More fool me I suppose, is it really April 2026?
Either I have unconsciously slipped back to the time period of 13 month calendars to kick off my new year, in which April was the first month of each new calendar year, or I am running exceptionally late in putting my stamp on the year of 2026 in the current era.
Clearly, I am exceptionally late to the New Year’s party of 2026!
But surely I am not the only one who I had hoped 2026 would be a tad less of a blur than it appears to be. As it certainly appears to be in my life since having published my first Website Exclusive, my first Feature Memoir titled ‘Tis My Season to Get, Starkers…!?, on December 11th 2025.
Here on my home front, the past four months have been an unanticipated yet necessary time blur, a transformative time blur that has absolutely needed to occur. An aftermath having been set in motion the moment I hit the publish button on that first explosive exposé back in December.
That aftermath and my unplanned hiatus, they are now done and dusted!
Oh and yeah, this is my comeback!
Coming back all the more confident, stronger and so much better for having flipped the switch on my innately high functioning empathy and compassion, while having been hidden away in transformative isolation.
For which I wholeheartedly say, thank you, to humanity as a whole.
In all sincerity, this is my moment of unwavering gratitude as a survivor finally set completely free, in a way I did not see coming when I published that first piece.
Let me tell you about where I have been, what I have learnt and how spilling my crazy beans in no way brought about a single iota of survivor’s remorse.
Much less any embarrassment, which some might have wrongfully entertained as a potential cause for me fading back into silence, invisibility and isolation.
No remorse or embarrassment at all for breaking my silence or my uncouth candour laced with dark humour. Nor for overtly airing my contempt toward my own species. A species that has little to no care for what harm is done to its most defenceless, vulnerable, broken and struggling members.
Oh yes, my online waters have been remarkably calm!
That is up until now, cause I am back like never before my dear readers.
Defiantly storming back in, like the tide of a tsunami deceptively calm.
Mistakenly calm…
You know, we often hear gratitude from survivors who receive support after finding the courage to push back against abuse and adversity in general. Including pushing back at the ‘Could Not Care-Less-Ness’ attitudes of society as a whole.
Survivors who courageously, yet fearfully, break their long held silence as a last ditch effort to end what no one else wants to see, know or help them to escape and/or end.
But, do you know what we do not hear?
The sound of survivors who shrink back down.
The footsteps of survivors who simply give up entirely.
Who finally accept there is little to no care to be found anywhere in this world.
What we do not hear are the pre-installed glitch codes and kill switches being activated in the survivors who finally experience full validation in the form of, near enough, to full societal… invalidation!
The triggering of a death to self that then draws societal attention…!?
The triggering of a soul death, the death to a magnificently flawed version of self that becomes a hindrance to survival and day to day functioning.
Repugnantly, it is only when the empathetically and compassionate self ceases to exist in a person once known as loyal and tame that society asks, “”Why, when and how did they get so cold, nasty, foul mouthed, ill-tempered, untrusting, disloyal, selfish and mean?”
Tragically, for far too many men, women and older children, that form of validation and soul death actually ends with them giving up permanently.
Letting go in the finality of exhaling their last anguished breath.
For others of us however, that soul death gives way to something else.
You see, the calm society feels from the survivor who has given up entirely and walked away, continuing on silently as they always have, sometimes that calm is temporary.
Sometimes that calm is as temporary as the calm before any catastrophically memorable storm throughout human history.
The calm before the storm…
I had no knowledge or understanding about the pre-installed glitch code and kill switch existing within me. In no way could I have foreseen the activation that would occur the moment I hit the publish button back on December 11th 2025.
No idea at all about the trigger that would be pulled on a deeply introspective aftermath.
An excruciatingly painful process of my innately hardwired empathy and compassion being put out of their overworked misery.
The double barrel flipping of this ol bird’s most precious traits.
My traits which have been a blessing to all and sundry.
But traits which I have personally endured as a curse for half a century.
Nevertheless, I finally found relief, publishing that first piece has broken my curse.
Long desired relief unexpectedly coming from a seemingly impossible inversion.
Alterations to myself I have dreamt of for a lifetime, what I could only ever hope for up until now. An incredibly private and painful transformation that I had never considered might be activated by exposing the factual truth and darkest realities about my life.
Crucial preparation for whatever explorations of thought I feel compelled to write about from here. Whatever I publish for the benefit of us both as writer and reader, as mutually beneficial companions. Journeying together in thought, exploring the forbidden realms of fact and reality that few choose to acknowledge and accept.
My pivotal slap down…
The past four months have been a pivotal moment in my life, brought about by having had what I poured out in that first piece as full frontal fact well substantiated by various responses. Or rather, the lack of response in many cases, the deafening sound of silence at specific frequencies I am well accustomed to from various camps within lifelong circles of family and religion.
Pivoting with shifting perspective, through the inversion of my most precious traits, delivering me a gift.
VALIDATION!
You see, I feel wholly validated for the first time ever in my life.
Thoroughly validated!
Absolute validation, delivered as a stinging and destabilising slap of invalidation.
Initially I was paralysed by the intensity of that invalidation, the bewildered sting of backhanded responses in the days and weeks following that publication. Paralysis which was heavily influenced by the slap down of silence from where acknowledgement ought to been heard from, those specific camps of family and religion, people who claim to know me, care for me and apparently love me.
Actions speaking truth far louder than the emptiness of words flippantly and ‘Could Not Care-Less-Ly’ spoken throughout my lifetime.
Indisputably brutal societal invalidation!
Ironically, invalidation become my liberation!
Invalidation becoming thoroughly validating in and of itself!
Logically and reasonably validating my clearly evident misanthropically supercharged attitude toward my own species.
As happens with us humans, I have undergone many transformations throughout my journeys along various paths in my life, however, none so extreme as what was put in motion following my father’s death on November 7th 2020.
Further still, none so extreme as what has occurred during the past four months.
Excruciatingly painful, yet inescapably necessary for what comes next along my path as a writer. Even more so however, what comes next as the battle hardened survivor having held silently invisible for decades, patiently choosing my battles with extreme care since childhood.
A survivor who is now ready to demonstrate what becomes of misfitted anomalies who are mistakenly designated by all of human society as ‘The Last’. All the more so, exactly what happens when those wrongfully elevated as ‘The First’ by ‘Polite Society’ foolishly push those of us designated The Last to our irreparable breaking points.
Buckle up my dear reader!
What can I say…
‘Tis certainly still my season to get starkers.
But apparently, ‘tis now my season to get chaotically rambly.
Anxiety fuelled mischief and mayhem has a habit of becoming frustratingly shambly.
A writer tripping down rabbit holes in fields of taboo decried by society as too brambly.
Oh and clearly…
‘Tis also the season my ‘Poet in Residence’ wants her look in too.
And yes, she is a rhyme rambling sheila!
You’ll get over it!
Coming to love or loathe her maddening sing songy vibe!
Either… or…!?
Perhaps, maybe loving and loathing not so neatly bound together as one?
Hey, you ain’t the one with no option but to run with her sing songy rhyming vibe at all ridiculously head fucking hours of any day or night. At any time she chooses to toke up on whatever thought gets her going raucously loud in the fields of Rhymesville in my head.
Faff & introductions aside…
No detours about it from back in December 2025, when I published that piece titled ‘Tis My Season to Get, Starkers…!?
It has been a long hard four months.
Doing two things I do best for the greatest part, hibernating and writing.
Keeping as safe a distance as I can from my own species, while taking whatever time is needed to recover from each cautiously approached interaction to the next.
Interactions with the few people I actually like and feel comfortable spending time with.
More to the point, spending time with the rare few who do me the courtesy of accepting me for who I am. People who choose to meet me on two way streets of conversation with room for mutual respect, room enough for genuine connection and soul deep exchange.
And yeah, writing!
Writing myself entirely mad!
Writing for up to seven hours a day at times!
Unpacking the thoughts which had risen from my unanticipated reaction to responses I was aware would likely come my way from ‘Tis My Season to Get, Starkers…!?
Desperately trying to write my way to a publishable starting point, but being fully aware I was going through a process that demanded privacy and my undivided attention.
All in all however, while the process itself has given me plenty of subjects to work with on a great many fronts, there are two subjects that have demanded my attention like never before.
Silence & hope…
Silence and hope laid out bare from perspectives rarely given due attention.
Silence and hope of a different kind, far less manipulative, coercive and delusional than is traditionally taught.
Both silence and hope having been incredibly instrumental throughout my life, powerful forces for good, drive, safety and protection. Nevertheless, at the same time they have been cruelly weaponised against me, weaponised by people who use the dark side of silence and hope to get their fill of whatever they seek.
Silence and hope being far more complex than are generally considered.
But complexity I believe more people experience and understand than they are prepared to face head on in the darkness as fact. Dark aspects better understood than most people are prepared to acknowledge, accept and use to move forward from strategically, as being forewarned and forearmed.
No matter which paths I have attempted to wander down in writing during the past four months silence and hope have been determined to stand under the spotlight. Silence and hope having taken me on quite the literary journey of soul seeking ponderment in recent months.
Silence and hope having revealed a great deal to me about various facets and life saving functions throughout my life. Likewise revealing that neither silence or hope are benign or indifferent. That they are both fancifully mythologised and are open to being wielded by anyone who opposes us, weaponised for maximum harm and intentional destruction.
Silence and hope are as dark and destructive as they are guiding lights seeking to save.
Silence and hope guiding me through and teaching me things I have never considered prior to the past four months, leading me through the necessary transformation I had not foreseen.
But in all fairness to myself, I was not as ill-prepared as that might sound.
I had prepared myself…
Oh believe me, I certainly had prepared myself!
I had well prepared myself for a great many responses and reactions from readers about what I had to say back on December 11th 2025.
Oh and yeah, responses and reactions to exactly how colourfully and uncouth I was in what I chose to say too.
Sometimes there is only one language worth speaking!
Sometimes there is only one language all humans understand!
Save further digress…
I was well prepared on many fronts alright!
Simply not prepared enough, on two vital fronts!
Those two fronts being reactionary overreach by messiah and saviour complexes, as well as various forms of silence that would impact me significantly; whether that silence was wittingly weaponised and wielded or not. (Save fuller details as subjects for other days.)
More fool me once more, as the dumb arse I was to falter in paying attention to specific details and the voice screaming at me within.
In my own defence…
Given how much there was to consider and navigate before I hit the publish button, I actually think my preparation was a fucking bloody spectacular feat of all stealth and war room strategies in action.
Preparations, reader’s responses and reactions I will certainly unpack in due course, on upcoming occasions, because stories like mine are in no way rare or unique.
Just forbidden to be spoken!
Stories needing to be told…
Stories like mine become the survival guides for other victims who are fighting tooth and nail to survive.
Just as other survivors have so generously provided me with guides when I have needed some kind of guide book the most.
In all honesty, I think the necessary preparation and factually brutal realities about what survivors will be met with when breaking their silence are in no way highlighted nearly enough. The force with which society pushes back and slams down the endlessly battling and egregiously exiled battlers is disgusting.
Definitive victims of adversity who break their long held silence to save themselves.
Because no one else is ever going to save them, are they…!?
Planning for certain disappointment in humanity, is certainly the given.
I mean, every long battling survivor breaking their silence to the degree I did, they have ridden the bull of disappointment in humanity at this rodeo many times over. Getting thrown off by disbelief and dismissal time and again, landing face first in all the shit dribbled by damaged and vampircally parasitic humans.
Bullshit which they no way created!
Much less chose to dribble for undue attention while crying out victim!
Yet society demands they own and make apologies due to the stench of bullshit maliciously smeared all over, the shit they get covered in when coming off that bull of disappointment in humanity.
Additionally however…
There is far greater preparation required, which is not spoken about to any reasonable degree.
Such as grounding yourself firmly in fact, shoring up your inner foundations, widening your stance, conferring with your inner warrior and adequately arming yourself for the next level of internal battle… etcetera… etcetera… so on and so forth.
Vital in preparation for survival following the breaking of silence in full.
As I say, subjects that I will unpack as this season unfolds.
My planning notwithstanding…
Frankly, I had not at all planned or prepared myself for almost four more months locked in isolation, sorting through the endless noise in my head. Writing prolifically, enduring torrents of written word pouring through my fingers for up to seven hours a day.
Mistakenly, I had convinced myself that publishing the first explosive fragment of my story was the master stroke to reining in my hectic and unhinged word flow; setting me free to write and publish consistently.
I could not have been any more wrong!
My every waking hour throughout the past four months has been consumed with words in endless flow and play.
Whether physically writing or not.
Every night my sleep has been broken and scarce, awoken by words determined to gain my full attention, to continue unceasingly in having their say… even in my dreams.
A flow of words I could not stem!
Fuller in body and colour than ever before, in ya face candour at length with intensity I still cannot work out how to section off, or at least make somewhat more palatable.
Thoughts I cannot condense or work out how to bring to any form of completion.
Not knowing where to begin, much less where to end as anything fit to publish.
An intensity and volume bitterly raw, purity of anguish incessant in downpour.
Linguistic creativity laced with sleep deprivation and overwhelming exhaustion.
My laptop pushed to limits between duration, bashings of verbosity and my physically cascading tears.
Oh yeah…
I was right off the bloody mark!
As far as preparation and personal expectations were a concern!
More to the point…
I was way off in terms of not having conferred with my inner warrior!
The warrior now risen…
Instead of reining in my hectically rambly and rather unhinged word flow, it unleashed a fierce warrior within me.
The warrior birthed deep within a defenceless little girl, a warrior who grew with me yet at a faster rate. An internalised warrior who nurtured me, who protected me when there was no one else who would, or when others were intentionally prevented from doing so.
A warrior no longer required to hide herself away for my benefit alone!
Following that scant handful of responses I received after December 11th 2025, my inner warrior stood to take her rightful place, rising in all her justifiable ferocity.
My highly necessitated internalised warrior rising from decades of patiently watching on and tolerating what is utterly intolerable, waiting for her time be unleashed.
Waiting to rise from the ashes of what has remained from each version of myself which has been unmercifully set ablaze by my own species. Time after time, and time again, quietly protecting and nurturing me for what is now into my sixth decade of being disbelieve, dismissed and invalidated.
Egregiously and cruelly invalided by humanity as a whole!
The versions of myself my inner warrior has protected as best she could!
The gentler, tamer, far too trusting, forever-for-giving and wrongfully loyal to others while self-betraying versions of myself set ablaze by other human’s self-interest and cruelly.
Set ablaze to warm the hands and hearts of stony cold humans incapable of producing their own soul warming heat. Damaged and vampircally parasitic humans channelling whatever demons take pleasure from sucking light baring souls in this world dry.
Inevitably, my inner warrior has risen!
And that warrior…
She is as pissed off as she is utterly grief stricken!
My inner warrior having now risen to take her rightful place as the version of myself that was always going to be activated by my pre-installed glitch code.
My innately hardwired glitch code flipping the kill switch on my excess of empathy and compassion, pulling a trigger on a double barrel loaded with apathy and indifference.
The glitch code, kill switch and trigger to a warrior wielding a sword of words!
A glitch code, kill switch and trigger bringing about a different kind of death and rebirth!
A final death & rebirth…
The rising of that warrior within me enacted an excruciatingly painful process of death to myself like I have never experienced death to myself before.
Death to the final version of myself who will suffer for the sake of fraudulently upright appearances in this world.
Death to the final version of myself who will languish behind closed doors for the comfort and convenience of my own despicably self-gratifying species.
Oh believe me when I say…
I know death and rebirth intimately in this world!
Scorpio by birth with strong influences of Pluto, Mars and Aries.
My life has played true to my natal signs and planets of death, rebirth, strength and war for every single breath I have drawn in this world; in what has been an irrefutable god forsaken existence.
Look, personally…
I think horoscopes and personal readings are utter bullshit, con jobs by an overwhelming majority of self-proclaimed spiritual gifted scammers. Money hungry charlatans who scam desperate people with self-fulfilling hogwash, when their victims, their prey are at their most vulnerable.
But that said, I cannot deny the evidential truth of a bigger picture where astrology is concerned, in my personal experiential opinion.
Yeah…
Buggered if I know how to stop myself digressing!
Back to the point…
I have been required to put many versions of myself out of their unconscionable misery.
Albeit flawed, grotesquely disfigured and highly dysfunctional, not a single prior version of myself deserved the level of cruelty that was endured.
But this death to self…
This death was different!
This was a core deep soul death, like no other death to self I had risen from before.
This was the death of my most valuable traits, the excessively heightened empathy and compassion innately hardwired into the innermost core of my soul.
What I have quietly known all my life, made me unique and incredibly rare!
This was the death to the parts of myself which do make me an anomaly in this world!
The rare parts of myself that feel as if they are no longer there!
Rarity I was forbidden to acknowledge all my life!
Forbidden under the guise that to acknowledge anything good about myself is to think too highly of myself…!?
Acknowledgement and ownership forbidden, because me taking ownership would have meant I could not be controlled. Not able to have those precious rare traits in me used and abused. No longer able to be violated by all and sundry due to understanding my own worth to any self-valuing, self-respecting degree.
Death taking my empathy and apathy!
Rebirth replacing them with apathy and indifference!
Releasing my inner warrior, wielding her sword of word with far greater intensity than has even poured from me in my darkest hours.
A hybrid warrior!
Hybrid of phoenix and banshee…
At times that warrior roaring with the ferocity of a phoenix newly risen, her powerfully outstretched wings taking her high in celebration, soaring upon the winds of freedom.
Yet at other times she is the warrior on bended knee, a banshee unleashing harrowing cries of all consuming intensity, her justifiably wailing surge within inescapably and catastrophically maddening.
Hybrid of phoenix and banshee seeking to be heard by any god or deity with care enough to quell the internalised storms raging invisibly at the core of my tortured soul.
Purity of unyieldingly bitter anguish poured out as factual diatribe in word without end.
Physically reducing me to grief stricken fits of tear soaked despair.
Intensity of surge at first unceasing, yet slowly giving way to my relinquishing of care.
Brutality of fact leaving me numb, as if being smashed against jagged rocks deep within myself, in the all consuming darkness of my own internalised abyss.
Finally, rendering me without care or feeling for any other member of my own species.
Finally, rendering me as self-serving and self-interested as those I have served and paid all attention to as my primary interests.
As those I have served and paid attention to as is expected from subjugated slaves, fear bound by punishment.
As is expected not only by coercively controlling masters, but human society as a whole for the convenience of comfort and peace.
A pendulum now swung free…
I have now become a version of myself I could only ever hope for while living my life as each former version of myself. Every passed away version I needed to be to survive each season, phase, challenge and human controlled environment while in this world.
Releasing the pendulum of who I was innately hardwired to be, as a highly empathetic and compassionate person.
My greatest ‘gifts’ foolishly lending themselves too freely to all and sundry, my self-depreciating traits giving permission for fear bound compliance.
A pendulum which has been stuck in the same detrimental extreme until the glitch code and kill switch got activated.
A pendulum now free to swing far beyond its opposing extreme.
How and where that pendulum swings from here…!?
How and where this journey of thought goes from here…!?
Honestly…
We’re all absolutely fucked if anyone reading to this point thinks I of all people have any clue at all!
Just calling it for what it is, as a newly risen truth teller and all!
Maybe I have a little insight…
Look, I really am winging it at this point!
Desperately trying not fly into mountain peaks of certain failure!
Quite frankly, I am an absolute basket case on many fronts as I begin this season!
And where writing is concerned…
Frustrated creative outpouring does not begin to describe what I am going though.
Still trying to spin as much bullshit as I can into gold and turn my trash into uplifting treasure, but this in itself is one helluva bloody huge mess at the best times.
Oh yeah, like we all do…
I certainly can put in a tremendous amount of energy and effort to hold my own in company, to smile big for live public appearances and social media.
But that said…
Unashamedly, my day to day life is a mental mind fuck of all screwed over, screwed down, screwed up and gone entirely fucking screwy to an nth degree of certifiability.
I mean, I am well sane enough to know exactly how fucked up I really am, but certifiable nonetheless at times. Especially on days I am desperately determined to publish but find myself in a loop of overwhelming intensity, which is likely to have me exiled much further afield from society than I already am.
I have no doubt at all that there are days Mr Rawson has well considered buying me a new jacket that does up in the back.
You know, the kind specifically designed for me to wear for a visit to the funniest human farm he can find.
Any offences picked up at the latter, be damned!
The more I publish, the more dark humour will reveal itself to readers as my coping mechanism. Equally so, my dark humour will become better understood as me attempting to somewhat dilute the potency of full strength factual truth.
Dark humour being what it is, always having elements of truth and all!
Which sadly, it does require spelling out for half-witted fucktards whose pastime is gathering offences where sound reason and common sense are not found. Where validity of factual truth, cause and effect simply cannot get a look in because their arrogance and desire for vampiric fill take up too much space.
Time I wrap up…
All I know is that I just need to start publishing, even if only as chunks, parts and pieces of food for thought that have rained down upon my poor overworked laptop during the past four months.
Do or die…!?
Boom or bust…!?
Write, create and publish…!?
Or, permanently lock myself away…!?
While I will attempt to write more feature memoir pieces, and my story does play into all my writing in general, I think I need to just run with bits and pieces poured out during the past four months.
Maybe just posting dribs and drabs of whatever feels right to publish on any given day, as my mental capacity, illness and body permits.
Obviously silence and hope will certainly embrace their starring roles at times.
As I say, silence and hope have played major roles throughout my life in rather complex ways that are rarely spoken about and I think are definitely worth exploring, which will of course include parts of my story.
One last thing…
In saying all that, I have already updated and tweaked that first piece I published back in December.
Yeah, go ahead…
I know, I am a perfectionist!
Second to which, we both know I am likely to tweak many pieces again, probably including that first one… yes… again…!?
Back me up my fellow doormat survivalists!
Nothing ever passes for perfect or complete when created by someone who has been told they are defective as many times as I have been.
And so, if you have not already read ‘Tis My Season to Get Starkers…!? and would like to experience that rather prickly and colourful punch in the face, hit the link whenever you are ready and off ya go.
Certainly do be my guest, but don’t come crying to me if it is not to your taste, I did say it is a punch in the face!
And you know, if you did happen to read that first exposé but would like a refresher or want to play a game of ‘Spot the Tweaks’, feel free to head on over.
Yeah I know, it did take me four long fucking months to post again.
Let’s hope I can get my act together in four days this time, even four weeks would be better than months.
But any which way…
See, I told you I never know where to end!
But if you made it this far through, you are an absolute treasure!
Wholeheartedly, thank you for your precious time!
Especially given our seemingly sped version of reality going on!
Or is that just me?
Right, that is it… I’m done!
Now go find something simplistically fantastic to put a smile on ya dial!
