Episode 50: Dark Coastal Roads & The Man In My Room

I howl like the wolf because some people think that I’m making all this shit up. Do I explain myself, or do I just let it go, secure in my own sense of self? Yeah right? Don’t you mean my Non sense of self as the living dead. It still gets to me. For all they care I’m sitting in a bedsit in The Shaft, or in a mansion in the outer Hebrides, turning to lies and untruths (why repeat yourself) to gain an iota of attention, and I admit it,  I’m getting triggered. I feel that push, that want for validation, so that they understand and respect the real or the unreal or even the undead me. But why? Let it all go. It’s gone anyway. But I can’t because no one believes me when I say that I ate the colonisers back in the day in mid 19th Century Famine Stricken Ireland, for the sake of the starving, giving them all the spoils of my personal war, gold and diamonds and shit, thinking I was saving the world only to destroy myself and end up here in limbo….and when I say no one I mean everyone on the planet, except, and here is my strange salvation, except for all my fellow horror and sci fi low lifers who send me their letters of woe, or just because they need to rant to someone, and when I say me, I mean The Vigilante Cannibal Nun as Agony Aunt, and that is where you have landed, the podcast of the century…not the 21st, but the 19th….arguably the worst century in Irish history, and that is really saying something. Welcome to Episode 50: Dark Coastal Roads & The Man in My Room.