Writing, paranoia, suicide and medical cannabis


I am currently working on a project trying to write a short story about a revolution with its genisis in Glasgow.

I believe my short story will be a blue print for a real revolution set in our universe and this is where the paranoia rears its bastard head, the establishment have no mercy in the assassination of those who are a danger to it and as I already have been burdened with suicide thoughts and associated pish since I can remember, would make me an easy victim.

Now here is where the medical cannabis comes in. When am feeling like this which is a lot of the time, especially being out, well two medical joints in quick succession does help as I give not one fuck and make my way home with the only fear being a whitey.

Note to readers

Had to debark from a bus last year one such day to empty my stomach via my nose in a violent whitey, all while the bus people watched. Flagged doon a fast back home but driver had seem the pile of medical cannabis induced vomit and said nit today sunshine. Gave him the vicky as he drove away.


The picture Translates.

death to the bourgeois

When will I fucking learn

It’s the third day back on my tablets for obsessive thoughts, the couple of days without them or the sudden withdrawal from my dosage to nothing gave me a hard time.

It took a couple of days and Donna to once again tell me its the tablets that make the thoughts not snowball your thoughts process.

Music therapy, medical cannabis and pish mental health

Sitting here in the veranda, boiling tea just poured with a few pre rolled medical cannabis joints I can now see that music therapy played a large part in keeping me alive in my teen years, early adult years and to this day.

I won’t be trying to explain how some music can and does have a positive effect as I don’t have a clue but for some reason they do and thank fuck for that.

my earliest memories of music making me feel good was the album never mind the bollocks, I stayed in until I new every word of every song, Knew every string and drum beat, every bastard wee magical musical pause.

Sadly the help that comes via blasting music while dancing and singing to any track is short lived, unless you keep the pace it falls away and it’s fucking knackering, physically and mentally.

That first playing or singing of anarchy in the UK when I was around eleven or twelve to the last time I listened still get the same first time buzz you get when you instinctively on yer feet to dance and you can’t get it the bastard thing loud enough.

A few yeRs later, the power of music therapy helped me write my first and only novel. well I had just finished the research stage, the character and plot planning that I had learned at mitchell street library, the only place I could get a hold of a book called How to write a novel. There was no web access back then. anyways, I wrote about a covert government black ops unit that had existed during WW2 and then disbanded, I brought them back to life for my novel.

The book was about the total annihilation of the provisional Irish republican army, a shoot to kill policy like no other. I could not write without listening to never mind the bollocks.

I had great plans on what to spend the cash I would make when it got published but sadly the police took all my writings on the plot, characters, their names, their full bios, I had made uP full fictional characters lives.

The police were up searching my wee brothers room for shoes, cash and a large machete, they found my novels preparation and had a quick look, there eyebrows raised and they asked a series of questions did not like my explanation or nervous laughter, nor did betty graham mum of three, she was present at search of room.

Andy, my young criminal brother started to taunt the police as they found nothing on him with a mouthful of expletives that made betty look horrified, after he told the male officers to come ” suck ma dick ya dodder” with gestures did betty graham go an instant bright red, I burst out laughing and betty graham flew for me , over Andrews single bed, I was now between two fascist nazi police officers as she screamed at her non criminal son ” BOOK YA CUNT, I’LL GIVE YOU BOOK”and got a slap in before she regained her poise, excellent parenting their betty, however thinking back I understand how she may have lost the plot that day, see, our dad was a bigoted loyalist, we always had families or ulster lads up staying, every other saturday or marching season , so when the police read out a bit and it contained the details of loyalist assassins , IRA targets and such , she might have thought I had got myself involved with my Dads loyalist trips to Ulster. Never got my book back and my brother lost a pair of trainers.

In my growing age I know use medical cannabis as a tool to fight depression, anxiety and the fear of the celtic winning ten in a row