Figures dark and fools who ignore the warning flames

A shadow of a figure lingers on the edge of everyone’s vision, fated death in his coldly blank eyes

Honest person’s subtlety shuffle to the farthest corner away as less positive hauntingly linger with glasses in hands, each with a suggestive nod of respect to the shadows where our figure occupies

Lacking in intelligence or self survival the most stupid turn without an air of caution to offer joyously toned platitudes of hope and happiness imbued

The figure casts stony glares with ill warnings carried with the deadest of tones, a warning carried with hellion implying words and tone

The fool turns to anger and threatens, insults and accuses the figure with ill advised energy in each dangerous term of insulting blindness to the flames in each of the figures ominously darkening eyes

A final warning thrown as daggers from an assassin’s hand, each a miss but each warning tone close enough to let even the most lacking intelligence know to safely retreat in apologetic step and begging form

Stupidity fuelled platitudes hath turned a shade of foolish insult, to anger carried so insultingly superior sounding that even angels of strong will have conspicuously stepped a thousand yards in opposite direction

Casually rising, eerily calm delivery for the hatred wielding flurry of poisonously flared verbal assaults and with a burning pitch of resentment in every razor sharp word blazingly thrown, the sinisterly escalating figure becomes as overshadowing as an evilly possessed god

The quiet of the room reflects the stunned silence in each fear afflicted eye in that pale frozen face plastered on the fool, retreating so quick as to neglect even the most basic concept of stability demonstrated in the frequent and amusing stumbling run our fool adopts to escape the room

From godly rage in every creeping tendril reaching from the largely scaled form the figure previously grew to, now slinking coolly back into the huddled mass of blackness that clings menacingly to the deep shadows

The room settles easy with the ghosts gripping glasses hunching back into broken images of former humans, complete souls pushing the edges of where light allows with weary movements, so to let the shadows bleak presence remain alone in their crippling hell

The figure’s demons satisfied and now lying low in the more warmly appearing face and features of that previously ungodly mad postured thing he had become, illusions of calm shimmering in perfections reflection of every wretched detail the dark figure has grown to detest but must project



The Anti-Social Expert’s guide to Communication and Social Interaction



So; you enter the room and everyone’s temperature dips several degrees below that of the discarded frozen item in the staff fridge, even the Ice Queen Boss making ice cubes out of her assistant’s tears has adjusted the heating dial to a severely notable degree. The way you say hello just sent the poor soul you were harmlessly addressing into various athletic fits of epileptic fear, so extreme the devil is offering rates if you would work as a consultant.


Having explained to the poor soul’s next of kin you were only saying ‘hello’ and that the fear induced paralysis is only temporary, it mentally occurs that maybe you need to improve your communication skills. The hushed gathering of slack jawed, idiotic, barely half capable and non-relevant persons (thinking in these terms may be a hint of more severe anti-social issues!) gives you the perfect opportunity to announce this.

Using the words “Don’t worry cretins, I’ll attempt not to overload your puny brains by appearing less intelligent and improving my social skills” will counter any potential good that this announcement could potentially achieve.

1: Sense of Humour

Susan from accounting has had a bad day; “Don’t worry, you can use the gun after me, just wipe the brain matter off first in case it stains your top” with a smile on your face… And for some reason she isn’t laughing. Those not afflicted by the distinctly bleak dark humour your anti-social sub-routines operate on may be offended, insulted, shocked, blindly scream in a high pitched fashion or plain old stare in confusion as bluntly as a tech specialist at a dating event.

Try using sickeningly merry terms like “…..” (I would fill in that blank but that might induce uncontrollable vomiting and nausea) or merely smile brightly, preferable without the manic style serial killer effect or vampiric teeth. Following this advise and providing the socially reassuring rot most people consider conversation will avoid the paralytic shock reactions, saying horrifically common and optimistic phrases should further the suicidal need to cleanse your brain with a… I mean; should improve the quality of interaction you have with the cretins… I mean; with other people.

Use of a bucket or hollow receptacle after spouting such cringe worthy repellent phrases and positive terminology is expected so be prepared!

2: Body Language, behaviours and assorted accessories

Resting a pair of scissors on that thinly protective veil of flesh called a wrist will in other anti-social types rather benignly muster a “too messy, and not in the workplace” with a casually blank glance at the pair of scissors taping against their own wrist”. The two days unshaven look is to any fellow non-human not of obvious concern, along with the coldly dead stare and eerily blunt as a brick to a sponge cake delivery style of “I’m fine”.

But to those unnecessarily emotionally sensitive saps who are not yet internally deadened; these signs will engender the need to mindlessly probe and question your mood till the stapler in your hand is playing their head like a drum.

Appearing, dare I utter the insulting word, ‘human’ will reinforce the falsely projecting ideal that when partnered with a freshly smart attire that you are not some sub-human creature, as whom ever has the misfortune of knowing the real you will in fact know is a bare faced screaming lie. Adding a smile, an emoji and some merry happy wordidge will effect successful blending in with the nauseatingly communal mass.

Note: Therapists are fine with you confessing the want to permanently silence annoying co-workers, but blood stains and holding a bloodied stapler will lead to panic from even the most hardened head doctors!

3: Acknowledging other people’s lives/Mindless drivel known as small talk

The literary exploratory of the various realms of hell are acutely accurate to the personal pits of suffering that you feel when engaging in small talk and uttering “I had a mini breakdown, failed to be social and ended up dabbling in self-harm” when asked how your weekend went will clash with the normalised response of “(Whatever happy/mindless shit the merry flock get up to)”. The mandatory trip to the company therapist is a nice half hour away from the desk however!

The ‘Married with kids’ and ‘In happy relationship’ crowd will have many new and verbally colourful explanations of all the stuff that drives deeper the embedded natural hatred of everything you lack, thus the momentous urge to vocally silence their tedious conversational offerings will be naturally present. Resist this urge and outwardly show a version of yourself who sprouts genuine sounding vague and cheery responses, which matches the clean shaven and smartly presented human from my previous advisory; therefore preventing the mandatory ten yard distance that anyone with a notion of happiness regularly maintains.

Unless you really are so filled with hatred/annoyance/stress that the very ground your hoofs make contact with melts with the acid dripping off your tongue, in which case call in sick to avoid having to replace the stapler… again!


We are not people; we are what we are and each to their own, or in my case a sub-human creature

People are ‘social’ and they ‘smile’ as well as acting ‘human’, it’s not that anti-social types can’t do any of those things but merely that it’s not how ‘people’ do it. So be positive and sound like the herd that follow the numbingly head bashing normalised standards of conformity, and if all else fails you can always find a nice cliff and take diving lessons (See the first point for why not to say that in public!).

Within the huddled and joyfully depressive crowds of sub-human creatures we feel at home within all manners of dark humour to a point of being sectioned, conversational cliff dives about the nature of all that drives the daggers into your back and alcoholism inducing topics we love to exchange words about are all fine to share. Society on the normalised level however is complicit with happy happy shiny folk that secretly we wish to feel more like, even if that idea makes us wretch!

So in all the perfectly conjured solutions I have offered here today take solace in lying, through your teeth, bare faced and so blindingly glaring that the happy happy shiny folk can feel good about themselves. Not the way the self-help books would word it but at the core, the truth!

As long as you have someone in your life with which to freely dive the horrid depths of all misery, bluntness and sheer lack of even a microscopic hint of social graces you will be as ok as possible; for with those equally blessed/damned souls you can be yourself, which as ever is where happiness resides.

Going Dark

Going Dark:

An unexplainable lack of any form of above basic presence, communication and availability from a person for an undisclosed time that is triggered without warning, often brought on by an unpredictable event in life that destabilizes a persons grasp of life, reality and overall sanity.

Or in the case of an unstable personality or anti-social character, whenever the fuck it happens because it/they want it to!

An extremely annoying act which is very rude, unless you are use to that particular person pulling a disappearing trick, again…


Christmas Letter 2016 (clean version!)

Dear Santa

    Fuck you… That hourglass figured stripper with noticeable features you said was ‘into me’ turned out to be a cannibal (and you knew it) but I did return the favour and say you were interested in being her Christmas diner but alas I would not be attending, seems I will have a property deal to negotiate in the North Pole (depending on the outcome of the diner). On other counts I must report that this year has been crappy, annoying and somewhat depressing, with a side order of damningly morose at even the lowest failures of a high.

    To concede I must reluctantly (with a capital R so visible from space that a short sighted alien amoeba could see it) that there were some less than miserable failing highs to punctuate an otherwise razor blade tempting year. An event of stature that resounds as a drum in a silent meditation session being the Easter Bunny’s summer bash/drunken excuse to get so pissed a hall of mirrors would appear passable un distorting, your party trick with an elf hat and a candy cane only topped by the arrival of your wife… at least she only kicked you out for two months this time!

    So we warmly arrive to the part of this letter where I spell out my most earnest desires present wise, the above mentioned lady but without a taste for flesh notwithstanding, and so I do begin this fatally short request list by asking for two weeks at a cliff side villa. The next two requests must as ever be taken as unconnected in what could evolve into ‘accidental’ circumstances, referencing a pair of wings and two crates of vodka, in no way an indicating factor to what would really open a cracking elegy!

    The end is nigh for my literary contribution to that sack of fuel you use to cut heating bills, as is my time to contribute to your existence should that stripper find where you live, and so I must wish you the best of seasonal working conditions and a merry (not too drunken) new year. That year little Timmy found a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels in his socking may be funny, but according to the lawyers very costly, good thing you delivered Cupid (tied up and gagged whilst wearing half a pantomime horse outfit) to a department store by accident, else it really would have been a law suit to remember.

    On another note; I shall never tell Cupid that I found the other half of the outfit in my flat the following day!

Your Friend as ever

Bob Larkin Robertos

PS; You still owe me for last year’s disappearing act from the pub, two rounds of drinks and an apology for asking if you can ‘unwrap like a present on Christmas morning’ the bar maid, on another note; if I don’t get my Christmas wishes I’ll tell your wife what I know



A man stares as his keyboard mournfully, fresh marks on his arm, knife ready to be cleaned of human blood

First and last time he tries that one, and not because of the obviously hideous ramifications of such self destructive will against the poison flesh holding him to a thankless mortality, but the hideously obvious ramifications of having to pretend it was an accident!

“I scratched my arm on a fence” hoping they don’t notice the military uniformity of the cuts

“It was an accident in the kitchen” belying the idiot proof logicality that there are three ‘accidents’ in the same place

“I was rescuing animals for a local wildlife charity and one of the animals scratched me” what, you were saving a fucking timber wolf in the English countryside!!

“I cut myself to see if I could feel pain” with a few pinches of sarcastic whim and a few more for effect, truth where truth lies best to fool the world; in farce!!!

 Water; looks like vodka, lets him play the optimist and blissfully drift afar into the somewhat hazy arena of alcoholism, he wishes

Clean Flat; nothing else to spend the lonely hours doing but clean, if you need a fancily worded explanation for that one I refer you to the children’s section of the library!

Life is too toxic, death is too final

How would sir like to feel fucked over today?

And for real hurting, may I recommend love!

The Amateurs Guide to Self Harm


Life hath finally lost its flavour to the extensive degree that you are numbed to the internal pain, the consistent stabbing sensation of life’s betrayal that perpetrates every forsaken waking hour you are forced to respire. At which point only two methods of feeling anything above the spreading emotional numbness infecting every singular cell of your being are available, and you’re not quite ready to commit the fatally final act of suicide (covered in the next optimistic guide).

This leaves one option on the table ‘Self Harm’, and yes I know it’s less effective than suicide and you will have to hear the pathetically curdled words “Are you Ok?” every god forsaken episode of human contact, but we can’t help that the human race is full of idiots. On the bright side, you are still alive to rather bluntly aim an attention pointing finger to the bloody marks on your body and say “Do you think I’m ok?” using your best ‘Are you a fucking idiot’ tone.

So, the nitty gritty, how to properly execute the somewhat self-destructive activity of ‘Self Harm’:


Never inflict damage near a rather over healthy blood flow

       This particular point has to be raised as the objective of ‘Self Harm’ is not to kill yourself, and for the amateur in the arts of summoning the refreshing sensations of physical pain as a means of confirming you are still able to feel anything; think of the counteractive process of bleeding too much life out of that fractured shell you call a body and dying, and in that case you definitely will not feel anything every again.

Make it look like an accident

       Perfections own degree of exactly straight red lines, one after blissfully humanity confirming other in a row, cannot be explained away as ‘The kitchen knife caught me’… what, five times in a row as you let it happen?!. ‘I brushed it on a wire fence’ is and only will look like that if you are clever enough to avoid giving into the OCD that has rather unhelpfully added to the wonderfully positive urge of hurting one’s self.

       And think location, the wire fence scenario does not apply to areas of the body not commonly exposed to those risks ‘I was checking my thigh when a gust of wind picked me up and threw against the fence, before I could pull my trouser leg down again’ will not be believable, ‘I moved out of the path of a cyclist and scratched my arm’ however…


       To have reached such a depressingly deep place to feel so strongly about the option outlined here is never good, once should be enough unless ‘You’re fucked worse than a carrot in a cage of starving rabbits’ to use the politely official terminology. And one ‘accident’ on the rare occasion that life’s damning condemnation really is too much for the comprehension of living to process is just about passable, turning your body into something that looks like a human pin cushion at a nursing home’s international knitting contest makes it rather obvious. Even to the idiot asking “Are you ok?”


I would so love to wallow around in merry delusion, whilst the fluffy bunnies sing choirs of cheesy positive pop songs but alas I not so able to delude myself about the unspoken damnation of a life sentence in this world. So to say that subjects like the one I am covering imply positive connotations would be as honest as that carrot hoping to escape the hungry bunnies. Such places as the depressive survivors of stripped away optimism do darkly inhabit have such self destructive options on open view in the markets of sorrow, and when walking a mine field so avidly as the damned do you are bound to hit the odd mine.

At least some informed soul formulated the wonderfully blunt ‘suicide box’ on the mental health form the doctor will hand to you when you show the scars of that ‘accident’ in the kitchen or ‘brush with’ a wire fence. And I would honestly hope that any slightest flicker of recognition with what I have written here would have you running to said doctors and ticking that box, after you have laughed yourself silly reading this.