Sephiroth and Hello Kitty are snugglers

I had a humble Christmas. Two or three weeks pass like years in this flat. I am so not-happy that I didn’t have a fancy Christmas lunch. šŸ˜¦


This Christmas we learned “do not keep plants if you eat plants”

Tacky present for aerth twin because I felt you get jealouse and I not want to make you jealouse with things but you need a machine that makes tacky pretty things

The doggies and I made pretty word art, the doggies can call CERBERUS and ANUBIS

Self Sacrifice



When I applied for University, my photography was mostly candids of the beauty in minutiae I find in daily life. For example: a mug. I took photos of girls being boring and pretty. For example: a photo of a not nice girl in my clothes. That was a thing I would have happily done as a job, editorials of girls in nice clothes, being boring. Pornography was actually my dream job but I am still sad about how all of that went.

It is an illusory art, photography. That is a pretentious way of saying that you have the freedom to make not-so-magical things very beautiful and inviting when you photograph them.

I am an introvert. I have spent most of my life at home or inside. There are many people in 2020 that can probably relate to that, muslim women (being raped at three – gives you zero chance of being a muslim, although I could’ve been raised as one) spend most of their lives at home. Gamers would prefer to spend most of their lives at home. Everything, for me, is about my living space. Even when I “went out”, I spent the majority of my money on my living space.

When I applied for University to study film, for me that had been the point of it, I wanted to create an illusory reality at home so that I was always in a position to pick up a camera and take a photo that captured a mood I was grateful for. Sometimes a photograph of a fold of fabric is very boring and sometimes a photograph of a messy bed is very lonely but if you keep diaries as I always have, you give it context. If you think about it, this is the first century that we’ve been able to document our lives with both writing and photography. I think it has been a bigger concept to come to terms with psychologically than we could’ve imagined because people don’t necessarily see what you are showing them, but what they feel to see. Sometimes your story for a photograph is better and sometimes their story is much better and that subjectivity is so much fun. But often, its still a photo of a mug. (Trust me though: even that creates issues.)

The art of writing is the same and when you post something on the internet, how it is understood depends on the reader.

When I post something like “I am not happy” a kind, loving, sensitive person might feel concern but I prefer not to know people like that and a particular kind of friend might respond with “thats unusual” but an enemy might also reply with “thats unusual” and I think that when you look at a photograph I’ve taken, it’s still an interaction whether I know you or whether I don’t.

I’ll explain. I look very moody in these photographs but it’s just a look.

A mug of hot chocolate is very pretty to me, I liked to post pictures of pretty foods online and apparently in doing so I was pretending to be riche.

Which was strange; because people had been pretending that they couldn’t see my entire life through my eyes. And then what is stranger yet is that they really did think so, wealth is what you make of it. I actually really enjoy the mundane aspects of life. I haven’t gone out in six years and this is all that I have to show for it.


Choices of caption, pick a hat

CHEFS HAT // distilled bottled water, courtesy of my mother’s kindly generosity; you can only resent a woman that buys you hot chocolate and groceries so much, with an excess of powdered milk (I’ve never heard of THAT brand before), nestle milkshake powder that perhaps should also be dubious to me: but I am beyond any capacity to invest more care than it is worth towards something I enjoy so infrequently, expired coffee from the reduced aisle that I purchased atleast a year ago, cadbury’s hot chocolate and maple syrup

embellished, no: lavished with a fancy straw from the Ā£1 shoppe. But be not taken by my sardonic tone, this is sort of luxury to me because I’ve seen wealth and it bored me.

Riche me is details and details and details and details but you lay the foundations for the future in the immediate present, apparently, so here I am documenting a many hours old mug of hot chocolate residue. Ignore the anal plug I haven’t used that in about a month or two now and I haven’t cleaned it and – oh wait – no, I used that one in my vagina. The feathers are excess waiting to be disposed of but intended for stuffing a quilt.

SPIRITUAL HAT // When you have a very humble collection (but not so humble as to disregard that gratitude is called for when there are still people living in and out of cardboard boxes and that I am not amongst them) of possessions to boast, you become grateful for the particular details that make of something routine an event.

Forgive the Memoirs of a Geisha reference, it’s subtle but the neural pathways that I consider of the films that I obsessed over as a teenager affect me until now don’t escape my thoughts, this photograph represents some shallow aspect of a life I resent myself for almost-preferring the idea of and how I’d spend billions of pounds is what keeps my mind active. Don’t tell on me, that doesn’t sound especially spiritual (it isn’t), I’m a material girl, until I’m not: I worked on my personality and my taste long before I had money to spend on anything other than activities to entertain myself when I was in bed which is how I spent the earlier part of my life. I am still always in bed, but I know what films I like watching, I know what I like to do when there is nothing else and that is spiritual really, because some people cannot cope with solitude and I would be amongst them if I had not invested my earlier life in finding out what entertains me.

This stupid photograph represents a significant moment of tremendous beauty to me.
Oh and a painful period that I mostly survived unscathed. I am day two of an uncomfortable period.

ON SHOPPING // I would prefer not to own something that I did not love for it’s beauty, William Morris said not to own things that you did not believe to be both useful and beautiful and maybe it is my inner photographer or (I am reluctant to suggest) my inner film maker or maybe it is my inner tarot reader looking for narratives in my chaos, and my flat is chaotic. I don’t want to reflect upon anything that I don’t enjoy looking at because that is the extent of the pleasantries. Realistically that mug could be left on that surface for months before I pick it up and wash it, or more likely reuse it without washing it at all.

If you practice some patience though, by ignoring the convenience of that which is readily available in the shops, eventually you find, given time, items that merge with your personal landscape. And initially you wouldn’t believe it, but I do care for interiors and I do think that there is some subconscious activity that draws me towards collecting things that would not look out of place in a squat. But the squat of my dreams is very pretty.

I appreciate the colours that I surround myself with, my failing eyesight compares with some macro lens (if you struggle to see things at a distance without glasses on, you’ll understand what I mean, looking at details through a camera donning a macro lens is actually magical) and I insist that while you might not find happiness in physical, through communicative exchanges with other living beings, you might find happiness in owning stuff. I do. And perhaps sometime later if I ever make fake friends again, my stuff and my taste will set us apart and I won’t have some stupid boyfriend who confuses my inner being for my ‘friends’ inner beings. (When it comes to the physical body: some sharing is complimentary, some is occasionally necessary I guess, some sharing is an obvious insult that I would never consent to not even for a monetary bribe. I know you’d prefer in some cases to pick the path of least resistance but I promise you sometimes if you pick the struggle, you are a much stronger, much tougher person.)

FEMALE EXPERIENCE HAT // There’s this very particular warning drip that threatens your underwear moments before you start menstruating and it gives you time to run to the shoppe (I’m lazy, so I don’t, and if I’ve masturbated thinking about angels that month I think “nono I actually really want that miniature pink leopard, I could really look after that, and the angels insist its possible too) and yesterday, I filled up two hot water bottles, indelicately massaged vicks vaporub on my lower stomach (I have my own fishwifely remedy for short term period pain, it works for a second or two actually) and then dragged myself at some point to the kitchenette and made myself a hot chocolate.
I glared at the illustration of the angel Lucifer on my wall and thought “actually I wanted that and you said it wasn’t a period when I got that drip” and we decided together that we ought to communicate verbally in future and really he’s a very naughty angel trying to determine exactly how many people, how many generations of women are occupying my body and he’s very clever about it at my expense. I am upset that I am not having a miniature pink leopard to take selfies with and play dress up with and to civilise with walks to the beach and activities of that nature.

I was taught never to discuss my finances or lack therof with anyone. If I ever did discuss my finances, it was not me because I have none. I keep doing so because if I don’t, I worry for some future aspect self of mine that she will have to ruin good conversations with disclaimers that I wouldn’t want to offer but that i’d have to offer for my safety.

So: if you manage to make friends (and it wouldn’t be for long, if it didn’t ever work out for me) it is tacky to tell people that you are “poor”, whether you are or whether you are not.

It should be irrelevant if you are good company. It is good manners, I think, to be generous with company and to share what you have with guests.

I don’t personally care about how much money a person does or doesn’t have and I think discussing a person’s finances behind their back is heinous.

I became a person that discussed money later, when I became acquainted with women who worked in the online-adult-industry.
The pay wasn’t good enough and I chose to upload photographs to the internet for free, because atleast then, I could delete them later, if I wanted to. And I gathered very valuable contacts that way that most eighteen year olds could not have dreamed of boasting, but it was my secret, because I thought my affiliations with that industry were better kept a secret. I told my mother and some IRL friends, and that was it.

That was problematic because I still gained notoriety and anonymous observers, amongst those stalkers, and even if I had of been paid for the content that I uploaded: it would not have been enough to compensate me for the affect it had upon my life.

The woman I regarded as a friend knew that many people signed up to her site to read my private journal entries and I think thats on her conscience.

When it comes to “porn” or “art”, I do not look like my photos. At all.

I didn’t want to be a model, I wanted to be an actress. I don’t want that anymore. I then wanted to be a photographer. Then I wanted to direct porn where women orgasm/there are real emotional exchanges between the actors. I heard that Emily Blunt (a friend of my estranged sibling) used to fall in love with all of her co-stars and that she needed therapy for it and I found that very admirable because just imagine walking around falling in love with people that you are working with. It gives a lot of meaning to your work.
Actors are very very attractive people and I realised that I wasn’t attractive in the way my favourite actors are attractive and I gave that dream up entirely.

I wanted to photograph pornography, but in order to do that I needed a portfolio. People would not want me to photograph them for free (I was poorer at seventeen than I am now) unless they had seen my work. Your work develops as you photograph people. So I photographed myself, I’d have preferred to photograph other people but I was convenient. Which is why I photographed myself.

I am a reasonably good photographer, you can tell when I’ve taken a photograph, I can tell when you’ve looked at a photograph I’ve taken.
I leave it at that because I had to let that dream go, because a friend of mine (a blonde) wanted to be a photographer and in truth, she was very technically gifted, she is bright and has a good memory and it would be silly to compete with someone like that. I am not like that, I have a terrible memory and as a person raised by a psychotic dancer, I develop muscle memory very fast.

I can learn how to do things using muscle memory, that I could not learn by being taught verbally or visually. I forget all sorts of things if I don’t do them daily. Thats how my body works.

I learned how to play Abes Oddyssee because my brother took the memory card for the Playstation and I had to play over and over again. It just so happens that Abraham took my muscle memory of the game to mean that I was a robot. Nonono Abraham: I learned to play like that by playing again and again and again without a memory card with a saving point. It’s my favourite game. Final Fantasy is my second favourite. Harvest Moon is my third favourite. Pocahontas on sega mega drive is my fouth favourite. These are games that I love. Pokemon was also one of my favourites.

I learned how to do most of the things I vaguely know how to do because of those games. No one ever spoke to me.

I learned how to run from a very big guard dog from watching a game called Full Throttle where you throw a piece of meat to distract a dog while you run.

I cannot think to comprehend all of the disclaimers people need to read when they look at photographs of me

1. These are intended to be ‘honest’ photos of me, they are still technically VERY flattering photographs of me
2. I do not posture like this all the time
3. I am probably physically bigger than I look in these photographs
4. I haven’t showered in two years nearly
5. That is not dirt, it is fake tan but it might also be dirt because I am gross
6. Hot is solely a vibration as far as my physical body is concerned because most of the time in day to day life, I look damned awful terrible
7. I’m not being insincere, I’m being sincere

I have a vagina.
I have ovaries.
I menstruate.

Arab women/Latin women are very, very hairy.

I have actually trimmed my pubic hair or my pubic area would be a MESS.

I would not let a person put their face this close to my vagina on an attractive hair-free-reaking of-pretty-smells day, and I usually realise later there is a good reason for everything that I do and if I don’t do it you probably shouldn’t do it.

The bow illustration indicates body parts where I really, really grow body hair. Not peach-fuzz, but real hair.

There are probably more body parts where I grow body hair that are not indicated by the crude pink bow illustrations, but I grow body hair in those places. I do not want to compete with anyone over who is hairier. Men/boys I have been attracted to have actually picked women over me specifically because I have this much body hair and I do not blame them, I agree, it is gross. You did the right thing.

Waxing is very expensive, painful business for me but shaving is more work. I admire women who shave. If you shave I can picture all of your little hairs going down the drain where our fecal matter/urine goes to be recycled for washing my dishes in. Not that I wash my dishes, I don’t. I should, but I don’t.

My shower is only hot for afew minutes sparingly, and if I offend a blonde in my thoughts my hot tap actually doesn’t work.

I love white people.

They gave me a man called ‘Ahmed Bashir’ with a fantastic life story to be my landlord and that is very special to me because I had an ex called Ahmed and because I watched a film called ‘Waltzing with Bashir’ and they (the white people) must’ve thought that Ahmed and Bashir were very common Indian names. I think he’s Indian. Punjabi. I can make those jokes because for the first few years of my life, my mother was a Sri-Lankan woman called Mala, a maid that lived with my family in our home in the desert in Dubai.

I don’t like bathing. Full stop. Taz no like water. It is an episode of a cartoon about a Tazmanian Devil, called ‘Taz’. My nickname became ‘Kaz’ because I hated showering since I was little.
I liked swimming, in swimming pools. And keep it a secret but I was so lazy that I liked to drink the pool water rather than get fresh bottled water. I would pee in the pool water and I’d still drink it.
Actually I’ll explain: when you go swimming it is initially very, very cold and then your body changes temperature to adjust to the water and if you jump out for a bottle of water and jump back in, the process repeats itself and you have to warm up again.

I do wash my genitals and asshole, I try to do it atleast once a day when I urinate in my kitchen sink and if I don’t do it when I defecate once/twice a month it’s because I feel like fainting.

On occasion I wash my feet, face and arm pits.

If I smell: it is either because I:

A.) Might be wearing fake tan, fake tan has a smell. I know that the product can time travel because sometimes I smell it two hours before I decide to wear it. Or someone else (naming no names) is putting fake tan because I am putting fake tan on, and they are using my eyes because they don’t want people to know that they are actually pale.
Either way: it is possible that either my tan is time travelling or I can smell someone else’s fake tan.

have not dried my groin area properly after washing myself
– or it is either of period blood (I like the smell of period blood but I know thats a grown up chat for another time), sometimes I smell of beo and when I do, I realise it is because someone has been put into my body that I am allergic to and thats my body’s way of expelling their essence. This leaving your body/exchanging bodies with people is risky/tricky business because you might be allergic to some people. Some people might eat things that you are allergic to. Some physical bodies do not take well to certain inner beings and it affects you internally and you can’t do anything about it. There’s someoen jumping around bodies that has a serious eating disorder and osteoporosis, and you can give other people osteoporosis even if their body is stronger than yours.

If I use the toilet to defecate, if I do not use dry shampoo and spray and scrub myself with a pomice stone and handsoap or body wash, I might smell of feces.
I once saw a girl from Saint James in a Hindu temple put incense smoke on her hair and I try to do that with my incense.
I saw a blonde woman use a match to get rid of the smell of fecal matter once, I try to do that too.

I have posted before: feces shouldn’t actually smell, if it smells, it has negative energy in it. Flatulence is rape, it is your body’s way of telling you that you are being observed, it is a trigger to the fight or flight response.

That’s a chat for another time, accept it in advance.
Vegetables might be crueller eating than meat is, if you have dark hair, accept it in advance. That’s a chat for another time, accept it in advance.

I had a tree in my bedroom called Angel and she almost died. I asked God to heal her and help her grow and she really grew days after the fact.

She used her branches and leaves to choreograph dances for me. She competed with the angel Lucifer (and I took it in jest and found it sweet, but you don’t really know what the spirit contained within a body looks like and it affects the Universe when you let something win, I think Lucifer did let her win because he found it sweet but there are other beings in the Spirit World that might not have let her win and at some point in your many lives you have to learn not to be motivated by unsportsmanly competition.)

For example, you do not compete as a millionaire with a person who is very very poor. It isn’t sportsmanly, there’s no honour in that. It is something that comes back to bite you in some bodily place or inner place that you don’t want to be bitten in or on.

When you compete with someone “greater” than you are, you are saying “I do not need you, I can do this alone”.

Angel the Wisteria died sometime later. That said, Goku from Dragon Ball Z said “can I have her please?” and I was happy for him to take her to 2D cartoon adventures. So perhaps she left of her own accord. Perhaps she was very happy to have that fight with Lucifer and one Universe day in many years she’ll come back for a rematch.

These are areas that I grow visible dark hair. I have to constantly tweeze the hair from my face from these areas. Most dark haired women do it. It’s not my ‘hormones’ although it might be in part, it’s actually my genetics.

I struggle to believe that it is my hormones, personally, because I get pregnant if I think it’s pretty but lets pretend it could be because I might’ve had a penis, some body transfers ago, when I was born. My spiritual teacher Lisa would say it is because I am not human but it’s irrelevant to me.

This is a very flattering photo of me actually. This is my leg hair. It is thinner than it has been in the past because I’ve been trying to only wax. I didn’t wax for a couple of months. I am so lucky that I am not sleeping next to a boyfriend because he would cheat on me every time he saw my legs.

If I were my real skin colour (I am whiter than most British girls are, but I am Arabic and Latin, so I should have a suntan) this would look very, very bad and I would look much fatter.

I am trying not to look fat here. I do not lie down like this. I don’t look like this in bed. I look like a sad-beached-whale when I recline comfortably. If I look good in bed it probably isn’t me in my body.

These are spots. I know that they not an imbalance in me, which can be the explanation: but they are there because people keep putting people with acne (that they refuse to visit doctors to treat medically,) into my body. Don’t do that. It is an exchange. If you put me in the body of a person that is allergic to me, or my cheap ink tattoos, or my cheap jewellery, it might actually affect them physically.
If I am carrying a two week shit it might cause them physical pain, they might acquire my appetite and overeat and end up having to take a very big shit which might be very frightening and might also be painful.
Do not create physical dependencies on me, I am an introvert which means I give energy. Some extroverts might become very active when you pit them against me, and then when I pick another extrovert (I am attracted to ‘big personalities’) who makes better use of the energy that I transfer, that person might not be able to do 1% of the stuff they could do when I was thinking about them.

I’d prefer you wouldn’t put friends that sold me in my body, I’d prefer you wouldn’t put white, acne infested people into my body because you don’t know how to have a conversation. I like plenty of white people, or I would if my being friendly with them didn’t upset people that were convinced that they would get on with the people that I get on with. You probably wouldn’t like the kind of people that I like, if you are blonde it is difficult to realise that because people HAVE to be nice to you to not get defend-the-blonde-brigaded, which might be worse than pedobrigading.

I had acne when I was a teenager. I had terrible acne on my upper back and breasts, serious acne, not afew uncomfortable spots like the ones you can see on my bottom, it was so bad it looked like chicken pox and I couldn’t pop them to get rid of them, they were very attached to me emotionally. It was bad.

Like any normal person I went to a doctor. The doctor, Dr Liam Chapman, prescribed me zinc tablets and a zineryt roll on of liquid zinc. I also used St Ives Peach Scrub. You have to take the tablets continuously for six weeks, regularly. You have to have hot baths I think, to open your pores. Sudocreme also works, a ‘nurse’ recommended that to my sibling. It is a nappy rash cream, it works for me when I get huge hormonal blister spots.




When I had what appeared to be an addiction, it was no such thing – it was the conscious repression of a nervous breakdown that I needed to have for many years – I would have serious rage episodes when I had no weed. A psychic on Oranum called ‘HealerMassada’ said “listen to Louise Hays and practice affirmations”, it changed my life. I could sleep without weed. My then-boyfriend had erectile dysfunction and his penis actually ‘grew’ one night, and that is what guys really care about ultimately, I imagine. When there is nothing else.

Louise Hays affirmations helped me heal from insecurity, I could tidy my room because I heard her say “hang a picture or something attractive” and “it’ll eventually be tidy”. I could get myself out of bed, I could go to work, I could cope with nasty people at work, I started hoping after life experiences again. I started choosing to forgive. I heard her suggest “Abraham Hicks” and my first response was “no, I don’t want to be taught by a man”. I became very, very pretty and my body was very useable. I came to term with serious injuries.

Louise Hays says “we chose our parents”, I have to force myself to think about what I might have wanted to learn from my mother.

I learned how to argue. I prefer not to. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. When I win arguments, I look like the ‘bad guy’. I do not get involved if I shouldn’t get involved. Sometimes I know better. Not always, but we’ll see.

My ‘birth mother’ was a ballerina. I hated ballet but if you can cope with studying ballet, gymnastics, acrobatics and really any martial art is easy. If you study ‘Aramaic’, ‘ancient Greek’, ‘Latin’ or ‘Sanskrit’; any language thereafter comes very easily. They’re the originals and the languages after that are their children. If you study ballet you learn how to posture, you learn how to carry your body. It takes a lot of energy to move around properly and I do not do it at home but I try to do it in public. I’d prefer to sit like ‘L from Deathnote’ than how a dancer would/should be expected to sit. It is bad form and it is lazy. Sitting properly is tiring.

I’ve never studied Greek but I learned that there are many forms of love, there’s the love you feel towards a Brother. The love you feel towards a “Father”. The love you feel towards a friend. The love you feel towards a lamp. (Do not steal my stolen jokes)

I’ll explain the origins of that joke. I once walked into my sister’s bedroom and noticed she had some really nice things. My mum told me she spent the money she was gifted on buying herself things, and that she transferred the love she felt for people to objects.
That became “I love lamp” in Anchorman. The chat with my mother came first.

That became me imagining a chat with a guy I liked, in a bedroom in Denmark. Almost nothing in that room was actually mine. I was depressed because I had no nice things and I said, in my head, “I have a very big lamp”. I was pretending to be speaking to him, there was no one in that building.

He was not in the room with me but he repeated that to me.
I got PTSD. I considered all of the things he had seen me do. Oh the things. I coped with the PTSD though, because I have never ever not had PTSD. Don’t ever wish you were me, you could not cope with being me.

But I go mute when I have PTSD.
PTSD is a sign of weakness. I have to work on that.
I’m joking. If you were into ‘BDSM’ it would be a guilt trip and I don’t like that. I prefer to laugh. I like you to laugh with me. I’m too lazy for ballet and I hate sports. The only reason I’d ever want to study ballet or gymnastics would be for the movies. I wanted to be in girly action movies and game to film crossovers since I was seven years old.

Here’s what I learned from studying ballet though.

1. Do not compete with superior dancers. If you are given an opportunity, suggest a superior dancer before accepting. ESPECIALLY if she is blonde.

If you have feet like mine, make sure to find a dance teacher with feet like mine.


2. Don’t copy. Your teachers know when you’re copying. The people you are copying know when you’re copying. If you are copying, tell everyone that you admire the person that you are copying. You’ll insult your teacher but she’ll already have seen you looking at the person you’re copying, she might not say anything but she’ll know. Everyone will know.

3. If you are held back by feelings of embarrassment you won’t go that far. If you want to be a dancer or an actor you need a personal glossary of emotions.

My mother didn’t actually teach me any of the above.
But she forced me to do ballet when I was little. Then I had ‘friends’ living locally and I wanted to go to dance classes so that I could be with them. We were not put in the same dance classes.

If you practice lessons 1-3 in your daily life, your entire life will change.

Stay away from people I find attractive in any way whatsoever

I’m trying to piece together a story using scientific evidence

This is a play called the Crucible. It is about the Salem Witch trials. It is by Arthur Miller.

First of all: stay away from people I find attractive.
Don’t think about them.
Don’t talk to them.
Don’t sleep with them.
Don’t stalk them.
I’m doing you a favour by saying so.

I can make you believe that you are attracted to a cartoon character that lives alone/that would sexualise a person in a straight jacket. If you have ever been threatened with having your autonomy taken from you, you’d realise that is the very least sexy experience you can have in life. I have had almost all of the experiences. You don’t want that one. I don’t want that one. No one wants that one.

Here is a time traveller defending you for the above paragraph.


First of all. You might be very sensitive to my strong emotions.
You are not compatible with the people I find attractive.

I can make you want after ANYTHING that I really want.

If you pretend to be me (I don’t know why the fuck anyone would want to do that because I am very difficult to cope with) to people I find attractive you will trigger their trust issues and they will want to kill you eventually. It is likely that the people I am compatible with really need to feel guilt all the time, to function normally.

They won’t kill you because they know they are being watched, they convince themselves that they are not being watched. They are being watched. If they have stalked me for a long time, they accept it’s their karma.

I am not compatible with people I find attractive.

You do not want to hang out with the ‘real me’. You want to hang out with me on drugs, for ten minutes, at ‘parties’ for ten minutes, and for hourly intervals in your/my bedroom with cartoons. Sleep overs with me when I have money, are a lot of fun. I spend monies on you and make you feel very special.
My stalkers know that.

But you do not want to ‘be with’ me either. I am a very damaged person. When I am happy it is very easy for me to hide that I am a very damaged person. I am attracted to damaged people. If I am attracted to someone they are also very damaged or they are in trouble with the police or have otherwise recently had an altercation with the police who like to arrange for ‘good looking’ people to commit petty crimes so that they can go to University/have sex with me ‘consensually’. Whatever. Eventually you’ll realise that many of the people that claimed to be listening to rap weren’t actually listening to the lyrics that say things like ‘fuck the police’. People do not say things like ‘fuck the police’ without risking their lives. It is not a pop-reference.

Some people fancy ‘L from Deathnote’ because I fancy ‘L from Deathnote’. ‘L from Deathnote’ is not actually affiliated with the police. He works with the police, on one occasion, when criminals on deathrow are murdered in their cells with blackvoodoo shinigami magic. He dies.

‘L from Deathnote’ already knows who the bad-guy is, he ‘wants a friend’, if you asked a person that had been targeted by the police from infancy and whose life had been ruined by the police

The police are not-good. People question me on this, and again: I encourage you to think that you know better.

You make their lives much easier when you are cooperative and when you are wellbehaved. You are a well behaved easily mind controlled person. You are performing good behaviour for your viewers. You might be putting many people’s lives at risk by hanging out with the police. The police are not good.

Earlier this year I sat in a room with two ‘private investigators’ who interrupted me while I was explaining all of the reasons for which I was certain that I had been a victim of pedophiles, which involved an incident in a police block. But you know better.

Anyway, ‘L from Deathnote’ is not a policeman. A guy called ‘Liam’ wot was a fireman that became a policeman, that has a !!!CRB check!!! is not necessarily not-a-pedo, not necessarily the person you want your green-eyed-Lillith child lap-straddling and knee-touching with, within two years of you meeting him (you sex addict you). But you know better. I am angry with you, I am offended, I do want money, I don’t want to babysit your sex addict infants and I do want him to be put in a real life prison with prisoners that do know better and who would kill him for being a pedophile because if they don’t, they put lives at risk.

If I like a female person, there is either something up (she is a legitimate psychotic stalker/she is a pedophile/she is an anorexic that NEEDS me to use the toilet etc – or otherwise both and/or all of the above -) or she is me living another set of life-choices.

Be especially careful with my ‘mother’ and my ‘sister’ but be ESPECIALLY careful with the dwarves.

My female stalkers are very ‘clever’ and it is very difficult to know whether a female person that I do not auto-despise is me or a stalker.
If she ‘reminds’ me of a ‘friend’ I had as a ‘child’, stay the hell away from them. I should. But I didn’t on this occasion because it was about my alien friend hH, I was trying to make hH jealouse.
It was disasterous but also very funny. I have PTSD.

I have joked about stalking people, but I never do: because I am really lazy and broke. There are people who don’t know when I’m joking and they do the thing I joke about doing but more often than not would never do. I actually wouldn’t stalk a person. On one occasion I went to a photoshoot because I fancied someone. That went well for everyone involved. (When you no me, you get one of my stalkers. They have been waiting for you for years. You do not conceive a me by saying no to me but you might get one of my pedo-stalkers. You might not have known before but you do now: women are also pedophiles. Be careful with humanoid-dwarves.)

It is a struggle for me to do anything if I am not being paid to do it. Imagined relationships are the new struggle for me. If I find out that you are being paid to ‘imagine date’ me, (there are a lot of mes, they are nosey, if they don’t like you, good luck with the dwarves/stalkers/pedos.) or that you are ‘defending’ a blonde that I “fancied” when I was running for my life from rapists/stalkers/torture etc, good luck.

Eventually I’ll learn that if I like someone I sort of have to say no now, so that they appreciate me. I am very damaged and I am very late for appointments and my room is VERY messy, and I smoke a lot but I’m not a pedophile and I don’t care about your money. Actually I am very suspicious about your money.

There are some consistencies: they LOVE mum stuff. They tell people how much they want children. They are not repulsed by the idea of having children. They use words like ‘babies’. If they have children they dress them in very particular garments. They defend Peaches Geldof, my ‘mum’ told me that Peaches was ‘working to uncover pedophile rings’. That is a thing that pedophiles say.

This is me doing mum stuff for a chihuahua friend. I went to one particular stalker who owned a shop. I got him a very masculine grey tshirt. She referenced the bad-acid-trip-moomin-orgasm and said “there you go”.


I will explain the cursive look. It is, to me, an innocence lost look. Like, girl in fucked up boots donning a pristine floral dress with smudged lipstick. It is a reference to the American ‘riot girl’ movement. It is a feminist movement. It was a response, supposedly, to women who would have sexual intercourse with men in bands rather than aspiring to be in bands themselves.

The youtuber look with ornate wallpaper and mock-victorian motifs is a reference to that moment in time. I am not defending blondes for popularity. I enjoy stories and personalities and atleast three Nirvana songs and Hole songs. Frances Bean and I would despise of one another and I would probably ask Courtney to throw something at her because my ex cheated on me with her in imagination land. Feel free.

It is a look that has been bastardised by my stalkers who did not get what I was trying to do and the maths work associated with the development of that look.
You need to actually have PTSD and fucked up life experiences to do that look.

I sexualise lactating women. I would get pregnant with an animal so that I could take selfies with breast milk. I am repulsed by children. I enjoy the company of intelligent children but really I like upsetting “good mothers” by saying things like “your child has manic depression because she is sensitive to colours and she doesn’t like the colours in her paint palette” to guilt trip people that thought they’d be better parents than me. I do not want children but when you can’t look after them anymore I will pass them on to someone that you think is wiser than me. I am vindictive and not nice and my shadow self likes it when you think you know better than me, as if I am not a child-self in forever-PTSD when I am happy, constantly avoiding reliving her childhood memories. You know better.

ANYWAY.

No, wait, there are reasons for me liking women:

1. I am trying to make someone jealouse

(I have discovered that it is alot of fun to play the jealousey game with women against hH the alien, because he ruins their lives to prove he a.) exists and b.) loves me, which is the point of the game. It isn’t a game that healthy people play I’d imagine, but if you want to find out if someone ‘loves’ you, play the jelly game.)

I was very dedicated to the jealousey game on this occasion. It isn’t a good idea to play with beings that have siblings but we’ll get to that another time. I wanted nice clothes for Space.

This is one of the things I had embroidered into a playsuit I found on Amazon, ripped off of a design that I illustrated and that doesn’t fit me properly. She embroidered a lollipop onto it. The woman that I would have befriended and taken to Space as a bestfriend and jellymaker. I think she is an actual scat fetishist.



So hH invited me to Space. Which makes sense because I’m not Earth compatible. I’m here for the animals and the shops, the coffee table books, Final Fantasy and cheap fabrics in colours I’ve waited all of my life to see the shoppes stock. You think it’s routine to find a baby pink nylon-organza in your local ‘Fabricland’ but it took years of really wanting it and defending blondes.

By the way, chances are you do not like the colour pink if you are blonde, and that you don’t like the idea of ‘unconditional love”. I do like the colour pink, because of Aerith, ballet shoes and Hello Kitty. You do not want me to love you fullstop, but I unconditionally love lamp. Which is funny now that I have a doll that does creepy things to indicate that she is sentient. For example, just afew days ago I almost lost my balance and kicked over a very expensive (for me) pot of glue and it moved to the otherside of the room. I didn’t see it move but it did move and she (Jenova the Blythe doll) was competing with Miss Kittie and the Black Butler, from the anime Black Butler. Magical things really dis/like the jelly game. The jelly game makes people go insane actually.

Anyway. So lets discuss the last woman I attempted to befriend, to make hH the alien jealouse.

She indicated that she was having a thing with a blonde guy I liked for ten years after seeing a photo of him once. I didn’t care.

Incase you don’t know: I got not-violently but awkwardly raped several times (by his bestfriend, possible sibling) in order to meet him. I didn’t mention it to the blonde because I didn’t want to be a debbie-downer.

Needless to say, it didn’t work out. We met twice. He was okay. If I did not have PTSD from being raped in a psychiatric ward a year or so before our meeting I might have been more fun/hotter/told him that only one or two of his friends were attractive enough to hang out with him. I almost had sex with him once and I had fake blood on my nose and said no to the sex because I wanted to marry him. Which is very normal behaviour on my part. Saying no to sex doesn’t actually work with men you want to date but it is good for being friends if they don’t rape you in your sleep/leave their body to watch you shave your asshole with ALL of their friends in the bath etc. (People that do things like that to me pretend that their lives are great but if I hate you, your life is ruined because I control how people feel about you. The ‘defending the blonde’ thing is annoying but eventually I’ll find a superior blonde for them to defend.)

If he was not blonde I could watch him die and feel nothing, but he is blonde. I said/did nothing about her hinting that she was hanging out with him because I was trying to make hH the alien jealouse.

She indicated that she was having a thing with a guy that had the same name as a pedophile headmaster, the dad-of-one-of-my-worser-stupider-rapists, a wellspoken drug dealer that got compensated financially by the University that he stalked me to attend. It would be convenient for everyone to lynch mob his dad, who would leave his body and occupy him. He married a short woman with very large breasts. She uses words like “nesting”. She has “au pair” experience. She dated a guy called Jack. I promise you: all Jacks are gay. If they are ‘not gay’ they haven’t realised that they are gay yet.

I learned that pedophiles are very aware of the illusions society uses to profile pedophiles. If he is a wellspoken whiteman, he’s not a pedophile. If she is a blonde or a trustworthy brunette who arrives on time to her appointments, she’s not a pedophile.

Incase you have forgotten: there are reasons for me liking women:

2. I am physically but not necessarily sexually attracted to women
This confuses butch lesbians. I am not interested in butch lesbians. I am very angry with the police because they introduced me to two butch lesbian dwarves that stared at a photograph of my older brother, who was also a victim of pedophiles. It must be very weird for society to realise that they were contributing abuse to the victims of pedophiles. I am very glad I have rejected society.

So to be clear: I can look at a woman and like her long hair and breasts and long nails. You’ll fancy her if I do. You’ll cheat on me with her but you actually shouldn’t, because if you don’t cheat on me with her, we might actually both fancy you at the same time. If you are into me taht is a good thing, if you are using me to find women you should say so very honestly because I can find you all of the women and help you keep them on a fuckgirl roster.
You’ll regret it if you fuck me over for sex-all-day because I actually don’t mind that if we are just-friends. If I really love you I’ll let you mind control me to not want you to want to kill yourself. That works until it doesn’t.

I can also make men attractive to everyone in the Universe, but when I stop fancying you, you won’t be that popular with women. Every guy I have ever fancied has been the hottest guy in town for atleast afew hours of his life. Who remembers Luke? Good because I don’t remember him all that well. We dated for four years. But based on that experience: I can promise you with certainty that you do not want to be in a co-habiting relationship with one other person.

3. I have mummy issues. I am subconsciously looking for my mother. I have to find my mother sexually attractive because when we make eye contact she is my most recent sex partner and my other sexual partners can’t compete with her. I cannot live with my mother because eventually my sexual partners will prefer her to me. I would prefer to live with my mother but I would need my own wing with an internal farm area, like the one the Goth family have in the Sims. Not my “birth mother”. My hair literally falls out when I think of my mother.

4. We have stuff in common. Sometimes they remind me of me. I like it when women remind me of me.

5. Sometimes they remind me of me because they have been thinking about me non-stop for atleast the last ten years.
6. Sometimes they make me laugh, which is really good for people who have PTSD and have been raised thinking that their mother was going to be raptured to the Heavens and that they weren’t.
6.



To prove she is me it is likely she’ll have to go through torture.


Tetuba the Hen and Haulix? The Hen

I can joke about calling a hen ‘Tetuba’.



Why.

Because first of all: I relate to Tetuba. I would sell my soul to Lucifer for pretty dresses and plane tickets. I really would. I did actually sell my soul to Lucifer, for ‘revenge’. My mother sacrificed my body to God when I was an infant so I imagine that’ll be a story for their grandchildren someday.

Anyway, Tetuba (the character, not the hen) is embroiled in a court case about black magic with lots of women.

Second of all: I flirted with thoughts about killing my mother as a child but I knew never to do it because I knew I’d get caught.

She is a woman of colour embroiled in stuff she knew never to do because she is a black woman and she would get caught

I am going to be nice: looking at a naked child/wiping them and experiencing ‘sexual energy’ or arousal doesn’t automatically make you a pedophile. It is common and babies stolen from me are very gifted at transferring energy. They can’t use all of their energy lying there all slobby-and-baby-homer-simpsony, and it can be very uncomfortable for a child to have any sort of energy build up. Actually too-much energy of any kind is a form of torture. I don’t know what’ll teach humans to stop stealing other than to be forced to live with their mistakes and to tell people their mistakes. I don’t want to adopt your shitty-ugly kinds with shitty-ugly names and shitty-ugly wardrobes.

If you are pedo-brigaded and you remove yourself from the grid so that you can live your boat life dream/or you run to a country like ‘Turkey’ and you find the ‘house of your dreams’ that is a huge no-no, because you might be sold into sexual slavery.

It is possible to enter a persons home in the UK and forcibly give them an abortion, or gas them in their home and rape them and their children (the ginger prick does it all the time), or replace their body with an identical one and it is much easier to do it in those countries.

If you are a pedo, seek psychiatric help, stay away from children, ask to have surgery that blinds you, whatever.

M A K I N G A T R E E

I am time-travel preparing to celebrate christmas alone next year.

I am not sad. I look sad. In the photograph I posted of myself, I look sad. I’m not sad. Men only like me when I look miserable. It’s a look. I have no reason to be sad. I am happy. I have every reason in the Universe to be happy. I look topless. Sometimes I post topless photos on the internet but I am not topless. I have a line on my chin that appears when I defend a very particular blonde.

This accidental cardboard rocket: in my head it shall become a christmas tree.


and this inexpensive fruit and fibre cereal (I particularly enjoyed the dry banana, I recommend it for the dry banana)

Became this strange sculpture of a sea creature

And I assure myself that it’ll become a dining table centerpiece in a year’s time from now because I can’t afford Christmas and what on Earth are you doing celebrating Christmas without dining table centerpieces?!

S U F F E R I N G

In physical, we grow by suffering.

To a dandy gentleman, suffering might be a poorly prepared hot drink. A mouldy cheese not aged but gone off. An imagined painting that looked different to how he might have imagined it should look. A hair out of place, which ruined a gesture in the theatre of his daily life.
But that suffering becomes comedy. But it is suffering.

To a dog, suffering might be not being cuddled for five minutes. It’s how we react to suffering that shapes our character. Some people manipulate others to fight their lost battles for them, grab a friend to take a bullet for them and to shield them from a fate they don’t think to imagine that they deserve.

And because some of us repeat ourselves, our personal suffering is the same until we learn how to navigate our stories so that we do not repeat the suffering that we endure.

When Tintin wants a cuddle, when I am busy, he won’t stop pestering me (I call it that but it is the most incredible compliment you can imagine because he is so independent) until he is granted affection and with the drama inbetween it is so rewarding for him and for me, no person could ever make me feel so special. No human ever has, no human ever could. Always pick animals. I’m not too fat or hairy for animals, but I’m lucky I don’t have a horse because I am too fat to jump off a horse right now.

You cannot run from your story it remains the same. Enlightenment is a brief moment – in time – in which we learn exactly what we need to know at that time. You cannot remain enlightened because everything evolves constantly and there is always more to learn. We cannot cope with knowing everything that there is to know, and if we could know everything we could not remember it, but enlightenment is knowing that which we came to learn for our soul’s growth.

I could not make sense of what I have learned without Buddhism, but I couldn’t be a buddhist.

My ego kept me alive, I’m not letting that go for a man or for a guide or for a job, but self honesty is good. The happiness I feel when I eat something I like eating doesn’t compare with decorating a wardrobe with ugly clothes that my childself winces to know she inspired and that were bastardised to appease people I don’t like, who convince themselves my dreams are theirs. Which now I encourage. Dreams are funny because you die a thousand times just to have them. I don’t know about what it takes to live them because I’ve lived one dream: and that was having “friends” and I comfort myself because I know now there’s no such thing as a “friend” if your friend is not me.

When I lose interest, so do they. I put them above me like a little hat and I regret it because it affects everyone.

For this to really be mine, I have to weave the fabric, I have to make the bleach, I have to dye the fabric, I have to make the beads, I have to make the thread, I have to kill the animal I fed to my maggots so that I could use the toilet. But it is a lesson, I can turn you into something much greater than you are. I can raise your value: that fabric was cheap. That bleach was cheap. That thread was cheap. Not for me, but for anyone with money. Those beads were very cheap. The black satin on the back of the “meat” was cheap. I had to listen to SethSpeaks for the idea and for the timing to be perfect enough that I could liken the bleached fabric to meat. Someone could copy me but they didn’t pay for the idea. They do pay inevitably but it’s a fact, it was mine. No one was doing that at the same time as me throughout the Universe. My ego is the significance I find in that when it is not my appearance. Looks go unless you invest all of your energies into your looks. And if you need someone else to tell you that you are beautiful you place all of your value in their opinion and they could discard of you or seek the company of someone whose appearance is an insult to yours and whose innerbeing is an insult to you (that is the worst, when their personality is offensive.)

Do not copy me, hold onto who you are inside, because that is all you really have.

Don’t relive my stories, you’ll end up where I am and you don’t deserve that. Especially if you have golden hair.

When you die you’ll face a dog that weighs your heart. Hope you are that dogs friend. Dogs are mine. Have whatever you want but dogs are mine. Cats are mine. You can pretend that dogs are pets or yours or dependents that need you, but inside they are all-mine. And we don’t need anyone.

I need money. I need to buy things. I need comfort. I need to eat. I need to drink. But I do not need you, and at one point that was very comforting to you because when I thought about you all the time and really lived for you, you did not like that. It’ll never happen again and it repulses me that I put you through that.

I hope you never learn what I had to, to become this way. I worry that this is too much for you to attempt to force yourself read, or that I am boring you.

Keep humans if that consoles you but dogs and cats are not yours.

Do not mind control animals because they’ll find out and they’ll leave. I promise you that they have better places to be. And in your life, what replaces them?

The only control you have over suffering is how you react to it. Hope that your mind and body are yours. Hope that at the worst of times, your body knows better than how-your-mind or your ‘heart’ (if you have one) might be inclined to respond and stay very calm through your karma but not if you are an artist. If you are an artist you should attempt to sublimate with what you have around you. If you are me, never call yourself an artist because someone around you doesn’t like that.

Stay away from immortal things, run from immortal things, say no to immortal things.


I have always said I have had everything and I have had nothing, but you don’t read what I write so that is why I’ll write as little as I can henceforth.

Watch out for my enemies because it takes a lot for me not to like someone, especially if I have loved them. And I am not wrong.

Queen Bathsheba, Lady Nelson, Queen Golda, Queen Laura, Diana, Karina

Destino


SINTERIORS MAGAZINE | > blurb <

This is a 200+ page magazine (unfinished) of interior design colour palettes I had intended for girls who are not home-makers. It was tremendously disappointing to receive and I’ve let go of the idea. I’ve had to let go of and really I’ve learned to accept that people don’t realise that if it happens to me, it is going to happen to you. It might take twenty years, you might learn a lot about coping, from me, but it is going to happen to you.

If you are lucky enough to know what your dreams are, good, hold onto that. But you won’t live your dreams, until I live mine. I won’t live my dreams until the women who’ve been around for longer than I have, live theirs. Wave goodbye to your dreams is how I would advise you to cope with what you’ve done to me.

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BRIGHTON SKETCHBOOK| This book is a years worth of what I’ve been upto. It is incomplete.

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The image above is a lot of fun. Heath Ledger told me to ‘pick Jenova‘ – I wanted to be Aerith ever since I saw her in FFVII.

These shapes formed in these objects without any influence from me. Can you see the eye and teeth in the salt jar? I have big versions. Can you see a purple figure in a top I was tie-dying, grinning?

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Here is a picture I drew in my sketchbook, shortly before I befriended a dancing-bird I found on the street. I called her Killi. She is very naughty.

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I do believe animals can be mind controlled if their person is stalked.

My animas are how I replace family. When I grew up, I didn’t run away from home, because I had dogs who loved me and whom I loved in return. They are/were never just ‘dogs’, but family. If I did not have my dogs, I would be nothing and dead. People cannot exist without being loved by something.

The sad thing about being #1 in the Illuminati is that if it happens to me, be certain that it shall happen to you.

Do not compete for that position. Don’t debate it either, it’s hell.
If someone asks for it, I say “okay” and they come back soon enough on the brink of insanity, with terrible depression and you’ll feel to vomit too and that is what you pay for defending heroin addicts that fed their children heroin-breastmilk and ran off with a copy of my body because they learned through time travel that I had not consented to that they were going to die.

I’ve been making a toy for almost a year. You don’t really know, reader, unless you do, how much work it takes to create something. It takes a lifetime of seeing things – watching films, visiting people’s homes, dreaming and imagining: to realise and determine what it is that you like, as a person.

To create this particular toy: I dressed up to visit a local shop I love very much, I had to wait for months, for my unemployment benefits. I selected threads and needles and pins especially for the work I had in mind. I selected filler.

Of my old “friends”: they are unchanging people I find unforgivable

a psychiatrist my mother and father paid for: told my mother, once, that one’s problems follow them.

He said “geography isn’t the issue”, indicating that you have to resolve your personal problems because they will recur. There was this song, I liked, that a one night stand sent me by a band called mewithoutyou, and the lead singer said something like “you think I don’t mean what I say? Well I mean every word that I say”

and if you do not think that is justified, that is well within your right to be wrong.

I assure you it is justified

Above is a video uploaded by @QuentinTarantinoFanClub uploaded on November the seventeenth, 2017. Tintin is an amalgamation of Anubis, Quentin Tarantino, Robert DeNiro and probably many other iconic personalities that I adore for one reason or another. When it comes to ‘icons’ of celebrity, people have a tendency to idealise their cultivated personas as being a reflection of their true nature. Celebrities are backed-financially by people who need their ‘work’ to sell.

I like many celebrities, for a multitude of reasons. I like Mafia boss personalities – in film, I don’t personally know any – because I like the idea of ‘organised’ crime. I’ll explain: there are many kinds of criminal, and it is the victims of the crimes that ought to nurture how you ought to regard them. Italians are notably associated with a culture of ‘family’ and bonding over food. And Opera. My family sucks, we ate dinner by ourselves (I was raised by a ballerina who definitely didn’t like being observed when she ate) and you wouldn’t know it but I can sing opera. Opera-opera. The really, really difficult kind it takes people years to learn. I don’t like to, it’s not my thing. But I can. My Grandfather sang opera. (I’ve no idea if he still does.)

But I’m sure you have this in common with me: when you ‘like’ a celebrity, you do not needĀ  the celebrity to ‘like’ you back. They don’t know who you are. (At least I hope not, because how fucking creepy would that be?) (I got stalked, to University, by people who pretended not to read my blogs. People I watched in films stalked girls I went to University with. Stop defending my stalkers/abusers. Especially if you think thats what makes you popular – if I like you, and you defend a blonde, accept you’re ‘popular’ because I like you, not because of them.)

When I fancy people, I regard the need to be ‘liked back’ as a weakness. It is very flattering when a person returns your feelings. I find friendship much more flattering. There is nothing more repulsive, to me, than a person who is told ‘NO’ and who doesn’t respect it.

In anycase, one grows a lot from not-being-liked back by people they’d have liked to of been liked by. Also I’ve never been ‘liked’. If I’ve ever had ‘close friends’, they secretly despised of me. So if anyone know, I know.

But I’ll tell you something about me and my ‘enemies’, enjoy it. One of my enemiesĀ  once approached me at a party, in tears, because her friends (who were, at that point of my University experience my ex friends – if I let them go, you won’t be able to cope with them either. I have coped with serious abuse all of my life and I didn’t get any ‘sympathy’ for it, quite the opposite. But find that out on your own.) let her go out looking terrible so the boys wouldn’t flirt with her (instead of them,) and she said, in tears “KARINA IM SO UPSET BECAUSE I FEEL REALLY INSECURE” and I took her into the bathroom and fixed her outfit and she looked much better. Not good, but better. And when I said “you look much better” she said “it’s so weird, because I know we don’t like each other but I can trust you” *thumbs up emoji*

You should see how my ‘enemies’ glow when I laugh at one of their jokes. You know when you don’t know if a joke you’ve made or a script you’ve written is funny, but if someone who NEVER laughs at peoples jokes laughs actually laughs at you or your script it’s a GENUINE compliment? IT’S A BIT LIKE THAT. HAVING ME FOR AN ENEMY. BE GLAD YOU’VE MADE AN HONEST ENEMY.

Also: Quentin Tarantino argues that Travis’ character is a racist. It’s very likely I’d of hated the film if he was, I am offended by films that depict dogs dying and racism. I really like some films that depict racists, but that’s because the characters grow through the storyline and you end up learning a lot more about racism than you would have if you had not watched the film. American History X, which features an Arab woman playing a neo-nazi, is one of my all time favourites.

I don’t believe that Travis’ character is racist at all. I don’t remember much of the film, I remember what I found important, but I imagine that it’s likely he wouldn’t of judged black pimps because it’s the USA’s fault that they’d of had to of chosen careers like that being the descendants of people who were victims of slavery. Some people are forced into work like that. He probably felt forced into being a taxi driver.

I found a note that I wrote to myself in my brothers handwriting. It’s bizarreĀ 
He wrote ‘photoshop the scans’. Good advice. I don’t have photoshop right now but I used @pixlr.


I’ve started putting together a sketchbook of concepts for Final Fantasy Infinity, what I imagine caters to the next phase of being paid-to-game, which involves having interactive non-playable-characters that are immersed permanent characters that feature in the online game. No one could make a game like this, without me. I mean try. But don’t bother trying without me, I lived for this stuff. Growing up. LIVED for alternate realities.

Fun fact: Walt Disney bought the rights to the Final Fantasy franchise, did you know that?

maskedtemplarjester

This is a masked-templar-jester. The idea behind these is that they get away with tremendous cruelty because they make their victims laugh.

The laugh probably gives them a lot of energy. You probably shouldn’t laugh at a templar jester, especially not when they’re wearing their mask.

I purchased Hiten by Yoshitaka Amano, putting together a study of sorts on the character Hiten that features in two episodes of Inuyasha and with whom a spider I shared a series of meditative journeys with (that two week period of my life feels like an entire lifetime, have you ever attached to an animal, like a spider, so much that when it rained outside you had to bring it inside? I am the laziest person you’ve ever met but when it started hailing I jumped out of bed, put on some boots, gathered my maggots – they were suicidal leaping from my window sill and burrowing beneath my carpet (they mostly went back outside)

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This is Che. I’d want him to be an occasional NPC in a game about Templars.

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At uni I learned the following:

– if you are easily insulted, you don’t have it in you to be a model/artist/performer. you probably can’t be friends with me either. I take very well to funny-insults and constructive criticism.

– artists need to be told when their work is crap. they also need to be told what is good about their work so that they can develop.

– i threw most of my art work away, growing up. a lot of it was crap. my ideas were good but my work was often crap. a teacher told me not to throw my work away and fished it out of the bin for me but i was consumed by it being crap.

– in terms of ‘good work’ or ‘crap work’, you’ve actually no idea how you really feel about your work until it’s removed from your memory, until you come back to it. if you are an actor and there is a character in your mind that you’d like to develop, you can probably explore it using many different narratives because actors are always typecasted.

– If you’re a perfectionist you have to go through all of the stages you went through to become one to reach your level of work, every time you start a new project.

so when you were younger, you might’ve had a relative that criticised your work, or a relative that was impossible to impress, and then another relative whose opinion really mattered to you because you knew they could do better.

we might lose those influences in our lives physically but we keep the effect they had on us inside.

kanye west was verbally abused by a sports coach who gave him a terrible time. might’ve ruined his life a few times. kanye west is a gifted verbal abuser. which is good because i like rappers to be abit evil.

i’ll explain. two young boys want to be rappers.

one is a very nice boy from the fancy side of the states, who grew up with two very wealthy, very together, very stable, university educated parents who had stable jobs in the same accountancy firm and who get him to school half an hour early every day, so that he can play with his multitude of friends

versus

the really angry/volatile boy from a trailer park in the ‘dangerous’ side of bronx reserved for prison mums, that couldnt even walk to school without being beaten up because of his ugly shoes – his mum could’ve bought him the cool $2 shoes that everyone else had, but he needed sensible shoes ($1) that could fit his special orthotics (also $1), that “provide ankle control” for his flat feet

these are two different kinds of evil, in the end.

one is the kind of evil that does tae kwon do and buys the restaurant that his competition works at. (he pays friends of friends to write his raps for him.) he also hires someone to do everything from designing the cd to designing the accompanying booklet, to taking photographs of him looking very dangerous. he has been liked by everyone he’s ever met, he was raised by parents that taught him how to be likeable.

one is the other kind of evil, he can’t afford tae kwon do lessons, but he can still beat the shit out of you (not if he’s tired from working at the restaurant) because he spent his life losing unfair fights and working out how to defend himself if he got beaten up by one of the local gangs. he spends his entire life working on his raps. he read shakespeare in private. he has to save up to buy cds to record his raps on his friends computer. he then has to save up for the plastic wrappers to make them look professional. he spends hours at his friends house learning how to download photoshop, he then spends hours learning how to use photoshop. then he has to stand on street corners trying to sell those raps.
this guy has a tough time, no one on his street likes him.

both might become successful. the prior bought his success but his raps are a facade because art requires that you live first. the latter worked fucking hard for his success, he had a lot of stuff to complain about. which is what rappers do.

if you can imagine to associate every stage of your work with one of your closest/harshest critics and consider the nature of the advice they’d give you’ll eventually get it to the standard you’d like your work to be at.

– my mother went to Italia Contis and that meant that when I was growing up, when I was learning to read, she’d have me re-read and re-read and re-read a page in a book if I didn’t speak clearly and if I didn’t project my voice. It was very annoying. I am now much more annoyed when I read something outloud and I sound muffled.

– when i spent weeks at home, because i didn’t feel well enough to go to school, i watched blackadder, frasier, that film about the skull and bones and simpsons videos on-repeat. i watched elizabeth with cate blanchett. i watched shrek a lot.
when I was in trouble/grounded I watched christian shows like ‘the lion, the witch and the wardrobe’.

i watched fawlty towers. sometimes i even watched the directors commentary.

– when you think your work is finished: it’s NOT finished, even if it seems finished, it’s not finished.

– come back to your work/your work should take years before it becomes art (that is, it’s the space of time and the act of evolving with your work that makes it art, rather than crafts.)

I’ll give an example. Lets say you are a ballet dancer. You have perfected the technique. You know the choreography. Then you work on your facial expressions. Then you work on the narrative and being able to ACT properly so that you are dancing AND acting a story. If you have a smile on your face while you are performing in a tragic love story, you’ve probably never been in love because no one who is actually in love ever smiles. I’m trying to be funny.

If you are a dancer and you can’t take criticism, you are not a dancer. A hobbyist, maybe. Dance teachers are the most evil breed of woman kind.


“she’s lucky she’s doing those three steps”

I’ve been working on small items of attempted art using very few materials and when I thought them finished, I looked again and considered what would have made me reluctant to sell them as they were, and then I tried putting them together in what would’ve seemed very mismatched combinations and I produced an entirely inconceivable style to myself. I’ve been thinking about a direction for my work for a long time but I’ve only been doing it for a few months. I’ve hidden the pieces away and I’m excited to return to the work in a year or so.

Most recently Lisa’s dad, a Hindu Brahmin conveyed in thought that “if you can look at your work and believe that someone else could’ve achieved it then it’s not finished“.

I did a ‘creativity’ meditation with Jane of Seth Speaks – for two weeks I did literally nothing but eat/sleep/meditate and I’d come up with a lot of exciting ideas and I didn’t write any of them down – I totally released them and I’ve forgotten all of them.

For most people, meditating for a few hours is a skill you develop over a very, very long time. It is boring, the way I learned is boring. There are many forms of meditation, the kind that works for me is to choose not to clear my mind at all. Actually I jump from meditative journey to meditative journey.

I don’t see a thing because I don’t use a part of my brain that I believe is attached to my optic nerve, I use the very back of my brain. I don’t use my pineal gland either.

I have a direction problem, I confuse my left and my right sides and perhaps I could laughingly suggest that my brain is positioned back to front. It’s unimportant.

What’s important is that I don’t clear my mind.

Then I arrived at a thought journey, being “what would I take with me if there was an apocalyptic flood” (if you regard her meditations and her literary work it’s all quite dark and I enjoy that about her) and I pictured myself with a net for catching food, a solar powered ipod etc.

I also thought: If I had one piece of meat – what would I do with it?

I thought that I’d leave it to accumulate maggots. Once I asked Lisa “would you ever eat an insect?” and she replied “if I needed to, to survive”. I thought of all the biblical figures who would run away to the desert to think, who probably ate insects to survive.

I had some pork in my fridge and I did a mini science experiment – I put the meat outside in a bag on my balcony. Maggots appeared at some point. If you read my blog you’ll know but I know people prefer to access me in other ways and I find you’ll only observe what you would be inclined to observe about yourself.

Then soon after that I found a baby seagull on the pavement near my home and I caught it. I fed it on all sorts of things, including my maggots. But at that point I had a very dark choice of feeding the bird to the maggots or feeding the maggots to the bird.

I chose to feed the maggots to the bird. I named the bird Killi.

The bird started dancing in front of various reflective surfaces. She flew away when she could, as birds do.

Later, after Iā€™d removed myself from the meditation I came up with a toy collection reflecting it. If you read my post from the beginning, it’ll make more sense now.

Closing thought: Is honesty an art form?

I did a meditation today with angels. And those angels informed me that they’ve picked “their people”. I was raised in a home that I felt indoctrinated by, I felt forced to participate in a faith that I felt encouraged bullying. I learned to find it funny and I learned the rules of the faith and I attempted to navigate the World considering those rules but you wouldn’t think so if you were amongst the kind of people who are so natured as to project themselves onto me.

In my childhood I defended the angel Lucifer to staunch Christian women, I was upset when they’d blame every terrible thing that happened to them on “Lucifer” or “satan” or “the devil”.

– Consider valuing people for their talents and their background and experiences. One friend might be a talented photographer. Another might be a talented make up artist. Try praising them often. If you are a harsh critic, your friends might learn to value that about you because when you compliment them, they’ll know you mean it.

I had a friend at college who was training to build computers. He told me he’d gotten an A in Art and Design and I was in shock, because it’s not easy to get an A in Art and Design and because he didn’t look like an artist. Some years later, he is a superior artist to me, especially in terms of technique, but we complimented one another because I would introduce him to art I liked and that enriched our work and our conversations and we had lots of fun together watching films and having serious arguments about our favourite games and cartoon characters. We had a good run of friendship for several years, but that involved me pretending to be his inferior in a lot of ways. He didn’t know that I could’ve-been-an-athlete because I’m an bed-preferred-all-day person. I didn’t want to be one, but I could’ve. I had serious injuries.

If you struggle to identify your friends talents, either you avoid having talented friends because you are threatened by talented people or you have very humble friends who don’t show off about all of their talents.

– This might be a thing you learn from doing sports: don’t compete with people, do NOT compete with your friends, unless it’s appropriate to or it’s playful. If you have a competitive streak and you feel safe being that-side-of-yourself with your friends, play video games with them and then stop when you put the games away.