Author: KARINITA

At uni I learned the following:

– if you are easily insulted, you don’t have it in you to be a model/artist/performer. you probably can’t be friends with me either. I take very well to funny-insults and constructive criticism.

– artists need to be told when their work is crap. they also need to be told what is good about their work so that they can develop.

– i threw most of my art work away, growing up. a lot of it was crap. my ideas were good but my work was often crap. a teacher told me not to throw my work away and fished it out of the bin for me but i was consumed by it being crap.

– in terms of ‘good work’ or ‘crap work’, you’ve actually no idea how you really feel about your work until it’s removed from your memory, until you come back to it. if you are an actor and there is a character in your mind that you’d like to develop, you can probably explore it using many different narratives because actors are always typecasted.

– If you’re a perfectionist you have to go through all of the stages you went through to become one to reach your level of work, every time you start a new project.

so when you were younger, you might’ve had a relative that criticised your work, or a relative that was impossible to impress, and then another relative whose opinion really mattered to you because you knew they could do better.

we might lose those influences in our lives physically but we keep the effect they had on us inside.

kanye west was verbally abused by a sports coach who gave him a terrible time. might’ve ruined his life a few times. kanye west is a gifted verbal abuser. which is good because i like rappers to be abit evil.

i’ll explain. two young boys want to be rappers.

one is a very nice boy from the fancy side of the states, who grew up with two very wealthy, very together, very stable, university educated parents who had stable jobs in the same accountancy firm and who get him to school half an hour early every day, so that he can play with his multitude of friends

versus

the really angry/volatile boy from a trailer park in the ‘dangerous’ side of bronx reserved for prison mums, that couldnt even walk to school without being beaten up because of his ugly shoes – his mum could’ve bought him the cool $2 shoes that everyone else had, but he needed sensible shoes ($1) that could fit his special orthotics (also $1), that “provide ankle control” for his flat feet

these are two different kinds of evil, in the end.

one is the kind of evil that does tae kwon do and buys the restaurant that his competition works at. (he pays friends of friends to write his raps for him.) he also hires someone to do everything from designing the cd to designing the accompanying booklet, to taking photographs of him looking very dangerous. he has been liked by everyone he’s ever met, he was raised by parents that taught him how to be likeable.

one is the other kind of evil, he can’t afford tae kwon do lessons, but he can still beat the shit out of you (not if he’s tired from working at the restaurant) because he spent his life losing unfair fights and working out how to defend himself if he got beaten up by one of the local gangs. he spends his entire life working on his raps. he read shakespeare in private. he has to save up to buy cds to record his raps on his friends computer. he then has to save up for the plastic wrappers to make them look professional. he spends hours at his friends house learning how to download photoshop, he then spends hours learning how to use photoshop. then he has to stand on street corners trying to sell those raps.
this guy has a tough time, no one on his street likes him.

both might become successful. the prior bought his success but his raps are a facade because art requires that you live first. the latter worked fucking hard for his success, he had a lot of stuff to complain about. which is what rappers do.

if you can imagine to associate every stage of your work with one of your closest/harshest critics and consider the nature of the advice they’d give you’ll eventually get it to the standard you’d like your work to be at.

– my mother went to Italia Contis and that meant that when I was growing up, when I was learning to read, she’d have me re-read and re-read and re-read a page in a book if I didn’t speak clearly and if I didn’t project my voice. It was very annoying. I am now much more annoyed when I read something outloud and I sound muffled.

– when i spent weeks at home, because i didn’t feel well enough to go to school, i watched blackadder, frasier, that film about the skull and bones and simpsons videos on-repeat. i watched elizabeth with cate blanchett. i watched shrek a lot.
when I was in trouble/grounded I watched christian shows like ‘the lion, the witch and the wardrobe’.

i watched fawlty towers. sometimes i even watched the directors commentary.

– when you think your work is finished: it’s NOT finished, even if it seems finished, it’s not finished.

– come back to your work/your work should take years before it becomes art (that is, it’s the space of time and the act of evolving with your work that makes it art, rather than crafts.)

I’ll give an example. Lets say you are a ballet dancer. You have perfected the technique. You know the choreography. Then you work on your facial expressions. Then you work on the narrative and being able to ACT properly so that you are dancing AND acting a story. If you have a smile on your face while you are performing in a tragic love story, you’ve probably never been in love because no one who is actually in love ever smiles. I’m trying to be funny.

If you are a dancer and you can’t take criticism, you are not a dancer. A hobbyist, maybe. Dance teachers are the most evil breed of woman kind.

“she’s lucky she’s doing those three steps”

I’ve been working on small items of attempted art using very few materials and when I thought them finished, I looked again and considered what would have made me reluctant to sell them as they were, and then I tried putting them together in what would’ve seemed very mismatched combinations and I produced an entirely inconceivable style to myself. I’ve been thinking about a direction for my work for a long time but I’ve only been doing it for a few months. I’ve hidden the pieces away and I’m excited to return to the work in a year or so.

Most recently Lisa’s dad, a Hindu Brahmin conveyed in thought that “if you can look at your work and believe that someone else could’ve achieved it then it’s not finished“.

I did a ‘creativity’ meditation with Jane of Seth Speaks – for two weeks I did literally nothing but eat/sleep/meditate and I’d come up with a lot of exciting ideas and I didn’t write any of them down – I totally released them and I’ve forgotten all of them.

For most people, meditating for a few hours is a skill you develop over a very, very long time. It is boring, the way I learned is boring. There are many forms of meditation, the kind that works for me is to choose not to clear my mind at all. Actually I jump from meditative journey to meditative journey.

I don’t see a thing because I don’t use a part of my brain that I believe is attached to my optic nerve, I use the very back of my brain. I don’t use my pineal gland either.

I have a direction problem, I confuse my left and my right sides and perhaps I could laughingly suggest that my brain is positioned back to front. It’s unimportant.

What’s important is that I don’t clear my mind.

Then I arrived at a thought journey, being “what would I take with me if there was an apocalyptic flood” (if you regard her meditations and her literary work it’s all quite dark and I enjoy that about her) and I pictured myself with a net for catching food, a solar powered ipod etc.

I also thought: If I had one piece of meat – what would I do with it?

I thought that I’d leave it to accumulate maggots. Once I asked Lisa “would you ever eat an insect?” and she replied “if I needed to, to survive”. I thought of all the biblical figures who would run away to the desert to think, who probably ate insects to survive.

I had some pork in my fridge and I did a mini science experiment – I put the meat outside in a bag on my balcony. Maggots appeared at some point. If you read my blog you’ll know but I know people prefer to access me in other ways and I find you’ll only observe what you would be inclined to observe about yourself.

Then soon after that I found a baby seagull on the pavement near my home and I caught it. I fed it on all sorts of things, including my maggots. But at that point I had a very dark choice of feeding the bird to the maggots or feeding the maggots to the bird.

I chose to feed the maggots to the bird. I named the bird Killi.

The bird started dancing in front of various reflective surfaces. She flew away when she could, as birds do.

Later, after I’d removed myself from the meditation I came up with a toy collection reflecting it. If you read my post from the beginning, it’ll make more sense now.

Closing thought: Is honesty an art form?

I did a meditation today with angels. And those angels informed me that they’ve picked “their people”. I was raised in a home that I felt indoctrinated by, I felt forced to participate in a faith that I felt encouraged bullying. I learned to find it funny and I learned the rules of the faith and I attempted to navigate the World considering those rules but you wouldn’t think so if you were amongst the kind of people who are so natured as to project themselves onto me.

In my childhood I defended the angel Lucifer to staunch Christian women, I was upset when they’d blame every terrible thing that happened to them on “Lucifer” or “satan” or “the devil”.

– Consider valuing people for their talents and their background and experiences. One friend might be a talented photographer. Another might be a talented make up artist. Try praising them often. If you are a harsh critic, your friends might learn to value that about you because when you compliment them, they’ll know you mean it.

I had a friend at college who was training to build computers. He told me he’d gotten an A in Art and Design and I was in shock, because it’s not easy to get an A in Art and Design and because he didn’t look like an artist. Some years later, he is a superior artist to me, especially in terms of technique, but we complimented one another because I would introduce him to art I liked and that enriched our work and our conversations and we had lots of fun together watching films and having serious arguments about our favourite games and cartoon characters. We had a good run of friendship for several years, but that involved me pretending to be his inferior in a lot of ways. He didn’t know that I could’ve-been-an-athlete because I’m an bed-preferred-all-day person. I didn’t want to be one, but I could’ve. I had serious injuries.

If you struggle to identify your friends talents, either you avoid having talented friends because you are threatened by talented people or you have very humble friends who don’t show off about all of their talents.

– This might be a thing you learn from doing sports: don’t compete with people, do NOT compete with your friends, unless it’s appropriate to or it’s playful. If you have a competitive streak and you feel safe being that-side-of-yourself with your friends, play video games with them and then stop when you put the games away.

In an attempt to reconsider how I use my blog, because I love to write: I’m going to follow a photo and no-more-than-a-mini-paragraph to accompany it structure. I don’t think people read my blog. I’m not in pursuit of a vast audience either.

My university life, the nature of the stuff i got upto removed from my studies was important. I developed what appeared to be a “drug habit”. When I no longer had that drug habit I realised I had spent my life in physical agony. Not the poetic kind that literary artists use to describe depression (although I had that) but I was in pain all the time. And I only realised as much when I had no access to drugs.

I think it’s of tremendous importance to clarify the nature of addiction, and I can do so, I grew up in the company of addicts. I was – at three years old – surrounded by drug addicts. Here’s a good way of identifying if a person has an addiction of sorts: they will break the law to access the drug they want.

I don’t care if a person abuses narcotics, unless it affects me. If I have £20 to my name and a person I’m close to steals it, knowing thats all-I-had-to-live-on for example, then that “affects me”. An annoying drunk on the streets isn’t an addict, a person who consumes their own vomit in an attempt to consume alcohol is an addict. If they’re doing it in the privacy of their own home, it’s none of my business. It’s none of yours, either. Unless that person says “I WANT your help”, it’s none of your business.

Not even angels interfere without direct invitation. And the universal-you do not compare to angels. As I understand it from my meditations, being an angel is a very tortured form of life. A “hungry” angel occupying a starving humans body would not permit that human to steal bread to feed itself with, without feeling very tortured for having done so, and for a very long time.

I looked at this photograph and had quiet concerns my hair made me look ‘crazy’. I spent my teens being very repulsed by the idea or notion that a person should perform an appearance for others, especially if the accompanying motivation could be to ‘fit in’. Einstein is/was team #crazyhair and I’m sad that I’m validated by that – “I need someone else to join me in my looking crazy”

The internet used to be a not-place-place that necessitated people aspired to curating their individuality, because in not-doing-so, you were believed to be very boring.
It later became a place that employers would use to learn things about you, out of the understanding that people use their CVs to lie. Boring people started using the internet and I resent that, quietly.

I preferred the internet when it was exclusively a place for weird people.

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.

This film clip sums up how I feel about society. I don’t believe you can empathise with this archetype unless you have lived her life experiences and I hope for your sakes that each and every one of you experience being persecuted for attempting to be an individual, if only so that society learns to value individuality.

Recently a woman working for a holiday/travel/tourism company was sitting in a job meeting behind a blacked out window. I changed from a sweaty mens shirt into a poncho and that involved being seen in a bra. Literally beside the seaside. I wonder if she screams at women in bikinis by the seaside. I don’t know that-that sensibly her lane of work.

She started banging on the blacked-out window. She exited the holiday company and told me she was ‘protecting’ me by and I have never heard someone so naive. When I tell people what my family have done in terms of service to humanity, and how they have been portrayed for doing so (For example, as a nineteen year old, my series of letters resulted in a girl being released from slavery. I got no credit for it.) – makes people feel threatened.

To explain: my university experience, as a result of Jews who considered me male – meant that many people learned what they are too lazy to read in religious scriptures. I have never been influenced by religious scripture, I think you’d struggle to find a person who had been ass-raped at three years old, who was inclined to be religious.

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 naked, with pubic hair and belly rolls, looking terrible, in states of undress. I wanted to appear in erotica but it’s underpaid. I should direct but it’s probably also underpaid work.

The other side of it is, I could walk around naked in public and no one could suggest I was “slutty” or “promiscuous”, neither of those are insults in Karina-land but the reality is I don’t even often masturbate and I don’t even have sex unless I am trying to have kids. Once every few months perhaps. Throughout my life I might’ve had a single one night stand. There were potential relationships I ruined with premature sex, but really, I had one-one-night-stand. I had a sex blog that was entirely motivated by making an ex boyfriend I’d had for four years jealous. I deleted it when I started a new relationship and the guy then left me.

I was the victim of the exact opposite to slut shaming, I was told that I was frigid because I didn’t want to have the kind of sex women have in adult films. People loathe to admit that we know women can orgasm because-of-me. That is how big an affect I had on the internet actually.

ANYWAY. For now I don’t spend any of my money on anything I really want, mostly on art materials.

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.

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.

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.

The above is an homage to a character from Claymore, called Ofelia.

[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? Do nothing motivated by popularity. It’ll be done to you later.

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, it’s only ideal if you’re at complimentary phases of personal growth.

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.)

[ref image accessed 18:22 pm on the eleventh of November, 2019]

Before I can explain the paint on my leg, Meet Jenova, my Blythe doll.

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.

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.

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.

An old friend that interestingly – the worst he did was snitch on me, when I lied about my age – so LOVE YOU – but I’m concerned (really – thats the correct word here) I wasn’t lying about my age at all, because the age I gave people when I lied about my age (which I didn’t do to real-friends that I’d of introduced to my relatives) were exactly the years I spent sleeping non-stop, to escape hell. The hours I spent awake those years I lied about my age were conveniently when I wasn’t at university trying to get a degree that many people tried their hardest to prevent me from getting.

Actually if we’d of stayed friends we’d of ruled the World from his bedroom. Mine was too small. I’ll leave it there. Anyway

Al had read the book of this film, and I hadn’t. There’s a scene where Astrid’s mother illustrates this point that continued to plague me – because all I’d wanted to be was an artist or a performer of some kind: that there was a difference between art and cartoons. The actors that I liked could do everything from singing to acrobatics to theatre and I cannot begin to explain the associations I have with acting. The mayhem scenes kill me inside but if you can’t cope with the embarrassment, it’s unlikely it’s the career for you until you learn how to. I don’t really feel embarrassment anymore.

It is the truth though. Life drawing versus illustration. And it isn’t coming from insecurity, it’s not faux humility either.

I’ll go on. As I do. But this is a movie to watch to understand and this post is more of a – play-list for people who are in tough phases, these are songs that resonate and also very easy movies to get through if you’re feeling overwhelmingly alone. When you learn how to cope with feeling alone – it’s a eureka moment of sorts, some soulmate or other will surface somehow and if you want them in your life you have to keep walking away. Don’t fuck them. They’re probably your bestfriend.

I imagine the scene with the oleanders in milk inspired this song.

and this piece, which will take years.

The moral of the story is: you have to think about it FIRST. You have to develop the talent first. You have to do the work. Or it’s just a mum-at-home-coping-with-loneliness-by-pretending-she’s-not-obsessing-about-her-husband-and-her-lost-one-night-stands hobby. 

Feminists who have studied what women have been put through for generations can probably better explain this than I can, but women didn’t have occupations until the last fifty years or so. And monogamy has never ever ever been a reality but a cheating wife was the worst kind of female criminal to men that had been encouraged to believe that they were the superior sex. As a teenager I considered myself a chauvinist of sorts and I’ve gone full circle and perhaps thats with the realisation that my female relatives wanted my penis cut off. I was born with both sexes. I’m not especially upset about it, why would I be? It’s really just the idea that they’d of allowed me to be left alone with doctors removed from any kind of emergency – women I find – are prematurely trying to emancipate themselves but we need to know what we’re emancipating ourselves from. And the only way to do so is to pursue an education. That’s the only way. And enslaving people like me, so that you can remotely acquire an education in the Arts was wholly fucking wrong because, if only because: I am an introvert. That means I lose energy in the company of others and I HAVE to spend time alone not to be exhausted. I mean without people watching my dreams or using me to time travel, you’ve ruined my life doing this to me. I haven’t achieved 1% of what I could have done, if I’d of known the truth. Have you noticed how much the World has changed directly because of my learning the truth? How your parents for example, aren’t waiting to die but are considering the gravitas of parenthood and actually want to live their lives again with what they know? That they are being encouraged (probably by the influence the adult industry and my granma, who had make up tattooed to her face at eighty with ZERO shame -) to get plastic surgery – if only because insecurity keeps people from living their real dreams? Love yourself as you are, sure, but if you have the cash – get hot.

The alternative to women pursuing dreams, is the idea of women like Emma Watson, who sought an education in something she had no interest in, in a first league University because she had a Hermione-persona that she was pretending not to be perpetuating but actually, she really did. Or otherwise she heard my spiritual teacher Lisa tell ME that I was to head a FRATERNITY – and so that she could compete with men under that illusion of something that she had no business with. You have no business competing with men Emma. Or me. And most men have no business competing with me, especially when I’d rather be friends with them. Which is the idea of fraternity, by the way. It’s sort of the point.

Years ago I watched a documentary about this flamenco artist. His uncle was a flamenco dancer and Joaquin Cortes said to his uncle “I want to be a flamenco dancer, like you” and his uncle said “then you go to the royal ballet first” – you have to study technique in the arts, before you are an artist.

Ed Norton was told that before he could ever consider himself an actor, he’d of had to of coped with RADA. It’s just whats done, you might aspire towards an art like that of performance, but you have to study it first. I did speech and drama, I did the embarrassing – the MOST embarrassing – plays – but I avoided ever studying it and I know the real reasons why I justified it to myself.

First of all: I didn’t feel pretty enough to be in films and I knew that was a big deal. I got my lips done and I lost some weight – so I feel a bit better, but that doesn’t mean I’m removed from that – you have to do the psychological work – does someone insulting your appearance bring up memories of not being good-enough? Well acting for the screen means you’re okay with being called told you have cankles. Especially if you actually have cankles. I don’t have cankles, I have big calves. I’m okay with that because I wanted athletic roles. I’m okay with being insulted, my first boyfriend did the damage. I told him I wanted to act and that I didn’t feel pretty enough and he said “Kathy Burke is an amazing actor and she’s not-pretty” (She can afford to be, though.)

My memory for learning lines was not good and now I know why. I know that girls were using me to time travel so that they could cheat on their exams and their homework. That affected me in every respect, including that I couldn’t do a lot of subjects that involved the use of my memory. A very abusive one night stand was very aware of the fact that it was possible to erase my memories and he suggested I had an illness. No one’s perfect, weirdo. (No you actually deserve to be shot in the head for that, but that’s on you. You arrange it. No notes for me.)

Even if you’re a very talented portraiture artist, and I’m not – at my most dedicated I am a talented illustrator, which is a form of cartoon work – theres a lot that comes with being an artist and there are reasons why your work isn’t being sold in galleries, even if you’re technically some kind of master (this is specific – to the person that used to sit in Camden with his spray paints and tinfoil and create masterpieces – you’ll return to all of that but you have to do the hard stuff first. SAME though. So do I.), if you haven’t gone through the shit that the artists exhibiting their work in galleries have, you won’t survive in that World for very long.

Thats how I was raised too. First you have to learn from the greatest people, and you don’t ever remove yourself from the people that paved the way for you. Hole have a lyric that I once wrote out in a mirror in Syria before taking nudes (I should’ve kept those, they weren’t that flattering but they were very brave) and it’s “spit on mirrors” – oh thats not the one it’s “it’s okay to kill your idols, just pretend you have no rivals”. It’s not. It’s really not. I get angry at my heroes and my teachers because I felt abused by them but I suppose I’m reminded of a brief chat with a guy called Dom. I was I think, important to him because one time I had an image of a mother in my memory – I was looking at a friend of his and I described her and he said “thats not what my mother looks like” but I had described Dom’s mother. He didn’t say so outloud. Later he was watching a Muy Thai fight and he asked, without my knowing that he was testing my claims of being psychic – who I thought would win. I didn’t use my “psychic ability” (that thing that people assume psychics have – that should tell them the lottery numbers) – I looked at the men and said “the latino guy, obviously”. If you saw him I’d assume you’d of said the same, but if you knew who the fighters were, perhaps not. I think he was Brazilian – but um. You don’t really survive in my world – what I know of it – if you compete with Latinos. I mean the kind that come from the streets, because the posh ones do not pursue careers as fighters. I was using what I understood as logic. Now I’m concerned that I abused my abilities as a solipsist, or that someone time travelled to tell me, but where I can show my working: I know what I was thinking of when I said what I thought. I can show my working. I can validate the claim without using information acquired out of thin air.

It’s difficult though, when you know that every mother that attempted to have you over many many generations would have you stolen from them because you’re a hell of a snitch.

If you want to know who my real mother is, right now I’m going with Mary Magdalene.

There are plenty of women that I could (and would, also) call my mother and I have plenty of synchronistic reasons for doing so but it’s an insult to every single one to pick only one of them.
Lisa told me that I’m an elephant totem person (an ex ‘best friend’ said it was ‘cultural appropriation’ to use words like that but she forgot that I have two women who called themselves my African mothers and who initiated me into a tribe – they do not like her very much and that should serve as a warning.), and the beauty of the idea is that elephants are matriarchal animals that raise one another, they stay together throughout their many generations and share what they learn. There’s a video of an elephant mother pushing one of the baby ones out of a ditch and I have a feeling it’s because she saw me having to push my cockerspaniel Goggles (the first creature I’d ever seen in a crystal ball, and what a delightful friend to spot – and anyone who had seen Goggles would’ve known immediately that was her.) up a ditch as a child. I felt very military-proud of myself that day because it was raining and very cold, and muddy.

And yes: I have no doubts that Mary Magdalene been preserved somehow and that she’s alive. That’s sort of the thing about the templars and eternity of life. I invited her in and I felt nothing of a chill but I looked at my noodles and my chopsticks and laughed to myself as if somewhere to her it was ridiculous that I thought she wasn’t always around me.

Watch the Fountain, that’s what I’m doing today.

It’s a deeply important film about reincarnation and it was released in not-too-long-ago but long enough ago for it to have been a really difficult film, I imagine, to arrange the release of because didn’t follow the narrative structure that sold very well at the time. People are into crystals and reiki healing and a lot of holistic stuff now, but that was wholly weird then. This film would’ve come across, to the majority of audiences, as a fairytale art house film. Much like real life, you go through experiences with particular friends that come to you in different bodies and often you’re reliving the very same struggles. My story, I could only exit when I learned that people were so desperate to be loved that they thought defending a blonde would fix their problems – and that I kept not defending myself against compulsive liars and people who used their looks to manipulate boys in my life that had not removed themselves from unrealistic standards of beauty. I kept not really walking away at the right time, or walking away at the wrong time and under the wrong circumstances.

So… I was thinking about the demon Balthesar, I have been for afew days. One time before I was whisked away to a terrifying collection of experiences in psychiatric wards – and it is one of the most undermined of my experiences around about the time I got a chill down my spine when I read the words “I am Lucifer” (waiting for it, there it is, happened again sort of and isn’t it fun for us all to know that you can feel it too) …

was that I did this coin trick. I am not a coin trick person. It was something I’d never done before and if you watch closely, the coin in my version is moving by itself.

I posted this, and watched it until it reached Papa Midnight and in half Lisa’s and half Mrs Hyde-Gyatso’s voice I thought to myself “we’re waiting for thisss one” and the birds chimed in with a half laugh and a half “YES WE ARE YES WE ARE” – I can’t imagine soul 17 would enjoy going out unless it was to clubs that demanded you perform magick tricks like this to enter. Her trick would probably involve asking the bouncer ‘do you want me to use your eyes to see the card? I can do something better’ and she’d use a fluid of some kind, she’d take the card and rub it on the fluid and get an impossibly perfect image and she’d either be copying me or the artist that used spray paints and tin foil in Camden (she’d tell him she was copying me, she’d tell me she was copying him) (a bird outside screamed with laughter quietly)

I remember it because it was with a £1 coin that read the words:

[ref]

(Also my stomach made a creepy noise, and I’m used to those)

Imagine if this – not the actor, the personality – was one of your dads

The jobs where I don’t advise that you follow that advice: mercenary, self sustaining farmer (because your animals know what you’re planning on doing to them: and they’d rather kill themselves), politician, diplomat, hunter etc

This is a self portrait by Arnulf Rainer.

[ref image accessed earlier than this but it’s now 9:43 AM on Tuesday the fifteenth of October 2019 and it’s a self portrait by Arnulf Rainer]

I haven’t clicked on the host-site to research the piece but apparently this image was hosted by the Tate. I have so much to say about it that I’d prefer my commentary to the research, but that is a kind of obnoxiousness that contributes a lot to the artist identity I’d like to cultivate years from now. His artist statement would matter much more, on this piece, than my observations of it. But I think he’d enjoy hearing what it means to me. So I’ll say.

I’ll now tell you what I know, based on A Level research. This portrait probably took him about twenty years. It probably inspired this Sia music video.

I’m being a little bit sardonic, a little bit bitchy, but it’s important: because when I was doing my A-levels, I was very harsh about this artist. I included his work in my artist research but I did so with tremendous irony towards the fact.

I just thought of this youtuber, who I do believe is an artist of sorts, and I thought while-thinking-of-him, to look closer at the shapes made by the paint strokes. I can see the grim reaper in Rorschach like inkblots and even a scythe. Scroll up and you’ll see. Then come back here.

I’ll tell you what I think of, what I’ve always thought of, when I’ve looked at self portraits of distressed artists. (Apart from trying to understand myself.)

[polaroid taken by Catherine Sparrey in 2015]

A response to this song.

These were self portraits I’d taken for my GCSEs.

A sort of homage to Gingersnaps, too. The idea of Gingersnaps was to create a narrative that drew parallels between the female experience of puberty and werewolves.

This is a scene I particularly enjoyed.

A photograph I took of a barbie doll I’d purchased in a charity shop, in 2005. I’d placed some red nail polish on her mouth to indicate smudged red lipstick and on her hand to indicate blood, I placed a Sephiroth wing I’d taken that had fallen off an abandoned sculpture of an angel my “sister” had in her room at her back.

I believe I might’ve been emulating images I’d seen of Cindy Sherman’s, certainly stylistically. She’s important to me because she worked almost exclusively with self portraiture and she never really looked the same in any of her photographs. She wasn’t trying to model.

[ref]

My A-level artist research considered the works of international (but mostly American) female artists that were very drawn to portraying women on the poorer side of the middle class socio-spectrum, women who had been trapped in the domestic housewife role by societal expectation, or who worked so-called-menial occupations who – culturally at least – had nothing to do all day but sleep, clean or cook for daddy and the babies.

I really think I must have been more drawn to the clothes and the interiors, than the artists documenting them would have wanted me to be. I blame this.

I was particularly the adoption of late 70s, 80’s and 90’s use of cosmetics ad packaging to brighten up their homes (how else did they introduce the colour pink, for example, into their homes – save for having a daughter because until now I find so much beauty in that. What the fuck did these women really get upto when they weren’t sleeping? That’s the significance of the idea of art versus crafts. Crafts were the occupation of bored women, and removed from the insult of the idea of that – you cannot emerge into a male dominated industry which the Arts have always been – without

I know there was a piece she did that incorporated graphic design and typography, though I struggle to find it.

and on livejournal, various members posted photographs of their Blythe dolls in scenes.

And Mark Ryden too.

[ref]

That wing was an ’embarrassing’ motif in a lot of my scribbles and watercolour paintings. The truth is I was very bothered by the fact that I struggled to illustrate two wings that looked identical to one another.

Here’s an embarrassing one, a candy, a heart, blue and red. A crescent moon and five stars. A strange S. An ex of mine got this tattooed on his neck, and then he got it covered with a blue rose. Blue and red were really important to me.

I used to autistically feel happiness when I saw blue and red together. I confuse happiness for laughter now. I do experience happiness, in the buddhist sense of the word. I’m very content. With very little. Which is good because as far as the state of life in this country is concerned, I’m living on the poverty line. Which isn’t good, I’ve made a lot of people that pretend-to-be-decent a lot of money, and all they had to do to get it was abuse my trust.

But it all amounts to this. A piece I’d seen in my brothers room.

[ref accessed 09:37 AM, UK time, Fffifteenth of October 2019, | Edvard Munch, The Scream]

The point of this painting, which tied in nicely to my philosophy a-level, was to depict existential angst. EXISTING IS TOUGH MANG. (why is it though?) (well, we all have a struggle of our own.) (that word – ‘why’, is funny, to me. My mother would have me stand facing a corner for hours every time I attempted to defend myself, trying to work out a reason she’d like to hear for my being ‘rude’, when I told her the truth she’d send me back while she went back to sleep. I’m sure the time passed in seconds for her and perhaps even you – but it didn’t for me. Years later I realised what she was really upto while I had my face in a wall and then people defended her. HAHAHAHHAHDKGHSGKOHG) (The only person that can defend her, is me, and the only motivation I’ll have for doing so is when she tells the truth. She doesn’t even need to say sorry. She only needs to outrightly tell the fucking truth.)

So, at the time I was studying existentialism.
(Life is meaningless and your life is given meaning when you die. An ex of mine once likened people to cattle, which was a very grim suggestion but it came from a place that affected a lot of goth kids, this idea of not wanting to be the same as everyone else, not aspiring to the same things and not wanting to liken ones entire life experience with the rife possibilities that )

But: that painting doesn’t need a learned philosopher – it’s about ‘existential angst’, the anxiety of existing. And notice those white scribbles.

It isn’t a great painting if you’re comparing it to this. This is a painting by George Romney, of a woman called Emma Hamilton – who changed her name to Emma Hart. Footballers wives used me to time travel to her time because one of their names was Emma, she did/has done nothing interesting with her life to be able to insult this woman with any kind of comparison but I’ll get to that so much later.

She is portraying the Goddess Circe in this. It would be pretentious to draw your attention to the paint strokes and the textures and colours used to create the illusion of depth and dimension so I WON’T. That’s BORING. I’m more taken by the white scribbles.

The thing about paints is that the ingredients can sort of have a life of their own, especially waterbased ones.

Years ago, and I am proud of this: even if it involved cruelty. Which is sort of the running theme of this post. Forgive me because I do know that my variety of cruelty is the worst kind.

I pointed this piece out to my mother. I said “apparently this took him about ten years” and to me, it was a portrait of Marilyn Monroe and some scribbles atop the portrait.

Why are the scribbles important?

Well I’ll tell you what my seventeen year old self was really thinking about those scribbles: Why do they make this guy a famous artist and not me?

Well, on the scribbles: they’re emotive? The use of colour? I get it – that is sort of the issue that people have with modern art. It’s somewhat of an insult when you compare it’s nature to renaissance art. BUT IS IT.

Give me a million years (and I do have it, the time. That amount of time. Actually I have much more time than that and it should be terrifying but it isn’t, at all. Sometimes it is a bit upsetting but whats worse is that I’m starting to not need to drink much water – especially as I’m drinking boiled water everytime I eat right now – but soon I’ll have to accept that I am thirty and not in the euphemistic sexualised way but in a very real ‘water isn’t making me not-thirsty’ and I’m a vampire, and I’ve vampired a lot of people – and when vampires go to sleep hungry the ones that read the news learn that a lot of people have died.) to think about it, and to be honest, not having the patience to listen in on teachers and lecturers offering their opinions and definitions of art has been really important to my journey as an aspiring artist. I still cringe when I suggest I’m an artist because I know that I am but I also know that if I accept that identity at this point of my personal development (long story short: going to art school ruins your chances of being an artist and destroys you as a person, but if you can survive that you can return to the dream with experiences that you can transmute into your work later when you’ve grown up a bit.)

Want to enjoy a coincidence? Here are two images of me, cropped out, so that Sabel can be the main character. I did not mean to do this, actually it was entirely by coincidence. I should probably be offended that he is so narcissistic but I’m tremendously amused by it and I’m grinning as I type.

To the right and beneath a magnifying glass, only so that he is more visible and not because he is in anyway affiliated with glass (actually we’ve thought to adopt glass and make it our thing, there’s no need for glass to be associated with 9s,) – actually he’d say that I am the origins of glass to him because I come from the desert. (As in I have a decent amount of memories that are entirely occupied by drives through sandy terrains, as you probably know. Iunno.) and he is a unique form of one of my spider friend Sabel’s children, I found the body on the bottom fhelf (what a typo, I meant to write ‘shelf’ but I prefer ‘fhelf’) of a three tiered mini cabinet that I bought for my art stuff. I’d been thinking to use it to house a snake but I know that any pets that I invest in hence forth will be very snobby and expect that I make this flat or whatever place I live in as beautiful as possible. I talk more about Sabel here.

It’s funny, after all of that maggot research I did this summer (it was only months ago but it seems like years ago because every single day of my life is so different) I walked into the Warhammer shoppe and I had a quick chat with one of the staff there, who told me he had studied philosophy so we briefly discussed the psychologies of a few varieties of the kinds of beings that occupy the Warhammer-(uni)verse and amongst them are insect people, which he said operate with a single mind. So it is a form of Sabel’s, rather than one of his children. He works very hard to be the head-boy-spider. I return to the discussion I had with the Warhammer boys because I’ve so much more to contribute to the discussion. I think that some of the greatest conversations are those that you return to after a period of thinking, not ones that are easily improvised.
I know that Abraham Hicks is capable of accessing all manner of thought that already exists through a connection to the Universe, which is how he answers his schools questions: but imagine if we gave him wayyyy more time?

After a one night stand of sorts with a glass maker I’d been pretending not to be in love with for years (one night stands ruin everything – do not for one minute pretend that someone you slept with the night you finally got a chance alone with them will ever be anything more, even if you marry them, even if they impregnate you – it’s a one night stand. Even chances of ‘genuine friendship’ are over. Blame it on prudeishness or ‘strict parents’, or my, therefore your spiritual teacher Lisa, or the School of Economic Science – Love first: then the other stuff. Love is spending two weeks with a person non-stop without expecting to put your genitals inside of them or vice versa. But mincing about the subject of why getting to know each other first with pleasantries or romantic verbosity makes it easy to evade the reality of WHY thats so difficult.)

Long story cut short: a girl I loathed became pregnant with the first hobbit and I went right back to being entirely alone, while he went on a holiday. It was a repeat of sorts of something that had happened ten or so years ago, apparently I hadn’t learned my lesson.

My response to that lesson is that I’m apparently done with having one night stands with humans.

And I would not risk that with aliens unless I was desperate to get off this Planet, because if human men have managed to avoid getting to know women by simply making arrangements to rape them rather than getting to know them, I imagine aliens that want-to-have-sex are much worse.

Anyway, here is what I have been upto. When I’ve finished the concepts I will consider it a section in my future toyshoppe. I know that I can’t stop people stealing my ideas, but if I find out you’ve done it: it doesn’t take much for me to embarrass you.

If I were sneakier, if I could be: I’d email the people who had made these Poopsie Unicorn toys – an attempt at competing with me over my decision to design toys (in no small part, a result of being little and being bored of the toys available on the market – and that I’d never find the toys my ‘friends’ had when I went to the shoppes. And Kanye West – who said toys were boring, I think buying his kids toys was depressing if he spoke about it publicly.)

and I’d ask

“Why do they have such colourful hair?”
I adore the colours. I’d ask because I’d want to hear what they had to say about the use of colours. I’d ask to embarrass them.

I know that the person responsible for this would say that they were inspired by starbucks, slushpuppies, iced gems, emojis and those gelatine sweets that anorexic people are encouraged to consume to avoid hairloss and they’d avoid mentioning my illustration style, animes like Rose of Versailles.

[image accessed via google on 15th October at 16:56, URL reference]

You don’t need to credit all of your influences, you might not even notice you have influences, you might think that no one would notice. I do think that I was supposed to notice this work though, I think it was supposed to make me very upset that there was a toy depicting a bloated unicorn and that the suggestion of it was that this unicorn exists to shit and to go out and drink starbucks. I think I was supposed to be outraged and that I was supposed to advertise it on my blog, at worst I would ignore it and that’s great too. These women have a lot of money and high hopes, trying to sell these toys for those prices. But I would’ve bought these toys if they’d admitted that they were inspired by me, the GodsGirls only forum and The Last Unicorn. Would these women of even known that there is a unicorn on the one pound coin if it was not for me?

[image reference]

If it’s an >independent business< or >twenty< that you’re running, and if you’re selling something to children – I think perhaps you ought to be able to offer some literature to accompany your identity.

they’d avoid mentioning Sara and Lola Al Saud’s label. I don’t like them but that doesn’t mean anything to semetic, we all despise of one another and our families. It’s normal for us. But this is theft.

It’s tremendously creepy.

If you asked the women responsible for ‘you will get everythink what you can see in the pictures‘ (I imagine they put them on ebay too)

“what inspired the body proportions”
“what inspired the ‘poopsie” unicorn?”
“what inspired the colour scheme?”
“what in particular inspired the use of words like ‘magic’ and ‘sparkle’ and ‘shimmer’?”

You wouldn’t really need them to answer but it would be so funny if they tried to.

Then theres ‘Le Toy Van’. These are not unattractive pieces. They are Montessori inspired ergonomic designs with the influence of Fisher Price. When I tell you that they just ‘appeared’ on the market, I’d encourage you to believe me. I KNOW TOYS. There were years of my life where I only ever left my street to go to TOY SHOPS. THATS IT. I’d go to school once or twice a month and once or twice a year, my dad would take me to a toy shop.

When Louise Pentland posted ‘Le Toy Van’ pieces on her youtube I was actually pretty livid about it. They marketed themselves as a business being run by a man and his son, and that the CEOs name was ‘Mr Le Van’. They’d apparently existed for many years and were initially based in Surrey (they’ve since moved to London, according to changes on their site, if I’m in Brighton for long enough I’m sure they’ll move if they haven’t already rented a local place) and

I seem so impatient but I can wait years for first: the TRUTH. Then years more for you to learn your lesson.

Edited on the Eighth of September, 2019

This is a picture of Anne Boleyn.

[ref]

I apologise, I can’t recall (though I’d of read MANY times) the name of the artist that painted it. Actually it would be a tremendous disservice to what would have been many uncredited assistant painters that contributed to: particularly the detailing of this iconic portrait.

Anne Boleyn is a very, very important British figure in British History, that sacrificed her life (while she was alive) and all of the loves of her life (of which, there’d of been many – she was outspoken, intelligent – and back then, that really meant something – she could speak lots of languages, she could have theological debates, she could read which was especially uncommon amongst the upper middle classes of which she was part, and really: you might say she was a veteran of female emancipation in a time when women were very subservient to men, because the Bible would’ve made it seem appropriate for women to be so.)

So: Anne Boleyn had to pretend to find a very, very, very unattractive and oversexed and assuming ginger man attractive. To save her country. He was very taken by her and for all sorts of reasons, her family would have encouraged her to allow him to believe, regardless of her personal feelings: that the pursuit of this relationship was important.

Henry the Eighth was the kind of man to respond to rejection with cruelty. Men who have been pitied all of their lives, or made brats of in infancy (as Princes were, he was not the intended future King nor was he raised to be, I imagine then that he had a lot of insecurities that would’ve been quite emasculating.)

[ref]

At the time, England was an awful place to live in. The period was known as Tudor England.

It was a FUNDAMENTALIST religious occupation under the influence of the Italian situated Vatican. If you don’t know what means: The Vatican is a place in Italy where the Pope lives.

It also means the Pope was “in charge” of British laws. Henry the Eighth would have had to of asked the Pope for permission to do most things. He’d of heard if Henry the Eighth was being a bit naughty, because Henry was a catholic, which meant he had to attend confessions regularly with priests.

Tudor England was a terrible place for British people. British people were often burned alive at stakes, capital punishment was a form of civilian entertainment. Not nice. 😦
They were punished for doing what the British police would be encouraged to call “petty crimes”. No one in this day and age would think it acceptable – you’d perhaps be inclined to imagine – to burn a cheating wife alive, but sadly thats something they did. Anne Boleyn was beheaded. But we’ll get there later. Sorry for the spoiler.

Religious Catholic people are generally a very nasty bunch if they think you’re what they would consider a ‘bad egg’. They believe, for example: in self flagellation. If you commit a sin – I’ll give you an example of the biggie sins:

1. You shall have no other Gods but me.

   (this meant, the Jewish God Adonai, a self professed victim of feelings of jealousy “for I am a jealous God” whom both Jews and Christians worship didn’t deny the existence of other Gods, but forbade the worship of them.)

2. You shall not make for yourself any idol, nor bow down to it or worship it.

   (this meant: no celebrities. no statues or images for people to direct worship to. Those feelings were ideally reserved for God. It’s difficult here, because the bible encourages people to consider their bodies the house of God: so one might encourage idolatrous self love, if one believed they housed the Spirit of God within their physical body as the bible teaches: but that is a theological debate you aren’t intelligent enough to have with me. Trust me.)

3. You shall not misuse the name of the Lord your God.

(So shouting “OH MY GOD” and “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST is a nichtnicht, a sin. We all do it. We shouldn’t. Thats why catholics became creative about profanity. In Tudor England, I imagine (I wasn’t there myself) that if you were known for profanities that involved God-figures, you may well have been encouraged to beat the shit out of yourself to atone for it.)

1. You shall remember and keep the Sabbath day holy.
2. Respect your father and mother.

(this means, treat your parents with respect. Now, I don’t want to get into the old testament versus new testament nitty gritty, but if you are a theology buff – and I am – you might be inclined to quote Jesus Christ who said to the Virgin Mary “you are not my mother” in front of a congregation, which essentially brings some variety of contrast to that bit of the old testament. If you are prepared to refuse to respect a parent, you should be prepared to do so, if you are of this faith, in front of teachers and a family of individuals and be able to justify it.) (The word or associative identity inferred by the term “Christian” suggests you are an emulate of Jesus Christ. That means you are a little Christ. Jesus Christ was a JEW. Lots of them live in Israel.)

1. You must not commit murder.

(this means, do not steal life.)

1. You must not commit adultery.

(this means, don’t cheat on people you have agreed to be in committed relationships with, for example marriage.)

1. You must not steal.

(this means, don’t take things that don’t belong to you.)

1. You must not give false evidence against your neighbour.

(this means, don’t tell lies about people)

1. You must not be envious of your neighbour’s goods. You shall not be envious of his house nor his wife, nor anything that belongs to your neighbour.

I took them from this page. You were encouraged to confess to a priest and to punish yourself.

So, when you read that title, please don’t sexualise ‘chokers’, please enjoy that I’m trying to be a bit funny in the following post. Anne Boleyn is forever a hero to me, and in no small part due to that lyric.

I like two or three hole songs. I’ll include those, this is the most important.

For the first time, I entered a shop on my street and it became within moments, my other favourite shoppe. I have two favourite shoppes.

I bought this fascinator, thinking of Killi.

I bought these sunglasses thinking of an argument with Darcestino and Louise Pentland, in which Darcy asked for a choker and her mother said no.

Her mother pretended it was because she’s ‘too young’ but it was not because she is ‘too young’. Let me explain. Also:

Thanks, Louise, because I wanted a choker and she cannot be the youngest AND the sexiest one of us. It is rude, selfish and unfair.

Louise is the sluttiest, I am the coolest, Darcy is the youngest. We probably take turns being those. Iunno, we’ll discuss it.

I’ll explain: there’s this guy that looks EXACTLY like Darcy that I fancied for ten years of my fucking life. I left this period of my life where I was being sleep-raped by ugly people, abused by fucking everyone I knew etc etc, and I moved to Denmark and met this asshole. I fell in love with him the second I saw a webcam photo of him. I was offered a ‘threesome’ that I knew to say no to because I knew he’d get jelly and ditch me and I wanted to date him.

This is he, for proof. He ruined my life.

We don’t talk about him. Or to him. But if I spoke to him after seeing him once or twice in Denmark, and being abused by his choice of friends: I’d be like “you were not worth the PTSD seb.”

One time one of his friends had consensual-rape-sex (there was no discussion, he was very wasted, it was very awkward, I just didn’t have the cash to up and leave.) with me and at the end I thought “if you pretend this didn’t happen you can meet me”. IT WASNT WORTH IT. I met him years afterwards.

I lurked an old tumblr of his, and I saw a choker on it, so I realised I needed one. I had people link me to chokers because I’d lost hope in online shopping.

WELL. I think Darcy fancied him too. WELL. Louise and I both fancied him too so it’s best none of us got a choker. Frankly. We are rabid about crushes and looking cool.

This is another profound disappointment. I saved him from a Congolese deathrow prison. I got PTSD to do that. This is a guy called Sexyman who looks exactly like Louise. His mother’s name is Kari, not weird at all. I’m avoiding watching the movie he made about it because firstly, his partner is alive and secondly I don’t think I’m in it.

Anyway: Louise asked Darcy in one of her shopping videos about some sunglasses and Darcy got revenge ON CAMERA and said “you’re not cool enough.” (to wear those glasses.)

It was a serious argument I think, between the three of us that was actually about Seb. 

It really isn’t about them anymore, I think we’re all quite uninterested in them but now it’s just about us working on our ‘cool’ look. You know how people are like “oh yeah, I’m on this self-love mission” well, we love ourselves very much. We’ve never gotten what we really wanted, but I think I’ve led the way in how to deal with that like a mature person.

We are three very-determined-to-be-edgy-2D-anime hentai babes-to-3d-sexy-women okay.

I bought this top at the Vintage Workshop and this floral crown from Barbary Lane, and I think I look a lot like Frida Kahlo here. She is Mexican. I’m also partly Mexican. Did you know that? My Grandmother’s last body (she was moved into a new one) was buried dressed like Frida, in her national dress. That means in girl land “unless you are Mexican, or someone who has been obsessed with Frida Kahlo for years of your life – this is my thing. Darcy and Louise can share ‘things’ with me. Looks are a big deal in girl land.) (Obviously this doesn’t work in Mexico. We’d have to be really creative about how we dress in Mexico.) (Aztec print is ours too. I’m probably the only person, bar future Louise and Darsh who can channel Aztecs. If Louise was encouraged by an Aztec spirit to kill something I think she would.) (So she can’t control herself. Which is why she needs me: I say no to men, Louise. Even men I have been waiting TEN YEARS to have the sex with.)

I think I am channelling Sephiroth’s spirit here. I believe he is a very effeminate half angel evolution. Final Fantasy series is, in Karina land, my elder brother’s thing. I have wanted to date Cloud and Sephiroth and Zach since I was about seven years old. And Trunks.

I have a beach outfit. I’m preparing for the beach, with waterproof earphones and a waterproof musicplayer of somekind. I’ll need a pair of Goggles.

THIS DRESS WAS EVERYTHING TO ME. Zoella stole the look but she had nothing to show for it. It’s just a look you didn’t earn and thats why EVERYTHING you wear looks like you bought it on sale at George’s ASDA. I could, and would probably buy a George’s thing, that is my current budget – but it’d look very expensive – and thats sort of what upset everyone really.

I’m going to WARN you. This is my husband in 2D. That means I have the personality file. He is bi and he likes men as much as he likes women. He would kill you in a second which means he has to be royalty. He is mine.

YOU CANNOT DO THIS LOOK WITHOUT PRETENDING TO BE ME. STOP PRETENDING TO BE ME. IF I WANT TO SHARE MYSELF OR MY LOOK WITH YOU, YOU WILL KNOW.

But yeah if I find a guy I like enough, I’ll put this file in him. He burned an S into my fingers once and his name is Sabel. I have thought about this person for years of my life, and he’s MY male self.

She’s great but don’t turn me into this.

This, I feel, is a great wedding outfit and my mask doubles as a party hat.

Trust me, I could probably commit some kind of mass murder and smile like this, now.

Can you see the skull in the wing? This is so significant to me because I’ve never been able to illustrate or sculpt or otherwise imagine a skull that had not already been done. It just happened here.

It looks like Walt Disney. He’s one of my heroes. I thought of him a lot yesterday, and I thought (perhaps as the Empress of Japan – who was in my thoughts – perhaps as Conchita – who is always in my thoughts – perhaps as Esther or Auntie Norma or Lisa) “he is so full of love” and I thought back with one of those looks you’d give a naughty child: “I know.“

He thought to me, not in these words: you cannot exist and grow without people to admire, with talents to aspire towards – or you remain the same person forever. I thought in my auntie Norma’s voice and Esther Hicks’ Tarantino’s voice: “I didnt know you were into this stuff!” and in any voice he could’ve used really (I didn’t hear it, like doing accents in your own head when you read a book) he thought back “yes you did.”

I went through the shops on my street and I just felt so full of love towards everything, even my enemies, anger was there but it was only disappointment. “heartbreak.” Actually, many of my ‘enemies’ are people I tried very hard to love and befriend first and who hurt me very deeply. When I wrote the words ‘even my enemies’, it was out of anger towards women that I consider teachers whose personal lives and personal feelings interfered with the position that they knew I held them to. I pedestal teachers and I often consider them above people I consider parents. It means so much to me to call someone a teacher and I don’t really afford them the capacity to still be human. That might be wrong to do but I don’t think he would think so.

It is not wrong, if you choose to be a person’s teacher, and these women knew that was the dynamic through which I invited them into my life: to hold yourself to the standard you expect of teachers.

I don’t think highly of parents because I’ve never been treated very well by parents.

I can be a friend to anyone that believes that friendship is real. I have always been a loyal person to someone I consider a brother of somekind, but as a child – for however much I loved my brother, I became very angry with him when he hurt my dog. He used to bite her nose sometimes, my ‘father’ used to sometimes kick the dog. That made it impossible for me to seek relationships with either, but that doesn’t change who my brother is or what the cultures I came from taught me about brotherhood.

In the Middle East and particularly in Islam, your eldest brother is, for example, the first benefactor in a will. I would give half of everything I have to my brother and that is a very genuine cultural reality to me that I do not consider myself above. Likewise I am sure that he would forgive my callousness as a child, towards his treatment that was synonymous with imprisonment.

I do not practice sisterhood because no one, has, as of yet, been very sisterly towards me. Regardless of my gender identity I am a feminist and pretty staunchly so. I do believe that women deserve to be empowered and sometimes my personal feelings skew my judgement and thats wrong. It’s something I’ll need to develop within myself.

Feminist as I am, sister I’m probably not. But I’d sister Louise Pentland, I feel that we’ve a lot of room to develop. We’ve both experienced familial abuse but we’ve both learned unconditional love and I think that where I have decided to disown my ‘sister’, I have a place for anyone that would like to fill it. You don’t have big shoes to fill, she was terrible company to me.

His work and legacy perpetuates an archetype that encourages women to be kind, loving and to seek whatever they find beautiful. That is somewhat sexist I think, but what men have failed to honestly express to women is that it’s those qualities that make women ‘fertile’. You all want children, but you don’t really treat animals or vulnerable people or children the way that the men you’d like to invite into your life as ‘lovers’ would think those children deserve to be treated and that might be what prevents many of you from being fertile.

If you want to have children, begin with a dog. Here are the mistakes I made with my pets: I left my dog Tintin with a girl I did not know very well, for a brief period, but that was so that I could work and earn money. When I felt for whatever personal reasons that caring for Tintin meant that I wasn’t taking proper care of myself, I returned him to my ‘mother’, and his brothers. For a period the dogs had to be tied up and my second mistake was that I ignored my own judgement about how to handle the situation and I put hers above mine. That affected my entire ‘family’, that I did not assume the role of the head of the family when I knew it would be correct to do so. In both Judaism and Islam, men might think themselves the heads of their families but that’s not true at all. I did not find a way to be unthreatening about the reality of what I had been put through and what I had worked towards, and that my judgement had pretty consistently been correct about the consequences of our ‘family’ decisions and as a result, my mother’s home was mortgaged for far more than it was acceptable so that my ‘father’ could own restaurants that did not do well. He stole from his family so that he could have those restaurants and he lost those restaurants.

If you steal, you will be robbed. Sometimes we accept inspirations but we do not credit those that helped us, perhaps, make the money from what we produce out of those inspirations. You can pretend otherwise, but you will see it in your life. I once broke up a relationship, and shortly after I developed a very frightening tumour on my side and I knew inside that it was the product of her hatred towards me. She stole my autonomy and used me to access time frames without any sense of responsibility. She and many other girls believed themselves justified in stealing my autonomy and I feel that they were encouraged to do so to their own detriment. As far as the law goes, I believe in equality. As far as personal relationships go: I encourage people not to pick sides in situations that have nothing to do with them.

Don’t get involved. Do not fuck with my food because you’re ‘defending’ a blonde: especially one that wouldn’t even treat you well, or be friends with you – when she might’ve had plenty of opportunity to do so.

Walt Disney encourages women from early childhood (his target market) to find beauty in themselves regardless of their financial circumstances, and to have beautiful things around them. Disney encourages women to pick personal stories in which they find magicck and love.

I know that Walt Disney must have seen the form Magnus took, in my duvet. This is a cat in Cinderella called Lucifer.

Lucifer the angel is one of the first guides I ever invited into my life. When I was little in Dubai, I used to see – SEE – a little black wolf with red eyes beneath my bed. Years later Tintin came into my life. Tintin was my very first guide, I believe.

Yesterday Walt Disney lovingly and laughingly put the thought of Lucifer the cat in Cinderella and through my thoughts, said “I think Lucifer’s mind changes all the time.” Lucifer is not a consistent being who sticks to decisions. I think to have survived in a Universe like ours, feeling quite alone and betrayed, he would’ve had to change his mind all the time and his experiences would have shaped his personalities. Plural. People and beings who have experienced abuse and who will have had to acclimate to many different, difficult circumstances, will have a collection of identities that help them to interact with different kinds of people or beings. I would not, for example, act around Lady Diana the way I would act around Charles Manson. (I actually probably would – a better example is called for.)

A man called Jim taught me that green eyes usually indicate that a being is quite oversexed. I don’t think the angel Lucifer wants to be my guide. But that’s my personal journey, and I like to write my personal journey here but as a reader, accept my reality as I document it and value that you won’t ever read anything like my diary. My inimitable life won’t be lived by anyone else through time and space, and that is where I find my self esteem. That’s where I found a self esteem when I was being abused by society, that there’s still no one alike to me.

If you have ‘the sight’, we’re reaching a time where that will not indicate insanity. I personally do not advise that you put any kind of deeper meaning to a relationship with Lucifer. I have been defending Lucifer in the company of staunch, nasty, misled Christians since I was an infant and without any indication that Lucifer was real, without any indication that Lucifer could have been listening. (I know Lucifer feels because I want to cry and very little makes me want to actually ‘cry’, save a stray eyelash or dust or wind irritating me.)

I know that out of that Lucifer is as loyal as Lucifer is capable of being to me. You might have sex with Lucifer non physically but sex is just sex to Lucifer. He will not breed with you because he doesn’t think that humans are responsible with physical forms of angels. He might lie for the sex though.

I thought that if Walt Disney were to adopt at this point he’d be prepared to adopt: Esther Hicks-Tarantino, Louise Pentland and Felix Kjellberg.

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He said Felix was never going to get his Disney contract, because he was always going to jeopardise himself, because he was never taught that boundaries exist and with good reason that needn’t be explored. They knew he would do something, upon tentatively hiring him, to affect himself the way that he did.

Disney did not seek to hire him without knowing exactly who he is and what he is like. Disney thought-said that the men that Felix employed through Fiverr for that embarrassing display of themselves did so for fame, and reminded me vibrationally that people will do a lot of silly things to become famous. That was not reason enough alone not to fulfil the contract.

He alerted me to this mess on my floor, smoking papers that had fastened to one another to create a mermaid’s tail. Theres green glitter beside it. He said that that inspired the Little Mermaid. He said that he would want me to ask the Emperor and Empress of Japan to adopt me and the truth is that I don’t feel good enough for that responsibility and that association, but when I do, I will ask.

As a child in Dubai I used to illustrate a particular kind of kimono sleeve and then sometime later I saw animations that depicted little mice wearing kimono. That is everything that inspired how I envisioned how I might like to look when I grew up. There is a little Japanese girl I know that thinks of me sometimes, she showed me a book and that she’d like her name to be ‘Mineko’, after the author of this book. She is my ‘yakuza’ princess and I think it would be correct for her, when I do, to ask them to adopt her too. And Bruce Lee.

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When I was in Twyford C of E – one of the many secondary schools I visited, I recall having a chat with two teachers outside a tech room, about Walt Disney – where I’d learned he’d been “cryogenically frozen”. Walt Disney’s legacy has been associated with racism but I really felt Walt’s proudness that Kanye West had called him a genius with whom Kanye would like to compare himself, and I don’t imagine that Walt still feels any prejudice of that nature now at all.

I also felt that he was deeply upset that someone had said that Disney is just a “business” because of course it isn’t. It is the fabric of many children’s ideals of romance and love and has shaped many perceptions of what relationships could be, but is also an archive of the values we associated with our evolution that we can share with children, and discuss with them that they can aspire to much more now, than simply to marrying a prince – but at one point, it was those fantasies that helped women and men to pursue ideas for the future.

If you pick me you can have a fresh logo. Anyone in Brighton will tell you birds are mine, but all the blackbirds are Lady Diana’s.

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3 + 4 = 7

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Sephiroth is the one winged angel. I’ve got the genes for white hair… so.

My grades were not good enough for me to be a skull and bone. It’ll be awhile off.

Lisa taught me to use a glove to wash myself, that is – to wear one of those body-gloves when I touch my skin to clean myself. I saw some in Boots beside some cucumber products that I bought, and I thought I saw some very small ones – and I thought “wouldn’t it be fantastic if they had baby-sized gloves so that babies could learn to scrub themselves!”