Find my MH travelogue for LUV V.II: Tapas Mosaic by searching "Muttley morcilla" on the Subvert Central forum: www.subvertcentral.com
Payments go towards not being homeless.
Cheers.

DWP, after a fantastic hols that felt like 20 years away, you have contacted me again. I don't mind, but be aware of who you are
talking to. Bottom line is, I'm not the worker I once was. I work hobbies, not jobs, and my workrate is 20% today of yesterday.
I can write this. I will get better. Platonic friends 4evearrree and all that contobblyandall. <3

After numbing up literally for the first time in 30 years, 5/6/17 life certainly feels in a better place a year on, living on,
forever changing, unmooted, unperturbed by personal attacks, whether voice, dynamics or sound, and generally examining the
fundamentals of existence in an always less rose-coloured way than anyone who has not been tipped over the edge by my own
behaviour towards others. that's what i did, this is not a blame game...i caused the delay by avoiding the command to
"kill yourself mike. die. DIE". but that was exactly a year ago yesterday. 30 minutes later, my social worker arrived.

of course, i don't really believe i died. or rather, i'd much easier believe we're always regenerating except for fatality.
i'm my own worst enemy. and i have no other enemies. i have made so many passive friends over the years.
a wonderful ladyfriend. gig buddies. care workers. and the local pubs have a nice crowd, not too bad.

i'm a crybaby over not being able to work, because i wish i was back on the conveyor belt of stability.
put this album on, and let the waffle begin...

what is the meaning of all this diatribe?

it's not a diatribe exactly.

it's a revision! with scenes and situations come undoing of possible fabrication. department for work and pensions sent me a
capability for work form four years earlier than they said they would that my parents (carers) are filling in for me. because of esa lumping.

mainly because i'd feel sodden filling in that complicated a form anymore without messing it all up. underestimating meself?

"goddamit you satanists! you're the reason i'm schizoid! paranoia is my song, not ozzies".

and it's the same with working a basic job. as my mate Lata said to me in email once, "no education is just basic!" in regards
to secondary school. i have an unwillingness, i am just very very slow, a 6'4 sasquatch juggernaut, who hits his head on ceiling lights, & frames
painting previously, and despite that, retro-specting being unconnected with pa on the current meds is hard. but i've really volunteered to keep trying, tried different dosages within dosages, skips tosses and turns, but nothing does the job of a "credited" functioning worker.

have i given up hope? NO. but having no uni grades except 2 courses with the OU, what do i have under my belt?

but if i can't stack shelves like i DON'T MIND, or paint again like i'd LOVE to, or work in the music industry without getting
so JAAAADDDEEEEEEDDDDD that i start crawling up my own backside, it's dead in the water. i'm worth at least my personality.

what do i have? schizo-affective disorder, PSYCHOTIC DEPRESSION, anxiety disorder, panic disorder, autism spectrum, ptsd,
or to give it its old manuscripted name, bipolar type 2. the one where it's not just highs and lows, it's more like a torrent of
rambunctiously attacking, seismic torment toppling any plans i have per minute awake.

how have i helped myself, DWP? i'm talking to you straight. i'm a writer, i write every week. lyrics, songs, improv, dj,
ambient music, keyboards, guitar, samples, computer programming, electronics. i write articles, diaries, cooking meals on web
pages i'm connected with, like instagram, keep offing facebook, myspace and other spammy-Grammy outlets. granted, i spend more time working my waistline testing food than i'd like to these days, but i'm a little alcohol dependent as a distraction from all this negative trash.

depression means i have no desire to go anywhere but my town. not to oxford anymore. not to witney for at least 3 months each Rapture purge.
what would happen in a work situation out of town? NOTHING. BECAUSE IT IS UNWORKABLE. MY MEDS ARE HIGHLY SLEEP INDUCING. I CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER IF THE MICROWAVE IS ON.
but i ain't getting angry witch-u, Pikachu. you just want pictures of all the documents or something right? he can't be ill if he can walk 100000 steps in a day.

...this is where LUV VII comes in to put doubts to rest.
I killed my legs walking less than 10000 steps on a 3 and a half hour walk a week after a 8.5km (5 mile) hike, both uphill.
I am not used to these types of tests, I would call them; the only reason I went out with my "FIT" parents is once in a lifetime
experience. As it was, on the second walk around Frigliana mountainsides, I almost fell off the cliff to my death.
That's because my medication makes my legs sleepy/unstable. Indeed I fell over another two times properly that walk.
I could have suffered a lot more. But the spirit of my family kept me going. And indeed they're the only ones who ever did.
Sorry to say people can be very cold by post/internet/demanding/text format, almost inherently passive aggressive, where my real
short answer which doesn't do is F OFF.

Anyway, dear reader, I've unloaded my PTSD now. Brought on, yes, be me. But not only me. That's been covered though.
Shouts to the villa owners for letting us rent their holiday home, the friendly restaurant staff at 18 eateries in 4 weeks, and
the beautiful wife and my parents for keeping me alive, fed and watered.