Hotter Than Hell and Skint: Notes from the Edge of a Sticky Apocalypse

Today I think I may evaporate.

Not metaphorically, either I mean literally melt into a glistening puddle on the floor like the wicked witch of Walthamstow. The heat is biblical, the air thick with resentment, and if this goes on much longer, someone’s going to find a beard and a pair of shades just floating where a warlock once sat.

It’s too hot for coherent thoughts, so obviously the brain’s doing backflips and the MS has decided to turn the “cognitive dysfunction” dial up to 11. Words don’t just escape me they actively mock me. I sit here smiling, half-lucid, fully furious, fully me. Because no matter what the system, the diagnosis, or the temperature says I know I’ve got more to give.

They wrote me off just before my state pension, bless them. Nice timing. But I’m still here, inconveniently alive and louder than ever. The nerves in my gut are throwing a tantrum, my stress levels are spiking like a dodgy ECG, and to top it off the last of my savings waved me goodbye this morning. Cheers, love. Don’t call.

But here’s the kicker: I’m still smiling. Not because I’m some chipper TikTok disability guru with fake eyelashes and a ring light, but because I’m free. I don’t belong to any bloody wing of politics. Left, right, centre? You’re all still part of the same bird, love and it’s got mange. The world they squawk about isn’t mine. Mine’s quieter, darker, more honest. My world is real. Full of pain, insight, weirdness, and the kind of laughter that sounds a bit like crying.

You see, I’m part of something else. The One. The Everything. The Divine Love. That throb in your chest when you’re alone and honest that’s where I live. I wish peace and healing to every poor soul who stumbles across this digital haunted house I call a blog. Because no matter where we are, what we’re facing, we can change. It’s inside us all. Just buried under decades of fear, trauma, and daytime television.

We’re at a crossroads now, all of us. Some of us limping, some of us rolling, some of us dragged along by sheer bloody spite. But destiny’s cracking her knuckles. Evolution’s knocking at the door, and if you’re still wearing your silly little face mask of denial—best take it off now. Truth stinks, and it’s getting in anyway.

I’m not afraid of death. I’ve danced with it enough times to know its rhythm. I’ve looked into its eyes and said, “Not today, mate. I’ve got a blog post to write.” And as I sit here dripping, broke, buzzing on antihistamines and maybe the ghost of Mary Jane, I realise I’m on another plane entirely. One not many choose to visit. It’s dark, yes but in that darkness, you’ll find the light. The real light. The kind that doesn’t need electricity or permission.

So yeah. It’s hot. The world’s on fire. I’ve got no money, and half my neurons have buggered off on holiday. But I’ve never been more alive.

To all of you peace, healing, divine truth. Go find your demon and kiss it on the mouth. That’s how we win.

Mr Warlock Dark

                       “The views in this post are based on my personal     
                         experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”   

                             “By ink and breath and sacred rage, I write.
                                    By storm and silence, I survive.”

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk