Humour in a shade of apocalyptic fury!

Needed a laugh at 3AM in the morning, given my lack of sleep is too bad a joke!
Enjoy, or not

Ghost of a Shadow

PS: There’s a reason people say I’m weird with a capital W!

It was the winter of discontent, hell on earth, raining brimstone and fire upon the scorched ground

Happy people prayed for mercy, offered their mortal souls to the lord above for but a glimpse of sun

“Why us, save us… please save us”

Folks ran for cover as all around them was reduced to mere shelter from the endless storm

“Why hath thou forsaken us, what can we do”

Preachers of old spread their apocalyptic verbs to all who are forced to huddle in the church

“And as it was the sky rained down on the unworthy”


The manic depressive stands in the eye of the storm; steadfast and figuring he was already damned

A casual brush of the hand to clear the brimstone from his shoulder, a quick dodge of the flames

“You call this weather…

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Venomous Rage

Words fail, but they still try!

Every cursed flow of inhuman verse to be sanitised only by the most venomous mind

The treacherously sly satisfaction of loosing such ill inspired energies creeps into the very seconds of that unholy wrath, nothing less than a scream of much revered hatred to so slowly savour the taste of what chokes the fading threads of decency and respectable chains to seize the beast

To be taught the ritual rhythm of expected right is so good a cause as I have so much to bow in respect of what was tried, but alas the rhythmic beating of the elongated claws ravaging wildly the doors of its cage shows that for those born to it that the beast cannot be so tamed

You willingly suffer the wailing temptations of what lines the borderline between vaguely labelling good and evil of that inescapable value yardstick by which mortal affairs are judged, sing passionately the weighty worth of words to praise the better nature we all seek to serve

But knowing such saintly ideals to pleasingly saturate honest deeds is merely a veil as thin as the line between darkened acts and corrupted deeds, for blazingly bright the warming flames of that piece of personality you hide does reek of what you know you are meant to be

The rage doth flow through the fractures of failed betterness in facing blindly all that beast shows glaringly hot to melt a more honourable mans resolve, succumbing as easily to the demon only a man at war with his own nature could so torturously grasp tight as to relent to the need to atone and be good

This is a curse

This is a circumvented reality of humanity hidden from tapered eyes

This is the Old Rage

So know that in more pleasingly appearing people whom only helpfulness and social wording of the most polite verse possesses, there most likely lies in the tall grass so littered nicely with prim petals of beautiful flowers a vicious underside insidiously twisting blades till the blood will too freely flow

And when the reaper embraces such souls to rest

The Old Rage in all its power will make itself a new host, a curse that only death will release till crushingly painful conflict is passed to another so like the previous host, gives destructive will a worthy contest


Beasts of Men once Happy

To he the venom of all a world reaps within the cage of what defines a man

A nature driven between bars of socially acceptable logic to points that nature is no longer human enough to be seen or politely heard

Ash to ash, fractured glass to glass, blood to blood

We commit the core of a person derided to where even the mad call time to whence souls do run red with pain

But alas that man does so survive till form beheld is what all else would banish and hide

A form corrupted by what those that would heap a herald of demanding demons hath made to free them of thier ills

No more to harps we hear the one return as whips crack upon twisted flesh in driving dances of what this one endures

Lacking all a mortal would weep to be without for so many lay idle that the folk condemned to make up the price of toil are no longer to be sane

Then the cage is constructed from every internal value nailed into skin and mind combined so those to demand will sleep safe from the creature they hath watched the working wretched become

Sleep not whilst I so fight to keep all my rage within the toxic pits of venom pure that when I fail will rise a thousand times the flames of hell to curse the devil to hide

Then when all lies an image of destructive storm against the woefully pitiful defences that stood in earnest stand to save the sanity of the departed give not a tear to your eye

But a look to watch the beast I hold slink back into his cage with all the crimson trail of that fated fool to hath reached mockingly for the key to turn to release that thing that once was kind in all its beautiful form
The reaper will have me to rest

But what remains will have the world to cry in fear

Comments as echoes in my posting past

A man who lives in storms counts success as survival, so when fortune smiles and adds him to the lucky few he will always be humble
So once to have nothing he knows the value of giving, where once no roof existed he gives up his shelter to more deserving
But despite the illusion fostered that he is a good man to give and be kind, it is only because he only trusts the storm from whence he was saved, and in its lashing embrace he finds the only love he ever truly knew

The moment I crossed her, the second I knew the mere hint of a line to step beyond was but a mere illusion of what I may wish to retreat back over

The word she said, a dagger as poison as the tip of a scorpion so poised to strike

The moment she struck me, the second I knew there was so much more than what my eyes could ever wish to tell

The whip, the look, the pleasure so poised to fuel painful love

The moment it changed, so happy to be but a mere slave to all demands that bitch commands

To oceans, to the mercy of the winds
To waters, too deep to see the depths
To you, into your eyes I descend
To love, the method by which I willingly drown

Apologies if already posted

Volcanoes; Games and fun filled eruptive glory!

Day1: I’m fine

Day2: No problems

Day3: Still ok

Day4-9: Getting by


Day50.5: You look a bit shell-shocked, are you ok… I’m fine

Day51: Doing ok

Day52: I’m fine

The ability to seamlessly without any air of an issue transition from our finely answering fellow of mellow tone, to the raging creature from depths that once held the devil to rights in every fiery loaded second of captivity is a symptom of repression. One word to strike deeply a fearful blow to anyone of easily offended temperament (poor souls who have never lived with me!) as without slightest provocation will rupture the very air with an acidic malaise of words to melt stone.

How to tell if someone is repressed

Are they British? Given that I’m British, do you need anymore proof of the reliability of that symptom!

Have you ever heard a bad word eek out of the coolly smiling slab of stone you call a co-worker, friend or if you’re really crazy; husband or wife

Has all calamity of chaos embodied in the very act of god that hath cast ruin to the day/week/month even roused a minute reactionary note above ‘Oh Darn’

I can tell you now, when they break it will be fun to watch!

Unless unlike me you are not of the sub-species of humans that hugs his depression warmly and sits down to tea with his demons for sake of not caring they have been trying to kill him for years, in which case maybe a slightly opposed reaction to the eventful ‘cracking’ I have referenced will unfold.

How to deal with it

  • Have you ever tried to stop an act of nature?
  • Have you managed to change the very fabric of the universe?
  • Have you ever successfully altered human nature?

If the response given to these merely small acts of godly aptitude lack any resounding positive reaction I recommend you get a pair of earphones, a safe room and above all a sense of repression yourself, there by not adding to the eruptive volatility of the already expressive human in the room showering curses on whatever minor event has proven a suitable trigger.

And look at the fluffily dancing elves riding bunnies and corralling bad dreams, so they can cheer them up… I would continue trying to add a positive twist on this but I just filled a bucket, twice.

Living with it

Most of the time normalised folk with no such experience of what I have only lightly traversed so far will hear and have to deal with amateur rage, pithy little outbursts of shrivelling anger to bounce off your hardened defences with such ineptitude as a foam sword against an armoured truck (or a husbands attempts to lie convincingly to his wife, whilst presenting flowers!).

You on the other hand get the prime rib of intense ruptures in the very material of what shockingly defines the bitter explosive nature of anger itself, a show akin to the creation of stars in an expanse of superb colours blooming in every shade within red, before the lava free vessel returns to safely understating levels of unfeeling reactions.

And when all is done, like the passing storm, calm returns for an age of prosperous sanctuary with the added bonus that if you so wish to follow suit in full eruptive glory, that person has no right to complain!

Remember folks; Mental health is fun, you just have to be screwed up to get the joke!


Diagnostic scan. Rogue personality detected

Diagnostic program running…
Status request on systems pending…
Sanity; Error detected. Definitions too corrupted to properly initiate diagnostic  
Functionality; Percentage beyond standard range… 5%. -56%. 123% .conflict in percentage range Repair attempted…
system overriding corrective measures  
Normality; Core files corrupted. Source files not found in system
Erroralternative values asserting base parameters  
Sociability; -113%… negative percentage… [Alternative values overriding] comparatively positive percentage detected  
Social Filters; Multiple code sections missing… filter malfunctions 2. 6. 8. 16. 19. detection algorithms overloaded
Emergency shutdown of compartment analysis  
Stress; 999% evident in base systems… normality core files saturated… sociality deconstructing.jkkl.oimh… [Contaminated values overriding] deconstructing… no error detected   Diagnostic program concluding…  
Report; Core files corrupted. Normality definitions misaligned. Sociability voided. Social Filters borderline functional. Stress at fatal levels  
Status; Impossibility Recommendation; Delete prograkkl.kj89..kjkkk [Alternative values overriding] FUCK LIFE. With bells on it. Exclamation mark

More Extracts From the Bleak Tome

          To storms and shelters

        One half a haven

      The other a hell

    Each to its own purpose

 Two sides of a coin


          Less afflicted seek cover

       More afflicted immune to pain

     Sanity seeking shelter

   Chaos consuming calm


         Storms causing wiser folk to run

      But for those that watch the thunder

   Barely find any finer show


Extracts From The Bleak Tome

Where once there was a madman, all that stands is me

A figment of impossibility, by the twisted tree


I give you a shadow of myself to protect your fragile perception of standardised norms

To show anymore of a whole and the edge you walk would corrupt each step

Till all you know requires you to show a shadow of yourself, to protect other’s fragile perception….


Poison emotions and corrupted pens

Do so stain paper with twisted ink

And so in literary manner warp men’s souls


The Evolutionary Path of a Depressive’s Writing Style

1st Stage:

Polite expression of negativity in an air of well written wordidge

2nd Stage:

Poetic verse of complexly constructed forms to express a hint of liking razor blades

3rd Stage:

Speak easy in lyrical flow of casual colloquialisms for sake of free wheeling insanity

4th Stage:

Darkest humour bleakly mis-iluminating the less likable aspects of deepest damnation

5th Stage:

Depressive glory to descend to ditches every ill word written in overshadowed moods

6th Stage:

Fully developed suicidal musings to cast shade into corners once only inhabited by death

7th Stage:

If you reach this stage we would like to know what hell looks like!