I could wax. Should wax. Won’t wax.
Stole that joke from Larry David. Transferred it, in anycase. Bettered it.
I do not always look like this. Actually I rarely look the same as any photographed version of myself – and a lot of my stalkers were really upset about that, because they I was rude enough to let them see me without make up. I was negged and called a catfish by people who are wealthy enough to employ makeup artists to make them look good for cornershop visits.
My worst self can say quite honestly that even before I had my lips done, If I had wanted to be hotter than most people I could’ve probably been so.
My self esteem has very little to do with my physical appearance and I feel more attractive by making other people look good – I’d quite prefer to photograph other people, but I don’t like other people.
My “faces” are a combination of the facial flexibility I think kids get when they’ve been vaccinated or from having painful experiences that make them scream too much. Iunno.
I remember my brother telling me that Jim Carrey had been hit in the face with a baseball bat and that was why he had such an expressive range that worked so well for his caricatured roles like the Grinch and The Mask. I liked him a lot in Dumb and Dumber. I liked him the most in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind, but I think you needed to see his other roles to appreciate that one – and I think most of all you need to have read somewhere, at how much it fucked up him to play a role in a film that might’ve made people experience sadness.
As far as faces go… I am anti-vaccination. I think it’s rape. As someone who has been raped an unusual amount of times in many different ways (the trauma for an infancy-enema where you’re held down by four women after having your pants pulled down and laid on a table by a doctor is the same as the trauma one experiences from waking up to being dragged down a hall, by a nurse that had given you sedatives in an NHS run psychiatric ward you shouldn’t of been put in and also the same as being given an injection you are terrified to have in your body. I am not needle phobic, I’ve had tattoos and I’ve had piercings (the painful ones – not just the lobey ones – I’ve had a needle stabbed through my nose and my frenulum and my upper lip) – so trust me, k?) I think I deserve some say in this, as I deserve some say in many things. Including the curriculum.. but we’ll get there. I think socially we have to accept that the government cannot be responsible with providing young people with an honest education, cannot be held responsible for their personal details or ensuring that they are not later filtered into a system of abuse with the police.
I think we have to accept that there is a “system”, and it is so engrained into our subconsciousnesses that we’ve no idea we’re perpetuating it and actually most “employable” people might’ve learned enough about life to be “responsible” but there are life lessons that “unemployable” people have learned that would make me feel safer trusting them with my kids. Oh. Your kids. What are we gonna go with when you realise that your kids have been using you to experiment sexually etc and the age of adulthood becomes 35-40, and people don’t fucking want their kids anymore? (First – I’ll need time to laugh. I think if I went to Space you’d hear me laughing sometimes.) (I am good with obstacles, more so than you’d think – but first I expect honesty. In writing, verbally – and I’ll expect compensation. And I’ll rehome MY kids. And the idea of having kids makes me want to projectile vomit when I’m not hormonal actually so I’m sure many of you only had them because I wanted them at points in my life. And FYI – I would make a better parent than a lot of you – that is why I am fertile and you’re not.) (Try loving something unconditionally, like a rabbit or a dog or something. I mean loving it, not owning it as a pet to compliment a look.)
ANYWAY SO I wrote an email about vaccinations to a woman who was writing terrible copy for a charity organisation that wasn’t offering nearly enough information about the distribution of potential donations or even the use of people’s names for benefit of the cause. Her copy was so badly authored that I didn’t even feel guilty being bitchy.
I’ll include the email I wrote to her if and when she replies. I doubt she will reply. I hope she’s lost her job or resigned actually.
Check out my bunk bed.
I can’t believe how long it has taken me to get onto making my next video – for the spiritual kids channel I have on YouTube. This Bee Puppet is Miss Peaches the cat’s new form.. I think. >:/
This one is going to be so good, when it’s finished. I SING IN IT AND EVERYTHING.
I was thinking of a caption for this image and I got “you call that a hot chocrit? THIS is a hot chocrit” (Actually my hot chocolates are the kind you down. I do not make drinks that people savour, I make drinks that people inhale. It really upsets me… how much I don’t appreciate my drinks.) (and that the only company I’d want around me right now would be company that doesn’t drink hot chocolates. That is, I miss Tintin.) (A lot.)
I stole the joke. It’s not my joke.
I have something further to add.
I know you’d fancy me if I were a boy. Actually my boy-game is so strong that people who have asked me for boy advice (including men who were genuinely hideous 2 out of 10s going for 6 out of 10s) and actually taken it have ended up in long term relationships. That scares me a little bit because I know that if my advice gets around it ends up being easy to abuse – that men put on acts just to get girls they fancy – and they end up being incompatible. Boy me could teach men how to date but would think it unethical. If you aren’t with someone it’s because you’re not meant to be, you might be at different stages of growth. Sometimes finding a version of you in another gender’s body attractive is really the only life lesson you might need from that person.
I actually think I’ve dated around enough to know that the only person I really ever could fancy is myself – some me in another body etc. This is what I’d look like if I were a boy, except I’d probably be slightly prettier. We’d be matchy matchy – except I’d wear floral dresses and fake tan and be super cute if we went out cos girls would stare at him and I’d get jelly (I ENJOY IT IN TINY DOSES) and he’d be pale and skinny and effeminate and we’d be forever (forever can last a happy five seconds in Karina land) matchy matchy and creepy and we’d make lots of movies and art together and then when we were done we’d be done and forget about one another because we’d be that similar.
Okay so here is a cute story, I love those.
The white flowers are Cici and Nyu. The mint plant – I purchased at a reasonable price from Tescos and I named her Rinka. (Rinka has an important job of keeping my bathroom oxygenated because I block the loo for a few days every month and I’m sure she’s glad she doesn’t have a snout or a nose. Actually my bathroom doesn’t smell but I write all about that in my interiors magazine that’ll come out whenever it comes out – and that you should all save up for because it isn’t going to be cheap. It has photographs in it you will not find anywhere else, and I know that lurkers are addicted to shit like that because back when people were interesting and uploaded photographs – I was one of you.) (I even used to SAVE the people I stalkeds images so I could read the name of their .JPG files. I WAS THAT DEDICATED. AND I AM ONE OF THE SUPER CHILL ONES.)
Rinka (named after a Japanese popstar called Rinko) has grown a lot – and fast – in the company of Cici and Nyu. I’ve had Cici and Nyu for about three weeks I think, and when I would water them I’d feel that the three of them had bonded – although I noticed that if Rinka hadn’t been watered for a day that she’d of wilted much more than if she had been, and I sincerely believe that it is because Cici and Nyu were dying… and she wanted to keep them alive.
(Perhaps my surmising so is some kind of future-vampire-version-of-me – read: enlightenment, I dun-reached it and more than once (I maintain that if consciousness is ever evolving that ‘enlightenment’ is a temporary state, like happiness) – me projecting onto humans that need to die to grow, perhaps it is my inner story-teller finding a personality in them. Both of those theories are very possible – but in reality I do believe that plants have emotional intelligence and science would support the suggestion.)
Everytime I’d see Cici and Nyu – I was trying to consider every spiritual law through which I could keep them alive, knowing that they were going to die. And when I’d water Rinka and the exotic princes (not included in the photo but you can see them here) I’d quietly hope that perhaps there was some energetic residue in the water that had been hosting the flowers that would transfer their consciousnesses to my other plants – so that they could remain alive, even if not in the same body.
Then I considered the ethics of transferring a consciousness just to preserve it and I resented the idea of that too, because while we might have an inner consciousness – we also have a separate consciousness attached to every physical body. You know when your mind likes the idea of something but it gives your body the physiological symptoms of anxiety? I think to some small extent that could be an example. Or when people’s bodies and minds don’t align. Or when, for example, you prematurely have sex with someone before you’ve had a chance to be properly acquainted and get to know whether you could love them or not – if you have sex before you’ve realised you love someone.. which takes two weeks on a chemicular level it’s a one night stand. We all know it but we run from that truth. (Every time I consider that truth – I smugly laugh at all the faux relationships that people I could’ve really loved for years and years are in and I am consoled that I have rejected attachments I had, to those fools. I didn’t believe it either – I spent a year and a few months purposely not having sex with someone that I wanted to be in a relationship with. We’d hang out and watch cartoons and cuddle for hours. We spent a night together and didn’t have sex. I told him a bit about my weird childhood – OUT LOUD but mostly through text. We had sex and that was done. I mean – literally – everything changes. It’s fucked. But don’t take my word for it, fuck up all your soulmate connections like I did and then say “ah, she was right” and I’ll telepathically respond “yes, me and my carefully chosen and manifested slutty teachers that fall in love simply HEARING about someone WERE RIGHT.)
You know how scientists would refer to the reptile brain, as primitive? I don’t necessarily agree that’s always the case, I think that a primitive consciousness can be born into a physical body that has DNA/genetic information that has learned superior lessons to the primitive consciousness – that is not saying anything about these plants though. It’s just a musing. I’m unsure that anyone reads my musings but I like to go back on myself and I’m the best audience I’ve ever had.
Here is the ending to what could’ve been a shorter story. I left Nyu and Cici in the vase even when the petals atop the stems had wilted and they were technically – for flower arranging enthusiasts – no longer alive. Today in an attempt to tidy up my bathroom a little (it is the tidiest bit of my home life and a bin away from being perfect) I realised that the stems had grown roots.
I bought them from a local healthfoods shoppe. In about a month or so when Brighton has had time to learn their manners, I’d quite like to travel around my local area to document my favourite shoppes so far so I won’t say much.
Here is a song. I attach nice memories to this song. In one of those – I woke up and the sun was shining through my window. I woke up, played this and got dressed and wanted to go outside. (This memory would only ever be interesting to polar-introverts. I can stay inside for YEARS, not speaking to anyone/being hugged by anyone and not feel weird or out of sorts for it.) I doubt I went outside, but it was the wanting to go outside that must’ve been indicative of some kind of actual happiness. (I do Buddha-serenity, Yzma-cackles and the calmest rage episodes known to human kind but when I am super-happy I swear the sun shines brighter.)
Afew of my housemates and I had moved a mattress into the kitchen at seventy-seven one evening and we had an old television and my siblings SNES console, which we connected to it. We took some MDMA and loved each other a lot. But we did so without having sex with one another. Have you ever shared a home with a load of people that really, really loved each other? I mean romantically loved each other as if they had loved each other in a million other lives? I know a lot of people tried to do it after I had done it with my friends – I know they all went their own ways and tried to do it again – but it’s a once in a Universe kinda thing probably. Actually no, the truth is – I think it’s only possible if I’m around and if I’m bossy and I get to control the music and the activities. I mean I’ll let you think you’re doing it but it’s not you, it’s me.
I’m sure all the friends I’ve had throughout my life would secretly agree.