My mess is a thing that happened when I left Dubai.

My being messy has nothing to do with my being Arab. And everything to do with my being British. Let it sink in for five minutes. Get offended.

Please do.

This is a British riot girl band fronted by a woman called Katie Jane Garside.

Actually all of the Arabs I’ve met – are psychotic levels of OCD about cleanliness and their self presentation. They usually wash themselves about five or so times a day and they wash their assholes after taking a shit and I promise you – white girls don’t do that. They probably don’t think they need to with their babyshits.

My being messy and vulgar is everything to do with my taste in comedy which is actually mostly British.

My favourite American comedies taught me snobbiness.

I didn’t learn to say “OH DEAR GOD” from Christians (Christians and Catholics avoid using the word ‘God’ as a profanity, it’s considered sinful. If you curse using Jesus Christ’s name or God’s name or the Holy Spirit – you are encouraged to confess it for penance.)

I learned it from a series that at one point I could repeat word for word because it was all I was allowed to watch.

Most young people don’t know anything about British comedy. And so they aren’t really very witty, aren’t especially funny. Aren’t prolific writers either.

Here is your British heritage. The only thing that people really like about the English is your comedy and you guys aren’t funny anymore. If you are funny it is uh. Ironic. That is: you are not funny for the reason you think you are funny. A funny dance is rarely a funny dance.

I learned to be okay with peeing in the sink because I saw British punk girls taking photos of them in hotel rooms doing it and I thought it was awesome. I still do.

One time I was at a party in University and there was an English girl who was a lot younger than me that I felt compelled to invite to stay the night. She slept on my bed, beside me (and a guy that was, at the time, model hot and an actual model.)
She’d been ditched by her friends – and whether she is a nice person or not and whether she knew the town or not, and whether her friends liked her very much or not – they left her alone and so I let her into my room with a guy that I’d invited to that party. She’d done drugs so she found it a struggle to urinate and I let her go in my sink and I made no issue of it. She felt comfortable saying “I can’t pee” and I didn’t laugh at her or make her worried that she’d never be able to urinate again, I said “try turning on the taps.”

One time I watched my spiritual teacher having a really painful episode of diarrhea – she’d just come back from a healing session with a lot of abused women and what energy workers do is they absorb the ‘negative energy’ into their bodies. The energy doesn’t DISAPPEAR. And I was not watching because it’s good-watching – but because I was in a bathtub that had no curtain and I felt embarrassed for people to see me naked in person because when people see me naked I am aware of their observations.
Here’s what I felt/thought when I watched her going:
– At least she’s not constipated because that is so much worse.
– That looks painful. I am so fortunate not to be in that much pain.

If I hadn’t of seen my teacher go, there was a time when I’d of been afraid to use the toilet – I might’ve had to go to hospital because I was terrified to go because I felt I was being watched. So I don’t think she realised how many people she healed that day.

At the time my landlady (sometimes she’s an Irish Gypsy and sometimes she’s other things and I adored that about her.) was living in a messy and inelegant cupboard beneath the stairs and I hadn’t seen her clean once. I felt like I was living with a liberated, educated person who had better things to do than obsess about the cleanliness of her home. Her home was filled with books that she was happy for me to borrow and to some extent it was like reliving a childhood. (Of course I was recovering from a traumatic abortion that I didn’t trust my family enough to tell them – although now I realise that they knew and it terrifies me that they knew because throughout the pregnancy before the abortion I was being verbally abused for and over anything and of course you don’t abuse pregnant women unless they’re abusing you.)

If you think that people needing to use the toilet is funny then you can be sure that you probably won’t ever have children until you don’t.

You’ll find that out of nowhere you develop pretty serious constipation too, especially if I’m the person you think about when you take a shit. Which is not a compliment but it is a SERVICE.

Shitting is not funny unless there is a context towards the narrative that makes it funny.

Farting is not funny because it is a form of rape that you can’t see. It is not trapped gas. It is people trying to penetrate your body without permission.

When my baby Seagull was crapping ALL OVER over my Habitat cushions (they’re hers, I know it) all I could think was “I am SO happy your body works because if it didn’t I’d take it personally”.
I was not congratulating her for being functional but I was honest about how it made me feel that her body was performing the way that bodies are supposed to. Especially having my disability, I project a lot of fears about that onto anyone I’m feeding. Especially animals.
Eventually it was “I know that you can understand every single word I say if you’ve watched my memories, I know that you’ve learned how to speak and that you can speak well too – I know you can gesture yes or no in response to questions most humans can’t really respond to. So either you’re doing this on purpose or someone is occupying you and making you do it. Like me, she struggled not to think about my abusers.

She knew not to fly into glass, I had birds throughout my childhood. I actually HAD birds. She was not my first bird. She was not my first or second rescue bird either.

She could press her beak into a mirror specifically to balance and dance and I would NEVER teach an animal how to dance (I like to hold Tintin and choreograph him but he doesn’t do that without me enabling him) and I did actually ensure that she put her beak on my window and further ensure she knew that there was something there even if it appeared see through.

Well if you want a pet bird, I advise the following:

Wait for it to dry, grab a pumice stone (volcanic rock typically but rock is rock is rock) for most surfaces except marble – and scrub. You can use a good stain remover but I haven’t found my stain remover of choice yet.

I could feel the British actors and thespians I’ve known in my life cackling as they overheard this. Same.

Zoe I will consent to everyone watching my life if only so that they can hear how much of this mess my ‘friends’ at University and I inspired.

Ghost writer – my ass – Zoe. You wrote this by yourself and you deserve all the credit in the world. Ghost writer. What a lie. (I’m sure she will either leave it there, and pretend she doesn’t stalk me online – or she will have it removed. It is ‘Girl Online’. Her debut novel and a book she most definitely wrote (no ghost writer that had studied literature could comfortably even not-put-their-name-to-that – that apparently a lot of your kids have both bought and read.)

I mean it was either her or Alfie’s sister or both that wrote that shit.

I once wrote a 14k word story – no where near finished at that point – and it was an attempt to narrate a pilgrimage of a – blonde – ugh – princess (lets say she was a pleidian) and she travelled to many geographical locations, including Egypt. And she saw beings with the heads of animals and partied with a fox boy and trolls and all of that. I tried to include the legends and myths of beings

One time I will put together a children’s reading list but amongst the books that I personally know your kids will enjoy that aren’t Harry Potter but certainly would’ve been read by J.K Rowling.

brian-jacques-redwall
[image ref, courtesy of a google image find]

I had an ex that had never read a book before meeting me – he’d been mistreated at school (you try having the name ‘Ahmed HOSNY’ twenty or so years ago. In East London. With an unemployed, easily irate Irish mum and an abusive Egyptian dad that owned a Whimpy for a bit.) he had read plenty of comics but he’d never read a book.
This was the first book he finished. He once performed he mole’s voices for me. He didn’t feel stupid being theatrical or gesticulating or being interesting and I assure you, WASPS really need that. You’re the zombies slash robots, trust me.

I was the first person that was prepared to stick up for him against the punk girls he really fancied who used to joke saying things like “half breed” and “we only acknowledge your irish side” – and that was forward thinking for them. Really it was.

My dog is funnier than your local celebrities.

Screen Shot 2019-08-09 at 06.42.06.png

Iunno if I said; but I saw my seagull babe Killi outside the corner shoppe owned by asian men (not oriental/azns, the kind of azn that wear saris and bindis) where I bought her favourite foods (except for paté – but the first paté I gave her was from there) and

I mean the excuse I have towards that lack of sensitivity towards races is that I secretly fetishise azns (worse than being racist to the actual azns, I know that, they know that, I put up with the dirty looks from the hot ones because I deserve them) and also amongst the first mothers I had was a Sri-Lankan woman called Mala who used to pick food up with a knife and put it in her mouth. We’d blame her when our cereals got cockroaches in them but that’s common when you live in the desert.

Before I was kicked out of Bernie’s house so that a blonde woman and her pets that neither of them were able to look after could move in, a spirit guide told me to accept that the reason none of the men I was interested in or the people I wanted to be friends with would be in my life was specifically because of my race. He said “It is a race issue.”

Well I wasn’t initially prepared to believe it was just that. It was what they associated with my races but um. I grew up in the United Kingdom. I am a British passport holder.

The midwife that delivered Princes Haryryr and WIlearaarm (Lady Diana’s sons) also delivered ME. In a British hospital and everything. After my family had spent years here, IN SERVICE. My siblings attended private British schools (the kind you pay for) including Queens Gate and some other shit ones with ugly uniforms. They were taught to be good little English kids with names like “OMAR” and “CHOREIN” (that isn’t her name, I could watch her die and feel nothing.)

If I wanted to hang out with British aristocracy – I do not, and would not – but if I did want to, I have the manners and I have the ability to ‘banter’ with them too. You don’t really know what the upper middle classes are like and not many of your youtubers (village people) could probably cope with those kinds of people. I mean you couldn’t have a debate without it becoming an argument and getting offended and thats why you’re proletariat. My friends were people who were from all walks of life financially. My sister chose the kinds of friends who became the people that ran companies like “universal studios London” and my kinds of friends were people whose parents or grandparents were the reason that we know we are in a Universe. Not wealthy money – because they were the kind of people who were kept well away from money because they don’t let clever people have much money in this country. They keep them out of work.

The difference between those friends and myself is that I never really showed off about the things my family had achieved or done for this Planet (MANY – not just Israel, trust me) and if I told someone, often they were rude about it.


[image ref]

I suppose it means something from a green guy with white hair that doesn’t wear cagoules, tracksuits and ugly trainers.

Here is a post I made a few days before going to University on this blog.

Screen Shot 2019-08-09 at 07.21.12.png

EDITED TO ADD: OH DEAR GOD ITS WORSE. The people who insulted me for not being promiscuous and insinuated I “didn’t know how to have sex” were WHITE PEOPLE who had NEVER HAD ORGASMS and were really struggling with getting pregnant.

Btw – to both Zoella and Pops, I was nice first. So it means something now that I will be cruel to you and if people defend you both for popularity they will be defending people that I really wanted to be friends with. There is no one on this fucking Planet that could suggest otherwise. I really, really wanted to be friends with you and frankly that kind of stupidity gave me a shit time. If you lurk someone or watch stuff they’re doing, don’t pretend otherwise. This was on my ‘affliliated/fan links’ and I’ve since removed it. Zoe had a spot too but I took it down when she started being discreetly abusive towards me on her youtube, having watched me remotely without ever asking for consent and I had been prepared to forgive her for it because I really thought that we’d eventually be friends.

Screen Shot 2019-08-09 at 07.28.24.png

To alfie – dude if you killed yourself I couldn’t care less but don’t bother. Ariana is gonna be single eventually.

These people are abusers. Do I want you to defend me? No. Don’t you DARE contribute to their suffering. And trust me, I can do a better job of defending myself. Sometimes I invite help from people who might know how it is most appropriate to defend myself but I prefer to do it myself. Do you think that you are the first town to unionise and gang up on me? I HOPE NOT.

By the way – if I taught you how to use the toilet, if I help you or have ever helped you to go to the toilet – that means that firstly – your parents failed you and I picked up the slack and that means that I have kids first.
Especially if I am your egg resource.
That means – more importantly – that
I choose who I give my eggs to.

Screen Shot 2019-08-09 at 07.59.53.png
[ref]

I had a friend who said to me that she prayed for a child and then conceived one – I was the only friend of hers that didn’t know she was pregnant and all of her friends, for whatever reasons, discouraged her from having that child. She aborted very late. For a lot of reasons I think it was positive for our Planet because we learned about what those clinics get upto (std clinics, fertility clinics and abortion clinics apparently really need each other) and that she is at heart a selflessly inclined individual who made a terrible sacrifice to some years of suffering later – acquire some very frightening, void of doubt truth about human reproduction. Her child would’ve wanted that because her child would’ve been raised to know about reincarnation, the immortal nature of spirit, truth and service. (There are many spirits, some are annoying and if you tell them to go away and mean it, they really should.)
I was the only friend she didn’t tell and I was the only friend that would’ve encouraged her to keep the child. I’d of told her to excess all of the things that would have made her a fantastic parent because I had always thought so when I hung out with her. I admired that she could cook and that she could keep herself organised and that she could make appointments – she could do things that I personally struggled with and she could have conversations in public that most people would shy away from and there was plenty she knew about that I did not know about. We grew a lot from just exchanging conversations.

I DESPISE of that girl but that doesn’t change that I could leave her with a pet, and that pet would be properly taken care of and not at all treated like some kind of source of entertainment or amusement. My pets are always amusing though. I could leave her with a child and know that child would not be abused. Perhaps made to feel stupid if they did stupid things or called out for questionable behaviours (I’d let her smack my child – I’m not lying) but would I be FRIENDS with her again? NO.

So trust me, when it comes to your family units – it isn’t about whether I like you or not. It’s not personal. But if you are untrustworthy: your future child probably ran away from you too.

And for a time when people don’t rush to insult or to shut me up – I continuously kept repeating to them telepathically that I was more than prepared to give alfieere and perpery’s PARENTS a child. DID YOU DEFEND THE BLONDE THERE TOO :S

It’s okay – I stayed in Denmark for a bit where EVERY woman was blonde and got defended against me. I was in a state of PTSD and I really wasn’t being nasty to anyone but they were still defended. (It’s a weird thing to do, to go to a new country and be nasty to people.) So I’m PREPARED. FULLY PREPARED. I DONT EVEN BLAME YOU.

But I suppose they thought they knew better than me and now I will have nothing to do with them. Find yourself someone else to steal from. You’ve got a whole town of loyal racists who will defend your honours.

Don’t EVER forget that I stuck my hand through a fucking FLAME – ACTUAL FIRE – to defend a woman that is more British than your Queen and who was abused by YOUR QUEEN. Who had a mixed race baby (Pharaohnic lineage so just as much royalty as her repulsive brats – scraped out of her body before she was popped into a new one.)

That was an “im prepared to get hurt to tell the truth” but I did it to save my life because I had a whole town of people trying to make me think I was ‘going to die’. To defend a blonde. That had been hurting me long before we ever started speaking.

I pick the women that selflessly helped me in ways that my parents didn’t and that I’d of preferred to have been my parents. It is small acts like that that shape who you really are, as a person, until my teachers have kids you can literally all fuck yourselves into oblivion (you won’t carry a pregnancy through to full term, even if you convince yourself otherwise – and if you do you’re giving those kids up) because I don’t know how to raise kids until I see them do it first.

Stay the hell away from me.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s