lol.
Oh stop. I’ve just GOT to find you a link before I subside into a coma. http://thechurchofchrismartin.wordpress.com
Tomorrow I will add that to my blogroll. It’s an absolute hoot. Night peeps.
Tribute To Angela
You were the best, indeed possibly the ONLY female friend I ever had.
I don’t give a flying fuck about what happened between us back in 2010. I KNOW you were my true friend because even as you hurt me you helped me.
I even told you so at the time Ange! Without your help I would never have got free of Richard and we both knew that was something I needed to do.
NEVER EVER think you were devalued in my mind by ANYTHING that you did. Never ever think I stopped loving you, then, since or now.
My life has been the poorer for no longer having you in it.
I miss you every day my sweet friend. You meant more to me than any man I had back then. I love you to death, through its portals and back to life again. Here’s a song I hope you appreciate.
Sonny Boy
He has no visible means of support. He won’t jump through all the hoops required for JSA (Job Seekers Allowance, a UK welfare benefit for non-UK readers), which personally? I TOTALLY understand.
Haringey Council (my local council which was responsible for putting him into state care in the first place) give him NOTHING to live on. They do give my mum an allowance for him though but it isn’t much and only really covers basic living costs.
My boy is extremely frugal and careful with money by nature. Even more so than me. I tend to indulge myself waaay more. He is exceedingly analytical and an over-thinker by nature…for example on the rare occasions he requires something new…such as his iPhone 6 and latest laptop…he ponders long and hard about it first.
He also does not ‘take the piss’ when it comes to asking ME for money. I think it is a matter of pride when it comes to him, and I remember being just the same with MY mum and dad. It hurt to ask for so much as a tenner from my dad.
My son has no ‘hustle’. At least not when it comes to money. You’d hardly know he ever LIVED in London. Yet when people he’s just met ask him where he’s from? He says ‘London’…coz of the ‘cool’ factor. As he’s currently dwelling in a tiny rural village in the wilds of Kent, it tends to provide a talking point. And when you’re meeting new people it’s always good to have one of those, right?
I would like him to be free of the natural anxiety caused by lack of an official income though. He doesn’t count his £10 000 savings, the legacy from me/my dad, and in fact does not even have access to those funds as my mum is keeping them in a separate account for him.
My son is rather naive about the whole concept of ‘working’ for a living. He claims to be willing to take any kind of McJob. But my mum and I have our doubts. If they require a ‘comedy fast food purveyor’ in the local Maccy D’s, well I haven’t seen it listed on any of their job specs and doubt I will any time soon.
Whatever my son does people tend to watch him in wonderment and sometimes laugh. He’s not like anybody else. And here’s a song to illustrate the point.
My Son Wrote This For English GCSE
A Twist of Fate
Green curtains? Where the fuck am I? What’s that horrendous stench?
“My leg! Oh God no…. Where is my leg?! Oh fuck, my leg!”
A harassed looking woman popped her head around the curtains “oh good, you’re awake,” she said.
‘’What the hell happened to me?’’ I frantically asked.
“You’ve been in a car accident,” she informed me.
“Holy shit, what day is it?”
“Friday, you were brought in 2 days ago, you were unconscious for a while, and your leg was so severely damaged we had to remove it below the knee, unfortunately”.
“Unfortunately?!?” I thought. My insides sharply sank at the thought of the daunting consequences I’d have to face.
I may never even walk again. I couldn’t believe it. I had responsibilities. I had to take care of my nephew Alex – the poor kid could have been in the same bed I was in because of that monster and so called ‘Dad’. Love that kid to the moon and back. He’s a little warrior. He’s probably wondering where I am as I was supposed to meet him on Wednesday evening. This can’t happen. It just can’t. “Let me just go check on another patient,” the nurse announced as she awakened me from my reflective and frozen state.
All I could think was “God, I really need a drink.” I needed to see my brother, I knew he may be able to sneak me in a drink. I looked around and just about managed to reach my mobile from the set of drawers to my right but naturally, it was dead. I plugged it in and sent a message to my brother, Andy, and told him everything I knew. Surprisingly, he responded and told me he could bring my whiskey flask from my flat later. I texted back to notify him the key was under the mat and to put vodka in the flask as the doctors would smell the strong odour of my whiskey a mile off.
Three hours later I awoke and glanced up to see a familiar face. Andy was dressed in the same long brown leather jacket he’d always worn along with a pair of ripped up, rugged and dark blue jeans.
“How you doing then James?” Andy routinely asked as he tossed his tobacco pouch onto the table.
I narrowed my eyes and snapped, “Oh, I’m just fine Andy, just missing my bloody leg!”
“I suppose you have looked better,” Andy humourlessly observed.
“So what are you waiting for – Got the flask?” I asked him, trying not to sound desperate as I rubbed the back of my head in an attempt to comfort myself.
“Yep,” Andy casually took the flask from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. I immediately opened the flask and took a big, satisfying swig.
As much as things couldn’t get any worse, at least this was actually going my way. I really thought this crazy, selfish brother of mine was going to somehow forget that I was stuck in a damned hospital bed missing a leg. In a moment of clarity I laid the whiskey flask on the bed.
“I was supposed to meet Alex on Wednesday evening. Do you have any idea if he knows why I didn’t show up or if he knows where I am?”
Andy sighed. “James, you know the situation, the family haven’t spoken to me in years,” with that Andy glanced at the clock and announced he had to leave.
As the door closed, I called out, in the best sarcastic tone I could manage, “thanks for your unwavering support!”
Once alone, I started to reminisce about all of the good times I had with Alex. When I had taken him out. I tried remembering what I was going to do when I was going to meet him on Wednesday but all I remembered was drinking in the pub with some mates.
The swigs of vodka must have started to take effect because the next thing I knew, a Doctor came in and told me that I had more visitors. Two dishevelled looking men in crumpled suits entered and introduced themselves as DI Smith and DI Brown and asked me to confirm my name and address.
I was confused as to why they wanted to know who I was but I responded anyway, no sooner than I did, DI Smith said to me, “James Thompson, you are under arrest for causing death by dangerous driving.”
“What on earth?!? When?!” Outraged, I swiftly sat up, completely forgetting about my leg.
“Wednesday evening, you hit a young boy by the name of Alex Gilbert, he just died on the operating table.”
Tribute To Richard
Memories, so many, of our time together. ‘Ramblin’ Man’ by Lemon Jelly. All the Smiths and Radiohead tracks. So much music.
All those contacts with Jasper and everything you did for him.
Everything you did for both of us.
True I don’t need you in my life and possibly never did.
But that doesn’t stop me being glad and grateful for the association and all the support you gave.
You were a book I opened but couldn’t be bothered to finish…
I know how pleased you will be that Jasper is now a fine young man who’s embarking on his own path in life.
I know you are also happy that I’m no longer broke or needing handouts from you.
All the music you played me on the guitar. The deeply held values you shared with me.
If I’m indifferent to ever seeing you again it’s only because I know you feel the same.
The important thing to me was knowing that Lynn carried absolutely no ill will toward me and that actually we were good friends.
But forget you? How could I do that? Ever?
You will always remain a key player Richard. I told you you were a god, you were like ‘whatever’ and I am just the same. God, schmod. It is what it is.
You don’t need my love and possibly never did.
I wish you every good thing life can shower you with and you have my undying respect.
Am I Still Ill? 
Written
on February 9, 2017