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Remember when I used to spend all of my money on weed, and you all thought I was a huge druggy (I’m much more fun to talk to stoned though) and we all realised together, later, that I was actually, constantly in tremendous levels of pain? That I’d probably spent my entire childhood in agony?

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I had concerns my hair ‘looked crazy’ – how the fucking HELL can you LOOK crazy? How the fucking hell can you determine someone’s mental health by looking at their APPEARANCE?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fDiCr7BNVY4

I have a scene for this, I know psychiatric-science enthusiasts secretly love my blog. (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.)

But back to jealousy and my life and you watching my life: secretly none of you cared when you saw me suffering, because you were too busy finding something to envy about my life, and I learned that for most people, even literally walking in their – no, lets be specific – MY shoes – doesn’t teach you empathy.

It is only suffering that teaches people empathy.

Imagine learning body dysmorphia was the result of an infant or a bored and emaciated woman that your mother had permitted to occupy your body (as if you could convince yourself that you were the only one doing it, with success.) and that she had been in part responsible for stealing your kids? Your ‘friends’ kids? Imagine being me, and realising that a fat girl I was babysitting had a child stolen from her, given blonde hair and just assigned a position of royalty, as if she had worked for that position or had any idea of what you are expected to live through as “royalty”. This royal family use me to take their ass-pain and to help them shit, the British one I mean.

A woman working for a travelling/holiday company that was sitting in a hidden office, behind a blacked-out window, and I changed from a mens shirt into my bra and a scarf to wear as a poncho by the seaside (FYI I live in Brighton, by the seaside, we had some sun) thinking no one would see me and apparently I was changing infront of a business meeting. She started banging (I mean BANGING) on the window and I could faintly make her out while I was changing (surely people working for plane companies are encouraged to be chill?) and she exited, created a huge scene and started screaming at me and then had the audacity to claim she was ‘protecting me’. I found it amusing because anyone that knows what my family does for the “British Royal Family” without a quarter of their funds would know that was complete nonsense. The opposite is true. Can you leave the house without feeling like you’re being penetrated? Do you have the energy to go to work everyday in that fucking horrendous outfit? You’re welcome.

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 looking terrible, in states of undress. I wanted to appear in erotica but that dream was constantly shat on by very-dedicated-stalkers.

No one could call me a ‘slut’, even if I was putting ‘naked photos’ on the internet – because I wasn’t one, frankly. All I wanted was a boyfriend and to get married to that boyfriend and to have a family. I think you could have counted the times I’d masturbated, between the ages of three and eighteen/nineteen on one hand. It was really important, for me, to be an archetype of a person who felt comfortable being naked-online or talking about sex online (I did it to make that boyfriend of four years jealous, I can’t express with any kind of success I think, how unattractive he is to me now)

Actually I was the victim of the exact opposite to slut shaming, I was told that I was frigid because I didn’t want to be a slut and I had to contend with slutty-boyfriends-of-four-years who periodically cheated on me with other women.

Years later he realised he could have probably actually been in a relationship with afew of us because I find women attractive. Actually I find them a lot more physically attractive than men, and not because men aren’t attractive, but because they don’t even try to be attractive. I don’t like women’s personalities, that is probably my issue. Also it is apparently a struggle to find women who are actually interested in other women, because they’ve been mind controlled to compete with them. If I’ve ever made out with someone I’ve later realised it was really a ‘he’s watching, lets pretend we find each other attractive’ thing, as opposed to an ‘I genuinely find you attractive’ and my issue was the taboo of homosexuality and apparently that’s fine if it’s one man with lots of women, according to Christianity and Judaism and Islam. I’m still really weird about the taboo of the whole thing actually because I was indoctrinated in my childhood and then I was abused by women even more when I left home. Thumbs up.

I was told that I ‘didn’t know how to have sex’ and years later I learned that women are infertile because they learn how to have sex from watching pornography, most of those women have no idea of how to orgasm at all. (That convulsing thing – is not an orgasm. It’s actually really unsatisfying.)

I never didn’t-know that you were being an asshole (the universal you) though, because you were jealous about something. Anything, apparently. I didn’t know that manipulating people with the suffering that is jealousy could cause people to rise to your defence either and I do now, and I still don’t do it. It’s weird.

Stop defending people though because you make their lives worse.

ANYWAY. For now I don’t spend any of my money on anything I really want (weed and weed accessories, for the pain I am in) and I’ve realised that whenever I have an idea, someone copies it and steals it and tries to stop me from doing it to save themselves embarrassment for the above, or because they’ve made money from selling me to someone who did the above.

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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 (pick one, pick any – that’s what every person I make eye contact with does now, it’s between defending a blonde and quoting Timon and Pumbaa “no worries” – one person claimed she’d never seen any Disney movies when I replied “you’re a Lion King fan?” and another guy said that it’s “An American phrase” and I replied “no, it really isn’t.”)

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 (probably taught to do so by a dark haired person. Note: a dark haired person that isn’t desperate to be liked by everyone.)

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, unfortunately that doesn’t work for people that haven’t leapt across those karmic hurdles.

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.

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