I met a woman at the home of the friend I had met at the funeral of my Silent Friend and began a relationship with her; it was the first relationship I’d had for many years. She was rather troubled though, and took an instant dislike to my children. Actually, it would be fair to say she hated them, even though there didn’t seem to be any reason, other than a phobia of teenagers, which had developed when she had been bullied at school some twenty years before. She was having therapy though, so I hoped it would pass, and my children would manage to tolerate her behaviour towards them until it had, and even help her to overcome her fears.
That proved to be a difficult challenge, however, since her paranoia was intense, and the events illustrating her condition too numerous to recount. For instance; she would rake through drawings they had made, once they had left after their visits, and if she found any caricatures of the kind traditionally made by children; with enormous ears, buck teeth and a huge nose, and so forth, she would say they had drawn her, even though she didn’t possess such features. And if one or all of my children announced they were going to visit, she would leave and take a bus back to her home.
My children and I did all we could to make her feel accepted and liked, but the situation worsened to the point where the children couldn’t visit if she was with me, and if they were, she wouldn’t. She knew she was being paranoid, but she couldn’t seem to prevent it. There was always a tension in the atmosphere, so I couldn’t truly relax when I was with her.
In the meantime, I created more blogs. I separated the concluding chapters of PAM from the autobiography, and published an edit of them online, with a variety of introductions and titles, such as ‘How To Change The World; A Surrealist Fantasy’ with the belief I would be able to evoke a global revolution leading to a paradise on Earth, which waxed and waned, together with the love I had for my girlfriend.
At some point, around this time, I abandoned my nom de plume and began to use my real name, because I sensed I was only hiding in plain sight, and anyway; I didn’t wish to hide away for the rest of my life. Yet, my stance wavered in this respect too, as though sporadically diving into a bush for cover and re emerging to wave and shout a cheerful hello. I had a strong desire to be open and stand up for my beliefs, but it was dampened by fear, shame, and concerns regarding the impact my work may have on my family.
I released an overly edited version of PAM, riddled with semi colons, on Lulu, which I promoted via the blog link in the previous chapter. I joined The Occupy Wall Street Movement too, and promoted the book from there, but found myself banned from the forums for spamming, and probably for writing ‘fuck George Carlin’ on one of my posts. I didn’t know who he was at the time. Someone mentioned him and that was my response. I wouldn’t have written it if I would have known, because he was a pretty astute, brave and funny guy, in my opinion. I was a little arrogant, at times, in response to an increasing amount of hostility towards me.
During this period of time, the embryo of my second book, The Last Revolution, began to develop in the form of an article entitled A Letter to Facebook, which forms the following chapter. I published the article on Facebook and blogs I had created.