The Toll

King Mezentio is obsessed with this fanfiction. He has been obsessed by it for months. He thinks of it every day, it stops him sleeping. The parts which are the particular bug-bear (heh) are Flash Sentry and Twilight Sparkle kissing or snogging. Either in the heart of the maze in the Royal Gardens, or in Twilight's chambers, or in the corridor outside Flash Sentry's cell (a cell is what I call the little room where Flash Sentry sleeps, stores his books, dress uniform, and armour, and brushes his teeth every night and morning. I couldn't call it "room" in the normal context, as I already thought that, as Flash Sentry was a Guard, his personal space was four walls, floor and ceiling stone flagstones, I understood it as austere and Spartan. "Room" was not the right word for it. I rootled round for another word to match, and came upon "cell", as in what a monk or a hermit should sleep and meditate inside). I, of course, think of the other characters, and the roles in "-N.S.-Q.S.R.A." they will play in the future. Reactions, and how those reactions influence them. How the Prime Pair are found out by Celestia and Luna, and how Iron Hoof finds out, and how the Royal Guard find out. How the wider Equestrian public find out, how will Princess Twilight's fans react? Shock, anger, betrayal, dismay and despair? How does the Royal Guard react to one of their number in a romantic relationship with a Princess?

In the evenings before bed, I either drink chamomile tea, cocoa, or warm milk to try and sleep for longer. This sometimes works. I sleep 4-6 hours every night, longer if I walked a long walk or I exercised in the Ionad Spors (Sports Centre to the Sassenachean) in the day-time.

The shadows are under my eyes, and the red lines line my eye-lids. Sometimes, I feel the weight of my eyes in their sockets, meaning I am unable, in those times, to lie with my head cheek-down, and can only lie looking upward. I wake up in the early morning, lie awake, read for a while (either a book or the Guardian Weekly), switch the light off and wait for sleep. Sleep either comes, or it does not. An inhibition is either the Prime Pair kissing or mowing down neo-fascists with machine guns (see below).

Perhaps because I think of it too much, it's thus a burden upon my mind. A burden of the mind keeps one restless. I find it difficult to talk about it with other people (the neurotypical volunteers and Service Users at the Garadh, Buth Bharraigh, Oifis Puist, etc.) It is a fantasy based on a television series originally written and designed for young girls in the Croilegan. I used to talk of it with Gill Russell, a neurotypical who is an old friend of mine, and one of my support-workers. I used to write my derivatives in the big blank journal and hand them to her to read. I do not now. Writing a hard-copy requires a lot of effort: to remember to write it, to remember what order to write the words, to not distract oneself with tangents, to remember what words to write down. There is also the fact there is a lot of words in my head I do not get round to write down. The words and plots are planned in a particular order, but they are still in my head. I also get pictures of the ponies and anthro ponies (Baron-Engel is just too superb at anthros) inside my head all the time. I do not find the time to draw down even a few of them.

I also chat to a young autistic lady living in Yorkshire over a dating website for autistic people. We normally chat every evening from six p.m. to ten p.m. I do not have the time to draw, or key up a Word document, etc. I do snatch evenings for myself without her.

A second big burden on my mind is how seeing too many documentaries on World War II has become a passionate hatred for neo-fascists, Aryans, and white Supremacists. The way I see it, everyone knows what the Nazis did in the War, what they planned to do in the event if they had won ("Festung Europa: The Anglo/American vs. Nazi War", "Dominion", "Afrika Reich", "The Man in the High Castle", "How Tall is the Grass in Germany?" etc. And here, in the midst of this economic stagnation for some people, and neglect by the greedy rich; these people want to bring all the horror back? I do yield the point that some are not as extreme as the Nazis, but still.
My mind dwells on meeting them on the ground of demonstration, then a field of battle with my forces. The forces red-heads like me, or tall bipedal lions in redcoats, white helmets with breech-loader bayonet rifles in the "mad minute" or Lewis guns. This makes my heart beat faster, a surge of triumph and exultation that we are teaching them they are "on the wrong side of history". I even have distilled this desire, and ponified it. I present Abyss Becomes, a coal-black, fire-red maned unicorn stallion. His cutie mark is a swastika being wrenched apart by four hooves. I only though of the cutie mark design yesterday. If you ever have seen one of the posters from the end of the War where the swastika is being broken apart by four hands, representing the U.S.S.R., the U.S.A., Great Britain, and France. His name is Abyss Becomes as I thought of the words "look long enough in to the abyss, the abyss looks back". Literally, the abyss becomes him and his activities. "Becomes", as in it suits him. Ever seen the film "Death Becomes Her", with Meryl Streep I believe?

I am telling you this as it may lighten the burden. It will not stop the fantasies, but the worst thing is too keep it inside your imagination. Perhaps you could suggest to me I tell Mum about it' That way she could provide some good advice.
Apologies if this too random for you.