giorge thomas

on goodreads?

Any of you here a fellow Goodreader? Yes? Excellent!

45 Notes Cover 4 small45 Notes on London is available on Goodreads for review! Simply search the title and give a review (I mean, five stars would be great, but, you know, whatever you like!)

And while you’re there, add me as a friend!

Looking froward to seeing all those stars shining before my eyes!!

And I’ll try not to write another post with so many exclamation marks!!!!

So I had a plan. I was going to pick a poem from those you have graciously sent to me and read it on a video. I wanted to celebrate my fellow poets. I wanted to give them a voice.

But my mental health got in the way.

The wax and wane of mental health is unpredictable. Sometimes you can read the signs. You can feel it coming on. Feel the clouds circling. And I guess I did. But I chose to ignore because I did not, in any way, want to slip down that slide again.

Alas; it took hold. The heat didn’t help. An oxymoron, right? We all associate depression with the winter months. Cold, alone, secluded in our homes. But drastic heat can have the same effect. My first panic attack came during a heat wave when our air conditioning broke.

I broke, too.

Our little family have been living in one room of our home, a bought portable air-conditioner constantly whirring, trying to cool the drastic heat.

Cooling? Not really. It simply reduced the temperature to a barely-comfortable level.

The heat, together with whatever demons were poisoning my brain resulted in chronic and frequent panic attacks. Was I at all in a position to film a video? No. Will I ever be? Not in the distant future.

And while double doses of anti-depressants are alleviating my condition, I am still not quite there yet. However, I still want to be that voice for all the poets who wanted their poems heard.

Starting tomorrow I will choose one from a selection of those poems sent to me. If you are not included, I apologise. I have simply chosen those which somehow spoke to me.

I will also be continuing the re-postings of Koolaid. I am sorry to have kept you waiting on that, too.

Seriously, though, I am fine. It’s just a blip, and these ‘blips’ must be overcome.

Hope you are all well and will see you soon back here on

Hi Guys!

I said it was going to happen, didn’t I? Yes, yes.

So Kool-Aid had kind of taken over my life, but don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about poetry.

I’ve been doing the rounds here on WordPress and have been coming across so many great poets out there — and I want to help you guys out!

The details…

So here it is. Send me through paste your best poem into the contact form down below and I will pick my favourite to read on my Youtube channel. The video will also appear here on — that’s nearly 5000 subscribers (4913 to be exact) who will get to see your work!

To be in the running, like the video below, subscribe to my Youtube channel and send me your best poem. Remember it’ll be read ASMR style, so pick a piece which suits a quiet voice. Yes. I can be quiet. Sometimes. Okay, is very difficult for me but I’m trying really hard!

But wait, there’s more!

I’m feeling extra generous today, so here goes. I’m offering my collection of poetry to be downloaded FOR FREE for anyone who purchases 45 Notes on London

Head to my BUY NOW page for details on where you can get 45 Notes. Once you purchase it, send me the receipt and I will give you a special code to download ‘The Vase, Reconstructed’ by Giorge Thomas FOR FREE!

Wow. That’s a lot of info to take in.

Take a breath. Is fine. Video below of my ASMR reading of two poems by Kevin Powers, plus a contact for where you can send me your best work!

Looking forward to hearing from all of you!


To say I’m scared is a massive understatement.

See, when you’re in the cult, they know everything about you. Your family, your friends.
Gruff had a visit from the cult. Suited bastards, he called them.

Apparently, they are concerned for my safety. Worried about my mental well-being.
Why else would I have left the church unless due to severe mental handicap?

They want to help me. Only they can help me.


Suddenly, being here in the middle of nowhere sounds like a shit idea.

No one close to hear me scream.

Over reaction, you think? You’ve no idea. They always get people to go back.

I remember the stories. Not sure if were true. Maybe they spread them to keep the fear.

But there was a member who had escaped all the way to South Africa. They were found. They were brought back.

It can happen. I just hope not to me.



Thanks for reading another instalment of Almost Drank the Kool-Aid.

Poetry writers — something special is coming for you tomorrow. So if you’re looking to get your poems out to a wider audience, make sure you stay tuned!


Don’t forget – my ebook 45 Notes on London can be downloaded on your favourite eReader or by hitting the link here.

So. What happens when you’ve been in a cult for ten years, five of those spent devoted entirely to the “cause”?

You have nothing.

No money. No job. No credit history, no employment experience, no references, probably no family and certainly no friends.

It’s worse, of course, for those who grow up in a cult. Because they don’t know anything else. They believe those stories they’ve been told their whole lives — that the real world is a scary, evil place full of people whose minds are polluted. Those who want to leave often don’t due to fear.

I was lucky. I remembered the world before the cult. Remembered my freedom, and independence. I remembered what it was like thinking for myself.

I am also very fortunate to have someone I could turn to when I left. Not everyone has that.

I have some money. Which came as quite a surprise, really. I thought the cult had taken everything from me. Apparently not.

So for right now I don’t have to worry about finding work. Which is lucky because I am not qualified for anything. Should probably do something about that. An online course maybe? Who knows.

Another instalment of Kool-Aid! In case you missed the others, hit up the first instalment here. If you’re enjoying Kool-Aid, let me know and don’t forget to subscribe!


Well. Probably not. I’m a bit precious, really. Certainly never went camping. Sleeping on floors? Hell no!

But was in such a bad place, like horrible, thinking-death-was-better place that I thought being homeless was a better option.


Was totally prepared for it, too. Would present self at wherever it is you do when first becoming homeless, get myself a sleeping bag and begging cup, and be on my way.
I think that’s what they call rock bottom. A great place to be, really, because you know. You can finally have the hope to know things can only get better.

Thankfully for me, I had help when I got out.

And you need it. I’ll talk about that in my next blog I think.

There’s always help. You never believe there will be, because that’s what they want you to believe. That you’re alone.

The person who helped me was an old friend, Gruff Bastard. (He would love it if he knew I was calling him Gruff Bastard. Truly. He’d take it as a complement. Dickhead.) Was sure Gruff Bastard would give me the “I told you so” diatribe. But he didn’t. Am so thankful.

Thanks to that help am now living in a cosy one bedroom cottage in the arse-end of nowhere. Is freezing. Haven’t mastered the art of fire building or maintaining. Central heating is shite. Next to non-existent. Sat naked arse on it this morning — didn’t even burn.

Still. Have wifi and laptop thanks to Gruff. Also gave me mobile phone. Am part of the world again. Has been so long!



Thanks so much for reading, guys! Don’t forget, you can download my ebook 45 Notes on London here on Smashwords or download on your favourite ereader.

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Really did think the whole “drinking the Kool-Aid” idiom was one everyone would get. Maybe you’re all too young. Maybe there aren’t enough Americans reading this.

(For the record, I am not American. Not that there’s anything wrong with that). Right. So. A brief history lesson on cult-leader nutters for you.

Okay. So there was this bloke called Jim Jones. Outright nutter. But obviously, he must have had something going for him because he had a whole bunch of people who believed in everything he said and did.

Good old Jimmy was the head of a “church” called The People’s Temple. Radical Christian.

(Yes, radical does apply to denominations other than Islam).

Jones was a communist. And we all know communism is great in theory but never in practise, because there are always fuckers in power who take advantage of the situation.

Jones’s one redeeming feature was that he supported the rights of African Americans. He led campaigns against restaurants and such like who refused to serve the black community, back in the 50s and 60s.

Will try to shorten what could be a very long story when it comes to Jim Jones here. Some say Jones was not actually Christian but used the label of Christianity to entice folks to his communist beliefs and get tax exempt status. Ah, the good old tax exempt status trick.

Any hoo, Jones decided he needed a “socialist paradise” and began building a town called ‘Jonestown’ in Guyana. Was basically a sanctuary from all the bad press Jones was getting in America. His followers joined him there and they lived off the land.

Concerned relatives of folks living in Jonestown managed to convince a congressman that their concerns warranted action. So Congressman Ryan goes down to Jonestown with a film crew in tow. He finds people living there who want out and tries to take them with him when he left. Except Jim Jones’s “army” shot them all at the airfield.

Obviously, shit got real. So later that day Jones convinced 900 of his followers that the best course of action would be for them all to die.

Kool-Aid laced with cyanide and valium was handed out on mass. Three hundred odd children were given it first. Then the adults, including the fucker Jim Jones.

Fucking horrible. Awful. Unbelievable.

Am I making light of this by calling my blog ‘Almost drank the Kool-Aid?’ No. Because I would have done it. Honest to goodness. Had I been there in Jonestown I would have drank merrily, ready to meet my god. Not that the organisation I was involved in was at that level of fucked-up-ness, but I had the same kind of mind-bending devotion. Had substituted one drug for another. And if they’d told me to kill myself for whatever fucked-up reason they came up with, I probably would have done it.

I would have drunk the Kool-Aid.

And maybe that’s why I’m writing this blog. I was smart. I thought I was pretty clued-in. Was certainly mature, even despite age. Apart from a few issues, was relatively normal. And yet, I got sucked in. I almost drank the Kool-Aid.

Knowing how close I came to full-on fucked-up-ness and that I was able to get out gives me the strength to keep going. I’ve been left with absolutely fuck-all, see. That’s what they do to you.

They break you down, they make you empty. So empty you’re willing to drink the fucking Kool-Aid.

Signs plural? No; in my experience, there’s just one sign:

You’re not allowed to use the internet.

Sounds mad, no?

But true. And possible, even in today’s society.

In my “church” internet use was frowned upon. Easy for those of us living on base — we simply were not given facilities to access the internet. No smart phones, no browsers on computers. For those living on the outside, though, it was simply a commandment to be followed.

Is obvious now why we were not allowed online. People are not exactly nice. And, you know, there’s knowledge to be found online. And if we had knowledge, we probably would not believe the bullshit we’ve been told to believe as truth.

It has been the single most devastating thing about all of this. Because seeing what’s out there has made me realise how ridiculous it was for me to believe the church’s doctrine.

Have to remind self again and again I am not alone. Was not the only fool. We’re numbered in the hundreds. Those of us desperate enough, depressed enough, insecure enough to be taken in by such malarky.

Tell me anyone happy with their life who decides to join what turns out to be a cult. Nope, it doesn’t happen. Because happy people are not searching for something more.

KOOL-AID: well done, dickhead

Welcome to the first post of Koolaid! I am excited to hear your views so please feel free to comment below.

Don’t miss out on any Koolaid posts: Head to the footer below to subscribe!

Well done, dickhead. Australian proverb. Was my dad’s favourite saying. Might still be. He used it mostly when driving. Like say, if someone cut him off in traffic, or didn’t use their indicator, he’d yell, ‘well done, dickhead,’ out the window. If he could. If they weren’t within range of his booming voice, he’d say it anyway. Because, you know, it had to be said.

Oh yes, it was completely a sarcastic jibe. Not one you’d ever want to be at the end of. Sometimes it was dad’s players at the receiving end of a “well done, dickhead.” Which was when they knew they were doing a shit job.

For the record — I never actually call my dad, Dad. To be honest I don’t refer to him at all. Is probably why am spitefully refusing to use a capital ‘d’. We’re not exactly on speaking terms. Yet mentioning his name might give the game away. See, I’m trying to be anonymous.

Have been through quite the ideal, really. Ten years of it. Am not exactly in the position to head off to therapy — while I no longer believe everything that has been indoctrinated in me, it’s still hard to take that step, you know?

From a young age I’ve always had writing. Was my go-to pastime when things got tough. It’s why I’m turning to it now — both a blessed relief and desperate need to purge.

Still in slight precarious position, mind, so won’t be revealing any names. Even my own.

Am a little embarrassed, really. Think everyone who has been sucked into a cult has that same feeling of humiliation. Which makes me a complete dickhead.

But then, I did get out. I didn’t drink the Kool-aid.

Well done, dickhead, well done.

Hello all and Happy New Year!

I am now, officially, a year older (but, apparently, not wiser).

For the last few months I have been writing a blog called Almost Drank the Koolaid, which I will now be featuring here on starting tomorrow.

But I have a bit of explaining to do.

So check out the video below, and if you’re not already subscribed to my blog, go and do it now (find the link in the footer) so you can be updated on every new Koolaid post.

I’m really excited about this venture and hope you can come on the ride with me!

From my family to yours, wishing you all a wonderful Christmas!

Stay tuned in the New Year for more exciting news!


I am very excited that 45 Notes on London will be available for download tomorrow. It’s still up for pre-order, so hit the link below to pre-order on Smashwords or search on your favourite e-reader. There’s already been loads of pre-orders and I couldn’t be more pleased!

For the last Harry-ism before the launch, Harry talks about those feckers who refuse to order entrees when out for dinner. Yes, you know who are…


We had the usual conversation of: are you thinking of having entree?

Are you?

Mmm, I guess.

All right, let’s do entrees.

What about dessert?

Do you want dessert?

Only if you want dessert. Don’t want you to be waiting around, watching me eat.

Okay, let’s have dessert.

Every time the question of ‘are you having entree?’ is brought up, is done so with bated breath. Because there are staunch mains-only people out there in the world. And they’re the people, when out in a group, who’ll give the evil eye to every single entree-ordering person. May even tell entree eaters to ‘hurry up’ or click fingers at waiting staff the second the last plate is finished. Staunch main-only eaters will devour meal in seconds — as hungry after waiting so long for his entree-eating friends to finish — and then complain that the restaurant didn’t serve ‘enough food’ and spends the rest of the night complaining about being hungry.

Cripes I hate mains-only eaters.


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Pre-order now


Thanks to Strange Codex for yet another brilliant London image. Click here to view his blog or check out his flickr here.

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