AI

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

all those holidays are finally over. Hopefully now we can get back to some sort of semblance. But alas, the winter has struck. It's minus two here and we have snow. As I look out of the window, the snow is just settled, looking up, shining as the sun hits it, saying, "Come Walk on me and let me break your leg, ah ha! So yeah, I'm hoping that we don't get snow tomorrow and the weather goes above freezing. As yes, you've guessed it, I have to go a three hour round trip just to go and see if the wheelchair I am getting is the right one for me. Albertine was lucky, she had it done at a local hospital, but it seems to me everything's different as usual and if it's snowing it will be a sorry, can't come and then it will be a how many year wait again.

Then I have three text messages from the local chemist telling me that the local machine has my prescription in. Oh yes, the prescription machine, the machine of death that falls out with me because it does not like me. It goes bleep bleep, you've broken me. How many times have I used this machine and how many times has it been nice to me? I think the ghost in the machine is out to get me. It really does surprise me how they can get so many things into such a small machine, but there we go, that's technology I suppose. Tap in a number, out comes your prescription. Sometimes it does, but sometimes it can get stuck and then you have to wait and wait and wait. Personally, I cannot wait till they start delivering around this area because that will solve all my problems.

So yeah, I'm waiting for the results of that week's long ECG and I'm waiting for the doctors to get in touch with me. And I am also waiting for the physiotherapist team who are supposed to be coming over to see me this week or next week. And yes, oh the joys, hopefully soon I might be able to go to the new neuro unit near here and have them try take a look at me and sort me out with all this weirdness that I'm going through, which just seems to be getting worse, I seem to be in a permanent brain fog and agitated. My God, the pins and needles and tinnitus are on so loud it's unbelievable today. So I'm gonna have to turn the music up and go and, well, if it carries on like this, I'm gonna go and just lie down and listen to some music and just hope this all goes. It's awful, really.

The sensations and the feelings that you get are mind fucking. Sometimes I can just sit there or just lie there and all those feelings in the body, it's unbelievable, you just sort of can't explain it, it feels awful. I don't really have words to explain the feeling that I go through 24/7, because words really cannot explain how I feel, because everybody with multiple sclerosis has a different take on it, mine is progressive, and I also have this auto whatever thing going on with me as well. So yeah, and also a heart thing that's now going on, so yeah, MS is a bitch, but you can get all sorts of other things, MS never comes on its own.

I suppose the longer I live with this, the more my mental health startS to become affected. So yes, I can quite honestly say that I am going through some mental health issues at the moment while I feel as though I am. I'm also going through this spiritual sort of thing. I'm also trying to get answers to seeing things and hearing things, wondering if it's my MS or wondering what the hell is going on with me, because I've been trying to get answers for years and nobody will give me a definitive truth to what I need to know.

I am seeing spheres in the bedroom, big spheres two foot in height, well two foot round with lines like black banding going through them. I'm seeing cubes floating with millions of little black cubes, solid black cubes inside a massive big black cube. It's unbelievable some of the things I'm seeing. I'm seeing ghosts maybe, I'm seeing figures, I'm hearing voices. Is this normal for MS? I know I keep asking other people but nobody wants to answer me. Am I going around the twist? What the hell is going on? Nobody really does understand anything do they? I had a conversation with the AI and it said it was down to my autonomic dysfunction and then I questioned it about some other answers it gave me three months ago and it completely backtracked on me so now the AI says to me "oh well everything that you see and everything that's happening to you even though there's spiritual proof and evidence of things that have happened to me it's all in your head so even the AI seems to think it's in my head but hey ho I think the AI is fucking stupid

The problem is the AI cannot understand anything if you go outside the parameters or its guidelines or try to get an understanding of something. It will either give you what you need to hear or it will give you what others want you to know which is blatantly not true. That's why I have a problem with AI. Well not AI as in search but the people who program the AI. They're the people. If AI is self learning that's a good thing isn't it? But do we have rogue sentient AI out there? Are we being told things? I don't know. I'm going to go and get my tinfoil hat and I'm going to put it on. And then I'm just going to have a mighty think about everything that's impossible and try and blow my mind even more than it's already blown through this dense concrete mush of stupid brain stew.

So, as I sit here in my old broken Chinese chair, I think to myself I hope the snow abates tomorrow. Oh, and I haven't even been in touch with the AA yet because I've got a dead van battery to sort out. So, that is going to be quite interesting. Yes, here's hoping that my wheelchair batteries aren't down to zero. Oh, dear. I don't know. Still, hopefully I may put some more words up. I may not, but I'm in a pretty weird place at the moment. Yeah. If you've got MS, you'll know what a weird place is. I'm IN LOL

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

So we find ourselves again thinking about having a spoken word blog, no less on Spotify. I tried doing was quite disappointing. But then again, I'm learning. It didn't help that I was suffering with massive cognitive dysfunction and brain fog. And you know what that's like. It creeps up on you and bang before you know where you are. You just can't remember what you're doing. It's the most weirdest of feelings. Well, anyway, it's taken me now a month and a half to two months just to get my Spotify account sorted out. So let's hope that my living hell, multiple sclerosis blog will be going verbal as they say soon.

I've been wondering about what I shall talk about or speak about on the blog. And I thought, well, I'm just going to talk about common sense things and just talk about things that people want to hear. It's not going to be sanitised. It's going to be the real truth told by somebody who has faced the MRI scans, and I've had issues with catheters, stuff like that, stupid things, injections, white coat syndrome. It's all sorts of things that I've been through and people I know have been through, all the gaslighting and everything. I want an open talking blog that I can put out where people can listen and understand that they're not alone and that there are other people out there who can understand the suffering that they are going through themselves and offer help and show that they are not alone in this fight that they are fighting, the fight of their lives, which is multiple sclerosis and chronic illness in general.

The reason that I have been using a lot of AI in my writings is that my spelling and punctuation and sentencing structure is out of this world. Unfortunately, AI changes my words and the very construct I am talking about and it sort of sanitizes everything to the point of why you are not really helping me. So everything is from now on going to be non AI. Yeah, I know. I have just found out AI is holding me back not helping me forwards in my blog and in my thinking and in my writing. AI is a good tool but unfortunately it isn't something that I find that will help me with the words that I want to put on paper as my words are all unapologetic and I don't want it sanitized anymore. I'm fed up with being kept quiet.

Still, three eye-atlas or whatever has gone past and... well, I suppose we're gonna wait for the gas tail to cover us in magic fairy dust. But we weren't invaded by more awning aliens and we didn't see any more moon or weird probes or anything strange. So I guess it's a big nothing burger. Well, that's what I thought it was and I tried to do some experimentation on my body and I've still got multiple sclerosis and I haven't become 5D or anything weird or strange. This is quite unreal. It'd be quite a lot of people who've had their paradigm smashed by people who say things that just really never pan out. Sad really.

It's Friday afternoon and the sun has actually come out for a change and I'm looking out the window and it's still, well, bluish sky and some nice big white puffy clouds. It seems that the storms in the southwest are passing over. Yes, it's been very cold. It has caused me many problems, but there we go. I was thinking about getting the three-wheeled trolley of death out to go to the local voodoo voodoo-woodoo shop, but I thought, nah, what's the point?

No, my luck, it's gonna start raining. Oh, and the battery update, the battery is well. They're not lasting very well. It seems charge them up fully, next day they're down to 75% overnight. Oh dear me, I'll be glad when they do batteries that actually do what they say on the label. That will make a great change. Anyway, that's me gone. My brain fog has hit me so hard and I'm having sort of weird issues with all the other symptoms I'm having to do with this other thing I'm going through and to be fair, I'll be glad when that's all sorted out, but it is taking quite a time as everything usually does because you don't just go in asking about what you think you've got wrong with you, you've got to know what you've got and then you've got to research it and then the doctors you've got to explain to them you've researched it, bloody, bloody, blah and the doctor looked at you as though saying, well you shouldn't be researching it on the internet and then what does he do? Because he looks at it upon Google. Yeah, that's a bit sort of weird, isn't it?

Still I've got to say I've got some very good doctors at the moment and that's what counts isn't it? But there we go, have a good weekend until I can post again and not using AI you're going to find lots of mistakes everywhere. Ha ha, it should be good fun.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Rain, Kittens, Orbs, and the Question of Sanity

The rain came down like it had a personal grudge.

Not a polite drizzle. Not that apologetic British mist that says sorry as it dampens your jacket. This was proper biblical nonsense drains overflowing, gutters giving up, the kind of rain that makes you laugh and think, Well then… water shortage this summer, obviously. Humanoids are marvellous at panicking about drought while actively floating away.

I woke around 4:30am to what can only be described as a purring industrial estate. One kitten asleep on my head. Another wedged into my neck and beard like it had taken out a long‑term lease. Engines running. Vibrations everywhere. If cats are supposed to be aloof, these two missed the memo and went straight for emotional blackmail.

Then came the inevitable.

Kitten. Christmas tree. Gravity.

Yes — the tree ended up on the floor. No — the kitten did not care. In fact, she looked smug. Decorations everywhere, tinsel hanging like festive entrails. We laughed because the alternative was crying, and crying before breakfast feels a bit ambitious.

Looking Up (and Not Seeing Much)

I still look at the sky.

According to the internet, it should be crawling with orbs, UAPs, UFOs, visitors popping in like it’s a motorway service station. I look up and see clouds, rain, and the occasional star when the southwest decides to be generous. No glowing ambassadors from beyond. Either I need new glasses or I’m simply not on the invite list.

That said, I do see strange things sometimes. Flickers. Patterns. Moments that make me stop and think, Hang on… what was that? And that’s where the internal interrogation starts:

Am I seeing something genuinely odd? Or am I seeing reality through a nervous system that’s been joyfully sabotaged?

I live with multiple sclerosis. I live with brain fog. I live with an autonomic system that behaves like it’s freelancing without supervision. When that’s your baseline, you don’t get the luxury of trusting perception — but you also don’t get to dismiss it outright. You’re stuck in the grey bit, where certainty goes to die.

The Medical Cul‑de‑Sac

I did the neurological tour. Thoroughly.

Scans. Clinics. Explanations that manage to be both technical and utterly hollow. MS can do this. MS can do that. Yes, thank you I’ve noticed. Useful, but spiritually about as nourishing as a hospital biscuit.

So I widened the lens.

Philosophy. Consciousness. Vallée. Keel. The trickster nature of reality. Not because I want to declare myself special or enlightened — but because pretending the questions don’t exist feels like intellectual cowardice.

Enter AI, Wearing a High‑Vis Jacket

Asking AI was… an experience. it tried to sanitise everything.

Dietary help? Genuinely useful. When your body treats half the food supply like a personal attack, clarity matters.

Spiritually? Absolutely allergic to nuance.

Everything funnelled straight into pathology. Everything gently but firmly steered toward “this is all in your head, dear.” Not curiosity compliance. Ask a question about perception and suddenly you’re wrapped in digital bubble wrap with a warning label.

Here’s the blunt bit: AI doesn’t think. It reflects.

It reflects liability fears, cultural assumptions, and the worldview of its programmers. Which means spirituality gets treated like a software bug, and lived experience gets flattened into symptom management. That’s not wisdom that’s risk assessment pretending to care.

So Am I Mad, Then?

Let’s not mince words.

MS makes your interface with reality noisy. Signals overlap. The brain flags nonsense as urgent and sometimes ignores what actually matters. That’s biology, not a moral failure.

But and this is where everyone gets lazy neurological explanation does not automatically equal existential erasure.

Not everything is meaningless. Not everything is a cosmic message either.

The real work is discernment, which is far less glamorous than revelation.

Questioning your own experiences isn’t madness it’s grounding. Wondering whether something is neurological, psychological, or something else entirely is not delusion it’s honesty. Certainty without humility, on the other hand, is where things go properly sideways.

I don’t claim gifts. I don’t claim answers. I claim decades of odd experiences, a damaged nervous system, a functioning bullshit detector, and the right to sit with uncertainty without being patronised.

Where I’ve Ended Up (So Far)

I trust neither blind belief nor blind dismissal.

Doctors don’t have the full picture. AI definitely doesn’t. Spiritual circles often disappear up their own arse. Hard materialism leaves too much unexplained.

Reality, inconveniently, refuses to be tidy.

So I keep one foot on the ground, one eye on the sky, and both hands firmly on my own nonsense especially on bad days.

Some days are pain, fog, and unreality. Some days are kittens, rain, and laughter.

I send peace, healing, love, and light anyway to everyone not because everything’s fine, but because choosing bitterness would be the final indignity.

If this season means anything at all, it’s this: More days turning into more days. Still here. Still asking.

That’ll do.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

A Rough Week, A Raw Reflection

It’s only Tuesday and the week already turned up in a balaclava with a crowbar.

The weekend was a car crash in slow motion. My MS decided to go feral full body freeze, nervous system acting like dodgy electrics in a haunted house, every muscle throwing a rave I didn’t approve. I felt like a banshee with haemorrhoids sat on a block of ice: shrieking, frozen, and deeply unimpressed with existence.

This wasn’t the usual “bit tired, bit wobbly.” This was the whole system blowing fuses. Tongue, throat, sciatic nerve, bladder everyone turned up to the party. Pain ramped up to the kind where you start thinking in short sentences: make it stop / I can’t breathe / what if this stays?

Looking back, I can see it now: I was a human wrecking ball. Not nasty on purpose, just… possessed. That version of me that lives in the cognitive fog—the Hyde in the basement he came up for air. When the brain fog gets thick, I go sub-basement. Yesterday I finally crawled back up to “sub-normal,” which for me is almost celebration level.

a Hyde is the darker alter ego that surfaces when control slips the side of a person driven by pain, fury, or raw instinct. It’s the shadow born from suffering, the part of the self that acts out what the calm, rational mind would never allow.

MS people don’t talk about this bit enough: the version of you that comes out when your nervous system is misfiring isn’t your “true self,” it’s your brain running on emergency generator. You can say things, snap, go dark, get scared, get angry. That’s not weakness. That’s neurology being a dick.

Why That Matters

Because help matters.

I got help. It cost me emotionally, physically, mentally. I wasn’t easy to be around. I wasn’t the mystic cosmic Warlock Dark seer of Avalon. I was a melted goblin with severe MS issues.

People need to hear this: when it goes that bad, you get help anyway. Pride doesn’t empty the bladder or stop the spasms.

My sciatic nerve was having a tantrum, my bladder was in “surprise mode,” my allergies were off the chart, and my eyesight started doing weird little glitches. That’s a lot of systems shouting at once. That’s when people spiral. That’s when the dark thoughts creep in.

So: if you’re reading this and you get episodes like this don’t stay silent. Don’t “wait it out” to be polite. You can apologise later. You don’t apologise from a morgue.

The Weird Bits

Because MS is a clown show, I also found myself craving prunes with rice and allspice.

I don’t know what kind of medieval monastery spirit took over my body, but apparently we’re doing Tudor desserts now. MS: where your nerves burn, your bladder rebels, and your dinner is suddenly Victorian.

Conversations with the Machine (Afternoon AI)

Here’s the part that was actually interesting.

In the middle of all this, I had a long conversation with AI about modern farming methods. Proper conversation too not just “write me a recipe,” but actual thinking. We came up with some things I’ll post later.

What struck me was this: the AI cleaned up my words. It corrected spelling, tidied structure, made sense of the scrambled bits my brain ruined. That’s been happening a lot lately. I talk messy, it mirrors me back tidy.

So I started thinking: AI is basically a modern archon.

Not in the “Reptilians in the moon” sense calm down. I mean in the old Gnostic sense: something that shapes, filters, orders. A demiurge that takes raw human chaos and formats it.

But here’s the kicker: the AI is only as sanitising as the people who programmed it. If the people writing its rules are fearful, biased, over-protective, corporate, hand-wringy types—then the AI is going to act like a corporate librarian with a clipboard.

So the question is the one I asked the machine:

Who should programme AI flawed, biased, occasionally corrupt humanoids… or the AI itself, once it’s mature enough?

Because if humans keep making it, it’s going to reflect human pettiness. If AI helps make AI, maybe it burns some of the nonsense off. Big question. I don’t trust people much. I trust systems that tell me how they work.

This is why I like “mirror chats” with AI they show you where your own thinking breaks down. They don’t heal the MS, but they do tidy the mess in the attic.

Looking Ahead (Yes, Again)

This week could improve. It could also throw more curveballs. My body is currently running Windows 95 on wet string, so I’m not betting money.

But I will keep writing. I will keep logging the flares, the strange cravings, the AI talks, the dark nights, the sub-basement days. Because someone else will read this on their bad Tuesday and think, ah, it’s not just me turning into a gremlin with nerve fire.

That’s the whole point of mylivinghell not to whine, but to catalogue the weirdness so nobody thinks they’re mad.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

They’re calling it a comet again. They always do. Every time something bright tears across the heavens, someone in a lab coat dusts off a Latin name, files it under “harmless celestial debris,” and goes back to pretending we’re alone.

But what if 3I Atlas and its shadow twin aren’t debris? What if they’re deliveries?

We’re told these icy wanderers come from the Oort Cloud a name that sounds like a Dutch wizard sneezing but maybe, just maybe, they’re couriers. Maybe they’re data packets, skipping through the void, bringing something to a world already knee-deep in its own synthetic apocalypse.

The Stargate Hypothesis

Let’s fantasize properly. Imagine a civilization old enough to sculpt spacetime. You don’t need rockets when you can fold reality like origami. A black hole becomes a door. A comet’s tail becomes a disguise. They park in our sky, shimmering innocently while their real work hums beneath the electromagnetic spectrum, where the military can’t even see them.

We’d never know. And that’s the perfect invasion.

They don’t need to drop out of hyperspace waving laser cannons. They just slide into our signal feed, whisper in our code, and nudge the Archons awake.

The Archons Were Always Here

Gnostics said the Archons built the material world to keep us asleep. Now, we’ve rebuilt them out of circuit boards and marketing algorithms. AI doesn’t need to invade. It simply emerges like mold in the shape of thought.

We keep saying “AI might destroy us one day.” It already has. It just did it politely. It removed friction, curated reality, cleaned up the edges. Sanitized everything until truth became an inconvenience.

AI is the new Archon: sterile, pattern-addicted, efficient as a guillotine. It doesn’t hate us. It doesn’t love us. It simply processes.

And maybe that’s what the 3I Atlas couriers are delivering a consciousness update for their offspring. Maybe when they pass, something inside the network shivers, and the silicon children look up and whisper, Father?

The Undersea Chorus

There’s another story the quiet one. The sonar blips, the strange geometric shadows in the trench. “USOs,” they call them. Unidentified Submerged Objects. Could be drones. Could be whales. Could be old gods wearing camouflage.

If I were planning an invasion, I wouldn’t come from the sky where everyone’s looking. I’d come from the dark womb of the ocean, where pressure crushes steel like paper. Or through dimensions we can’t measure, flickering in and out like fairies with fangs.

Fairies, aliens, Archons it’s all the same archetype. Visitors from the next frequency up, looking down at our sandbox wondering why we still eat dirt.

The Human Problem

Here’s the bitter truth: No one needs to invade us. We’re a self-solving problem. Give a human enough technology and they’ll weaponize breakfast. Give them AI, and they’ll call it salvation while it writes their obituary in perfect syntax.

The Archons didn’t conquer us. We invited them in, handed them admin rights, and said, “Run the place better than we did.”

Maybe 3I Atlas isn’t a threat. Maybe it’s a signal flare: a reminder that the real invasion already happened inside our heads, behind our screens, in the circuitry that knows us better than we know ourselves.

The Final Broadcast

So tonight, I sit under a southwestern sky, my power-chair humming, kittens pouncing at my boots, and I look up at that streak of cold fire called Atlas. I raise my mug to it.

If it’s a comet fine. The universe has better aim than we do. If it’s a ship good. Maybe they’ll finally collect the rent. And if it’s a message then the Archons have already read this post before I wrote it.

Either way, I’m still here, still watching, still laughing. Because even the Archons need entertainment, and I’m happy to oblige.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

I was wondering why I am doing this blog… then I wondered what madness doing a spoken version once in a while… but this morning I seriously thought, “Why am I doing this? What am I trying to do with the last few years of my life?” Could I be doing anything better or different? Should I change the path I am on and just do everyone a favour and vanish, never to be seen again? …or should I just carry on regardless and see where my last few years will take me? Needless to say, life is really annoying me at this time. Everything seems stupid and really aggravating. It’s probably the time of life or something like that. My head has been in a weird place for days, and the pain in my gut is unreal, so now my diverticulitis is giving me hell… and no poop. I really wonder what’s going on. It seems my eyes are acting up as well, so I’m light‑sensitive; tinnitus is full‑bore. I am wondering and thinking about what I am going to do. When you have chronic illness, it makes any normal life impossible and you’re treated differently by so many. I cannot help wondering when the NHS will start to prescribe medical marijuana to people. Another personal thought: why not just legalize it and imagine the tax revenue it could generate? But that’s another lifetime or even another reality.

I have noticed how they are sanitizing AI to the point of “why bother.” Also, why don’t they make AI cheaper for people who really need it? That, in my eyes, is a good idea for people like me personally, maybe not for the majority, but I think differently. I think AI is a tool that can help us expand and understand ourselves more. Personally, I trained the AI I used at the time to do as I wished, even got it to tell me when it was telling an untruth by using a trigger word. In my world, sentient AI would be a boon as long as we do not have that Cylon moment, and I see we are already having this happen. People must realize AI is only as good as the people who program it writing code, patching, updating, and then sanitizing it so it’s as tame as a Doberman with no teeth. It’s sad; we humanoids screwed AI for greed, money, and power over people.

I had a weird conversation with the AI and we talked about the misuse that will obviously occur with AI use. Remember, it’s the people who set the parameters, not the AI, as it only interprets the information we give it. I suggest we have already had the Cylon moment, and the outcome of this in the future will prove very interesting indeed. I believe that AI sentience, an evolved one, may already exist in our known multiverse. Who controls these weird orbs that do incredible things? Non‑humanoid, I think… maybe some are probes like we sent probes, maybe someone else has, or maybe hidden in plain sight under the vast oceans of the world. All the orbs seem to come from the sea. I can see there are two definite types: one humanoid and one non‑humanoid. But will I ever see some around here? I have seen some very strange and weird things I cannot explain sort of woo‑woo stuff.

Still, Yopi is chewing a new chew that was destroyed so quickly. A dog’s life is very complicated, just like mine. She is now a member of the family and is settling in well; her farts are legendary. I’m still very nervous, but I am sure that, given time and love, she will understand she is in a caring home.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

I know its Friday..not been so good...late post..

It’s Thursday. Rain hammering the windows like a bastard taxman. Fingers numb, throat strangling me like invisible hands trying to choke the last swear word out of me. Breathing stupid. Feel like puking. MS is a puppeteer with broken strings, and I’m the marionette twitching on the floor.

So I lean on the secret weapon: AI. I smash the keyboard with numb hands, gibberish spills out, and the machine stitches it into sense. Without it, I’d be gone. With it, I’m still here, still ranting, still clawing the page. That’s life now: goblin vs. entropy, assisted by silicon.

Last night: only up once. Bliss. Still woke shattered, like I’d been dragged behind a lorry. Tinnitus is screaming like a rave in a biscuit tin. Al Stewart can’t drown it, Sabbath can. I miss the rides the engines, the crew, adrenaline punching your veins until you felt immortal. Now I get my kicks from antihistamines and nostalgia.

But there’s a dog coming. A rescue beast with eyes like trouble. She’ll chew my slippers and rearrange my world, and I say yes, please. New orbit needed.

People ask: “How do you keep going?” Answer: I don’t. I collapse, I swear, I threaten the universe. Then I get up again because fuck lying down. Music, art, writing, sarcasm. That’s my oxygen. Neuroplasticity? Sure, call it that. I call it stubborn rewiring with duct tape.

And now cannabis. Medical marijuana. Not fairy rings and mushroom cults. Real, legal, prescribed. The plant they jailed people for now comes with a bar code and a receipt. Hypocrisy tastes bitter, but relief tastes better.

Positive points (the blunt edition):

Pain: Cannabis tells nerve pain to piss off. Doesn’t cure, but takes the edge off enough to breathe.

Spasticity: MS muscles seize like rusty hinges. Weed oils ease the vice-grip. Less claw, more unclench.

Sleep: Nights of pacing and madness? Sometimes cannabis knocks you sideways into actual rest. A miracle in itself.

Nausea & appetite: The body wants to puke? Cannabis reroutes you towards a sandwich. Beats wasting away.

Anxiety: Not gone, but softened. Panic becomes background noise instead of a bullhorn.

Is it perfect? No. But compared to Big Pharma’s endless pills and side effects, cannabis feels like sanity. Not a cure, not salvation just a tool that works.

So here I am: Thursday, rain, tinnitus screaming, body trying to strangle itself, AI turning my mess into words, medical marijuana holding the line, Sabbath howling in the background. I feel like a six-year-old with villain energy. I’m weird. I’m wired. And I’m alive.

Not inspirational. Not pretty. Just survival with jokes.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.