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

FAQS

“Is she a version of you”

No. And if she’s reading this: YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE ME. MY LIFE IS SHIT.

There are people in the Universe that find me attractive. I don’t know why. I really don’t. Is your girlfriend me? Is your wife a version of me? No, but she might be amongst my most very dedicted and gifted stalkers.

If you have observed my life story, it is wholly unlikely that she is a ‘version’ of me that ‘survived’. Most of them kill themselves. If you had lived my life it is likely that you would’ve killed yourself.

We do not like to look like one another. We do not like to act like one another. We respond to and cope with different things in different ways.


—–


Before I could have possibly believed in or understood chanelling, I was contacted by ‘The Sun Cats’. They gave me an intention to work towards that sat with me comfortably and that was to influence evolution.

I overheard the word ‘Talmud’ in an animation or a song or something of that nature, I watch the same kinds of things on repeat but I’m an ADHD phase of ‘creativity’ and more so sublimation, I recently had a collection of vivid dreams that involved seeing clones of myself (I was raped in one of those dreams by someone who had drugged me and ‘the struggle was real’) and before I digress onto some other horrendous thought journey, what came to my imagination immediately therein was the scrolls. I prefer ‘scrolls’ to ‘I am certain someone was being raped and that they thought of me’ and ‘I have PTSD’. There’s nothing I can do.

The angel Lucifer taught me that physical life is either BDSM or service. If you have ever aspired to work in the adult industry you would stay far, far away from BDSM unless it was motivated by service and even then it is horrible to imagine creatures competing for their lives. Life is a struggle, whatever it is that motivates you. Every form of life will tell you that is what we have in common. If you need friends, if you need people to have something in common with you, lets talk about our suffering, but only if we can laugh.

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.

Sooner or later you’ll accept as I have, that women compete with one another for men. It does not make much sense to me, I can’t imagine anything worse than seeing men compete over women’s affections (It does not look good) but here I am defending everyone and their blonde friends:

First of all: stay away from people I find attractive. They like women to compete after their attention, they were not loved as children. They won’t love you. If you think they love you, they are thinking of me when they talk to you. They are not inherently loving beings. If I were attracted to ‘loving people’ I would date an ugly guy. I apparently enjoy the company of men who need to remind me that they would be better off dating very attractive women that I would not compete with. They are so desperate for me to prove that I love them ‘the most’ that they will do very nasty things.

They might be very dedicated to pretending otherwise. They might actually marry you and have children with you to see if I get jealouse.

They are doing it specifically to upset me.

They know they can do better, I know they can do better, they know there are much prettier women than me, they know that you have a lot of friends that they can also have sex with.

They are very slutty, promiscuous and desperate to be unconditionally loved and sometimes when you are indulging their ‘sexual addiction’ you are perpetuating what might have been ‘child abuse’ to them as infants. If you read this and you know this and you still do it to them, it’s on you.

Some men’s mothers were “pedophiles” who were very convinced that their babies were long-lost boyfriends that were very desperate to have sex with them and as a result of that, their childselves were dehumanised (who’s inside you) never loved in a non-sexual way and they had to do very strange things growing up, to cope with that. I think women had to also resort to a lot of terrifying understandings to cope with everything that we are still learning about the physical body and ultimately, I think we need to accept that people under the age of sixteen are ‘physical’ beings and they are collecting all sorts of life forms to share a body with.

If I cannot speak to you like this, I am not compatible with you. I pick the weird dialogue. Sometimes it is not me dialoging but also sometimes I say things you would not say for money and I am a valid being for it, even if you think the things I am saying are indicative of insanity, it is very easy to walk away from a dialogue with me. I won’t chase after you and I won’t force myself on you and that might be your love language but that is not my love language.

I am not defending your pedophile mother, I might be projecting how it feels to realise that if I had children, and hugged my children, they might’ve been unknowingly occupied by my incestuous ugly cousins. That is also enough to make me not want children.

Don’t think about them. (children/men I find attractive)
Don’t talk to them. (children/men I find attractive)
Don’t sleep with them. (children/men I find attractive)
Don’t stalk them. (children – if you think “that child looks EXACTLY like me and might actually be mine, talk to the mother or father, check they’re not being abused, be glad you have more time to meet men/men I find attractive)
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.

I am a very damaged person. A person that was raped at three is never not going to be damaged. There is no psychiatrist that can change that. I actually don’t mind, especially, being a damaged person.

When I am happy it is very easy for me to hide that I am a very damaged person. I am constantly looking for reasons to be happy, and that pisses people off. I have more reasons than you to be sad and none of those are self inflicted, but that which I do to myself is sometimes worse than the infant rape.

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.

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.

I have many female stalkers.
My female stalkers are not especially interested in me, they like to compete over the interests of men that I find attractive and to abuse men that I find attractive. The men I like might actually enjoy being abused by those women, I still don’t really understand it, but service-me encourages you to accept that I am a very loving person (to the point of ‘unconditional love’ and it is not a good thing but it is the real me and so I need evil friends) and if I do not like someone – if their nature is so heinous that it overwhelms me to the point of no-communication, avoid them with me because if I can’t cope with them neither can you. Being ‘liked’ does not make you a ‘people’ person. I have had more ‘friends’ than you have had in your entire life. I do not know who you are pretending to be when you are around friends but if I could not cope with that, neither can you.

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 to keep the kind of company that would not be weirded out by me saying something like “a tattoo artist called ‘xam’ is very convinced that we are being farmed for vampire food” and then they have to accept that if I have just exited a bathroom, (after having used the toilet,) “I gots the PTSD again”. Have you ever had a terrible existential drug trip? The only thing that might keep you from wanting to die, (be it the comedown, be it the enlightenment) might be a cute, colourful cartoon and clean sheets in not-too-many-colours and ruffles.

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.)

I have many, very dedicated, very weird stalkers with a number of motivations. Some of those motivations include ‘wanting children’. You do not want to use my thinking ‘your hand looks nice today’ as an excuse to ‘steal an egg’. Trust me you don’t want that one.

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.

I have wanted children since I was about three years old. That is a very weird thing to want, but I think it came from wanting to be cuddled/loved by my family. Obviously my motivations and aspirations in life have developed tremendously but apparently it is an adult industry niche that works very well for me. I know too much about my story to want children. I do not want children. Sometimes the hormonies tell me that I want children. I do not want children.

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 need  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 enemies  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 bizarre 
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?

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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 I’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.

In an attempt to reconsider how I use my blog, because I love to write: I’m going to follow a photo and no-more-than-a-mini-paragraph to accompany it structure. I don’t think people read my blog. I’m not in pursuit of a vast audience either.

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My university life, the nature of the stuff i got upto removed from my studies was important. I developed what appeared to be a “drug habit”. When I no longer had that drug habit I realised I had spent my life in physical agony. Not the poetic kind that literary artists use to describe depression (although I had that) but I was in pain all the time. And I only realised as much when I had no access to drugs.

I think it’s of tremendous importance to clarify the nature of addiction, and I can do so, I grew up in the company of addicts. I was – at three years old – surrounded by drug addicts. Here’s a good way of identifying if a person has an addiction of sorts: they will break the law to access the drug they want.

I don’t care if a person abuses narcotics, unless it affects me. If I have £20 to my name and a person I’m close to steals it, knowing thats all-I-had-to-live-on for example, then that “affects me”. An annoying drunk on the streets isn’t an addict, a person who consumes their own vomit in an attempt to consume alcohol is an addict. If they’re doing it in the privacy of their own home, it’s none of my business. It’s none of yours, either. Unless that person says “I WANT your help”, it’s none of your business.

Not even angels interfere without direct invitation. And the universal-you do not compare to angels. As I understand it from my meditations, being an angel is a very tortured form of life. A “hungry” angel occupying a starving humans body would not permit that human to steal bread to feed itself with, without feeling very tortured for having done so, and for a very long time.

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I looked at this photograph and had quiet concerns my hair made me look ‘crazy’. I spent my teens being very repulsed by the idea or notion that a person should perform an appearance for others, especially if the accompanying motivation could be to ‘fit in’. Einstein is/was team #crazyhair and I’m sad that I’m validated by that – “I need someone else to join me in my looking crazy”

The internet used to be a not-place-place that necessitated people aspired to curating their individuality, because in not-doing-so, you were believed to be very boring.
It later became a place that employers would use to learn things about you, out of the understanding that people use their CVs to lie. Boring people started using the internet and I resent that, quietly.

I preferred the internet when it was exclusively a place for weird people.

If you think that the mind can be reduced to any kind of science you are so wrong and that’s why your Planet feels like a simulation.

This film clip sums up how I feel about society. I don’t believe you can empathise with this archetype unless you have lived her life experiences and I hope for your sakes that each and every one of you experience being persecuted for attempting to be an individual, if only so that society learns to value individuality.

Recently a woman working for a holiday/travel/tourism company was sitting in a job meeting behind a blacked out window. I changed from a sweaty mens shirt into a poncho and that involved being seen in a bra. Literally beside the seaside. I wonder if she screams at women in bikinis by the seaside. I don’t know that-that sensibly her lane of work.

She started banging on the blacked-out window. She exited the holiday company and told me she was ‘protecting’ me by and I have never heard someone so naive. When I tell people what my family have done in terms of service to humanity, and how they have been portrayed for doing so (For example, as a nineteen year old, my series of letters resulted in a girl being released from slavery. I got no credit for it.) – makes people feel threatened.

To explain: my university experience, as a result of Jews who considered me male – meant that many people learned what they are too lazy to read in religious scriptures. I have never been influenced by religious scripture, I think you’d struggle to find a person who had been ass-raped at three years old, who was inclined to be religious.

Wait: there’s more here – do you know what it takes to emancipate a gender? Do you have any idea how women became so comfortable with their bodies? It was because of people like me who allowed themselves to be documented naked, with pubic hair and belly rolls, looking terrible, in states of undress. I wanted to appear in erotica but it’s underpaid. I should direct but it’s probably also underpaid work.

The other side of it is, I could walk around naked in public and no one could suggest I was “slutty” or “promiscuous”, neither of those are insults in Karina-land but the reality is I don’t even often masturbate and I don’t even have sex unless I am trying to have kids. Once every few months perhaps. Throughout my life I might’ve had a single one night stand. There were potential relationships I ruined with premature sex, but really, I had one-one-night-stand. I had a sex blog that was entirely motivated by making an ex boyfriend I’d had for four years jealous. I deleted it when I started a new relationship and the guy then left me.

I was the victim of the exact opposite to slut shaming, I was told that I was frigid because I didn’t want to have the kind of sex women have in adult films. People loathe to admit that we know women can orgasm because-of-me. That is how big an affect I had on the internet actually.

ANYWAY. For now I don’t spend any of my money on anything I really want, mostly on art materials.

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Here is a fabric I found awhile ago in The Vintage Workshoppe. It is not a fabric that many people would like and I don’t believe for one moment it would have appeared in that shoppe if anyone really thought I could use it for an idea that could make a blonde’s life difficult.

It’s difficult to steal someone’s ideas when you do-the-work in a sketchbook, when you document the process of how you arrived at an idea step-by-step.

FYI, the insects died, introducing oxygen and water into their ecosystem killed them. If you see something flourishing and alive after spending two years in darkness, responding to light is probably enough of a shock to them. Mice are thought to die from PTSD because they are in tremendous shock – it takes afew years to recover from PTSD and thats if you got PTSD as a child, and if you’ve been triggered non-stop since you were a child and even thinking of taking a shit gave me PTSD. Now I have to cope with every person I make eyecontact with choosing to watch me get raped as a child and that they empathically experience the sexual energy of the pedophiles who were also watching. If you are not the kind of person who looks at these disgusting things and thinks about all the exciting sexual things you can do with them, you’re probably not a pedophile. I’m personally quite repulsed by children and I find the criers especially annoying. I know child psychologists say that children don’t cry for no reason, I’m sure that’s true – but the attention that doting mothers and fathers give their kids in public so that people don’t think that they’re terrible parents is very addictive for the infants. Also sometimes they are in physical pain and you can help them as a parent by – non sexually – holding them from their bottom. My teacher Lisa did it for me once – she stroked my bottom non-sexually. She once used the toilet infront of me non-sexually too, when I was in the bath. All I could think about was that she looked like she was in pain. One time a man dressed as Santa Claus gave me a cuddle and he put his hand on my bottom in a very non-sexual way and I felt really safe actually (the birds are laughing) and he was wearing Disney gloves which meant the energy didn’t transfer.

You can read about energy transference in this book. It’s written for children so you might actually be able to appreciate it more than the bitchy matter-of-fact tone I keep using in my blog because I write to sublimate anger, at the moment.

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I bought the flowering tea thinking about this scene from Marie Antoinette, in which Marie serves her brother a tea and asks him to watch it open up when you pour the water in.

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The above is an homage to a character from Claymore, called Ofelia.

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[image ref] No, she’s not you

All of the claymores are silver haired, white haired or blonde and I think it’s amusing. What if ALL women were blondes for you to defend – or who had learned to – dundundun – defend themselves? Do nothing motivated by popularity. It’ll be done to you later.

Actually, I’ve a good character reference for people who compulsively need to be liked, for people that crave popularity. There’s a character in a Johanna Louise Spyri book (Heidi) called Alm uncle, a man who lives in the mountain with goats and who rather resents societal life preferring the truth and accepting isolation. So – while people might idealise the company of many, they are wise enough to prefer their own company. Fortunately you can manifest friends that are other-versions-of-you, it’s only ideal if you’re at complimentary phases of personal growth.

The archetype appears in tarot too, the Hermit. The light represents the truth-that-is-known (the darkness represents truth that is hidden) (the moon serves as a reminder of the fact – the opposite of truth known is truth hidden.)

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[ref image accessed 18:22 pm on the eleventh of November, 2019]

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Before I can explain the paint on my leg, Meet Jenova, my Blythe doll.

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Initially I thought ted (the emoji) was a Paris archetype, but I think he’s Hector.

Jenova’s incomplete. I painted her body and I didn’t like it, so I started filing at it to create what would appear as markings that I’ll later airbrush over with indigo and purple. I’ve designed her in a sketchbook so this is really a project that I imagine will take many years. I wiped some of the paint on my leg, and I filed some of the paint off so we’d be matchy.

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I realised that Grimes must’ve used me to timetravel and that I inspired her calf tattoo. A lifetime of issues with women called Claire or Clare etc. That inspired this meme.

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Truth: both the ophiuchus and their evil childhood bestfriend (probably a cancerian) are evil.

Segueway: Ophiuchus are just as feeling as cancerians but they hide it. Even from themselves. Actually it takes us about four months to a year to know how we really feel about anything. We’re already-feeling about millions of things at once (it’s how we interact with the world: how do I FEEL about this) so there’s a feeling queue.
It’s a sagittarian influence thing. you know, Chiron the wounded centaur? He could not have taught AKillis (the archetype of the greatest warrior that has ever existed) if he spent the entire time of their knowing one another complaining about how difficult his life is. Keep it to yourself, you’re at a war party. Unless it is a war party of who has had the hardest time. In which case step aside, akillis

The “evil-when-pissed-off-but-you-wouldn’t-realise-until-it-was-too-late” one is the one thats actually very nice – she’s the one that everyone hates (because she’s cute or gifted or something) but the really evil one is the one sitting by herself.

I am not one for social engineering but stories repeat themselves. One of them has been abused all of her life, and learns from the abuse and through choosing to be responsible for the abuse, she evolves.

The other is an abuser that finds friends to defend her and racks up a lot of terrible karmic debt in doing so, racks up a lot of terrible karmic debt for any friends she meets throughout her life too

Later in life they send the cute-evil one ‘hot’ replacements – often blondes. You will be inclined to pity the blonde and rise to her defence but the only person that can defend the blonde is the person that she fucked over. Who often only wants a sincere apology of some kind.

They also create instances whereby people meet versions of themselves at different phases of personal evolution and pit them against each other, because thats what you do when people keep ‘winning’, so imagine if Regina George (oh god) had been abused all of her life (people assumed she ‘liked it’ rather than that she was numb to it and knew that people pay for abusing others, because she’d learned early on in life – you do have to learn very early on in life because if you learn LATER in life it’s so much worse.) and they had to send another Regina George to go be mean to her because no one else could do it.

Imagine if you could suspend disbelief.

TL;DR the reason I can do weird stuff is because one time – I wrote this in my University application to study fashion actually – was that my brother and I once sat in a flat and I saw Michelle Yeoh leaping across a building and it didn’t look real, and because it’s impossible and I said to my brother “IT’S UNREALISTIC” and he told me to CHUT UP and taught me to remove myself from my notions of reality, or else film becomes boring.

I learned martial arts from watching Phoebe’s brother Frank practising on the balcony, pretending that he didn’t know his sister and her friends were watching and taking the piss of him for doing so. His sister works in the service equivalent of retail (massage) and hasn’t managed to hold down a long term relationship, and the only relationships that work for her seem to be ones that involved very invasive stalking. She is a survivor and did so perhaps through being a social climber of sorts (it’s difficult to climb socially when you’ve no idea of who you are socially) who maintains a friendship with someone (also insane) she used to rent-a-room from and if it were not for their friendgroup they would not be able to be friends.
Phoebe’s friends are all comfortably very mediocre and come from families that were quite well off, except for Ross, who is a palaeontologist. I imagine David Schwimmer was the least paid of all of the cast.

Her brother Frank ends up dating a teacher and being a very loving husband, a very comfortably inept father figure to triplets (I’d kill myself) and is brilliant at pretending not to know that his sister Phoebe is a bitch. People confuse that performance for ‘unconditional love’ and to an extent, it might begin that way – it’s a habit that begins in childhood – but you don’t see much of his character in that series and it’s quite true to life.

I learned martial arts from watching this film. Twice.

I maintain that the real challenge would be doing it in heels.

I owned Jackie Chan in college when I realised he covered a Mulan song

And that’s probably why I lost Bruce Lee for a dad, but I might yet get him as a brother and I mean it the way that black people do. Much more meaningful.

Art that doesn’t take years isn’t Art, it’s ‘crafts’.

An old friend that interestingly – the worst he did was snitch on me, when I lied about my age – so LOVE YOU – but I’m concerned (really – thats the correct word here) I wasn’t lying about my age at all, because the age I gave people when I lied about my age (which I didn’t do to real-friends that I’d of introduced to my relatives) were exactly the years I spent sleeping non-stop, to escape hell. The hours I spent awake those years I lied about my age were conveniently when I wasn’t at university trying to get a degree that many people tried their hardest to prevent me from getting.

Actually if we’d of stayed friends we’d of ruled the World from his bedroom. Mine was too small. I’ll leave it there. Anyway

Al had read the book of this film, and I hadn’t. There’s a scene where Astrid’s mother illustrates this point that continued to plague me – because all I’d wanted to be was an artist or a performer of some kind: that there was a difference between art and cartoons. The actors that I liked could do everything from singing to acrobatics to theatre and I cannot begin to explain the associations I have with acting. The mayhem scenes kill me inside but if you can’t cope with the embarrassment, it’s unlikely it’s the career for you until you learn how to. I don’t really feel embarrassment anymore.

It is the truth though. Life drawing versus illustration. And it isn’t coming from insecurity, it’s not faux humility either.

I’ll go on. As I do. But this is a movie to watch to understand and this post is more of a – play-list for people who are in tough phases, these are songs that resonate and also very easy movies to get through if you’re feeling overwhelmingly alone. When you learn how to cope with feeling alone – it’s a eureka moment of sorts, some soulmate or other will surface somehow and if you want them in your life you have to keep walking away. Don’t fuck them. They’re probably your bestfriend.

I imagine the scene with the oleanders in milk inspired this song.

and this piece, which will take years.

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The moral of the story is: you have to think about it FIRST. You have to develop the talent first. You have to do the work. Or it’s just a mum-at-home-coping-with-loneliness-by-pretending-she’s-not-obsessing-about-her-husband-and-her-lost-one-night-stands hobby. 

Feminists who have studied what women have been put through for generations can probably better explain this than I can, but women didn’t have occupations until the last fifty years or so. And monogamy has never ever ever been a reality but a cheating wife was the worst kind of female criminal to men that had been encouraged to believe that they were the superior sex. As a teenager I considered myself a chauvinist of sorts and I’ve gone full circle and perhaps thats with the realisation that my female relatives wanted my penis cut off. I was born with both sexes. I’m not especially upset about it, why would I be? It’s really just the idea that they’d of allowed me to be left alone with doctors removed from any kind of emergency – women I find – are prematurely trying to emancipate themselves but we need to know what we’re emancipating ourselves from. And the only way to do so is to pursue an education. That’s the only way. And enslaving people like me, so that you can remotely acquire an education in the Arts was wholly fucking wrong because, if only because: I am an introvert. That means I lose energy in the company of others and I HAVE to spend time alone not to be exhausted. I mean without people watching my dreams or using me to time travel, you’ve ruined my life doing this to me. I haven’t achieved 1% of what I could have done, if I’d of known the truth. Have you noticed how much the World has changed directly because of my learning the truth? How your parents for example, aren’t waiting to die but are considering the gravitas of parenthood and actually want to live their lives again with what they know? That they are being encouraged (probably by the influence the adult industry and my granma, who had make up tattooed to her face at eighty with ZERO shame -) to get plastic surgery – if only because insecurity keeps people from living their real dreams? Love yourself as you are, sure, but if you have the cash – get hot.

The alternative to women pursuing dreams, is the idea of women like Emma Watson, who sought an education in something she had no interest in, in a first league University because she had a Hermione-persona that she was pretending not to be perpetuating but actually, she really did. Or otherwise she heard my spiritual teacher Lisa tell ME that I was to head a FRATERNITY – and so that she could compete with men under that illusion of something that she had no business with. You have no business competing with men Emma. Or me. And most men have no business competing with me, especially when I’d rather be friends with them. Which is the idea of fraternity, by the way. It’s sort of the point.

Years ago I watched a documentary about this flamenco artist. His uncle was a flamenco dancer and Joaquin Cortes said to his uncle “I want to be a flamenco dancer, like you” and his uncle said “then you go to the royal ballet first” – you have to study technique in the arts, before you are an artist.

Ed Norton was told that before he could ever consider himself an actor, he’d of had to of coped with RADA. It’s just whats done, you might aspire towards an art like that of performance, but you have to study it first. I did speech and drama, I did the embarrassing – the MOST embarrassing – plays – but I avoided ever studying it and I know the real reasons why I justified it to myself.

First of all: I didn’t feel pretty enough to be in films and I knew that was a big deal. I got my lips done and I lost some weight – so I feel a bit better, but that doesn’t mean I’m removed from that – you have to do the psychological work – does someone insulting your appearance bring up memories of not being good-enough? Well acting for the screen means you’re okay with being called told you have cankles. Especially if you actually have cankles. I don’t have cankles, I have big calves. I’m okay with that because I wanted athletic roles. I’m okay with being insulted, my first boyfriend did the damage. I told him I wanted to act and that I didn’t feel pretty enough and he said “Kathy Burke is an amazing actor and she’s not-pretty” (She can afford to be, though.)

My memory for learning lines was not good and now I know why. I know that girls were using me to time travel so that they could cheat on their exams and their homework. That affected me in every respect, including that I couldn’t do a lot of subjects that involved the use of my memory. A very abusive one night stand was very aware of the fact that it was possible to erase my memories and he suggested I had an illness. No one’s perfect, weirdo. (No you actually deserve to be shot in the head for that, but that’s on you. You arrange it. No notes for me.)

Even if you’re a very talented portraiture artist, and I’m not – at my most dedicated I am a talented illustrator, which is a form of cartoon work – theres a lot that comes with being an artist and there are reasons why your work isn’t being sold in galleries, even if you’re technically some kind of master (this is specific – to the person that used to sit in Camden with his spray paints and tinfoil and create masterpieces – you’ll return to all of that but you have to do the hard stuff first. SAME though. So do I.), if you haven’t gone through the shit that the artists exhibiting their work in galleries have, you won’t survive in that World for very long.

Thats how I was raised too. First you have to learn from the greatest people, and you don’t ever remove yourself from the people that paved the way for you. Hole have a lyric that I once wrote out in a mirror in Syria before taking nudes (I should’ve kept those, they weren’t that flattering but they were very brave) and it’s “spit on mirrors” – oh thats not the one it’s “it’s okay to kill your idols, just pretend you have no rivals”. It’s not. It’s really not. I get angry at my heroes and my teachers because I felt abused by them but I suppose I’m reminded of a brief chat with a guy called Dom. I was I think, important to him because one time I had an image of a mother in my memory – I was looking at a friend of his and I described her and he said “thats not what my mother looks like” but I had described Dom’s mother. He didn’t say so outloud. Later he was watching a Muy Thai fight and he asked, without my knowing that he was testing my claims of being psychic – who I thought would win. I didn’t use my “psychic ability” (that thing that people assume psychics have – that should tell them the lottery numbers) – I looked at the men and said “the latino guy, obviously”. If you saw him I’d assume you’d of said the same, but if you knew who the fighters were, perhaps not. I think he was Brazilian – but um. You don’t really survive in my world – what I know of it – if you compete with Latinos. I mean the kind that come from the streets, because the posh ones do not pursue careers as fighters. I was using what I understood as logic. Now I’m concerned that I abused my abilities as a solipsist, or that someone time travelled to tell me, but where I can show my working: I know what I was thinking of when I said what I thought. I can show my working. I can validate the claim without using information acquired out of thin air.

It’s difficult though, when you know that every mother that attempted to have you over many many generations would have you stolen from them because you’re a hell of a snitch.

If you want to know who my real mother is, right now I’m going with Mary Magdalene.

There are plenty of women that I could (and would, also) call my mother and I have plenty of synchronistic reasons for doing so but it’s an insult to every single one to pick only one of them.
Lisa told me that I’m an elephant totem person (an ex ‘best friend’ said it was ‘cultural appropriation’ to use words like that but she forgot that I have two women who called themselves my African mothers and who initiated me into a tribe – they do not like her very much and that should serve as a warning.), and the beauty of the idea is that elephants are matriarchal animals that raise one another, they stay together throughout their many generations and share what they learn. There’s a video of an elephant mother pushing one of the baby ones out of a ditch and I have a feeling it’s because she saw me having to push my cockerspaniel Goggles (the first creature I’d ever seen in a crystal ball, and what a delightful friend to spot – and anyone who had seen Goggles would’ve known immediately that was her.) up a ditch as a child. I felt very military-proud of myself that day because it was raining and very cold, and muddy.

And yes: I have no doubts that Mary Magdalene been preserved somehow and that she’s alive. That’s sort of the thing about the templars and eternity of life. I invited her in and I felt nothing of a chill but I looked at my noodles and my chopsticks and laughed to myself as if somewhere to her it was ridiculous that I thought she wasn’t always around me.

Watch the Fountain, that’s what I’m doing today.

It’s a deeply important film about reincarnation and it was released in not-too-long-ago but long enough ago for it to have been a really difficult film, I imagine, to arrange the release of because didn’t follow the narrative structure that sold very well at the time. People are into crystals and reiki healing and a lot of holistic stuff now, but that was wholly weird then. This film would’ve come across, to the majority of audiences, as a fairytale art house film. Much like real life, you go through experiences with particular friends that come to you in different bodies and often you’re reliving the very same struggles. My story, I could only exit when I learned that people were so desperate to be loved that they thought defending a blonde would fix their problems – and that I kept not defending myself against compulsive liars and people who used their looks to manipulate boys in my life that had not removed themselves from unrealistic standards of beauty. I kept not really walking away at the right time, or walking away at the wrong time and under the wrong circumstances.

So… I was thinking about the demon Balthesar, I have been for afew days. One time before I was whisked away to a terrifying collection of experiences in psychiatric wards – and it is one of the most undermined of my experiences around about the time I got a chill down my spine when I read the words “I am Lucifer” (waiting for it, there it is, happened again sort of and isn’t it fun for us all to know that you can feel it too) …

was that I did this coin trick. I am not a coin trick person. It was something I’d never done before and if you watch closely, the coin in my version is moving by itself.

I posted this, and watched it until it reached Papa Midnight and in half Lisa’s and half Mrs Hyde-Gyatso’s voice I thought to myself “we’re waiting for thisss one” and the birds chimed in with a half laugh and a half “YES WE ARE YES WE ARE” – I can’t imagine soul 17 would enjoy going out unless it was to clubs that demanded you perform magick tricks like this to enter. Her trick would probably involve asking the bouncer ‘do you want me to use your eyes to see the card? I can do something better’ and she’d use a fluid of some kind, she’d take the card and rub it on the fluid and get an impossibly perfect image and she’d either be copying me or the artist that used spray paints and tin foil in Camden (she’d tell him she was copying me, she’d tell me she was copying him) (a bird outside screamed with laughter quietly)

I remember it because it was with a £1 coin that read the words:

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[ref]

(Also my stomach made a creepy noise, and I’m used to those)

Imagine if this – not the actor, the personality – was one of your dads

The jobs where I don’t advise that you follow that advice: mercenary, self sustaining farmer (because your animals know what you’re planning on doing to them: and they’d rather kill themselves), politician, diplomat, hunter etc

This is a self portrait by Arnulf Rainer.
Untitled (Face Farce) 1970-1 by Arnulf Rainer born 1929
[ref image accessed earlier than this but it’s now 9:43 AM on Tuesday the fifteenth of October 2019 and it’s a self portrait by Arnulf Rainer]

I haven’t clicked on the host-site to research the piece but apparently this image was hosted by the Tate. I have so much to say about it that I’d prefer my commentary to the research, but that is a kind of obnoxiousness that contributes a lot to the artist identity I’d like to cultivate years from now. His artist statement would matter much more, on this piece, than my observations of it. But I think he’d enjoy hearing what it means to me. So I’ll say.

I’ll now tell you what I know, based on A Level research. This portrait probably took him about twenty years. It probably inspired this Sia music video.

I’m being a little bit sardonic, a little bit bitchy, but it’s important: because when I was doing my A-levels, I was very harsh about this artist. I included his work in my artist research but I did so with tremendous irony towards the fact.

I just thought of this youtuber, who I do believe is an artist of sorts, and I thought while-thinking-of-him, to look closer at the shapes made by the paint strokes. I can see the grim reaper in Rorschach like inkblots and even a scythe. Scroll up and you’ll see. Then come back here.

I’ll tell you what I think of, what I’ve always thought of, when I’ve looked at self portraits of distressed artists. (Apart from trying to understand myself.)

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[polaroid taken by Catherine Sparrey in 2015]

A response to this song.

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These were self portraits I’d taken for my GCSEs.

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A sort of homage to Gingersnaps, too. The idea of Gingersnaps was to create a narrative that drew parallels between the female experience of puberty and werewolves.


This is a scene I particularly enjoyed.

 

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A photograph I took of a barbie doll I’d purchased in a charity shop, in 2005. I’d placed some red nail polish on her mouth to indicate smudged red lipstick and on her hand to indicate blood, I placed a Sephiroth wing I’d taken that had fallen off an abandoned sculpture of an angel my “sister” had in her room at her back.

I believe I might’ve been emulating images I’d seen of Cindy Sherman’s, certainly stylistically. She’s important to me because she worked almost exclusively with self portraiture and she never really looked the same in any of her photographs. She wasn’t trying to model.

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My A-level artist research considered the works of international (but mostly American) female artists that were very drawn to portraying women on the poorer side of the middle class socio-spectrum, women who had been trapped in the domestic housewife role by societal expectation, or who worked so-called-menial occupations who – culturally at least – had nothing to do all day but sleep, clean or cook for daddy and the babies.

I really think I must have been more drawn to the clothes and the interiors, than the artists documenting them would have wanted me to be. I blame this.

I was particularly the adoption of late 70s, 80’s and 90’s use of cosmetics ad packaging to brighten up their homes (how else did they introduce the colour pink, for example, into their homes – save for having a daughter because until now I find so much beauty in that. What the fuck did these women really get upto when they weren’t sleeping? That’s the significance of the idea of art versus crafts. Crafts were the occupation of bored women, and removed from the insult of the idea of that – you cannot emerge into a male dominated industry which the Arts have always been – without

I know there was a piece she did that incorporated graphic design and typography, though I struggle to find it.

and on livejournal, various members posted photographs of their Blythe dolls in scenes.

And Mark Ryden too.

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That wing was an ’embarrassing’ motif in a lot of my scribbles and watercolour paintings. The truth is I was very bothered by the fact that I struggled to illustrate two wings that looked identical to one another.

Here’s an embarrassing one, a candy, a heart, blue and red. A crescent moon and five stars. A strange S. An ex of mine got this tattooed on his neck, and then he got it covered with a blue rose. Blue and red were really important to me.

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I used to autistically feel happiness when I saw blue and red together. I confuse happiness for laughter now. I do experience happiness, in the buddhist sense of the word. I’m very content. With very little. Which is good because as far as the state of life in this country is concerned, I’m living on the poverty line. Which isn’t good, I’ve made a lot of people that pretend-to-be-decent a lot of money, and all they had to do to get it was abuse my trust.

 

But it all amounts to this. A piece I’d seen in my brothers room.

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[ref accessed 09:37 AM, UK time, Fffifteenth of October 2019, | Edvard Munch, The Scream]

The point of this painting, which tied in nicely to my philosophy a-level, was to depict existential angst. EXISTING IS TOUGH MANG. (why is it though?) (well, we all have a struggle of our own.) (that word – ‘why’, is funny, to me. My mother would have me stand facing a corner for hours every time I attempted to defend myself, trying to work out a reason she’d like to hear for my being ‘rude’, when I told her the truth she’d send me back while she went back to sleep. I’m sure the time passed in seconds for her and perhaps even you – but it didn’t for me. Years later I realised what she was really upto while I had my face in a wall and then people defended her. HAHAHAHHAHDKGHSGKOHG) (The only person that can defend her, is me, and the only motivation I’ll have for doing so is when she tells the truth. She doesn’t even need to say sorry. She only needs to outrightly tell the fucking truth.)

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So, at the time I was studying existentialism.
(Life is meaningless and your life is given meaning when you die. An ex of mine once likened people to cattle, which was a very grim suggestion but it came from a place that affected a lot of goth kids, this idea of not wanting to be the same as everyone else, not aspiring to the same things and not wanting to liken ones entire life experience with the rife possibilities that )

But: that painting doesn’t need a learned philosopher – it’s about ‘existential angst’, the anxiety of existing. And notice those white scribbles.

It isn’t a great painting if you’re comparing it to this. This is a painting by George Romney, of a woman called Emma Hamilton – who changed her name to Emma Hart. Footballers wives used me to time travel to her time because one of their names was Emma, she did/has done nothing interesting with her life to be able to insult this woman with any kind of comparison but I’ll get to that so much later.

She is portraying the Goddess Circe in this. It would be pretentious to draw your attention to the paint strokes and the textures and colours used to create the illusion of depth and dimension so I WON’T. That’s BORING. I’m more taken by the white scribbles.

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The thing about paints is that the ingredients can sort of have a life of their own, especially waterbased ones.

Years ago, and I am proud of this: even if it involved cruelty. Which is sort of the running theme of this post. Forgive me because I do know that my variety of cruelty is the worst kind.

I pointed this piece out to my mother. I said “apparently this took him about ten years” and to me, it was a portrait of Marilyn Monroe and some scribbles atop the portrait.

Why are the scribbles important?

Well I’ll tell you what my seventeen year old self was really thinking about those scribbles: Why do they make this guy a famous artist and not me?

Well, on the scribbles: they’re emotive? The use of colour? I get it – that is sort of the issue that people have with modern art. It’s somewhat of an insult when you compare it’s nature to renaissance art. BUT IS IT.

Give me a million years (and I do have it, the time. That amount of time. Actually I have much more time than that and it should be terrifying but it isn’t, at all. Sometimes it is a bit upsetting but whats worse is that I’m starting to not need to drink much water – especially as I’m drinking boiled water everytime I eat right now – but soon I’ll have to accept that I am thirty and not in the euphemistic sexualised way but in a very real ‘water isn’t making me not-thirsty’ and I’m a vampire, and I’ve vampired a lot of people – and when vampires go to sleep hungry the ones that read the news learn that a lot of people have died.) to think about it, and to be honest, not having the patience to listen in on teachers and lecturers offering their opinions and definitions of art has been really important to my journey as an aspiring artist. I still cringe when I suggest I’m an artist because I know that I am but I also know that if I accept that identity at this point of my personal development (long story short: going to art school ruins your chances of being an artist and destroys you as a person, but if you can survive that you can return to the dream with experiences that you can transmute into your work later when you’ve grown up a bit.)

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Want to enjoy a coincidence? Here are two images of me, cropped out, so that Sabel can be the main character. I did not mean to do this, actually it was entirely by coincidence. I should probably be offended that he is so narcissistic but I’m tremendously amused by it and I’m grinning as I type.

To the right and beneath a magnifying glass, only so that he is more visible and not because he is in anyway affiliated with glass (actually we’ve thought to adopt glass and make it our thing, there’s no need for glass to be associated with 9s,) – actually he’d say that I am the origins of glass to him because I come from the desert. (As in I have a decent amount of memories that are entirely occupied by drives through sandy terrains, as you probably know. Iunno.) and he is a unique form of one of my spider friend Sabel’s children, I found the body on the bottom fhelf (what a typo, I meant to write ‘shelf’ but I prefer ‘fhelf’) of a three tiered mini cabinet that I bought for my art stuff. I’d been thinking to use it to house a snake but I know that any pets that I invest in hence forth will be very snobby and expect that I make this flat or whatever place I live in as beautiful as possible. I talk more about Sabel here.

It’s funny, after all of that maggot research I did this summer (it was only months ago but it seems like years ago because every single day of my life is so different) I walked into the Warhammer shoppe and I had a quick chat with one of the staff there, who told me he had studied philosophy so we briefly discussed the psychologies of a few varieties of the kinds of beings that occupy the Warhammer-(uni)verse and amongst them are insect people, which he said operate with a single mind. So it is a form of Sabel’s, rather than one of his children. He works very hard to be the head-boy-spider. I return to the discussion I had with the Warhammer boys because I’ve so much more to contribute to the discussion. I think that some of the greatest conversations are those that you return to after a period of thinking, not ones that are easily improvised.
I know that Abraham Hicks is capable of accessing all manner of thought that already exists through a connection to the Universe, which is how he answers his schools questions: but imagine if we gave him wayyyy more time?

After a one night stand of sorts with a glass maker I’d been pretending not to be in love with for years (one night stands ruin everything – do not for one minute pretend that someone you slept with the night you finally got a chance alone with them will ever be anything more, even if you marry them, even if they impregnate you – it’s a one night stand. Even chances of ‘genuine friendship’ are over. Blame it on prudeishness or ‘strict parents’, or my, therefore your spiritual teacher Lisa, or the School of Economic Science – Love first: then the other stuff. Love is spending two weeks with a person non-stop without expecting to put your genitals inside of them or vice versa. But mincing about the subject of why getting to know each other first with pleasantries or romantic verbosity makes it easy to evade the reality of WHY thats so difficult.)

Long story cut short: a girl I loathed became pregnant with the first hobbit and I went right back to being entirely alone, while he went on a holiday. It was a repeat of sorts of something that had happened ten or so years ago, apparently I hadn’t learned my lesson.

My response to that lesson is that I’m apparently done with having one night stands with humans.

And I would not risk that with aliens unless I was desperate to get off this Planet, because if human men have managed to avoid getting to know women by simply making arrangements to rape them rather than getting to know them, I imagine aliens that want-to-have-sex are much worse.

Anyway, here is what I have been upto. When I’ve finished the concepts I will consider it a section in my future toyshoppe. I know that I can’t stop people stealing my ideas, but if I find out you’ve done it: it doesn’t take much for me to embarrass you.

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If I were sneakier, if I could be: I’d email the people who had made these Poopsie Unicorn toys – an attempt at competing with me over my decision to design toys (in no small part, a result of being little and being bored of the toys available on the market – and that I’d never find the toys my ‘friends’ had when I went to the shoppes. And Kanye West – who said toys were boring, I think buying his kids toys was depressing if he spoke about it publicly.)

and I’d ask

“Why do they have such colourful hair?”
I adore the colours. I’d ask because I’d want to hear what they had to say about the use of colours. I’d ask to embarrass them.

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I know that the person responsible for this would say that they were inspired by starbucks, slushpuppies, iced gems, emojis and those gelatine sweets that anorexic people are encouraged to consume to avoid hairloss and they’d avoid mentioning my illustration style, animes like Rose of Versailles.

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[image accessed via google on 15th October at 16:56, URL reference]

You don’t need to credit all of your influences, you might not even notice you have influences, you might think that no one would notice. I do think that I was supposed to notice this work though, I think it was supposed to make me very upset that there was a toy depicting a bloated unicorn and that the suggestion of it was that this unicorn exists to shit and to go out and drink starbucks. I think I was supposed to be outraged and that I was supposed to advertise it on my blog, at worst I would ignore it and that’s great too. These women have a lot of money and high hopes, trying to sell these toys for those prices. But I would’ve bought these toys if they’d admitted that they were inspired by me, the GodsGirls only forum and The Last Unicorn. Would these women of even known that there is a unicorn on the one pound coin if it was not for me?

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If it’s an >independent business< or >twenty< that you’re running, and if you’re selling something to children – I think perhaps you ought to be able to offer some literature to accompany your identity.

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they’d avoid mentioning Sara and Lola Al Saud’s label. I don’t like them but that doesn’t mean anything to semetic, we all despise of one another and our families. It’s normal for us. But this is theft.

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It’s tremendously creepy.

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If you asked the women responsible for ‘you will get everythink what you can see in the pictures‘ (I imagine they put them on ebay too)

“what inspired the body proportions”
“what inspired the ‘poopsie” unicorn?”
“what inspired the colour scheme?”
“what in particular inspired the use of words like ‘magic’ and ‘sparkle’ and ‘shimmer’?”

You wouldn’t really need them to answer but it would be so funny if they tried to.

Then theres ‘Le Toy Van’. These are not unattractive pieces. They are Montessori inspired ergonomic designs with the influence of Fisher Price. When I tell you that they just ‘appeared’ on the market, I’d encourage you to believe me. I KNOW TOYS. There were years of my life where I only ever left my street to go to TOY SHOPS. THATS IT. I’d go to school once or twice a month and once or twice a year, my dad would take me to a toy shop.

When Louise Pentland posted ‘Le Toy Van’ pieces on her youtube I was actually pretty livid about it. They marketed themselves as a business being run by a man and his son, and that the CEOs name was ‘Mr Le Van’. They’d apparently existed for many years and were initially based in Surrey (they’ve since moved to London, according to changes on their site, if I’m in Brighton for long enough I’m sure they’ll move if they haven’t already rented a local place) and