westid

the only person for whom the existence of computers is no longer for. hasn’t sat at the desk in front of his own rig since 1994. had two autism workers at his every beck and call. they spent one afternoon talking to me then “substance misuse doctor” overrides the doctor’s prescriptions and stops them all

the last few days i wondered to myself, this guy lives in a world where your day is finished at half past 4, and because he protests his innocence he is never going to be considered for life licence. this guy had two people and he could chill on the landing and chat with them all the fuckin time

one day when we were talking he got paranoid because this lad with no ears was trying to turn everyone against me and although someone else got their face slashed open instead [i pulled that one round in the last minute, fucking prick] daniel, fearing my “techniques”, was not friends with me anymore. some days you get the bear, some days the bear gets you

lately my thoughts were of daniel, such that i felt the need to write a couple of mad chapters about him in my book umbra mortis. he wasn’t the first murderer i befriended, but things like that don’t make me see someone any different. i do have favourite criminals, was almost a policeman until i myself became a criminal, i’m a notorious criminal in the local area where i live; but when i met my first murderer when he told me, we were on the bypass in his car going to burnley to buy a stone – there’s fuck all anyone can tell you in that situation that will change your destination. and the good people sat at the crack table across from me at his gaff having thee smoke didn’t feel like taking the high road about it either

anyway, daniel. years have gone by since we had that falling out and never spoke again. but things are different for me now … i have autism workers a bit like he did, but the other day when they came my head was falling off. i nearly didn’t go to the door or let them in, because we had to talk about some things that i’ve been a long time ruminated thinkin

even though i’m not in jail any more, that’s still the kind of thing they turn up for. so even though i don’t know or care, they’ve got their own version of daniel somewhere – somoeone deep down in fubar, probably more imminent kind of person they are. places to go, people to see.

people like daniel. people like me.

i might say ignorant things, like this: i get to have the badge and be written off as a type D spacker syndrome, and just the word “ADHD” alone diminishes the fuck out of your problems in the eyes of other people – but none of the fucking help

you will always have to call emergency meetings about final stage risk behaviours because when the social worker went to see daniel the other week, he was pacing up and down with a rounders bat in his hand mumbling to himself the way he always does … about that leather jacket and his mate is a fucking cunt… but cunt’s tricks always don’t exist in his neurodevelopmental arsenal of bad things to do to people – and people like that will always skip that step and go straight to the nuclear option – checkmate.

i know that because i must know. it is my purpose. it is the reason i exist. it is the reason we all exist. because believe it or not, even though i’ve never attacked anyone in my life, i always go straight to the nuclear option

but with me there’s a hope. a chance. and in the same way i just know there is. my problem is that all hope rests on a split second decision to leave whoever daniel is at the moment to chance, and come through for me give me a second chance

someone could click their fucking fingers, fire up the green light, and thy will be done. then the real healing can begin. and i’ve racked up some fucking clubcard points on this transaction let me tell you

how much does a second chance really set someone back? not as much as the one who needs it

that’s what they tell me every time “we have other people” … it’s time they told someone else that because maybe i can – oh, i dunno – be an “other” person for a change, for fucking once

time to bury the hatchet, ladies and gentlemen.

daniel’s are ten a fucking penny. westid awaits you