I’d name names but you aren’t hot enough to be in this story. Sorry.

Here are some things you didn’t know about me.

When I was about eight? I watched a movie called “Mighty Joe Young” about a girl whose mother looks after Gorillas and gets killed – a pretty ish story. I think I just had a thing about watching nice mothers in movies. I didn’t have a “nice” mother, I had a tough as fuck mother who would make me stand in a corner facing the wall for hours that passed like minutes, for her, because she was so tired all the time that she’d sleep right through the punishment. With my arms in the air. For being rude.
Essentially the time I spent in the corner would be me trying to work out some kind of reason to explain why I had been rude. (I’m a rude gyal lolol)

I thought it was a really big deal and that my life was super hard for it, ’til I went to Uganda and a school teacher I admired told me that when students misbehaved their punishments were things like headstands for hours. haha. (Later she’d become like a mother to me and one time, we were on safari – all the kids at her school whipped out machetes in the night sky beside a fire to prepare their food… and I needed to pee but there was NO WAY I was using one of their latrines… so she had me pull my pants down and pee and in some kind of faint light I could see fireants walking across my feet – I am the only person I know who would walk a safari park in ballet shoes – as the urine hit the red-in-fire-flow sand while she held up a scarf to kind of cover me. People in Uganda don’t really give a crap about stuff like that, probably desensitised as one might be – seeing naked little children running around cos their parents – if they’re lucky enough to have parents – can’t afford to buy them clothes.

When I was thirteen – before people were really blogging or uploading their photographs to the internet, I really wanted to be a photographic journalist. I had a chat with a teacher at a high school I went to – mentioned later – once, on a bench at “playtime” because none of the other girls liked me at all. I had like, a friend, but y’know – the likelihood of any ‘friend’ picking to hang out with the social reject over all the other girls is ZERO.

Eventually, a year or so later, I got one of those shitty digital cameras and I started taking photographs – and I realised that my photographs didn’t look like the photographs in magazines. The colours weren’t as vibrant, weren’t as sharp. Weren’t as beautiful. People don’t realise that selfie culture happened with my mini-generation (I know generations are separated by forty or so years – but with social culture changing rapidly with every social media site that comes into fashion – that is not any kind of realistic description of our rapid evolution), that the instagram filters that they use to make “professional” looking images that some hella lucky people fund their often wonderful, flashy lifestyles (Like the very tiny hint of bitterness in me was going to write something bitchy about instagram models but actually – if you’re making cash being sexy, and companies want your face beside their hair vitamins or whatever GO YOU. SERIOUSLY. GOOD FOR YOU. FUCK A LIFE OF WAGE SLAVERY.) are literally because of people like ME, FELICE FAWN and LARA JADE. USING PROGRAMS LIKE PHOTOSHOP TO MAKE OUR PHOTOS LOOK “PROFEssIoNaL!!!11”
My uncle is a marxist professor who hops from University to University teaching socioeconomics or some shit. Iunno. He’s one of the leading minds in the economics of South America, and thats not important to you perhaps, as a Westerner – but in places like South America, The Middle East etc – AFRICA – ripe with natural resources (that often get sold by local idiots to people in the West who manage not to actually let them realise how much £££££££ they’re worth) and a lacking “economy” by our standards – well, that shit matters. Not to you though – especially not if you are one of those socially correct people that watch the news and aspire to extremely lazy, irresponsible political views because you “know” the “party” you like have no chance of coming into power. I have grown up being told stories about him, like that he had a poster of Che Guevara on his bedroom door as a teenager and that my Grandfather ripped it off the wall. I’m not sure if it was my Grandfather or my great Grandfather – who once kidnapped a president and stuffed him into a car because he was outraged about what was going on in Paraguay. The divide of wealthy to poor is terrifying – one of my few memories of Paraguay involve seeing two little girls playing on the streets with a cardboard box that I think they were crawling into pretending it was a house. (It wasn’t a look of pity, I think I actually wanted to play with them.)

The first time I ever, EVER felt respect for Russell Brand was when he told people not to fucking vote. I lost it fast, don’t worry. I wouldn’t >> woohoo << with him for cash. That is the only thing that matters to him. Isn’t that sad? He masquerades as an addict because girls at those meetings are sometimes really attractive.
When I say I wouldn’t have sex with someone for money, that means I see NO incentive in doing the sex with them.
Coming from a person who would take a shit for cash to illustrate how people have been shitting wrong their entire lives – that means something. Truly.
Funny story that but we won’t get into it, can’t prove it, don’t want to – embarrassing.

OMG so what brought this about??? WELL. Pewdiepie posted this news segment about Vice magazine. He’s so, so inspired lately. His soon to be marriage must be going really well and he must be more in love than he has ever been in his life. I found out the name of the guy who “owns”/”directs”? Vice magazine – apparently there was an article bitching about Pewdiepie? Him being sexist or something?? RICH, I thought. It’s weird that he’d bother writing an article about how men treat women, to me, and I feel like his motivations must’ve been – somehow – more focussed towards influencing how people regard Mr Pie rather than communicating any kind of genuine disgust at the notion that someone who had garnered so much influence somewhat independently (in spite of his complete lack of common sense… to the point of retardation.) might actually be a sexist prick. I can’t be bothered to see what Vice has had to say about Bill Cosby, or about child sexual slavery etc. I do faintly recall a Vice article written by a hijabi muslim woman who got married because she was bored of her room smelling like “farts”.

One time I woke up with an anxiety attack about “that” article and I rang up Vice crying – unless you’ve known me for a long time – seeing me cry is RARE. It’s a good watch, y’know?
Some African dude pretending he couldn’t speak english answered the phone and I said I’d like the article to be taken down. I was not paid for that article. I did not sign ANY contracts agreeing to the impermanent use of those photographs. Do you have any idea how much I could sue for – for the distress that article caused me? For the REPEATED use of the images BY VICE? WITHOUT MY CONSENT? WITHOUT DISCUSSION? I do.
Trust me, I do. Haha. It’s the making of an easy money ticket but I’m not interested. I’ve said before – that article was life changing for many people. Lots of people became addicted to drugs – but more importantly lots of people ended up in therapy and learning how to cope with their life issues. Addiction is terrible but it’s an indication that often people are escaping from severe abuse, and other life realities along those lines. Not my problem. I’ve discussed in great depth my views on the war on drugs – but do you know what drugs did, for me?

One time – I took acid. It didn’t work. I took it again – it didn’t work. I took it AGAIN – IT DID NOT WORK. I took it a fourth time – and to a point it didn’t work. My drug dealer thought I was lying to score free drugs – and the fourth time he and his friends sat in my room at University and watched the massive acid overdose he gave me NOT WORK. He and his friends left. Then I had two “friends” in my room with me – and one of them told me jokingly to be careful with his DVD. Cringe. With the amount of weed I gave him – his DVD should’ve been the last of his concerns. I replied “be careful? What could I do to it?” and he said “iunno, don’t wee on it”. I got anxiety. He left. That was it. I started hallucinating. I saw myself wetting myself. I kept seeing patches of urine at my crotch. My other friend was sitting on a chair beside my bed and I kept asking if I’d wet myself. He kept saying “no.” I FELT myself wetting myself. I kicked him the fuck out. Happy to wet myself if I’m alone, I thought. I locked my bedroom door. And then: I lay in my bed and started seeing blood on the pillow beside my head and I was sure I’d bitten my tongue off. I rang the kicked-out friend and kept asking if I could die from biting off my tongue. I was super chill and it’s kind of funny to think about actually. I said “GOOGLE IT” and he started slapping his keyboard to make noises. I said “you’re PRETENDING” to type. He laughed and said “no no it’s fine.” I was freaking the fuck out. At some point I heard – telepathically – the voice of my spiritual teacher Lisa saying “Karina, this is Lisa – put some cartoons on and get your bracelet with crystals on.” I put on the Moomins. She told me to masturbate. I did. The Moomins have NEVER been so pornographic. I saw Lindsay Lohan in alternating colours reclining as she was in that Linda Lovelace promo shoot plastered on my walls. As I was masturbating I looked up and saw, at the end of my bed – the friend I’d kicked out – partly watching me masturbate, partly watching the moomins. We made eye contact and he disappeared. Moments later I saw the friend that had asked me not to urinate on his DVD standing at the foot of my bed with his arms outstretched. I had never been so repulsed to see that guys face – and thats that we had SLEPT together. UNNECESSARILY UNPLEASANT. He disappeared. I eventually orgasmed and I managed to fall asleep. Apparently taking acid makes it near impossible to fall asleep, so thats an interesting thought for another time.

My dad – ah, I hear his slippers slapping my mother’s laminate floor as I type and die inside that my mother, the daughter of an ambassador and a socialite, who cheated on an Arab prince with him – she got kicked out of her parent’s home after “falling asleep” at his house and missing her curfew. Latin parents – you DO. NOT. FUCK. WITH. I recently nonchalantly brought up to her that I’d been roofied a few times, particularly in the psychiatric hospital. I said “it’s quite common – you’re offered a drink at a friend’s and you fall asleep as if nothing had happened.”
Anyway – he heard me crying after being on the phone to Vice magazine and I asked if he knew about it – he said “ah – sugarbabies?” …………… Years ago I had a blog called “babies dipped in sugar” …………… I was in no mood to confront him about the fact that he had been looking at a blog depicting self portraits of me in what retard 1 dimensional men would refer to as soft-core-porn. Actually I always saw myself as depicting art of the female form. Also a tired topic on this blog but something for you to be cognisant of. No guy has ever spent that much money on me – apart from a really cringe Jewish guy who worked in advertising, who desperately tried to get me wasted at a pub and spent lots on these fabulous cocktails. The best bit of that night was when he illustrated that he wanted to be kissed and I was so drunk I was compliant. Then he touched my vagina, UNDER THE PANTS. AFTER I HAD TOLD HIM LIKE 500 TIMES I DID NOT WANT TO DO STUFF. I would’ve maybe dated the him in his profile pictures but his profile pictures added a lot of height – and that was rude and misleading. Like he wasn’t dwarven but he wasn’t the kind of guy I’d saunter through the Amazon with in ballet shoes looking for a wifi connection to set up my laptop while (t)he(y) set up some kind of epic bug-proof luxury tent for me to camgirl in. (With three bedrooms fastened with a padlock, cos I’d have to bring along my other boyfriend(s)?

Actually thats an important thing to say. People negged me about my photographs. I am an artist. My selfies are not selfies they are art. For awhile I stopped using my camera because I felt like the photos I took on my camera had a vibe that was ‘dishonest’. Here is an honest photo of me. I increased the light, did not change the colours. I did edit a bit though – I added text in my very favourite font.


I’m not a huge fan of the 20 chins, but since girls are all getting theirs removed/shaped (and good for you – you deserve to look how you see yourself in your minds eye and when I have the funds I promise you I will be doing the same) yet actually I think it’s kind of cute and I’m still hot. It’s okay for you to disagree, chances are I wouldn’t want to fuck you anyway.





FYI I don’t fucking want to see “honest” photographs of people. For me, photographs and likenesses of people are supposed to be a depiction of some aspect of their personality – and that includes when you take photographs of OTHER people. I don’t want to see you looking like your shitty, boring self on the internet. I prefer the fantasy of you.

Talking to Salty Pasta (I drunkenly prepared aforementioned Jewish guy some pasta and it was very very salty – I ate it just fine but he struggled) would’ve lasted way longer if we hadn’t of met. He boasted about taking tantric massage courses with his “ex”. He “complimented” me by telling me I was well read because I think I referenced a few children’s books. He told me he misbehaved in school. It was the most rehearsed conversation of my life. I wore my sisters size too small thigh high boots and for some reason my feet didn’t hurt (stretchy bootz). We both – by “coincidence” – wore leather jackets (but I owned him at his shitty attempt at “the game” because mine was more expensive. Thanks big sister for being a designer whore)
He boasted having games consoles but they weren’t spread out all over the place so it’s obvious they were a babe-prop.

Actually I think the new negging is using dating app algorithms to connect girls with deeply unattractive men and convince them that’s the best they can do.

I left a comment on Pewdiepie’s latest video, kind of hinting about what happened with that article I was in – that everyone saw. Type “pewdiepie” and “vice and you’ll find it, I can’t bring myself to watch his videos anymore since he had a breakdown when he was in the United States. The thing about celebrity is you learn some pretty terrible stuff – be it youtube celebrity, 15 minutes of fame celebrity, cam girl 10 second celebrity – you learn some stuff. You realise how rehearsed some people are and you lose the ability to trust people because you know that everyone is out for something. Y’know Alfie and Zoella? I think some part of me will forever think they’re great but they’re living a fucking lie because they know too fucking much. Felix and Marzia? Living a lie because they know too fucking much. These people are fucking stuck with one another because they have so much to offer (I think they think so anyway) and they don’t trust anyone. I’ve done long term relationships, I’ve done co-living arrangements. I’ve done “monogamy”. It’s a fucking lie. And those people know that too.
And the thing about being solitary is that you can’t grow. I’m really lucky – I’ve grown as much as I can. I got to go to University and get a degree and I learned how to laugh at myself and I experienced torture and people “not knowing who I am” and all that stuff. Youtube is not a forever thing, and everyone knows it. Of course none of those people would be threatened by that – I’m sure they’re all set for life – they’re all about my age (bar Alfie) and they saw the rise and fall of MySpace and even Tumblr – and the seemingly indestructible often does collapse. The nature of being widely available is short lived, though it’s prolonged if you can adapt and constantly update yourself but then what of you is really you? When I first saw Zoella I was living in my flat, she was single, shooting in a Wednesday Addams dress with a bow fastened around her neck. She had dark hair. I’m not negging her – no one could call her unattractive and “keep a straight face”- but she’s an act. She’s a husk of a personality masked by a fear of doing the wrong thing, she’s ridden with anxiety (I know that’s healing, and she might not admit it but I know it’s because she’s been listening to Abraham & Esther Hicks – she has the cash for the best psychiatrists in the UK so if you believe for a second that she’s had a breakthrough because of psychiatry or counselling you’d probably believe ANYTHING. In which case you haven’t read this far.)

People are targeted. Systematically, by men. And women.
I am grateful for what happened to me because it’s opened up a lot of women’s eyes. Have they thanked me? No – most feel too ashamed because they called me names and bitched about my appearance. Still hotter than them, they know it, I know it. She was in a Hogwarts movie – I am a fucking Hogwarts movie. (She’s working her way into “being” a Hogwarts movie too, and thankfully she’s prematurely been lead right through it.)
People will find any excuse to hate you and then you end up being what saved them.

There’s this bit in that Vice article where it says something about racking up lines on a subway sneeze guard. I’ve had a subway sandwich a few times in my life and for the most part it’s always been with some loser of a guy and sometimes surrounded by his loserish friends.

The first time it was this chubby boy that went to a very fancy boys school. He got me a subway sandwich and we sat on some shitty grass outside of a train station/beside a bus stop and he did my physics homework for me. His personal contribution to the Planet was essentially that his dad invented veet strips. Thank yer dad for me dude, I thought today, as I waxed the little hairs on my tummy. (He’s probably a better fuck than you – not that I’d know because I was asleep. And the day after – I bought you a huge packet of tobacco and some bread to eat while we listened to this song)

Uh. The other subway meals weren’t so memorable – I do remember one particular one, I didn’t actually have anything, nor was I offered – I think I went to this guy I met at college’s leaving for Australia party and I was high AF on legal highs – the only time I’ve ever truly thought I was going to die was when I was on legal highs. I made out with his ex girlfriend – a girl I had gone to secondary school with – who had bullied me pretty fucking terribly. I think I crushed on her because I saw her dancing all on her own. But revenge is revenge and I publicly fucked her boyfriend. REALLY publicly.
I had street-sex with this guy whose penis looked like a really big thumb and at some point I think he urinated on me. Around the corner we saw all of his friends watching. Being ladzzzz. That’s okay – I’m actually unbelievably open minded (although I’ve been called FRIGID and that, I cannot comprehend) and you can be into urination if you really want to – but thats the kind of thing you ASK to do when someone is SOBER. IN THE SHOWER. Then after that weird sex, sitting in the bathroom vomiting into a toilet with yet ANOTHER girl that bullied me (same school) and I recall in my absolutely fucked state being like “I THINK I SMELL LIKE PEE?!?” and she was like “yeah, you do.” It was hilarious – she was dressed as a bee – I was wearing a red dress and quite happy to dress up as a prostitute. I went around telling everyone it was a £3 – maybe Asda? – dress. I wore some £15 brown heels. I looked good though. I know people make a thing out of women who can walk in heels – but have you ever seen a girl drunkenly stumbling in heels? Its an art and I am THE Queen of it. I am also the Queen of not fainting while walking around on anaesthetic, but thats a chat for another time. I look great stumbling in heels btw, its a sight to bee-hold.

I somehow ended up in a Subway – after seeing a girl wearing a turban that I’d gone to high school with and shouted “THAT BITCH CALLED ME FAT IN SECONDARY SCHOOL!” (The first time I developed anorexia was after hearing about that girl calling me fat. Atkins diet. At fourteen. Ha.)

Fat? I’ll take it!!! I’m still hotter than you – smarter too. See, you might be lucky enough to have the energy to go to school or even maybe have the kind of parents that would pay to hire teachers to come teach you stuff. Regurgitate knowledge etc.
Lucky you!!!!


Oh, the chihuahua/Jackal? ears I’ll explain in a moment. Sort of. Somewhere. I’ll get to it.
(Can’t be bothered – basically – some men were hovering around me trying to play some kind of anonymous BDSM game and get me to pretend I was a dog. It deeply upset me at the time. Perhaps they might’ve justified it because Muslims say that Arabs are unclean, and my family are quite creepy and hung out with me non physically – I can’t see them, wouldn’t spend time with them – but y’know – perverts are perverts. When I think about it I struggle to imagine people like Stoya or Sunny Leone ever talking to their families.)
Here I am. I’m a dog. bowow. Do you have an erection??????????????????

Basically men are unfathomably thick, and dishonest. Dedicated to lies. My very favourite ex was really funny actually – I had his myspace password and he was using it to talk to this cybergoth called “Daisy”. Almost two years into our relationship, I realised that he had invited her over to his place when his mother was out, taken speed with her and they’d had sex. I read it all on his myspace inbox. I rang him up and said “I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.” his response was “…. NO YOU DON’T” (funny in hindsight, truly)
Actually I died a bit inside at the betrayal and we broke up and that was the second time in my life I’d have anorexia. It’s weird – I ran this very hot bath and I dreamt and saw blood coming out of my nose and that I’d died. But I got up and out of that dramatic shower and I experienced anxiety unlike I had ever had before. I wasn’t angry with him, I was scared of losing him. I was scared of being alone. Not love.
The notion that people could rape, torture or otherwise humiliate someone into proving unconditional love is, well – “retarded” is such an obvious word but it’s appropriate.

(Why a chihuahua? Chihuahuas are Aztec Gods who lead people through the Underworld. Depression? Mental Illness? Some kind of illusion? Death has so many fucking forms.)

Ok here I go – when some guys were using their ability to astrally project, they were communicating via tumblr. So – if I had a bad stomach, they’d take the piss on tumblr. (Bad stomach is a euphemism for “passing wind”) and I’d do other stuff like “itch my nose” (pick it) and they’d see it and post a picture humiliating me for it on tumblr. THAT MESSED ME UP ACTUALLY. SO EMBARRASS ME. Then I’d have a dream and they’d put pictures of things I saw in that dream on tumblr. It all got kinda uncomfortable, throughout my life – privacy has been of the utmost importance. Control over myself etc. One time during this period I went on a walk and I saw a “communicative” sparkle of light in the water – ironically the tumblr-er took credit for that, haha. Ridiculous, and rude – to my guides. This was the nature of my tumble into “madness” – all this stuff. I know that people might be inclined to think that I wouldn’t get these people into trouble due to the fact that I love them unconditionally – I feel nothing towards them – apart from like a really really really overwhelming embarrassment that I could’ve literally been thinking of ANYONE and I picked them? I made a joke about women having low standards in the ‘olden days’ … after seeing a picture of Dante … well I outdid their low standards, didn’t I. Honestly – it’s not unconditional love – it’s embarrassment. I did a dance to a song in primary school – to a rage against the machine song. a TAP dance. THE THOUGHT OF ME WASTING MY THOUGHTSCAPE ON YOU IS WORSE THAN THAT MORTIFICATION. I WORE THREE QUARTER LENGTH BUTTON PULL TROUSERS. AND TAP SHOES. RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE. PAIN. Yeah – my romantic and unromantic rape history portfolio is for the most part (bar one, who did time on death row and is very sorry and who was released after a tirade of mine on twitter, and if somehow I have accumulated the 50 Million to have him released from the Congo I’m happy for it to be paid – but also I think my spending habits have been a pretty strong indication as to how the money should be spent – SHOES, clothing, bags, ART, housing, decoration for housing, house utilities, medication – weeds a great painkiller, livestock, safe places for kids to hang out, education, technology, software to help people develop computer skills etc – y’know how I spend my cash. or do you?)

So yes

I cut off the very last of my friends recently – one guy (“friend one”) who shared a name with the guy who runs Vice. Date-rapey friend. He spent the majority of our friendship bouncing from pretending to be interested in me to outright insulting me, but when I was feeling really insecure or I was in a really terrible place he’d let slip a careful compliment like “you’re not that fat” or “you’re cute” (we fucked occasionally y’see and although everyone knew I preferred to pretend they didn’t because firstly – I appreciated that he sometimes did good things for me, no one ever does – and secondly because when you’ve been mistreated in some way by EVERYONE – you’ll take wat u can get.) It’s okay, I can say it. He once told me that when we had sex it made his self esteem a bit better.

So “friend 1” told lots of lies to people about me in Denmark, then his friend went and told everyone I was the liar – everyone distanced themselves from me (honestly though I found them all so deeply unattractive/fucking Silent Hill esque weird/dishonest I wouldn’t of really wanted to make friends with them anyway) – then his friend later quite rudely read through my facebook messages hoping to find my lie – to make me feel guilty with (guilt is GREAT for controlling people with by the way) and realised who the real liar was. Our mutual friend. Awkward. Also I was actually shocked because I was prepared to believe I must’ve lied. Isn’t that weird? It’s not actually, it’s the story of my life. “Lucifer – Lord of Lies” – mmmmk. (Biblical humour, afford me that as someone who was indoctrinated by someone who went to a psychic shortly after her marriage who told her one of her daughters would be sexually abused for her entire life and then became a born again christian, who impressed a complete guilt towards sex to me – so that I wouldn’t have it. I mostly didn’t – which ended up being exactly why I got raped so much. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)

Basically – Denmark, sorry, back on track – I was moved in with this woman, a pretty celebrated pop song writer – she’s wikipedia page big. haha. And her husband – who was a guitarist for a band I had never ever ever heard of. I told our mutual friend about it via facebook – before I realised it could be anything of any kind of remote deal to anyone, and Denmark is quite small so … apparently everyone knew this band. I am difficult to impress beyond your wildest dreams, honestly. Can you not understand why yet?

I literally copied and pasted what that woman had said to me – to our mutual friend – and he told everyone I was living with the “lead singer” of this band.
Danes have huge fucking mouths …and little brains. Whatever works for you guize.
So when people came up to me and repeated the news – that I was living with some lead singer – well, I was on meds that make you forget stuff. Not even smoking weed. Just good ole brain fixey psychiatric meds that do nothing but cause harm, honestly. Drugs can’t fix depression. Drugs can’t fix anxiety, just mask the symptoms. I have had EVERY kind of counselling, therapy, psychiatric help ever. So if anywan kno, I kno.

And so in response to my living with this lead singer (a very, VERY tacky question by the way) I said “uhhhhhhh yeeeeah? is that a big deal?”.
The truth was I’d really forgotten what he did in that band, and at some point I got about ten seconds into one of their music videos on youtube and switched it off because I found the music boring. I also found the music video boring.
I had also had a feeling that this friend of mine had been lying to look cool to his “new” friends, and I didn’t want to embarrass him. We’d been friends for some years by this point. (At one point in our friendship I observed a glass of wine with powder sitting at the bottom – got an anxiety attack and stopped sipping it. I took a photo of the wine glass  and sent it to another friend – who cut ties with me because he was in love with me – but I decided against doing anything about it because I’d had such a negative experience with the Police. Haha. I am rapist bait, huh!

Then… back to this ‘band’ story – for some reason I was convinced that I must have lied. It gave me anxiety, the thought of lying. If you’ve grown up with a mother or a series of experiences where you’d get caught for lying – but more often accused of lying – when you really weren’t – that kind of accusation from a person you care about has that effect on you. He knew that and probably enjoyed it somewhat. He’s like that. Damaged little thing.

What a weird lie to tell about a band you’ve never heard of – thought no one. Not even myself! I remember that friend (the one who shares a namesake with Vice guy, by the way – and to spiritual types – names carry “vibrations” that reflect your personality) and his friend (who I’d fancied for years – but wasn’t introduced to because I declined a threesome proposed via facebook chat in like 2009 – discussed with some sad frequency on this blog, probably because I enjoy making him feel like a moron after he took the piss of me with his friends because the only talent I could boast was – and IS – emotional intelligence. Oh theres a book on “Genius” by the way – geniuses think they’re stupid. Thats one of their “things”.) came over to the flat, realised that i wasn’t living with the “lead singer” of this band – and realised how embarrassed I was about the lie (he already knew btw, but still thought I had lied) and sweetly joked about how “expensive” the couples baby was, regardless, because of how successful the baby’s mother was. And they resided in a pretty affluent area which I until now feel lucky to have walked around in. (But yes, there’s something funny about someone observing how much a person is “worth” while still not understanding, with his genius intellect, that regardless of my lack of funds, I’m ROYALTY.) (And even if Israel were to dismiss our family’s role in GIVING the jews their land back after years upon years of multigenerational victimisation and racially motivated persecution – which would be bizarre, frankly, because it’s a military state – I’m the secret child wife of a now passed descendent of the Prophet Mohammed, who as a child medium had a chat with this “uncle” (yeah, dude, you read that right – UNCLE) and channelled his dead wife – which made him think that I was her. My mother had no idea, my family in general apart from my dad and his wife (my aunt), had no idea. He gave me a bracelet worth many many thousands and being three years old, I took the bracelet off… and left it in a hotel lobby. He’s not related to me genetically or anything, although I wouldn’t put it past my family – I mean… you wouldn’t believe the kind of sordid, strange, incestuous stuff my family history would describe, haha. Like don’t put it past any of my cousins weird childhoods, we’re a messsssss. So by marriage that was never formally acknowledged, I am Jordanian royalty, anyway. Putting that out there awkwardly for you all to ponder over.)

The gravity of the above statement is terrifying to anyone who practices any kind of spirituality, particularly Judaism, although truth be told, the only reason people in the UK are allowed to have sex at sixteen years of age is that Jesus’ mother was presumed to be around that age. I don’t personally have a problem with people having informed, consensual sex. If you need validation here – I recommend you speaking about “the male gaze” with a Rabbi, although my mother says she was vaguely told about these things by pastors – so being sectioned for all of this in a way that had anything to do with her – and it did – is sad. But between her and I. She’s had a hard life and she’s disabled. I get that the occupants of this Planet likes to control people through humiliating them but some part of me hopes that making fun of someone whose life was made hell – with all sorts of illnesses – and a disability that has left her with a great struggle that involved her learning how to walk again (for a second time in her life) might be some kind of deterrent. Humans are weird fucking creatures and using some kind of difficult life to justify abusing people is absolutely unacceptable. A girl I thought really, really, really highly of – called me fat recently and I think she tried to make me see things from her point of view – oh she was a teenage cutter. Weren’t we fucking ALL. Oh well, another tie to cut. I brush that stuff off and if it’s really funny I’ll own it.

And you’d really think this was intended as some kind of guilt trip – but not really. Not at all. It’s absolutely not intended as that. As I edit this – I’m recovering from a cramp in my chest where my heart is, a familiar pain and not one I’m afraid of. (Most people would be though. I am not most people. I wouldn’t even really call myself a “people”.)

If I wanted to guilt trip you I could take it so much deeper, describe in detail the angst and discomfort at various moments of my life where I had been molested – in particular by doctors (one time I was laid on a table, held face down by four nurses while a doctor shoved something in my asshole and the scream was kind of like this one – in a video where Beyonce tries to explain astral projection and mentions a GUIDE. I wonder who that guide is!!!!! It happened in a country that practices a faith in which that kind of physical contact between a man and a woman/girl is unacceptable – ‘haram’ – I was probably sold to that doctor – can’t prove it, obviously. But if you know muslim culture, you already know it’s true. Common too! A very ‘close’ relative was luckier than me, she was taken into a dark closet in a hospital when she had a kidney infection and a nurse stuffed something into her vagina? Iunno – people recalling traumatic childhood memories is always going to be a little bit strange.) but actually it’s unnecessary. Some men specifically seek out women who have been systematically abused in some form – because they are generally compliant with abusers. They don’t really care. But what they DO care about – is embarrassment. Not money. Not lawsuits. Not even imprisonment, often.

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So… as far as everyone knows, til now, I’m a liar. Okidoki. I am whatever you are not. If you are truth tellers, then I must be a liar. I am about that spectrum life. Whatever you are, I’ll be the opposite. The minority. If you have ever wanted to understand what it might feel like to be Israeli – this post probably to some very minute extent affords you that capacity for empathy. I have been fortunate to escape death (rape is worse than death, can we agree that I can make that kind of statement? I’ve been raped and I’ve physically died in this life – so I’ll give myself that liberty ok?) being persecuted by people I would’ve done ANYTHING for. I’ve been destroyed by people I’d have done anything for. That is my script. Knowing how I am treated by people, I choose to be alone. I’m happy being solitary. I know that means people will spread lies, I know that means that I’m vulnerable – I knowww all of that. What difference does it make? Better to suffer that way.

I remember “friend one” once told me about this social study about monkeys – apparently this monkey was kept alone and without much ‘nurture’ or ‘affection’ in its infancy and then it was introduced to a pack of monkeys that had been socialised with one another. And apparently they ended up killing it or something, because it was so fucking weird. Well thats a nice thing for a friend to poeticise your life with, who also thinks he is some kind of champion for Palestine for raping me and undermining me and doing all that weird stuff. I once asked him why he was friends with me – and he said “well I believe the end of the World is coming and that in being attached to you I won’t get killed.”
Later he would tell me about how some people are “protected”…… I asked him if he thought I was one of them and he said, I think, or implied, great doubt. Well, having fantastic meditative journeys with the beings your religions refer to as “God” and “Lucifer” (Aliens, obviously) leaves me quite void of fear of that kind of potentiality. But y’know, people who spend their lives alone have fantastic imaginations and I’m happy for you to think that that inner knowing in myself is a product of exactly that – an imagination. Whatever helps you sleep at night (wink wink)

But really – I’m always described as a liar by people who tell lies. Thats fine – get it all out – that projection of yourself that you paint on me.
That rapist friend is still friends with all the people that mistreated me on my visit (they were, admittedly, quite polite about that mistreatment for the most part). They know I was roofied. They’re still friends with the people that did it. Even the girls. Fake “feminists”. Anything to get rid of the cute-fat girl. (I’m technically fat in Denmark btw and that is, frankly, terrifying to me. My landlady’s husband was once quite kind and told me not to diet obsessively because having shape is feminine and I deeply appreciate that there was a person who would say that to me. It wasn’t flirtatious and I did tell his wife that he had been so kind and for a moment she seemed quite proud to have him as a husband.) (If I weren’t completely disgusted by the faux social practice that is marriage I’d say something like “aw I’d like to marry someone like that” but I WOULD NOT. I ABSOLUTELY WOULD NOT.)

That human behaviour – where people choose to congregate with abusers – that is how I see conflict in friendship.
I learned the word “hive mind” from a guy I got close to at one point. It was a funny friendship between he and I, we had a chat about Space once – I knew something about travelling in a space ship and he told me I was wrong – he later googled it and I was accurate, although my wording was confused. Haha. IM SORRY, I DON’T HAVE GREAT COMMUNICATION SKILLS. At least he was kind enough to be honest that I wasn’t wrong though. I drunkenly asked him once if I was a genius – he said “urrrmm, no, I’ve had meals with geniuses. (His dad is a really prominent dude y’see, and his sister lectures at Oxford.) Sorry – you’re not.” DUDE I FUCKING TIME TRAVEL. I HARDLY EVER WENT TO SCHOOL. I SPENT MY LIFE ASLEEP. I KNOW STUFF YOU DON’T AS IF OUT OF THIN AIR. ARE YOU FUCKING SURE.

One guy who was one of my favourite people – who is a compulsive liar and astrally projects to hang out with me when he’s “gaming” – which is lets say fine, but it’s also not – because he picked his current girlfriend, over me. The last time two times I visited him, he insulted my face (injections – I looked good, he just preferred me to look not-good) and got his girlfriend to insult my face – and then later, he told me I need an “assbra”. Haha, I’m okay with my ass – I’d like to see yours though. Actually to clarify – wouldn’t. Ever.

Men have created this kind of game where they have perpetually lied to women about being able to see their memories, their entire lives – so they create false romances based on the things men have done before. And then they test your ability to love “unconditionally” by doing something, telling you they did it, and then sticking with you based on your response. Iunno. All sorts of bizarre crap. Making you feel insecure is actually a favourite of theirs, it’s telepathy. They make you feel overweight. Then when you lose all the fat they tell you you’re too skinny. You don’t have to believe me but I know that if you manage to muster the braincells to compel you to read this far (my history tells me that people get addictions to writing the weird shit I post online so I’ll pretend I don’t know and you read and it’ll sink in whenever you’re ready for it to.)

Insecurity. Used to control others. Used to make people think they can’t do better. Used to trigger childhood insecurities – to keep girls and women alike – obediently obsessing over some mediocre dude. Some women could have ANYONE and they are with repulsive guys – either because they were taught to be afraid of hot guys or because they know this life is a hoax, a total mess. A huge lie.

Wait, I have a song for this… It’s not the original, it’s the Manson mix. I read his biography once when I was on Holiday in Spain? I think. I got upset with him because he had groupie sex and apparently a girl got splattered with meat. I can say with absolute honesty I’ve had worse done to me. At least she had a chance to consent to it.

One time a guy asked me if it turned me on to embarrass people? Or myself – oh god – he asked if it turned me on to embarrass MYSELF. No – the first guy I dated taught me not to feel embarrassment. A life of humbling moments and being humiliated by everyone I ever trusted has taught me not to waste energy on that.

He taught me not to feel embarrassed, I taught him to read books. It’s all about learning. “Life. Oh, life.” – Cher

One time I had this like, HUGE (I mean scary huge) boil on the back of my thigh beneath my butt and I lay on that ex’s bed pulling out like, more puss than you have ever seen on any TMI video on youtube. It was disgusting. It was hilarious. I was scream laugh crying and asking him to help me and he refused because he was absolutely grossed out. He was also laughing hysterically. That is probably both his and my most romantic life moment, ever. Apart from when I was liquishitting in his toilet on a period – but I wrote about that before and romance is NEVER PAINFUL.

Embarrassing people is a talent of mine.

One time, me and my then-boyfriend and one of the girls he was cheating on me with – went to see Die Antwoord. I couldn’t enjoy it much because she was so fucking short I had to hold my arms out while she was dancing so the people moshing around us wouldn’t crush her. Also the night before a friend had raped me while I was awake, and I was feeling kinda weird. When you’ve had a traumatising life, tbh, nothing really bothers you all that much. I literally said “NO” a bunch of times and then I caved in and he fucked me anyway. His lesbian “best friend” was in the room behind us and I KNOW she heard. She stayed friends with him, haha. Rape sex smells different to normal sex, by the way. Really different. Actually normal sex doesn’t smell. For me.
Anyway, so, after this post-rape show, me and ex and hobbitdwarf paid a security guard to get us backstage. We were totally into fucking the band if they were interested but mostly we brought along a few joints and wanted to smoke with them. I said I wanted to fuck Ninja – they wanted to fuck Yolandi. I was ok with it. We stood outside for a bit and my stomach hurt like a BITCH. I was in so much pain I had to crouch on the floor. Y’know what I’ve said about “stomach pain” right? It’s undesired sexual energy. Then eventually the dancers came out and we asked them about it. They said they’d heard about us, seen us, and that apparently the band were SCARED of us. Obv we didn’t get our cash back and the pygmy paid for us to get a cab back to Surrey. She was good for the cash, her mother – me in another body, dresses like Lil Kim – works for a bank.

Some other time lets discuss these two – they have a daughter called Sixteen. She’s also me, in another body.

P.S this is how rich I was

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Some of a future daughters boyfriends

Published by KARINITA


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