On the first day, I woke up to having a glass picture smashed over my face. Arguably one of the worst ways to wake up. I knew it was the ghost, and he didn’t like me. I took it personally. When glass smashes it sounds like water against pressure. If you listen you can hear its wetness, a hard dense sort of water. Water from another dimension. Not ice, not cold. But even though the ghost was mad, I knew the glass was not. Glass has always been my friend.

It all started with the endless dripping tap. The tap that never stopped, everywhere I went it was dripping. I just couldn’t not hear it. No one one else seems to notice.

After the dam broke of the collective universal mind, and after I had stopped panicking, and after I saw the ghosts moving through the walls, both human and animal, after I accepted I was some new thing and I could not go back, after i finally caught up on sleep… I was washing my hands and it felt like I had never really touched water before. It felt like the first time. I could feel its whole consciousness and presence. As if it was my body. I was shocked by how wet it was, watching it run over my hands.

When I finally realised what it all meant, that we was all one mind, I was on the train and I saw how my thoughts effected other people. I knew that one day they would all know. And not be able to believe we could have ever thought we was alone. A whole train full of people crammed in feeling alone. All thinking no one can tell what they feel. It seemed laughable. People fear being psycich but dont fear the consequences of not which is also funny considering how much of a mess everything is.

Then I freaked a visiter who stayed the night, by says “oh we are psychic here about breakfast.” They thought I was joking, but then as we arrived in to the kitchen in the morning, the coffee they told me they wanted was just miraculously there on the side for them. Half a coffee pot left by unknown hands, still hot. They didn’t come back to the house after that. They span out and ghosted me.

Then there was the countless times I flashed my ass to M who said that’s what they wanted me to do. And they flash ther chebs at me, which is what i wanted. A word never spoken. You can be psychic with anyone but its easiest with people you aren’t trying to hide something from. Everyone asked if we was dating, me and M, every single person, even the job center. We weren’t, we was just honest with each other - I guess thats rare to the point of suspicious, even without it being a gateway to telepathy.

And then one day the glass table outside on the playground just tipped upside down and shattered for no reason. I watched it do that while sipping my tea from the kitchen window. It had no reason to. It sounded like a big wave against a rock when you haven’t seen the sea in so so long, like the water is screaming hello and rising to meet you. My housemate said did you see that? i said yes i did.

The universal mind is not all harmony and I had to learn how to not split when faced with opposition. That is- myself in another person. Myself not being honest.

K had red wine mouth and only a remote control in his pocket. He had just realised he had wasted his life, and fell out with his boyfriend. He turned up at ours at 10pm on a Sunday night, unknown to any of us, as we was about to put up Christmas decorations. He was wet through from the snow, and lost in the woods. He flirted with everyone, which I found amusing because I back compulsory bisexuality. But then suddenly he turned on me. I ran out the kitchen and through the door. I closed it and held the handle up so he couldn’t get to me, my foot stoping the door from opening. He just kicked the glass through and showered us both. Somehow, it dint sound malevolent as it broke, it sounded the symbols crashing in your favourite song. Joyous and triumphant. I felt protected. K bled all over the house, but I was unscathed. I got a kick out of my housemate looking so shocked at how calm I was. For one thing i live in fight or flight. And for two, all is good, i’m protected by higher forces, i made a deal.

The night of xmas dinner, a few weeks later, the ghost turned on all the Christmas lights we had forgot about before we started to eat. we’d made friends by then because we found out he liked music played to him. After pudding, we reenacted the three scenes of the night K turned up; ACT 1 - him coming in and turning on me, ACT 2 - then smashing up the kitchen and being tackled to the floor, and finally, ACT 3 - him screaming and bleeding in M’s van and him telling the police he was attacked by giant lesbians - he was short. Each played a different role to the one we played on the real event. M was K. Those who was originally in the scene got to direct. Correcting the actors was part of the freedom- like, “no no it was more like this - he said one day people are gonna take me seriously, yeh thats right, because some people laugh at me, and YOUR laughing at me, and thats when he turned” or, “he was so happy he found a way into the van he shouted COME AND GET ME NOW BITCH HAHAHAHAHAHA” and “no, no, after he smashed that plate he then went for the first extinguisher, and thats when i had to grab him.”

TAHNKS FOR READING !!!!!!

Listen people! In this house we (i) believe …

>in compulsory bisexuality

>flashing is a gateway to telepathy, but by no means the only one

>that there is no such thing as a failed romance, and all attempts are brave

>that things happen by themselves when the conditions are right

>phenomenology doesn’t have to be fascism - if land, labour and ancestors are acknowledged

>and it’s not only capitalists who can take advantage of crisis

>AND AND AND OF COURSE death is not real

>And the ETs are coming

you don’t have to believe, but these are my assumptions.

Welcome!!!!! IF YOU LIKE THESE ASSUMTIONS AND OR THAT STORY YOU CAN SIGN UP FOR WEEKLY WRITING AND IF YOU WANT TO BE IN THE ONLY VALID ELITE YOU CAN GIVE ME some pounds a month and i’ll be oh so glad and use it to pay studio rent!!!!!!!

LAST POST - RACKING (a short story about picking locks and refusing to be in love with a sqautter)

MORE ABOUT WATER - I KNOW (a longer poem about being chronically dehdryated and sexuality attracted to liquids written about the same time as the above)

FUCK THE AUTHROTIES, FREE PALETSINE AND GOOD LUCK WITH YOURSLEF!!!

HAPPY HOLY WEEK TO ALL YOU CATHOLIC FREAKS!!!!!!