If the white devil were real.

By Billie Ream

F**king hell, what an end of year this has been for me, moving out of home trying out new avenues with myself, trying to figure out what I can do that is better than my past circumstances. it’s interesting to live at certain points of life and notice yourself in a variety of ways. Change of thyself is a difficult ailment of life I’ve lived and what I chose to live. To live in a world of imagination takes away the ability to live in reality, what is reality though? A sense of a mind perceiving the world around us. I don’t know where my reality stands at times, it’s a peculiar variance when you can imagine vividly of a life to live, I see it around and it makes us crazy with expectations seeping through and affecting those around us. An observant mind consumed by flesh that moves in strange ways, how could anyone make this life work in their favour when we are filled with devastative reactions that we have little understanding of. Eh, who gives a fuck anyway, it’s the godddam end of the year and we got through, with no doubt full of emotional battle scars that will enable the new year to be that tad bit more filled with knowledge of the past.

Melbourne is still a grandeur of happenings, I wouldn’t know what’s going on all around the state of Victoria in December 2022. Honestly I couldn’t care too much at all. I’ll tell ya though, I am still going to Salsa dancing and I have met lovely people that attend the weekly class. I have dreams of drawing faces with their rounded cheeks and angular chins, noses that lead up to eyes that tell a story of a life that I am fond of knowing, eyes that entice me to travel far to other worlds. It’s wonderful taking steps forward diminishing a self that bodes no progress only deviated indulgences that lead to dead ends of a spiritual soul lusting to find a purpose of some form.
since I moved out of my rental last month, I had spent time with my family and that’s always a lovely experience, similar minds bring disaster from our confines, even with a thought of change with communication and growth, an outcome will still be the same. Lovely none the less to see family before I end up some place I couldn’t fathom at this point in time. I can only hope for myself, holding down hope for humanity can be an absurd practice that brings a downfall of the inner spirit that wrangles with a world not ready for a desired hope.
During the transition phase I signed up to HappyHouseSitters.com and landed a few houses to live in during December and January of the new year. I get to have the company of a little Westie until the 13th of January and then I’m off to Adelaide for two weeks. Exciting, I’ve never been to Adelaide before, I wander what could come from my adventures, who can I meet? what can I do? Where can I go that can bring an enthralling sense of worth for a moment of a second or minute.
Can I put up with myself? Can I end up someplace that will whisk me away into the unknown world that entitles a form of growth? Or am I just mad and trying to find peace in a world that doesn’t serve me?
Could I serve myself willingly in order to suffice the urge to keep on moving to be rid of a boredom that beckons from the depth of my being, what is the volume of being self-aware that can bring peace of mind and body?
writing here brings me the peace of mind, it seems to all come to self-control, I understand a depth of insight through my adventures of life and mind, could I put together a form of life that enables the ability to expand options with more opportunities to change the course of life for the better of my own being?
who fucking knows, you try to get away from what seems to be “toxic” to the self, then you hit the waters of change and you find it all boring and quite mundane without the heightened sense of “craziness” that I am accustomed to on my own accord.
I am not sure of most things, i’d have a thought with in depth accountability of looking at myself as a stranger, which doesn’t put me in a higher position just adds more calculated approaches to varieties of my choices. One would look to elevate from the course of past experiences, somewhat atleast. To no avail of our actions we end up in the same place of mind in different places of time, nothing could unravel who I thought I could be and what I am only myself and time, my fingers crossed that death would steer clear of me until I find that sense of self-worth. Will I ever succumb?
will my world unravel and can I find the pieces that fit into my puzzle. Who fucking knows?

walking down Rhyolite street in Roxburgh park where I am staying for a month, walking Bonnie a tiny adorable westie that likes to bark at the wind. I turn left out of this emaculate double-story house and make our way towards a fenced up park, this area is newly developed with houses being built and parks being made. A week ago we walk this new path that I’ve never walked down and yes I had smoked a few joints before leaving the house. I’d made it three blocks down the street until I saw a white shadow move across the bitumen under the streets lights illuminating segments of the road and footpath. I wasn’t sure if I was just stoned and being paranoid but it wasn’t a decision I was willing to make walking down that road. Bonnie had his tail upwards and his nose was fixated on something. How could I know his behaviour when he is erratic at the slightest inconvenience. I walked the other way to comfort him and myself.
A week later, Bonnie and I go for a walk at ten in the evening, same deal, smoking joints in the evening and heading out for a walk. This time I had no problems walking the same way, this time i’d go further up the road reminiscing of last weeks white devil shadow running across us fifty metres ahead. Fuck, I knew I was tripping that night with the wind moving trees making shadows come to life at odd hours of a late evening, I put it to myself that I am completely crazy with no sense of reality. Thankfully life throws me doubt of how I view myself. Walking down the road to overcome the past in small dosages I get to the point of where the “white devil” could’ve been if I think back a week ago, this is the spot where the White Devil would be. Silence flutters in the wind of a warm night, a few metres up the road I turn back around, Bonnie noticed something behind a tree that obstructed my view,6 with a couple of steps forward I begun to see what would unveil, a cat arched up in it’s scare tactic. There it is, the fearful white devil. I gaze at it for a moment and make a whoosh noise, to no avail. It started crawling towards Bonnie with it’s eyes fixated on the little dog, Bonnie wanted to give chase, this cat  was chasing us, walking towards us in it’s movements ready to attack. I wouldn’t want to stick around, I know how cats can get and this motherfucker is in the mood to brawl. It came from nowhere waiting for us. I knew it, I fucking knew it. I doubt myself all too much. Even though I can have full faith in my intuition I doubt it and put it to the fact I could be just mental. Thankfully the universe shows me that I am not, along-side my curious nature to prove to myself that my self-doubt is just me questioning my own existence with the lack of thought from the world around me. That is always exhilarating to rationalise the outcome of one’s own mind. Happy fucking new year Californian Poppy Time Readers. It will be another year of our lives to live. Live it up and enjoy what the world will bring as you walk through the treacherous debacle of life. Thanks for reading.




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