ART ART ART, WORK WORK WORK

I am continuously updating the ‘style’ section of my site, I’ve turned it into an essay (and it’s a constant work -)

I am applying to enlist in the Military, but any time I truly want to do something I’ve been taught to be intimidated by, it is an opportunity somehow taken from me. I can’t possibly fathom what the military might have to be frightened about, or what might deter them from wanting me to enlist – but I am keeping my options open and also applying to study Costume Design at RADA. I’ve prepared a sketchbook of designs inspired by a book I’ve loved for years that I’d quite like to see realised or use for research. I am resourceful.

You may think ‘work work work’ came from a Rihanna song – is she still around? But actually it came from an Abes Odyssee game. It’s something the enslaved Mudokens say to keep themselves motivated and it’s pretty upsetting. Though I still don’t know exactly how they ended up working in that factory in the first place.

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I imagine this is the first time anyone has had a collection of emails sitting in their inbox, like this one.

Bloch is a ballet shoe company – did you know the women in my family are dancers? My auntie Norma studied Flamenco, as did my uncle Carlos – and my mother continued on to study ballet etc. My dance style is kind of a very weird mix of all of those dance styles and a little bit martial artsy. I recall watching a Flamenco dancer say that his uncle taught him that if you want to really want to study Flamenco – you study ballet.

So weird – it was years ago – and his name popped into my head. Here’s a performance for you all.

Latin people are like, terrifyingly passionate. That’s why we seem insane to everyone else. It is NOT the sun. Listen to the singer. Whatever the lyrics might be – and not even spanish speakers know – (i’m trying to be funny) – he is probably feeling about a girlfriend he had at like, ten years old, that he grew up with, watching from a distance and like – never got over.

Today I went to the £1 store (without having bothered to brush my teeth, in a grey tshirt that I later sneezed into trying to clean my room and some green leggings.) and bought myself two sort-of fleecy blankets (that aren’t quite big enough for my bed – but are lovable all the same) and some Himalayan pink salt – my mother said “that’s nice to use in a bath!” So I’ve put it in my bathroom. I would argue it is the nicest bathroom in the World that has ever existed. I MEAN IT – I AM IN LOVE WITH MY BATHROOM, OKAY.

I saw a faux homeless man sitting outside the £1 store and thought “you’re wealthier than I am” – certainly more “free” than I am. I wanted to say “would you not go to the YMCA?”. When I was a child, I saw a homeless man in Trocadero – and he had no blanket. I insisted to my mother that we rush home (the otherside of London) to fetch him a duvet – and we did – we went home and picked a nice, thick duvet – we put a cover on it – and we drove right back to where he was sitting and he’d gone. Even though I had asked him to wait because I’d return with a duvet. He disappeared. He cost us a lot of petrol money, that dishonest homeless man.

If you are truly homeless – and by the way I’ve been without nothing – when I was whisked away into a psychiatric ward I shouldn’t of been in – I had to ask for sanitary towels and the ones given to me were open and not especially sanitary at all – you value a little bag more than anything. Something to carry your things. If you see a homeless person who doesn’t have a bag – they’re not homeless. 😉 But my mother felt generous, and so she gave me a few pounds and I put them in his cup and said “this is from my mother.”

I cleared out a few items from my wardrobe (not many of them) and folded them up to be taken to charity. I think I’ve quite a few things that have to go – I’m really delighted at the prospect of someone finding some of those things and appreciating them more than I do, actually. I’m thinking the British Heart Foundation – I know they used to do quite bizarre tests on dogs and dog hearts …really aren’t even remotely the same as human hearts and you’d think that if I know that, actual scientists would maybe also know that. I know, I know ‘oh pig hearts’, but you try suggesting that to someone that has actually had a pigs heart transplanted into their body. THEY NEVER STOP GROWING. WHY WOULD YOU PUT A PIGS HEART IN A CHILD’S BODY? (And spiritual scientists that the Illuminati just scoops up would say “you know, we can actually grow hearts using cells that have not been taken from aborted babies? We’ve been able to do it for a long time, we just have no interest in helping scientists that make excuses upon excuses upon excuses for unethical practice.)

I made my bed and wrote a few notes to myself, and earlier had one of those Chicken Royale things. In Africa, a part of Voodoo is accepting that if you consume chickens that have suffered – you are consuming their pains. I’m okay with this – you can live on in my body. Our karmas may not be as different as you think, chicken friend. Enlightened or not – sometimes you have to help others to live their karma.

That means teaching them to be themselves, teaching them it’s okay to be eccentric (I initially wrote ‘weird’ but then that takes away from the depth of the meaning that I associate with that word when I encounter something truly weird – like someone that thinks it’s okay to rape for example-) (I read an article last night about a new kind of black market pornography that entails filming women using public loos or trying on garments in changing rooms – and selling it online. Sad.) there needs to be a person who can be ‘different’ and comfortable with people bullying them for it, even if it’s very quietly so. I can cope with bullying to an extent but it does actually hurt me/frighten me a little.

There are some kinds of bullying that are quite successfully funny though, I mean comedy of REAL-FRIENDS or REAL-LOVERS being complete assholes to one another is my absolute favourite. Like I had a boyfriend years ago and I told him that when he shaved his head he looked like a starving cambodian child.

Like – I used to joke about the film ‘Avatar’ about blue people – I said ‘the EMACIATED BLUE PEOPLE’ – well years later, I learned that they don’t eat like we do. Since that toilet training fiasco where I was observed using the toilet and you all put in a lot of effort into pretending you hadn’t seen – apparently their dietary habits have rather changed.

I smile as I write it so I know it’s true

 

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