Tropical depression

last.. I cannot continue in this fashion, Oh god let this be the last. Please. The last..It will kill me, my tormentors or both..If she knew my criminal history she would NOT do this.. I am under a state of (at worst)constant seige -theyve nearly got the flaming torches out for me- and at best disapprobrium from the vouyeristic creeping dog slime that now constitute my neighbours. I am too fucking old and tired to continue without a serious re-appraisal of tactics. I know what I must do. Just give me the strength I need to make manifest the changes that must come.
If this hit does not kill me..Or cost me a limb.
I really have every right, under natural law to fasten my huge hands around my bitch-cunt tormentors throat and squeeze. And not let go, to have to be prised off her. She has raped my home of what little privacy it had by hanging out of her/their windows upstairs, I suspect using at least a mirror, maybe a small camera.
I don't know exactly how, but she, (along with the bitch across the alley, with whom she has a system of pan beating and whistling -and no doubt mobile phones) to let each other know if I've just got back, got a glass of water for a hit etc etc can see into most of my flat.She lets me know this by commenting through the paper thin sound insulation on whatever it is Im doing.Getting dressed, having a bong,washing my ass -you name it.. What the fuck does the slut think shes going to see? Me takin a hit is about the most dramatic prospect.. She deserves at the very least to be savagely beaten.
I am now going to hide in a corner like a naughty child in order to take a hit. I survive to continue with this. In the firstfive years or so,as long as you were discreet, people used to leave you alone around here in the past. Now they make your business theirs.
They came into this area 15-20 odd years ago in strength with their money and attendant absence of anything approaching soul, original thought, and have turned my home, and place of birth into a soulless fourth-rate Covent Garden.
In the late 70's-early 80's this was SUCH a cool, and truly bohemian place to live..Art,incredible gigs, proper parties, squatting at its best...Its enough to make me weep. My building is now run by a Camorra of greybeard cunt middle class women.

Purely co-incidentally I find myself eating grapes.. The grapes of wrath? Who’s wrath? Mine.. Its one of my favourite of the ten commandments to transgress. If I get the chance, that is. My biggest concern now is doing the filter unobserved…I guarantee this is of no more than 15% Paraphinalia. I swear, I have looked at this rationally. Not easy, I assure you, but I have a good understanding of delusionality and paranoia through long and painful experience.
I get the filter down in a furtive visit to the bog..Didn’t even notice much…Nowhere near enough to justify the amount of blood and groin abuse involved.
Dont even think about getting on my case over typos, Indigo. Please..Now is not the time.Edit it later..Or not..
Still living with the English fear....
Waiting waiting wai..