BFF AUDITIONS

Auditions for my future bestfriend: you wear bridal wear as daywear. You are really offended by people who do not dress up to hang out with you, even if you are wearing pyjamas (under a trench coat I selected for you) specifically because a guy was cruel to you last night. You didn’t even sleep but you’re in “last nights make up.” because you wear make up even when you’re at home, “alone”. Why wouldn’t you though? Why don’t you?? I mean really, come on. Rude.

This is one of our secret favourite films. It is also our brothers favourite films. My brother is technically hotter than yours, also politically a wayyyy bigger deal, this arouses fear in your brother(s). Our brothers are definitely bisexual. We genuinely think we are Hatsumomo but we are actually Pumpkin. When we hang out, I am Saiyuri and you are Hatsumomo. But we are actually Pumpkin.

When you are wearing trainers, you are having one of your famous nervous breakdowns. I am the only person who makes you feel not-insane, in the whole world, and you need me to be that person in your life. I am your enabler.

All of your lingerie is handwash only and you ideally have a maid that does it for you. You do not understand why I would think that was weird, or why anyone would think that was weird. I pity your maid frequently but you don’t because she earns more per annum than I do. But you value that I pity her because you know I’m cute for it.

You chainsmoke either vogues (the menthol ones) or sobranie – black ones. Maybe it’s mood dependent because the sobranies are harsh.

You have rainbow-sobranie spares in your handbag, for me. You let me go through your handbag and you let me chain smoke them. You don’t care about how much they cost because you aren’t cheap and also because you help yourself to the stuff in my room. (I am basically your personal shopper.) It isn’t stealing when you take things from my room, because you hold them up and say “this, I’m having, this I’m having, this I’m having) and I enjoy it because sharing makes me happy.

You have my pincode and pay for stuff with my bankcard even if I have no money in my account. You know my bank balance. You know all of my social media passwords. You delete messages from UGLY men. NOT HOT ONES. EVER.

You should ask me first because you sometimes don’t know who is worth your time. I attract people that own stuff that everyone wants, whose dads own stuff (you’re into dads and especially into dads older brothers, you actually are, I’m actually not, you use me to gauge how to flirt with them.)

You unironically agree that Netaporter is upping it’s own game because you, like me, appreciate supportive and constrictive underwear because you over eat. Water makes you bloated for the first two weeks of you doing anything worthwhile with your time. Also when you start talking to attractive men.

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no one else is allowed this close to my face karina” you’d think. And I’d enjoy it.

You despise of anyone I’m related to other than my granma and my aunt, and maybe my uncle Carlos who you know fancies you, who you think I don’t know fancies you – but I do know because I am an excellent psychic and tarot card reader and medium.
You get free readings but you make a fuss of me first.

The cards tell me when you are “secretly” sleeping with one of my boyfriends. I am more offended by there being secrets between us than that you are sleeping with someone I’m not that into anyway.

You are fake, you are shallow, you are not cheap, you are not blonde – unless Mattel has hired you to be their spokesperson. You only scan my memories to find attractive men to hang out with while I nag, and I don’t mind. You know I don’t mind but you tell me you’re doing it, by changing the subject with something like “so00ooooo, anyyyyyway”

You enjoy that I am broke right now, because you know I’ll be buying my own plane at some point in the very near future and that i’d continue renting this place anyway.

You enjoy that I don’t want a washing machine because I want to do photoshoots at the laundrette. “no, no, it’s cute, our washing machines once didn’t work and we had to send it all to the dry cleaners” (You really speak like that. I take you very seriously. most people don’t, but I do.)

You fetishise poverty and prostitution as much as I fetishise your elegant wealth and lack of ambition. (Neither of us would/could ever actually lifeswap but we think about it sometimes.)

You make snap-backs about how irresponsible I am with money but then your brother quips “yes but the economy really needs people who don’t understand how to save”. I am in love with your brother but you are also in love with your brother and you’re probably not actually related. (Or you are suuuper related and you’re confusing your brother issues for daddy issues, it’s a bit weird. We both know, we both know they know, we don’t go into it.) (It won’t change.) (EVER)

“the issue with zoella is they actually tried to give a #9 this narrative”
“not even with one of joseph fiennes sons could they pull that off”
“you cant do this narrative if you havent been raised in a capital”, our mutual friend-that-is-as-averse-to-friendship-as-we-are offers (this mutual-friend-not-friend is intimidating, she is posher than both of us being socially appropriate, we fancy her for it, she fancies our grandfathers. She keeps us grounded, the idea of her does anyway.)

We have these kinds of – serious – discussions over junkfood that we eat in private. Maybe not even in person. I think. They are world changing.

You periodically remind me of my fluctuating personal circumstances and that I got put in a psychiatric ward afew times (“BECAUSE A LOT OF WOMEN WERE JEALOUS OF ME” I scream think, I then scream think “they only don’t do it to you because you have relatives that ‘save up’ and you eye-fuck your psychiatrist(s?)) I periodically remind you that either I’m hotter than you “when I try” or that I’m “technically a much bigger deal in every respect.” We don’t have that conversation outloud, or in writing. Ever.

“but it’s true” I offer
“Shut the fuck up.” you offer in return, before I finish the thought-statement.

You hate your mother. I hate your mother too sometimes. I also flirt with your mother sometimes and that bothers you because you have spent a lot of your father’s cash on therapy to cope with how much you and her don’t get on. You sometimes wonder why you don’t introduce me to people but WE BOTH KNOW WHY. We avoid that conversation too. You telepathically make me think it is because I’m antisocial and embarrassing, but it’s because I’m cooler than you. (That is actually the worst argument that we’ve never had, and we don’t ever go there. Ever.) (It’s actually because I am a much better conversationalist and you ‘use me’ to chat and you’re concerned that everyone you know thats pretending otherwise will find out. They know. You know. They know you know. DW about it.)

You are not weirded out that I like to take photos because you also think you should have been a supermodel slash pornstar (we both wanted to be serious thespians that could do Shakespeare but did action movies instead because we both like ‘doing hot’ and we both did some sort of technique-heavy dance class in our childhoods that affected us so physiologically that if we don’t get photographed with good posture we obsess about it for a long, long, long time.) and you’ll “eventually be anorexic for a year” to “slim down” but you also really like cake and salty/fatty meat products. And frankfurters. Which I am certain are labgrown because a lot of ‘jews’ eat them. (You agree but you’re not listening because you’re forever obsessing about someone that I fancy that I couldn’t actually date and you let me ask you weird questions about your brother.) (The story is that consistent.) (Actually, the packaging for frankfurters triggers us both, and that is the real reason we don’t want people to know how much we rely on them and prefer them to expensive takeouts.)

Food. That is another thing. The food must always look good. If it doesn’t look good then what is the point. The food packaging is almost more important than the food. Actually this is why you fetishise poverty, you associate poverty with meat wrapped in brown paper packages when it NEVER IS. We prefer military wrapped American singles cheese to brie, but we prefer the packaging for brie.

Also we don’t recycle and we both exist eternally in guilt prison over the fact. Our brothers recycle because they learned early on that guilt prison is a tough road and they have a lot of guilt related to some kind of sexuality and they think they’re the only one. We share their sexualities but we don’t have any guilt about it and it works both ways.

We both like watching Friends. The sitcom. We “don’t anymore”, but we enjoy it anyway. Also Skins. We both suffer with PTSD so we forget the shows we like really fast and save them up for our long-term-relationships.

Your problem in life is that you pick quantity over quality, and that is why you had to divorce and you had to call me up to “have me” delete all your wedding photos. You got married to piss someone off – probably a male version of me. Yes. You know you should have asked me to design a bespoke wedding dress for you in my head, but you didn’t because you are very set in your ways and because you owe me an apology for something eternally.

You, like me, fancy the gays. You, like me, genuinely perceive their lack of interest in the female gender as a ‘challenge’.

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They put my sexy older brother that I fancied for atleast a year of my life in prison for being too sexy. Like, they actually did. (That is how we speak to each other. In public places. We are both used to women stopping and staring, for all sorts of reasons. We don’t notice it unless they are hot. They are never hot.)

He was one of those five year olds that had a ceramic mozart bust in his room and if people dance in public it is because they are copying him or me.

Everyone you know has some story like that to tell and I am unimpressed by that and you enjoy my narcissism because you know you can afford to get work done if I get too sexy. And you know I know the best beauty aesthetician in the world. (Like, not well enough to get EITHER OF US a discount, but she loves me.) (You roll your eyes. Which is an attac you stole. Frankly.) (“She’s the.best, you have the money, you don’t need a discount” (double think:you do) “It’s just the gesture of the thing.” (double think: seriously shut the fuck up) “So you can tell your friends you did it because you got offered a discount?” (double think:love you though) “Exactly.” Telepathically, though.)

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You “can’t” introduce me to your family or your friends (even though I am royalty and I’m a bigger deal than you) but you can introduce your other “friends” to your family and you only tell me that/upload the photos to facebook to hurt me. You have a list of excuses prepared in advance for when I confront you but I’ll wait til we’ve been friends for 2+ years before I confront you about why firstly: you celebrate christmas and secondly why you didn’t even get me a christmas present.

????

You DON’T fancy Heath Ledger because I’m his warwife (I WONT SHARE HIM WITH YOU, I WON’T) and you genuinely think it is totally normal that I will be having my favourite cartoon character (that you also don’t fancy, who I am legally married to) and my laptop transferred into physical bodies when I have the cash.

I know you’re embarrassed by my facebook but also you need me to not be boring.

 

ARTING IMP

THIS DESIGNER CALLED LAURA HAD ACCESS TO MY MEMORIES. And my imagination. The outfits I DREAMED of wearing. But she’s not the only one and really she’s the best of them.

This is another Laura. She is a very famous celebrity. She might be amongst the most dedicated stalker-cum-one-night-stands that Russell Brand could’ve possibly invited into his life actually.

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[ref]

This was a topshop haul I could afford shortly before this photo was 
taken. Money can't buy you taste can it.

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 I uploaded the images to this album cos I needed to clear
space, because my laptop was being hacked and I couldn't use it
to do fucking anything.
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It is weird cos I recently watched an episode of Wendy Williams and she said something like “the way you get him is the way you’ll lose him.” I ‘got him’ when he was single, when he was living alone (actually I think he had some weird people living with him and I communicated that at the time) and when he sort of seemed grown up enough to be interesting to me. I was SO mistaken and for every mistake he made I did something that I think was hurtful to someone whose ego had been massaged by every single person that he had dedicated his penis? to.

I want it to be known that I lost respect for him when someone who clearly believed that he is the reincarnation of Jesus Christ confessed in a church and infront of a lot of people, and there was a priest there too – that she had cheated on someone she was married to and he fucked it up because he turned it into a gossip moment when all he had to do was talk to her sincerely about what happened in her marriage to make her feel unloved enough to cheat on someone that she should’ve probably told the truth to before cheating. He is not a person that you should have sought advice from, and I know she knew she should have spoken to ME but the reality is that people don’t want to accept who I really am.

And the karma is the same.

Find any woman you like and pretend she can do a better job of being the ‘spiritual leader’ you think that you need – ANY WOMAN. I can even offer women I think better than me as spiritual teachers but I promise that you’ll be redirected, eventually, right back to me for the solution.

I prefer shifting what you’d call blame onto my spiritual teachers, I prefer believing with all of my heart that there are people who are wiser than I am but that isn’t true, it is only true when it comes to people that I am attracted to. I act nice.

But some people can do energy work and they do it to make you think you’re attracted to them.

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Were you defending a blonde, lifecfiono?

She is quite honestly a disgusting person, we’ve never held a chat with one another but I’m a people person. I know you already. I don’t know what kind of fucking person would drag a ‘celebrity’ baby to a meeting in a church filled with addicts, and then sit in there while the baby fucking cried.

Stalking her own husband – with child – into a dangerous fucking place. Thumbs up. Cool stuff.

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RUSSELL BRANDS BITCHWIFE STARTED EMBROIDERING THIS SHIT SHORTLY
AFTER I ORDERED TOWELS WITH THE WORDS BLOOD RARE ON THEM. 

INSPIRED BY MY GRANMA CONCHITA WHO SEWED AND EMBROIDERED WRITTEN
SENTIMENTS ON CUSHIONS FOR MY FAMILY AND MYSELF.

But I'll take time to explain why. Firstly - she's not blonde. 
She and her ashkenazi Jew boyfriend/husband? left a hospital with a 
blonde child. You want to pretend that blonde child is theirs? 
Dooo you? The doctors must've thought she's a real blonde.

A LOT OF WOMEN HAD TO DYE THEIR HAIR BLONDE TO ESCAPE SOME
VERY SERIOUS BULLYING DIDN'T THEY.

She began this ‘JoyJournal’ company after seeing my memories, where I had a little baby towel embroidered and it had the words “BLOOD RARE” on it. Because that would’ve been my dream daughter.

I have the Blood Rare towel and I’ll find a photo but til then, this is one of the things I ordered.

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At the time I was having an internet-relationship of sorts with Russell Brand, she was a one night stand he’d met about ten years before all of that, and if any of the Lauras I’ve known in the past are something to go by, she was also a looong time stalker of mine. They got pregnant/married/engaged etc while I had conveniently been shipped off to a psychiatric ward where I was fed sedatives I did not need (I can fall asleep whenever I want) and betrayed by everyone I knew to protect what was a really disgusting secret at my expense. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t trying to make me jealous, but the reality is that he was single when I started wanting to hang out with him and he kept being retarded.

He hung out with a lot of people that felt comfortable being very controlling over him and I think that out of love he allowed them to do so. Every time I gave him five minutes of my trust, something weird would happen moments afterwards which indicated that there was no privacy anyway, which meant if he didn’t want to hang out it’s because he wasn’t that into me but was probably quite taken by the fact that he and I are both probably reincarnations of Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene.

I don’t think they got on or if they did, they didn’t really. Or there were a lot of people influencing their relationship and she probably just wanted to be with Judas and he wasn’t that interested because he was an intense guy with a lot of issues.

There are so many theories I think around this and ultimately my initial impressions of Jesus Christ’s ‘virgin’ mother were that while she might’ve been persecuted for having a sexual relationship that she had to keep quiet, she was also a fucking cunt.


I had a friend called Tim that I introduced to some girls I was at school with, and they introduced him to their female friends – and amongst those a ‘wiccan’ called ‘Laura’, and until now he claims that she had told him she had managed to enter a long term relationship with him because she had cast a “love spell” on him. Tim is the son of a scientist, and he is not the kind of person – wasn’t anyway – that believed in anything of that nature. Actually the mere idea of it then, would’ve been funny and nonsensical. But she was a stalker of mine. And she remained one when I had set up friendship groups and when I left these people’s lives. I was pass the parcelled with Latymer boys, I ended up being pushed onto a guy called Felix who ALSO had a girlfriend called Laura who I tried to ‘steal’, he stayed with her, she copied me and my look. Felix picked Laura over me and every felix and laura in the world will be paying for all of this stupid shit that keeps happening to me.

TRUST ME, MAGICCK IS REAL.

But you better stop copying me. It is STEALING.


When my Granma was a diplomat, my grandfather an AMBASSADOR – a very well decorated one in medals that Paraguay wanted out – they were invited to either JAPAN or to the UNITED KINGDOM. My granma and my grandfather were both in love with the Emperor and Empress of Japan and it was another time, where bisexuality was not socially acceptable or even really a thought that crossed people’s minds, especially not MARRIED people’s minds. My grandfather chose the United Kingdom because my granma was in love with the Emperor and Empress of Japan, and he said “you do not compete with the Japanese.”

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When I was younger – I wanted to have my legs shaved down. I was FOURTEEN years old and I, with my mother, said to a doctor “I want to have the muscle removed from my legs” because all the girls I knew had skinny legs. I played Street Fighter and my brother telepathically said “she has big legs and you fancy her, don’t you?” “yes”

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I preferred playing as Sakura. Sakura is a character called Ryu’s ultimate fangirl. I am ultimate fangirl to a few people.

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Then this was aired at 3AM in Paraguay when I visited Granma, and I had jetlag and it’s about a girl called Card Captor Sakura. I got upset because my siblings had been gifted lots of creative items and I felt I hadn’t really been given anything. I wasn’t allowed to keep my cushion because I was probably really too young to appreciate how much work it would have taken for my granma to sit in a hospital wing hand sewing and embroidering it. My ‘mother’ lied about it later in life and it was a compulsive lie atop many compulsive lies – and compulsive lying is a mental illness.

I liked playing as Rose too but a girl called Amy stole her from me because she was shit at Street Fighter and the scarf move gave her distance.

 

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[ref]

It’s fine, I chose – when she stole my character – badly

RAINBOW MIKA. Which she then also stole.

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This is our signature move. The hair flip.

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[ref]

Which later inspired LEVI.


First things first. I’m cheating on Alexander McQueen. (He is gay. It’d start out with me playing dress up in his performance art mansion where he’d host as fashion aristocracy (because Karl is fashion royalty) all sorts of beautiful people making art and being art and eating ONLY art ALL DAY. He would eventually get bored and mind control me to have a sex change of sorts and we’d be responsible for unleashing to the world some of the most ridiculously beautiful people ever to have existed. And then he’d probably lose interest again (because that is the nature of fashion, that is the nature of artists) and I’d say “I HAD A SEX CHANGE FOR YOU!!!” and he’d say “HAVE ANOTHER” and guiltlessly so, because that is his honest self, because I value honesty and genius that accompanies cruelty, because I look for people that can TAKE MY ABUSE. And it’d be my fault if I agreed to it, because who the hell just does something like that because they’re influenced to? I’m a performance artist too, inside, damnit)

I WOULD have sex with Alexander McQueen, but he would be USING me to make people jealous. Thats it. He didn’t love himself until recently, when I really got upset that I thought he’d died and I actually really felt towards the him that probably created of him that artist. The him that was a bit chubby and terribly attired. This genius that could (WATCH PAPRIKA.) envision beautiful clothes for women, and still be so understated and really that wasn’t him. He didn’t like men’s clothes. He didn’t even have a chance to be himself.

If we got together prematurely, he’d LEAVE me for someone “BETTER”. And if he found someone “BETTER” I’d be like “oh. god, i won’t compete with that.” First of all, I’m HONEST. I’m a bitch but when I’m a bitch I am SO honest.

And then there might be some part of him that thinks “Why isn’t she fighting for me?” WELL ALEXANDER. The issue with loving people is you just think they’re right about EVERYTHING. (Well, me, thats what I do, when I love people. I listen to them. I stupidly fucking listen to them. ALSO. WHY NOT IZZY. WHY HAVE YOU NOT DATED IZZY. She was married, he’d say. Technically she is still married. Why didn’t you date both? SHUT UP

If you love someone, let them go if they want to go. If you really love someone you value their right to GROW. If someone picks someone else over you, and you know you are the one that can show them the love you know that they deserve – and they choose someone else – they are not ready for you. You might be a lesson they have to hold onto forever. A lesson that has them sitting in a rocking chair going backwards and forwards in some sad OAPs home because they were uncomfortable that you had more body hair than some bitch called ‘laura’ or ’emma’ or ‘rachel’ or ‘liz’ or – god – give me a name that sums up the hairless white-looking woman with a tan? (I have room in my life for one or maybe two of those, and they better be more magical than I am because otherwise I’d find them all quite annoying and what a genetic holocaust that would be.) (I have been called stupid my entire life, but at least I know that two dark haired people can’t have a blonde child.) (Were you defending a blonde to steal that child?) (Don’t worry – you can give her back all her blonde kids, and I’ll be having one of my Levis.) (Unless she says “no, I prefer this one – and you can let them keep those kids. Trust me: they despise of their parents.) (I’d reply “Good, because he knows what he wants and I think he makes good decisions. He deserves to feel wanted.”)


Whats that line? I’m the price you had to pay (If you have to ‘abuse’ someone to get a child, say “i’d rather fucking not.”) (Unless you were abused by that person first and you’re being KIND by returning the favour. Guilt is HELL.)

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Before you shit your lingerie – I can’t actually afford Alexander McQueen, I’m not REALLY cheating on Alexander McQueen. And if I were to cheat on him he’d be using me to cheat.

But once: I paid him in attention. For what? I have no fucking clue, to help him shit? Like it’s a compliment? To help him design? (LETS BE HONEST. I WANTED CLOTHES LIKE THE ONES THEY HAD IN FINAL FANTASY AND I COULDN’T GET THEM. YOU CAN DESIGN CLOTHES LIKE THAT MCQUEEN, BUT YOU WON’T FIND MANY PEOPLE THAT KNOW HOW TO WEAR THEM. DO YOU THINK CHERRENE AND HER FRIENDS WERE GOING TO BUY YOUR CLOTHES? THEY WORE SHIT LIKE THIS. IN PUBLIC.)

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[ref]

I will say though, these were a trend started by two Jewish sisters. I read through their ‘about me’ page on their site.

Let me, um. Get thsssspechificc about what I KNOW I did for you.

ONLY I CAN TAKE THIS (AND LOVE IT)

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AND THIS (AND LOVE IT)

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And turn it into a cardigan donning PERFECT ANGEL.

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“no loyalty” MY ASS.

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I will show you “no loyalty”. You and my old friends – further back than I care to remember anymore – that waited for ME to disappear to ‘do me’.

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I used >>PaletteGenerator<< To find these colours.

How fantastic are these colour pallettes? (I learned that word from Pokémon I think. I misspelt pallettes but how beautiful are double L’s and double T’s?)

The designers that watched my visions and saw the look I imagined for myself and made sure I didn’t get the things I DREAMED of having.

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"don't worry, it's not finished", is the thing it took me years to
say to myself about every single piece of art in my room. In fact
every single piece of art I have ever done, I have felt insecure
about. 

If you feel insecure showing your work, that is the best motivation
you have to get better at creating. If you created a piece of art
in a DAY, that is not an art. It is a creative journal entry.
You keep adding to it. Journal entries might even BE your art, 
in which case you should keep making them. I like to add three things
to every page of a sketchbook everytime I open it.

Even if it is a few dots, a slightly more dramatic eye sparkle.

The right thing to say
is 

"this is an art, it is incomplete but it will evolve, and when I feel
to: I add something towards it."

I don't know what musicians are doing, releasing new albums
every fucking year. You felt all of this in a year? DID YOU?
No. RERELEASE ALBUMS.

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I wanted to manifest a style and an artist's identity when I started
listening to Esther Hicks. I wanted an Art Gallery in a Squat.
I wanted to design a game. There are things I wanted to do and
apparently in teaching myself to animate, a lot of little kids
very creepy dads started picking up the skill too - and without
in any way crediting me but making sure that their kids weird
play videos were seen by me. It is great that I've given so many
parents ideas for how to bond with their kids though, I hope that
has lessened their kids suffering. Deeper down I hope with all of my
heart that those kids parents are not pedophiles.
To be clear - a pedophile is a sex criminal - a person who doesn't
even give a child the chance to knowingly consent or otherwise to
a physical or non-physical relationship of any kind. Who doesn't
tell the child the truth before that child makes contact with them
that the adult will perceive as sexual. It is very likely that child
has no idea that they are doing something sexual because children
are not sexual beings. 

I am going to embarrass someone here - but I do so only out of love
and kindness and it is an invitation to come back and be the head
of my family if you so choose to forgive my weird family for the sake
of my aunt who was & is loyal to you, if a bit of a material girl. 
I don't think she believed for one moment that you had really passed.
The 'psychic' gene comes from both sides of my family. That is, we
had to learn to use intuition because if you are really from a family
of many generations of humanitarian work or power, you need to go by
more than physical evidence if you want to survive. It is something of
a gift that you develop over many, many generations. Unless you are
connected to me - my first impression used to be absolutely flawless
until the police, the army, the princes of uk etc started stalking me
with such tremendous efforts that they didn't consider that I was 
a distraction. Kind of like this healer archetype.

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I have been able to channel spirit since I was an infant. 
A non-related relative once was certain that I was the reincarnation 
of a wife he loved very, very much who he thought had passed away. 
Well I will tell you that I have no doubts that she was trying to
communicate but that she did so unethically. 

I can forgive anything once I have the truth. But it's a choice.

(Hurting my animals, hurting my older brother - is something I assure
you that no one who knew either my animals nor my brother will 
forgive you for. Maybe my 'sister', but she's a MESS. She has not
loved ANYTHING. IN HER ENTIRE LIFE. but as far as my animals and
my brother go, if you hurt either, you have made an enemy of all the 
little girls that would say "my friends (I was not) older brother 
Omar will kill you if you hurt me" and they MEANT it.) 

When you are a child you learn - if I tell the truth about this 
naughty thing, I've done.. it is likely I will be punished for it. 
Cause and Affect/Effect. Consequence.

That can be frightening and it can deter you from telling the truth, 
but you also need to learn in LIFE - that if you DON'T tell the truth,
it will eventually be found out.

You cannot hide the truth. The consequences are often much worse, if
you keep what you've done a secret. It makes sense that our british
princes would have run from the truth, would have arranged for the
police to abuse my brother and i, would have arranged for the 
military to abuse us. 

I return to this relative: I think he married me to save me a lot of
shit, thinking with sincerity that I was someone I was CHANNELLING.
I once wrote in a blog that those that you love but are not around
are energies that you pour into people that you speak to. If you
spend all your time thinking about somebody, you will make the person
that you project that love onto that person. 

I used to sit on his lap and tense/relax and somehow I had 
prematurely learned to enjoy that physical sensation and I am
entirely mortified that I did that to him. I mean obviously there
was weird stuff going on - it was either my mother or my sister 
that were encouraging me to do that, or someone who was time 
travelling that I would have had to of trusted as some kind of
authority. But imagine if you had plenty of reason to truly believe
that a child was the reincarnation of a person that you had lost -
to the point that you'd say so in a religious court - what could 
really stop you from interacting with that child as you would have
with the person that you had loved and lost?

The police only matter to a solipsist if they have attempted to
give themselves significance. Some people are desperate for 
significance. I was sexually molested and stalked by police who might
have given tax payers all sorts of excuses to escape the reality that
they were suffering with addiction. 

I am gifted in that I can help ANYONE overcome a physical addiction -
I can help people get over any drug or habit that i do not have 
myself. The sacrifice though, for me, isn't always worth it.
(Like you need to be hot, incredible etc - for me to be okay with it)
(the police know that the second that they put on that weird little
outfit, or start doing the undercover cop thing, they are essentially
walking irritation, they are acne on the skin of this country,
the are unattractive. So they use people they've touched without
permission to remotely view people.) 

Those Alcoholic Anonymous sorts that Russell Brand hangs out with are
a very controlling and weird cult that to an extent keep society safe
but to help an addict you have to have been one. 



I think it is sad that my belongings - belongings I had collected at
great personal expense to myself and my being were either left in a
flat occupied by people that had no idea of their value (Five
thousand pounds or so worth of Saffron flowers that had been 
individually picked in Syria - my stupid parent didn't have a clue
as to how much Saffron was worth.) and either sold them or trashed
them. Promise that some of my belongings are worth more than most
of the people's worth walking through that flat.



I'm sure my old landlord is mortified that he showed off that a girl
whose "dad was in iron maiden" was occupying a room of that flat.
Is that how you all introduce yourselves? Through your parents
accomplishments? Is that how you feign status? Your parents might be
epic, but if they are celebrities of any kind I advise that you do
not go around telling people, no matter how proud you are, because
it is a risk to your personal safety. And your "friends" personal
safety. (Unless your dad went around saying "I'm in Iron Maiden")



I still do. The issue is that everything I wanted seemed to be
assumed by someone that was listening in without permission.

First I will have to manifest privacy. Consequences met to those
who without invitation invade my privacy, thoughts, inner sight etc.



IT OKAY BECOTH I FIND BEAUTY WHERE OTHER PEOPLE DONTNAE FINDAE THAE BEAUTAE.

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DEAD FLOWERS. THE FAKE STUFF. THE TACKY, CHEAP STUFF.

(You want to tell me that my sister and her friends were the kind of people to ‘really like’ artists like Vince Ray?) (I once saw a metal trunk full of invitations that I helped to put in envelopes for events at a club called ‘AURA’ or something, it had invitations that had been illustrated using a Vince Ray graphic novel. SOo00000oo0o CHERRENE AND HER FREIHASNDKSFDSSSSSSS isnt it) (You chose the most DISGUSTING kinds of people over me – the insult of that will never go. EVER.)

3391-98606

[ref, image accessed 17 August 2019]

Are you sure my “sister” was paying for those Alexander McQueen scarves with her Harrods salary? ARE YOU QUITE CERTAIN. She’s a fucking whore! (OR was she whoring someone else out?) (perhaps a few of their artist friends?)

There’s this line in Memoirs of a Geisha where Mameha says to Saiyuri after she’s been molested abit “YOU SOLD YOURSELF FOR A KIMONO?!”

And she’s like “I AM NACHT WORTHLESS” cos she really didn’t.

I liked Saiyuri because she had blue eyes and black hair and her character fell off a roof and she was reduced to nothing throughout her youth because someone encouraged her to do something stupid – and she did so to chase after a sister that didn’t give a shit about anyone but herself.

I liked Hatsumomo more – because she paid for fucking everything. Pumpkin wanted a HAUSU but didn’t put the work into having that HAUSU. Hatsumomo just wanted to love. She did not perform kindness, she was a cold hearted bitch and she made sure you knew that.

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[snitching ref]

This skirt was RIPPED OFF FINAL FANTASY X-2. THE ONE I REFUSED TO PLAY FOR SOME REASON. All I wanted was to look like this. I used to cut my hair myself, but also I’d ask hairdressers to cut my hair but leave a bit longer, for the plait when I got negged for my hair.

I was doing these hairstyles.

4y00l2litcr11

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yuna20wardrobe20theory

 

WHAT CAN ARTISTS LEARN FROM MATHEMATICIANS? Me included btw – but when I showed this I did say “these are not ALL of my illustrations, SOME ARE – these were taken from a storybook” but I didnt credit the artists, photographers etc.

 

In life you ought to value that kind of honesty – I always did. But it came with a threat – “I am the biggest regret of your life.”


I was meant to buy an iPhone. Just an iPhone 7, to replace the one that was removed from my room. It’ll be replaced again because stealing my things has really scary consequences. Ask all the people that have stolen from me.

I used my iPhone as a camera and an mp3. I chose THESE. There’s just so much I~N~S~P~I~R~A~T~I~O~N. I mean you could, quite honestly, base a whole collection on these shapes, colours, textures.

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It’s Tom Ford’s (CAN YOU TELL OR NO?) and it makes me smell good. And it makes me shiny. It’s not a pour on oil, it’s a perfume bottle, or I’d make one of those very tacky videos of me pouring liquid gold on myself.

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I have been dressing up and putting photos of myself in various states of nudity on the internet since I was about fifteen years old, and if you ‘did not know that’ you are lying. Or you are from somewhere in Vietnam and you genuinely don’t know me or of me because you don’t have access to the internet. That is one of the excuses they used to section me.

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No but, uh, this is about more than that. Actually it isn’t, I’m still fucked up over everything. The damage of this card is real. If you’re not arranging for me to be compensated, it’s because you’re going through something similar.

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If only because – I promise you – the person that’s been stabbed in the back that many times – the subject in the card is ALIVE. You know that video of that woman, singing on the table dancing in front of a webcam? She knocks the table over and then she rolls around on the floor a bit cos she’s in pain and uh, yeah.

I’ve spent my life recovering from something.

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Check out me Jabba the Hut earphones. Apparently you can wear them upto a meter under water, and I’ll do so when the suns next out. I live by the beach. I also need goggles.

 

You didn’t know that I am a very strong swimmer, did you. That if you were to go unconscious I would occupy you and swim you to wherever you needed to go. I can go through currents and I promise, the jelly fish will avoid you.

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I’m not talking to her at the moment, but Susie Whitaker sewed into her photography and in part that is what I was thinking of when I sewed into this scribble. I was also thinking of the cute boy in that speech Oprah did at Harvard that was sitting behind someone that looks like my uncle Carlos. It is an old scribble, and if you know whats been going on lately you’d know how weird it is. I like going back to things and working on top of them and thats something I learned from Steve Littman, a lecturer at Uni that guided me through my BA.

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If you want to DEFEND a BLONDE – do so by TELLING THE TRUTH.

Not by hurting the person that they HURT.

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This is a snapshot of art and ideally it will speak to people who were given sex changes as infants because mummy or daddy wanted a daughter (in some cultures having a daughter is death, in others it is very lucrative. Have a daughter that you treat well, have another daughter that you sell.) or even to women who didn’t get to be with the ‘posh’ english boy that they wanted because they were too hairy. I mean the excuses are endless but that’s really what it boils down to.

It is fine, because I know your hairless girlfriends feel nothing when you “fuck” them.

If I have ever consented to you snuggling me while I am in some kind of comatose sleep, if you have ever convinced yourself I was subliminally consenting to it – I UN-CONSENT. If I want to do stuff with you, you’ll know. Ideally you’ll get in touch. If you have the guts you can say outloud “I have rape fantasies and I can’t do them with my girlfriend because that emasculation I was avoiding by being with you is three times worse with her. I mean I still prefer her and I’d rather be seen with her in public and stuff but I really want to perform these rape fantasies” then I will do some weed and if you’re hot enough (you probably aren’t. thats why its rape.) I will even let you film (if we set up some mirrors right I’ll film you raping me)  one of those violent rape scenes with me for your wankbank. FOR FUH-RHEEEEE

_MG_5383.JPGThis is a PERIOD. THIS IS NOT ME CUTTING MY GENITALS. WHY THE FUCK WOULD I CUT MY GENITALS YOU FUCKING FREAK.

I WILL NEVER FORGET THE DOCTOR THAT WANTED TO SEE MY GENITALS AND THAT HE PRETENDED THAT HE HADN’T ALREADY. SO FAMOUS. SO IMMORTAL.

Don’t choose guilt prison over the truth, you’ll realise years into one of those loving relationships that either you or the person you love or both are being sleep-raped by ugly people or one another. And it probably isn’t someone hot doing it, it is probably either the military or the police pretending that they care about what happened to me when really they just joined in and want more people to do it to cos once you’ve done it one/two/three/four times it is weird. And waiting to die is apparently absolute hell

No, it doesn’t make you Christian Greys. It doesn’t give you sexy vibes. It gives you ‘that creepy indian guy that isn’t allowed in his mum’s house during the day’ vibes. (I CAN MAKE THAT JOKE. YOU CAN’T.)  The point of Christian Grey, I imagine, is that firstly: there is no one that would not want to have sex with him. I have dated that guy and wanted for someone else – thats really how you get Christian Grey. You WANT someone ELSE. That means that Christian Grey cheats on you throughout your entire relationship. He obsesses about his ex that ‘abused’ him. (Does him telling you that story help you to connect with him? Me was so hurted by this person and it left one of those unfillable BPD psychic holes.) (SAME CHRISTIAN, SAME.) (BEFORE YOU GO LOOKING FOR GIRLFRIENDS, PICK A BESTFRIEND.)

And that isn’t complimentary, everyone fancying you – and if Christian Grey NEEDS that to feel attractive then he is putting on a performance by gallivanting around as some kind of master of sex.

Someone encouraged me to get back with an ex of mine and I think it’s because he’s a middle eastern and I’m a middle eastern and I’m the only girl that he ever dated that didn’t actually abuse him (one threatened him with a razor, for example) – you generally have a choice between being abused or abusing someone and I can’t abuse people I love. I can make ‘awful’ jokes at their expense but if you look carefully, listen carefully, notice the subtlety, I am generally insulting myself much more than I am insulting anyone else that is the butt-of-my-jokes because self deprecation is the best form of humour I think that we have other than fake arguments. Most people can’t do those.


Sikhs consider cutting your hair a form of self harm.

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Actually there are a lot of behaviours that are technically self harm. Eating a bit too much is a form of self harm – not if I do it, I have a very big torso which means when I am hungry – I am REALLY hungry. Dating someone that makes you feel like you aren’t good enough for them is a form of self harm. Talking to relatives that abused you is a form of self harm but if you have been gassed and raped by strangers in your flat, who convinced themselves that you wanted them to, you have to pick the abusers that at least wouldn’t physically rape you, if only because it’d be a bit awkward. I couldn’t tell my “mother” or my “sister” or my “old friends” I was being raped because they got JEALOUS.

I literally called out for help, and it didn’t work. If you pretend you can’t see my life, you can contact local doctors in Surrey – because when I felt unwell, in any way, I communicated that to them. If I felt rage, I called up 999 and said “I FEEL to do XYZ, and this ISN’T normal”, when I realised I had anorexia (not one of those teenager fad diets) the kind of hellish anorexia that PREVENTED me from eating (that is, I felt no hunger and I physically couldn’t keep food down) – I TOLD a doctor. MORE THAN ONCE. I TOLD my “best friends” that I was fucking suffering and I got a “not my problim” (which would’ve been fine if I hadn’t of done all the stuff I had done for them)

Will I forgive you? ho ho ho, no. Will I love you unconditionally? I will NOT.

Breaking spiritual laws, like – stealing is a form of self harm. Stealing time from a person’s life – if you are a judge of some kind – what makes you a judge? I mean what qualifies you to be a judge? How can doctors steal women and men’s autonomy from them and hospitalise them and pretend it is to keep them safe?

ARE YOU SURE THEY ARE NOT BEING ABUSED BY THE PEOPLE TRYING TO PUT THEM IN THAT HOSPITAL?

WHY THE HELL WOULD HE STEAL FROM A SHOP AND THEN CALL THE POLICE?

ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO PERPETUATE A STORY LIKE THAT. ARE YOU SURE. ARE YOU PREPARED TO DIE FOR THAT BECAUSE THAT IS A WARCRIME. PROMISE.

 

THIS IS A FAN ART FOR PYROCYNICAL

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Ginger hair is a biohazard but you’re genuinely funny and probably the most hardworking ginger guy in the World that isn’t a wrestler? with a vendetta against me

ACTUALLY taking a moment to defend another ginger. There are three gingers I don’t mind. I don’t know any of them.

One is Lily Cole – an elegant redhead and I once visualised a very tall, very skinny Eve that had walked out of a renaissance painting. Years later I actually saw her modelling. (Years later I visualised another Eve, and she was a black woman with a bun, so I think she had very soft hair.)

Another is Pyrocynical who I think will be a hottie once he finds his look. I watched a lot of his videos on youtube when I was having a shitty time living with a rapist the NHS set me up with so they could take turns raping me at night through him.

The world isn’t really ready for people who were born after the 1990s – Lisa’s Ascended Masters – because they’re all here to have fun with their clothes and the only people who were remotely good at clothes were people who could afford very expensive ones and who were venerated as celebrities.

The third is Conor Mcgregor. I’m going to defend him because I’ve come to the conclusion based on kicking and punching a skinny gay guy that started on me in a bank when I was holding a bird (he was wearing a jockstrap, trust me – you can flick a penis and it’ll hurt the person) and he did a great performance of ‘feeling nothing’. I physically felt held back and weighed down by something when I made that little assault (I assure you it was a reflex and that it would have been correct to ask him not to threaten me before hitting him for it. And while I am prepared to take the blame, I have all sorts of explanations – it doesn’t change that these sports are unethical, the results planned in advance with all sorts of ulterior motives and whether I predicted accurately or not – it is very possible to cheat through a kind of physical control detailed in this post.)

Don’t fight to compete, pick a fighting partner that is your physical equal and evolve together because everything relating to sports, particularly televised sports that people bet upon – horse racing most likely included – is a fucking lie.

WIDT

I woke up at six in the morning, tried to order a cheese and chicken royale from burger king at about nine in the morning, with no success, donned one of the charity shoppe dresses I bought years ago in Woking and my Bloch ballet shoes stained with period blood. I don’t really fit into many flat shoes because I have “weird feet”.

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Theres an Iraqi punk artist I like called Jason Atomic, and I read once that he had a jacket that had all sorts of bodily fluids on it (vomit, saliva, semen, blood) and actually – that directly inspired these ballet shoes. He used to be married to a Japanese woman but he ran off to date a stalker that made him feel beautiful, I imagine, and if he hadn’t of, he’d probably not have become the person he is. I found him on SuicideGirls many years ago.

lh1olvje

My job as a self proclaimed artist is to make a vision from my life 
experiences and the terrible things that I've been a witness of. 
I'd sell bloody ballet shoes but I wouldn't know I wasn't selling 
miscarriage blood and that's really quite a strange thing to make 
money from. 

I found that shell by the sea. 
That was a plate with a peacock on that broke awhile ago and I 
intend to sand down the edges and collage it to a piece of art.

I sauntered on over to the corner shoppe and bought myself a £1 ham and cheese sandwich (I don’t enjoy brown bread but I bought it anyway) and some ferrero rochers because my angel guide Lucifer LOVES them. “Delicious” apparently. (I can’t afford the angel Gabriel. The angel Gabriel doesn’t like cheap jewels or metals or clothes and it gets altogether very sexual when I have to take them off because they physically BURN.)

(But not really. Sorry, I can’t make actual jokes anymore because I can’t be certain that the people reading them won’t convince themselves I MEAN IT.)

The angel Lucifer is not the BaphOMet. The angel Lucifer is a balanced being with both male and female energy and the BaphOMet is physically a female being and I imagine the reason she has been depicted here with a goats head is because you should be able to love something without needing to ever see it’s face.

 baphomet
[image ref]

OM is a vibration and I’m sure you can enquire further with any hippie. All I know is that I wanted Abe’s paramite and scrab tattoos and I got the letters O and M.

“What’s in a name” MORE THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE.

entirely of my own learning the moon became a symbol of a deception
and through non judgement where it was appropriate, a symbol of that which is illusory
here the baphomet says, the light is an illusion and the dark is an illusion
(My name is Anna Karina, I fucking wrote everything here)

And at a time she must have existed on a Planet that allowed her to see
and to see the moon

This is an illustration by Eliphas Levi Del sourced on google and the tattoo on the forearms of the baphomet read “solve coagula” – and it’s an alchemical formuli but it is also latin for greet (I know because my form tutor at Saint James taught latin and thats how she’d greet her students, “salve” – I was never TAUGHT) and I think, part. It is a cycle we experience with those we stand most to grow from being with and experiencing some new form of love with. There are many forms of love. If you love with your penis or your cunt you’re probably not really loving anyone. Especially if you wake up the next morning feeling like shit, and make the other person feel like shit too.

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I bought myself a memory board from a local charity shoppe. Actually I bought two of them. I wanted to decorate my living space a bit for a Miss Kittie video. I have no idea how those handmade (they were handmade and not by efficient Chinese factory workers but by someone VERY insecure because the insecurity transferred when I touched them.) (If you really loved them there is no way that you’d of let these pieces go.)

_MG_5335.JPGIt is actually perhaps strange also that when I read the words “if you really loved those pieces there’s no way you’d of let them go” that I also thought – if I loved a person I’d very easily let them go if I thought it would make them happy, so I wouldn’t be an inconvenience to them. I am much more possessive about my belongings.

The psych ward stole expensive jewellery from me, a cat ear Maison Michel headband made of metal with spikes that I once channelled Queen Khleopatra wearing (there was a dance, I did where segments of the metal changed colour and I recorded using a heat sensitive setting on my laptop camera. The video magically disappeared but I know that I can get the video back – a lot of people saw that and a lot of people downloaded it.) amongst those expensive stolen things.

My family arranged to have my belongings sent to storage and a lot of them did not come back. I put so much effort into my belongings actually. I love belongings more than I can ever allow myself to love towards people. ASK before you take something and if I let you keep something, GIVE ME SOMETHING BACK. If you have stolen I’d prefer the item to be returned to me, to a replacement or even to cash –

my items are often difficult to price because you can’t put a money on ‘love’ can you?

WOW. THAT. “you cant put a money on love”. First of all: I am not stoned. I am sober. I am very, very, PAINFULLY (I mean it) sober. I can be occupied by complete fucking retards and I’m sorry but something has to be done about them. They are not doing it by accident, they are adamant that they can get away with it. They are doing it on purpose.

What I meant to write, though, was:

it would be tremendously difficult to assign any kind of price tag to my belongings, because it is extremely difficult to quantify the value that I personally offer to everything that I invest my money in. I buy things I know I will want forever, even if my tastes change. My tastes actually don’t change though.

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I don’t have a lot of money. I’m owed a lot of money, but it isn’t in my account. It really should be and I know it will be.

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I was channelling Maxime Avet to take these, I’m trying to go back in time to all of the photographers that were looming in my subconscious. I imagine that if we all stop being cowardly, come back and claim our former positions the internet will stop being a fucking MESS. 1!!!!!1!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!11111!!!!!one

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I have two new plant friends. Apparently – and this is a note to self – they water from the bottom up. So you put a little bit of water on a plate and the water travels upwards.

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More examples of internet mess and I’m going to go into some detail here because they deserve it. Yesterday I told my “mother” that I wanted a restraining order against Cherrene and her friends and I could hear (not audibly, it’s a turn of phrase – you know ‘I could just IMAGINE) her god-awful fucking histrionic marzia-voice screeching down the phone at her in their defence because what really stings is the embarrassment that her and her friends invested so much uninvited attention my way and never bothered to admit to it because they preferred to steal. Because they preferred to be ‘inspired.

These women are too ‘old’ to pretend that they have any business stalking people my age, which they do, authoring “style” blogs (I keep defining that word and you clearly can’t read so you’re just looking at the pictures.) and that is not because of their age, it is that there isn’t even a reasonable exchange. What do they have to offer back? Because I don’t want their ugly clothes or their money. Or their ugly kids. Unless they’ve stolen some since we met, and it will come out if they have – and I’ll want them returned to suitable parents.

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this is two of my stalkers. really trying to do casual. On a style blog. Why bother? What is this an attempt at really? The questions are rhetorical. I am not inviting a response. Someone will want answers though because you fucked over a lot of people and to pretend otherwise will be some new low for you to drop to.

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Did they. Is it because you worship the divine female form or because you’re really, really taken by art? Especially art depicting the nude female form? What inspired that? Was it, perchance, because you might’ve read somewhere that Princess Charlotte of Wales was taken by ceramics?

WHO THE HELL WOULD TRUST A CHILD OF THAT AGE WITH CERAMICS?

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I don’t actually know what is military or even utility ‘chic’ about these satin? hella cheap jackets. These are not military chic and these are not ‘utility chic’ either – you couldn’t wear these in the rain, they don’t have lots of pockets for carrying your items in (so, the military wouldn’t find them useful – do you just like to throw words around, or?) and you couldn’t wear them sauntering through the Amazon on expeditions so they’re not that ‘utility’ either. Or do you mean utilitarian?

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{It was not founded by Jeremy Bentham. And actually I’m not a fan of utilitarianism as a political movement because of the potential the ideology has to remove the individual from the realisation of an identity that could contribute towards their personal evolution – which would benefit everyone else so IUNNO DUDE, IUNNO. BUT DO YOU SEE HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE NOT MY KIND OF PEOPLE, WERE NEVER MY KIND OF PEOPLE, COULD NEVER HAVE BEEN MY KIND OF PEOPLE – WERE THE DIMINISHMENT OF MY KIND OF PEOPLE – LITERALLY – they’d of had absolutely no invitation into my life. There was never any suggestion of consent that my interaction with them could acceptably go beyond the fact that I was doing graphic design work for them and that it was insultingly underpaid. And unused.

They purposely made sure I was given a memory stick containing photographs of them and their family – I mean the kids, the ugly little boys in ugly tracksuits and – really – the kind of family gathering that makes me GLAD I don’t have one. I had thoughts like “are you going to sell it to a publication” (“no, these are boring photos, no one wants to see this” I thought back). I imagine they thought those photos of their footballer husbands were really valuable but I think, I looked through about five images and closed it because I was mortified (was it one of you that was mortified?) at how fucking boring they are. You probably know better, the affect of my making eye contact with you – so what really happened was I was pass the parcelled amongst Cherrene’s friendsssssss. Again.

My “sibling” (again, I will be legally disowning her and arranging for a restraining order. Which is the correct thing to do to stalkers.) liked to rifle through ‘family’ photographs and take the photos where we looked attractive (probably the unattractive ones too but they’d see the memories anyway I imagine) and put them up in her room. I recall a psychic once told me on the phone that afew people had photographs of me and that they used them to “communicate” with me. Work on a psychic line for long enough and the stories repeat themselves, with names, with particular details – that fucking pathetic.

This is why muslim women ‘cover up’, this is why muslim women don’t make ‘physical contact’. Do not lie to me because then you’re shitting on a lot of religious truths. Do not try to protect yourself, tell the truth. I won’t judge a person who can tell the truth. (I mean, if you’re a zoella or a hannah or an emma or a joana etc, I will judge you because I already know you’ve abused me. You are all that fucking repetitive.)

(by the way, a once-a-friend-not-a-friend-of-mine-anymore-did-you-have-anything-to-do-with-it-cos-it-all-happened-in-surrey brought the use of the word ‘chic’ into the internet lexis, accept it. Her mother is a renowned fashion photographer. A lot of people, myself included, were probably urged to take photographs because of her.)

Embarrassment makes people do very peculiar things.

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Chintz is not your thing. Nothing in that photo is chinoiserie. Not even mock-chinoiserie. Don’t call it chintz. That is weird. Do not throw words like ‘minimalist’ around. You don’t know what that word means. It’s a movement. I know you ladies know I was watching some youtube videos about minimalism and then I watched this in Denmark and the lady in florals used the word maximalism, which I’d never heard before. Learning new word is the sad kind of thing that makes me really, really happy.

 

There were a lot of these women, that were in some way affiliated with footballers and residing in Surrey. They had arranged for my sister and a friend of hers to be moved. At the time I was smoking a lot of weed. I recall being introduced to a few of them and being invited to two of those women’s homes, I recall walking through their ‘shop‘ too. 

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This was taken from their instagram. So fashion. much style.

 


But yeah, no: I don’t quite know if you have an accurate memory of fifteen years ago, when SuicideGirls and Graphic Novels and Movies and people’s favourite bands were everything to everyone. Do you mean “I had no nice stuff, I found someone to copy and I tried my darned tootin harfest/hardest? to make it impossible for people to find out and I failed”

You did fail. You did.

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This is a pararaah (wow) a paragraph, taken word for word

I wat to

^ Trust me, it’s a real thing. People can occupy me. Easily. Its a human rights abuse and if they can do it to me there are a lot more people that they can do it to.

Leading bookshops of London is one of the best sentences I’ve ever read

(Is it?)

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Carol Ann Duffy is a really special person/writer? to be compared to because she authored a poem that I’ve referenced at least five million times, and it likened the female orgasm to ‘pearls’. Anyone in the online adult industry will know that I was an integral part of us collectively understanding that the female orgasm was real. I DONT MIND YOU DID IT. I WONT HOLD IT AGAINST YOU. JUST TELL THE TRUTH AND ALL IS FORGIVEN. (I’m talking to my shitty babysitters from suicidegirls and godsgirls, I’m over Ahmed so I don’t care that you did what you did.) (You were led into a trap by people I hadn’t met yet. Spend a night at a footballer’s house trying to do some work and years later you realise that they had a really great time making you ill.) (My enemies were picked for me years before I was even born. Their names were picked for them years before I was born.) (Accept it and don’t fucking lie.) (I don’t care if you watched my child self get assraped on a doctors’ table, that’s a pretty anime thing and if I wasn’t sure it’d give me PTSD I’d probably enjoy my childself experiencing that too because sadly we’re all into fucked up hentai and all I ever wanted was to be not only anime, but also hentai)

It was a poem I studied when I did my GCSEs in one of those dreadful government bog standard poetry anthologies: and it was written from the perspective of William Shakespeare’s wife, who I believe must’ve been somewhat affected by the idea of him being infidelitous (her character in that poem was) – more so the idea of people assuming that they didn’t have a sexual relationship. The poem is about a guest-bed in their home.

One sec I’ll find it.

‘Item I gyve unto my wief my second best bed…’
(from Shakespeare’s will)

The bed we loved in was a spinning world
of forests, castles, torchlight, cliff-tops, seas
where he would dive for pearls. My lover’s words
were shooting stars which fell to earth as kisses
on these lips; my body now a softer rhyme
to his, now echo, assonance; his touch
a verb dancing in the centre of a noun.
Some nights I dreamed he’d written me, the bed
a page beneath his writer’s hands. Romance
and drama played by touch, by scent, by taste.
In the other bed, the best, our guests dozed on,
dribbling their prose. My living laughing love –
I hold him in the casket of my widow’s head
as he held me upon that next best bed.

 

OH! No! Right – the idea being (god memory flashes) that Shakespeare had bequeathed the guest bed unto his wife and that there would’ve been some suggestion of insult because why not the “fancy” bed? Carol Ann Duffy would’ve argued that that was the bed they used to fuck in. Hence the poem.

{Poem sourced here, 10 August, 2019}

Someone that I actually fancied and hung out with and watched on youtube while I was in Denmark homebirthed a daughter called Pearl. People did not know that she was not actually blonde nor that as far as genetics are concerned, it is impossible for a person with dark brown hair to have a blonde child. It was important because it was deeply connected to “if you stick up for the blonde, it’ll make you really popular”

I could hear my form tutor-cum-headmistress (the word cum, used in that context doesn’t actually mean what you and your really cool boyfriends/friends would like it to mean and I feel compelled to clarify that) in that youtuber’s voice sometimes, months later. Her voice is distinctive and I am really, really good at voices. As in I can hear an actor’s voice in a film and then years later if their voice struck me personally I might be able to identify their voice in an animation. No face needed.

that font, though, it’s called ‘Journal’. It was a godsgirls thing. Do not pretend you have been internetting and that your tastes in graphic design and typefaces are not DIRECTLY RELATED to me

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so i know you’ve seen godsgirls. which explains, to some extent the mess of the lives of everyone involved in that entire industry. (Don’t lie, don’t attempt to lie – when they have the truth they are psychos. these kinda people.)

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If you want to masquerade as some kind of style or fashion icon, or any kind of voice for the nature of clothing – it’s advisable that you’ve some understanding of clothes. That you aren’t regurgitating a style that has probably been influenced by me or some version of ME. An understanding that you didn’t steal from ME – quite badly considering your budgets. If you emulate me, fucking CREDIT ME. I DID THE WORK. A navy waterfall jacket from warehouse goes a long way though, doesn’t it

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Anyway. Yesterday and today I spent the last of the cash in my bank account on some books and I probably ought not read them until those women are no longer allowed to use the internet, no longer allowed to astrally project or whatever it is that they do to stalk me, no longer alive ideally but … thats really some kind of Planetary decision that I suppose I am too biased to be neutral about. I saw a book in the shoppe about the death penalty and I think it’s important that we consider

These are creepy women. Don’t pretend you don’t know what ‘inspired’ this shit.

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Do not accept CHEAP imitations (some of my most dedicated stalkers are finally getting the attention they craved and that they really invested towards making my life difficult to get, and I hope they sleep soundly into their 100% Egyptian cotton sheets/pillow cases)

Capsule wardrobes are a thing that Peaches write aboute

That ^ Kill me

Years ago, when I was studying Fashion, Peaches Geldof edited/wrote? an article for I think, the Metro, about Capsule wardrobes. For people who didn’t have a good budget but wanted to be able to dress well. That is all I wanted. Actually all I wanted was to have a lolita/nymphette/dominatrixy wardrobe (just the look) and summer dresses and playsuits to roll around in at home because it’s weird to dress like that at home, or it was to my younger self. I didn’t make an effort at home because my home was hideous. Any money we had was spent on my older sibling.

Capsule wardrobes are for professionals and also for people who are really fucking poor. Not for ‘celebrities’. Again, someone wanted to ‘defend a blonde’ that didn’t need to be defended.

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Note: YOU WERE BULLYING HER. I NEVER BULLIED HER. AT ALL. [image taken from ref]

Peaches Geldof arranged for me to be friends with a girl called Stephanie and – SHES ALIVE. SHE WILL TELL YOU THIS HERSELF. IT’LL BE FUNNY. WE REALLY GET EACH OTHER. I FANCIED HER. SHE WAS ABUSING ME A BIT BECAUSE SHE REALLY THOUGHT THAT WHEN I FOUND OUT WHAT WAS GOING ON, I’D BE IN A THREE PERSON RELATIONSHIP WITH HER, HER HUSBAND TOM (I GUESSED that he was a taurus – from how he served his children food.) AND THAT WE’D BE FRIENDS FOREVER. (I mean say sorry first and let me be a bitch and you can replace the beanie baby in my one man show) (yeah but beanie babies are mine and don’t you dare go back on it or I’ll stay here) – She had seen a lot of my memories, probably been present for my reading with Lisa (was) where Lisa told me that I would be the HEAD of a SECRET SOCIETY – in my next life. (I’m on that life but at what fucking cost.)

Peachy and Kremé both wanted to be elegant gothic lolita girls but they were kept away from the things that they liked. I was peachy’s inner stylist. She was my biggest fan and most dedicated stalker and actually fucking ruined my life with that shit. It meant that any future fans would unconsciously do the same fucking thing to me – pretend not to be a fan, pretend not to have been reading the stuff that I put all of myself into sharing and CURATING on the internet before anyone else was doing it. I put myself in a lot of ‘danger’ with people who tried to control me by making me take stuff down when they didn’t actually know the true story AT ALL. And made her life WORSE by “DEFENDING” her.

 in other news – I realised a girl I went to school with called Joana is prince harry’s twinflame. She is also one of my stalkers and it’s nice to know you have something to talk about.

 

NONE OF THIS IS COMPLIMENTARY TO ME. THESE ARE NOT THE KINDS OF WOMEN I WOULD BE FLATTERED BY HAVING BEEN STALKED BY. I AM REALLY, REALLY CREEPED OUT.

MAGGOT QUEEN

I learned that the only way to get people to ever read anything I wrote or listen to anything I had to say, there had to be some fantastically sexualised element to it. I don’t know when. Isn’t that weird. We’ve all got weird in us, and it’s great to be honest about it.

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fun fact: i find a bra i like once every few years. my bras are all
years old. most of my things were. a lot of my things were stolen.
i know i'll get them back but the cost of that will be awful, 
finding out who had the audacity to steal from me. particularly
if they were defending a blonde - to be popular. 
who turned out to be very much ALIVE. 
and if it was not for me, you'd never of cared about her life
at all. and if it was not for me, you'd never of known shes alive.

there is no shame bell adequate enough for the result of everything
that has been done to me. 

people deserve to die for what they've done
in an attempt to be popular, thinking no one was watching or 
listening.

It is 00:26 AM on Saturday the twenty-seventh of July. I’ve no idea when I started authoring this post but I need to rest, and return to it tomorrow.

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I need a rest because I’ve been up since about seven in the morning following a very annoying clawed friend around. (I don’t mean it, she is not in the slightest annoying and she brings me so much happiness.)

Killi is actually perfect.

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Because of her I was compelled to tidy my room. You might not think it a big deal. ITS A BIG DEAL.

I had wanted to tidy my room for months since moving in but I didn’t feel to – that is – I had no energy to do so and the period before moving to Brighton I was stressed out and it fucked my body up. Moving around fucks me up. I don’t mean emotionally, because I’ve moved around so many times I’m numb to that. Actually it fucks me up physically. Which is legitimately worse for me. Not for most people but for me, physical pain – carrying around a shit for weeks – is worse than heartbreak. A thing most people do at least one a day, I do about twice to three times a month when I’m having a bad time.

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Being evicted from my family home after an argument (the reality is that my ma got weird when I started cooking) (and after a life of only ever really speaking to my family to have very serious, very heated arguments – which meant that my being evicted made absolutely no sense to me, i mean – i grew up in a warzone in terms of my family only ever communicating to argue. i generally only really got hugged after an argument where i was forced to apologise but not to expect one back. kids that grow up in families that only talk to fight and only hug to resolve a fight have PTSD.)

and my mother realising a few days ago that she was out of her fucking mind to get me evicted – and then my forgiving her without her actually fucking apologising – because I can think of all the excuses for her – also really fucked me up. No one has ever cared about me, and perhaps thats the result of a difficult life for all of us as individuals, but that’s also the truth. I don’t know how a baby could survive without anyone caring for it or loving it and I know that my brother and sister were both damaged creeps that did a lot of weird stuff to me – kids do weird things to their siblings – but I did somehow. 

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It is now 9:05 AM on Saturday the twenty seventh. I’m going to caption the images I’ve added to the post. I haven’t used the internet for a few days, I might’ve previously written (I’ve no memory of the fact) that I wanted to spend some time only really meditating.

If I lost concentration in a meditation I’d just think.

And feel.

I didn’t really watch any cartoons or films, I only listened to music. I don’t talk to any of my old friends and I’ve released them all. Tintin is my very bestfriend, no human could ever compare to him.

A better parent and a better friend than any of the two I’ve ever experienced yet.

If ever there was a time to scientifically prove the benefits of meditation, particularly combined with sound stimuli, it’s now. If you had been living with me for the last month, after an intense meditation with SethSpeaks, you’d of witnessed all sorts of strange miracles and inexplicable genetic evolution that I couldn’t photograph because I don’t have the right lens. More importantly I was able to take thought journeys that helped me to better make sense of the physical body and the Earthly experience.

You do not live with me, so you’ll have to take my word for it that I’m telling the truth. A lot of weird things happened to me throughout my life and when I’d tell people they’d call me a liar. Perhaps that’s why I like to document things. So I’ll accompany everything I write with a truth that you’d think I wouldn’t want to share. I’ll also upload photos that I haven’t photoshopped (apart from a few that I nicked off my instagram, which I used a filter for)

I haven’t “showered” in six months. I wash the places that need to be washed and scrub dead skin off when I need to. Actually I’m Bad Santa level of awful at the moment inside but I try not to go out looking that way so I don’t make Brighton look scummy.

Look at how perfect this baby is. I wish I had taken a video of her having a little bath in my kitchen sink. It was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. (I pee in that sink, but also I dettolled and scrubbed the hell out of it before I put her in. Obviously.)

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The hair I lost having continuous nervous breakdowns in Surrey because I was being bullied and fucked over is growing back without the aid of any vitamins, although I’ve got some that I’d like to start taking. My skin is not a nigh on thirty year old chainsmoker’s and I’ve not had enough injections in awhile, to boast a name drop (If you like my lips, Dr Rita Rakus. No one else. Save up.) for an aesthetician but mine is the best.

Don’t tell anyone, one time she started stabbing at my lips with a syringe and I got really wet. Gross right? That shit hurts. (She gives you a really good numbing cream, and you can leave it on for longer so it hurts less – but it does hurt.)

I realised that the tap water in Brighton is not good for drinking, it forms calcium deposits around my friends nose. (Just WAIT til you see my new friend.)
I think that if this country refuses to endeavour to provide healthy, clean water to their citizens – they should at the very least enforce local councils to honestly inform their residents that the water is not drinkable. I promise that if you live in the United Kingdom and you stop washing your hair (a spritz of dry shampoo, a decent brush – I use a tangle teaser but the design of those was actually copied from one of my favourite old hairbrushes.) and your face in the terrible water, (honestly – Dubai circa 1990’s asbestosy-chlorinated swimming pool water is probably healthier to swallow than the drainage-regurgitated to infinity stuff in our taps) your appearance would benefit tremendously. I advocate plastic surgery, generally ageing is to do with the levels of collagen in your body and I want to believe we can evolve beyond caring about people’s ages and if it’s our appearances stopping us from being with the people that we might like to be with – for whatever reason – then we need to change those appearances.

In the Matrix movies we are taught about residual self image – the person you see when you visualise yourself. I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO BE THAT PERSON. WE NEED YOU TO BE THAT PERSON. SHE IS BETTER THAN THE YOU THAT FEELS WEIRD IF SHE LEAVES THE HOUSE IN ANYTHING OTHER THAN A CAGOULE.

You’ll notice, when you notice your ‘residual self image’ – that it is difficult to just wear the things you see yourself in. My spiritual teachers would’ve entirely opposed the idea of embracing that residual image until meeting their twinflames, because they’d of wanted their twins to see them ‘as they are’, ‘without vanity’, which it is truly a struggle for women to reject because we are mind controlled to be vain, mind controlled to obsess over physical beauty – particularly those of us who live in capitalist countries.

In a meditation my spider friend Sabel told me that he had a twinflame. Female spiders are a lot bigger than the male ones and they usually eat the male ones. I understood that Sabel wanted to co-exist with his twinflame, which is not characteristic for spiders. He learned perhaps from watching my memories of spider documentaries and so did she. He was at the time too small to document although he kept trying to encourage me to – that is – I kept feeling compelled to try to photograph him and I kept not doing it because I don’t have the right lens.

The chances are that if you are a person who already knows who their twin is, you’re probably around about a more mature age. It doesn’t mean you’re ready for them, at all.  The idea of being without vanity and being comfortable as you are, is that the final result is that you can love yourself without vanity. Don’t stagnate on it. It’s an achievement, when you get there you leave that you behind. Past life.

WHY won’t you wear your fancy dresses around the house? Is it because you don’t think it fits the look? That is amongst the many reasons that I’m unhappy in a home until it looks right. My home doesn’t look right yet. But here is how my favourite bit of my flat is starting to look.

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When I lost the egocentricity that enabled me to meditate about myself (as opposed to obsessing about snuggling with boys I fancied, as I did in school) I was catatonically depressed.

We need to find beauty in ourselves and love ourselves before we start pursuing relationships. Which means first we have to KNOW ourselves. Also not looking like Mr Burns when you’re naked is a GOOD THING.

When it comes to me, I think, or fragments of myself: we feel your happiness. If you secretly wish you had an excuse to dress up every day all day, we’re quietly aware of the fact. We like people who are the equivalents of male peacocks. (That is not to say they necessarily like us back, but that is who we gravitate towards.)
We won’t pick the ‘meaner’ one, although sometimes it seems that way – we’ll pick the one that has more presence. We can defend ourselves (unless you have an army of lovers and a queue of inadequates that actually hold it back because even if they have a place in the queue – they’re NOT READY.) and we prefer solitude and we enjoy a person who is a constant source of entertainment. It is probably unhealthy to seek another person out solely to be entertained by them but I know that is consistently something I seem to expect from interaction.

If you’re wondering where this thought journey comes from, it comes from a deeper need to want to understand things as they truly are. Nature is not loving or perfect or kind and does not adhere to the social rules that humans have created. You can tell me it is insanity to think that we can sculpt evolution and that it is self absorption but I have no reason to agree. I’m at a sort of crossroads because I’m trying to decipher the true human mentality when it comes to relationships and where men – and what are men, anyway – have been given control, it has become some secret freudian, heartless, in’humane’ reality that I’ve found myself in at times – but then I also find that while I advocate the liberation of women, their gender rebirth in light of our findings has created monsters too. I could be a monster but I don’t want to but I might need to but I don’t want to.

I’m going to try to discuss a variety of things that have been sitting in my thoughts, thoughts I’ve truly revisited daily for the last two weeks, (the last two to ten years) in this blog and it’s taken at least three days to be able to sort of do that. If you read this journal entry as I write it: there are bits I’ve left incomplete. Every hour or two I return to various points or I add something or I consider omitting something perhaps. For a millisecond.

I spent years of my life looking shit and feeling shit. People forgot the old me and new people came along: safely accustomed to that new-me (even pretending that the old me didn’t exist) and that new-me didn’t really inspire jealousy in them or whatever it was that made people feel threatened and hate me when I was younger. They were still cruel to me, as cruel as anyone had ever been – old me would’ve rolled her eyes because she was that ‘self obsessed’. At University I applied every lesson I’d learned about being a social inept (I didn’t go out looking awful all the time, even if my peers looked awful, I was generous and tried to share a little bit of everything I had at every opportunity – apparently I was pretending to be rich because I wasn’t going around talking about my shit life at home, which if I had of done – I’d of been ‘attention seeking’. Trust me – the story is the same. You’re going to hate me and you’re going to hate anyone I fuss over.)

Do not be taken by the idea that whoever you’re pursuing should ‘see you as you are’, neither I nor they really need to know the “real you” because if you are around me or anyone for long enough: the ‘real you’ will change.
You will be the real-real you around people that make you feel loved, because you will feel unjudged and for the most part that is correct, but if you hurt me by exploring your shadow self, you open up a lot of wounds and then you see the real-real me and she isn’t very nice when she’s angry or upset. I don’t hit first. I am rarely cruel first. It happens if I see someone looking phenomenally terrible perhaps but mostly I don’t do nastiness unless it is called for. I spent my life being the ‘protective best friend’ and finding hot guys and setting them up with my friends. I kept having friendships dissolve because women don’t like me. I am still not over the incident in Hackney, I got kicked out because Bernie thought I wanted to steal men from her. I would never have done any such thing.

Women of generations older than mine are finally feeling enabled to be sluts. You do not have to attach any longer to the one man in your life because it’s a lie.

I don’t want women to be wilting flowers and I don’t want women to be submissive unless they find happiness or personal safety in that, or the performance of that. I don’t want to encourage women to be abusers either. Saying that – where I find that older people are wise, I prefer to have an influence of that nature in my life. I’m not hinting at anything here, value people who are older than you in some way. I seek out the company of older women. A guy called Zach told me that I should look to trees, if I needed the influence of a woman or a rolemodel when I was in my early twenties.

I don’t think he could’ve understood how the World works. I think he was also a thief. No one is perfect but I’m not honestly sure how far that sentiment goes; how much you can fix with a statement like “I am not perfect.

If you want to live a BDSM life here’s what I can tell you:

  1. You need a squishy. A person you can be yourself around without worrying that they are trying to dominate you. Whether you are submissive or dominant, you need a person that loves you before you start exploring a sexually promiscuous lifestyle.
  2. You need a person to run to if you are being abused by people you ‘love unconditionally’ who can call people out when they’re in some weird sexual trance that makes them stupid. It is a thing. Harmless and kindly men become sexual predators in these trances and so do women, actually.
  3. I have no squishies so I am in no way a candidate for a lifestyle of that nature. I would not pursue that lifestyle unless one of my guides told me to. And I don’t know that they would do so unironically. (Let me show you why you are NOT going that way.)
  4. I find personal strength in not needing a squishy, that is my personal life. I am not interested in BDSM either but I have noticed damaged people who are often find their way into my life and I don’t know how to react to the communicative exchanges.
  5. I am a loving person and it is not a performance and it hurts me when people start bullying me.
  6. This song was good for me as a teenager. I like to see unseen things and make beautiful movies in my head. Apparently it isn’t often me doing it either.
  7. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2L1A9taR0UYHowever hard I try to convince myself otherwise, I am competitive. I do not like that side of myself because when I competed as a child, I lost any chance at having friends. Even teachers bullied me if my work was too good in school. I coped with that by not doing anything much. I got confused for lazy and stupid and I enjoyed the humour in that.

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First of all, with regards to my post title: I am the Maggot Queen.

This is why.

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This is a common fly I bred, using meditation. It is infact not at all common, it has lines down the middle of it’s abdomento remind me of one of it’s brothers:

(I named him Magnus)

– I killed a maggot by dissecting it. It was a very uncharacteristic cruelty and it changed me forever – but I did it to feed some spiders that I have an attachment to. I cut some maggots into three, and I tried to feed my spiders. My reasoning being that if I want to have a pet snake, I have to accept I’ll probably need to feed it live feed. I am so sensitive to animals that even live feed, I would consider pets. I did not ever really romanticise the idea of keeping predators that were not dogs or cats until now.

But back to Magnus.

I cut across his belly horizontally. I didn’t cover his eyes. We exchanged eye contact before I killed him. When you meditate enough and when you access enough higher truth you are forever changed – I mean if you are a decent and empathic person (and you should always aspire to be decent, not to perform decency) – you, like me, can probably fall in love with something like a maggot. I mean you can really look at an insect like that, and feel love towards it.

Some people are cruel and it means nothing when they are cruel. Some people are not cruel at all and so when they are, it’s actually probably deeply, deeply disturbing.

Watching Sephiroth kill something innocent probably wouldn’t surprise anyone. I don’t know that many people were all that affected by Aerith’s death. It’s supposedly a huge moment in gaming history but I’ve never personally met a gamer who cared for that scene in any significant way. I was really really affected by Aerith’s death the first time I watched that scene.

Moving on: watching Aerith kill something would be disturbing. It would change how gamers regarded her. If you know anything about her character, or the impact she has on Cloud’s life, it really is the overwhelming kindness that probably kindles some capacity in him to fucking feel at all after whatever he must have experienced at Shinra or with Sephiroth. If Cloud’s memories are false that means he shares memories with Zach, but they might both be sharing Sephiroth’s memories.

Back to Magnus and the other two Magnets I killed – I believe a female and a baby – which I fed to my spiders. (My spiders didn’t enjoy eating those magnets, and they eventually moved so that they wouldn’t catch our flies – although they’ve since overcome the guilt.)

That night, I felt a really particular kind of agony in my stomach – and painkillers did not work for that pain.

I mean my stomach hurt for days and even when I could get comfortable enough in bed to try to masturbate it did nothing for me. I lost the ability to orgasm and it was legitimately frightening. I think that experience was my first time feeling absolutely no love towards anything at all.

I learned the value of a life by ending one – of a really rather harmless and worse, defenseless being. That night, I felt maggots in my body. I mean I felt them moving in my body. It was very real and it was also grotesque, I have a vivid imagination and I had watched them move so intently that the experience isn’t one I think I’ll ever really successfully remove from my memory.

I got the ability to orgasm back when I made peace with the spirit of the maggot. Also I took a massive shit that might’ve been the easiest one I’ve ever taken (I’ve taken, like, at least a few of those tiny shits that white women take in my entire life, so I do know what it feels like to take a tiny shit) although it’s still sitting in my white-woman toilet with embarrassingly small pipes. I know SOMEONE in Brighton is into scat.

But you don’t know what it is that maggots do. Do allow me to educate you. Train you, if you are so duly damaged that you require the use of words like that to concentrate. Someone will have to.

If you want to be a domme – be able to offer good service first.

Service is not sexual. Be able to be kind and do kind things. Have a sense of humour about your appearance, unless you have invested in yourself the chances are you have a few ‘flaws’ you’ve not been able to love in yourself. You can use art of manifestation to get rid of the flaws but the insecurities will probably transfer.

I felt ugly and fat from the age of two, I was an emotionally receptive child and I was raised by a ballerina who felt those things exclusively about herself.

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I am copying Emperor Akhito's wife, I saw her in a fascinator and
for the first time in my life I actually rather liked them.

I've been using red lipstick for everything. Contouring. Lips. 
I do actually intend to invest in red eyeliner. I wanted to get
a red line tattooed to my neck but a gentleman in Brighton
had the motherfucking audacity to tell me he refused. 

He pretended not to know who I am. There is no one that
ascribes to any kind of "alternative" lifestyle that does not
know who the hell I am. 

Do not trust piercers or tattoo artists that lie or engage in
BDSM. 

Years ago I went to a school for people that had been expelled from other schools – I couldn’t cope with the structures of normal schools and this one didn’t expect too much –  and let me wear whatever I wanted.
I had a science teacher who was a marine biologist whose dreams had been stolen from him – that is – he had a choice between the marriage dream and the marine biologist studying marine life dream. He told me that when he decided to study Marine biology, he would work ‘on location’ and that while he had aspirations of working with whales and sharks, he was sent to work with the bottom feeders – the plankton. Nothing ‘big’ in the ocean can survive without plankton, nothing at all would survive without plankton perhaps.

The food chain relies on all beings responsibly trying to incorporate as many food groups into their diet as they possibly can. You do not need to eat too much of everything, but you should at least nibble everything. The food chain hierarchy of sun > plants > insects > birds (this is the most offensively brief hierarchy but it is intended to serve as an example – but particularly for omnivores, our digestive systems rely on insects. Not vegetables. Not McVitties digestives. Insects – at least, definitely maggots. (Magnets.)

It is very unusual to keep maggots but they are great.

They are good for enriching soil, they are good for consuming left over food that you don’t want going to waste and some of them would make great accomplices for mercenaries.

I have docile ones that have never felt fear. This is them.

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[link to the original image upload here]

These ones currently live in ‘Tintin’s soil tin’ which is sort of a cute play on the idea that he could grow up to be a bigtime wall street dealer. (That is a reference to a joke in Final Fantasy VII)

This is Don Corneo’s mansion. It is sort of the Golden Saucer of Maggot farms. I have retired it temporarily and I will be revamping it with an all new landscape.

I was flirting with the idea of an animal familiar or friend that I could host in a home that is as awkward as mine.

I have a very little flat, which is all I need right now. But as a person who spends so much time in isolation, (one of those pesky ptsd sufferers) I was certain that it was time for me to start tidying my flat and seeking out some decent company that could cope with my total incompetence towards the care of other living things and my complete lack of motherly affection or maternal affection. I am actually repulsed by maternal feelings that are performed, the perpetuation of the idea that a mother must be kind and sweet and doting.

Here’s what I WANTED: A low maintenance, low expectations friend that could keep me company while I await a moment in time in which I can have Tintin back in my life all day long.

I wanted a snake. Or a bearded dragon. (I meditated on this before moving in – the snake eats the bearded dragon and grows legs.) (I would never get a bearded dragon and a snake, and put either at risk of that. I’d get upset with the snake and I wouldn’t want it anymore.

Snakes have never experienced jealousy. It’s probably of some evolutionary benefit.

I have always wanted a predator for an animal friend. I had never indulged the idea for long because when you have a carnivorous pet that needs live-feed, you also have more pets. If you have ever had stick insects, the idea of live feed is really messed up. Plastic containers of sometimes amazonian insects (their origins, that is) crawling over one another and poking their legs through the breathing holes as they wait to die.

They know that is what they are doing, by the way. They know they are waiting to die.

Live feed is expensive on petsathome. Well. It is and it isn’t. They changed the prices. I think it is weird to put a price on these lives, now. But I’ll explain why.

Insects aren’t stupid. Start here.

On a meditation journey I was told service or bdsm (another word for ‘survival’). This was a long time ago, ish, with both Gabriel and Lucifer, the Angels. (They look very alike and are very resentful of the fact.)

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Image taken from PetAtHome Friday 26th July 2019

Believe it or not, the prices have changed. I wonder why.


My reality is that this country is pretending that £700 a month is an acceptable amount of money to give an unemployed and sometimes disabled person and I can’t afford to be spending

The spiders relocated but sometimes show me they’re still around.
There’s a huge female one beneath my balcony, she leaves bridges of webs to catch her prey with. She mostly seems to use those webs as pest control. I had prepared a maggot colony in a tin-can, and the tin-can fell onto a pipe, and stayed there. She lives quite close to it – and I know she can wander in if it rains. When it rains I panic and I think about the spiders a lot – but I’ve made lots of places for them to hide when it rains and believe it or not, they do.

The spiders and myself have experimented alot with feelings of loss. The one in the alcove beneath the star on my balcony moved himself – but I won’t forget looking for him in the mornings.

I had thought he was a female, and I think he’d insist he is, but realised the female (that had previously thought-spoken with me in my babyvoice) was the smaller one that haS placed herself above the star on some weird mesh that covers my balcony. She now resides beside a window in our hallway. His name is Sabel – I saw Sabel on an ‘Isabel Marant’ top and read “I sabel” and now I see little ‘S’ things whenever I go to glance onto the balcony. When I can’t find him I think ARE YOU STILL HERE SABEL? and sometimes I look towards just the right spot to see him. One time I looked out onto my balcony and I saw him curled into a ball in a webbed-barrier and

hi ad

I had a feeling there were four spiders although I could only see three. At night the light would coincidentally – for a few days – cast a shadow of a giant spider in my ceiling. When I meditated with it I felt little bites in my skin and understood that was the spider’s way of communicating it was stealing energy. Pain is an energy. Spirits need energy to do their work. Fear is an energy. Sometimes the easiest way to acquire that energy is to evoke a very powerful emotion – some spirits pretend to be dead to evoke emotion just to acquire energy. It is important to be able to feel if you do magic, so you can at least ‘feel’ truth, or ‘feel’ if they are loving. I did feel that these spiders were loving towards me, but I couldn’t know if they felt that love towards anyone else. Animal spirits are difficult for me because I’ve not been doing this for a long time. I know that the animals that gravitate towards me are VERY big on LOYALTY. If I don’t like you, stay away from my animals (Tintin will bite you, even old ‘friends’ that he knew I wasn’t friends with anymore – he snapped at.) and that includes my spirit friends.

Having a few maggot-I-call-them-magnets colonies, I learned that – don’t ask – but only feeding hens ‘feed’ is wrong. For us, more than them. We need the birds that we eat to eat every single kind of food – for our own digestions. Maggots help us use the toilet. Maggots also help us orgasm.

I will tell you a little about the experience of being a maggot – they writhe around in pure physical pleasure.

 

Their every movement is as we ekxperience sexual pleasure. They snuggle. They have orgies (I lifted a piece of meat and saw the most fucked up magnet-orgy ever – they were so embarrassed they actually glanced at me mid-hump in pure shock.). They eat and fuck. That’s what they do. That is all they do. They live hedonistic lives and are naturally inclined to do so. They are beings of pure pleasure.

I googled the lifecycle of maggots – and I believe they must have used me to see themselves remotely. I know that they can choose to remain maggots.

Want to be grossed out? I left some pork steaks that had been sitting in my fridge in a loosely sealed tescos bag and put it outside. In no time at all I realised there was an infestation of maggots.

I was given meat that I am certain had maggots eggs inside.

 

I can leave meat wrapped in a tescos bag – I mean completely sealed by that bag – and left it outside.

They live lives of pure physical pleasure. Everything they do feels really, really good.

They can choose not to ‘evolve’ or otherwise delay the process of becoming a fly.

They are capable of meditation and are responsive to sound stimuli. They really like cyber-gothy electro music.

If a forensic specialist says something like “the maggots had started to eat at her” – and it had taken ‘a week’ to find her body, I’d say “you’re a fucking liar dude”.
They move and eat fast and they are merciless about it.
And they would begin at a wound if that was where their parents had chosen to lay eggs,
but they do not necessarily need to lay eggs in flesh. I’ve been taught that flies lay eggs in rotting flesh. They do.

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When I first visited Brighton I had a chat with a gentleman at a cafe
called 'Opposition'. 

He said that there were no lines in nature. 
My meditation flies would disagree.

They also lay eggs on plastic, and all sorts of different materials if there is both food and water in the vicinity. I am raising a lot of very weird looking insects and doing so requires my landscaping various little containers with the hopes of having the most epic dolls house ever.

They ALSO eat non-rotting flesh and they would go for the eyes. This is significant for me, though, as maggots were always in my mind. I’m not joking. Maggots and leeches have always been in my mind. This episode of Blackadder (these are the only ones I enjoy) is why maggots have always been in my mind.

At the back of my mind I have always thought in terms of survival skills, and have never forgotten seeing that maggots consume rotting flesh on television as a child. I knew that if you had a wound, and you placed a maggot on top, that the maggot would ‘only eat the dead flesh’ and leave the living flesh. That is a lie.

They would sink into the flesh of the thing they were eating and eat the whole thing. British TV is really fucked up and very dishonest.

(If you love something, you call it out for it’s shit. You do not choose to be nice all the time to save it’s feelings – you share a planet with beings that are deserving of much more than feelings of pity)

I’m going to tell you about the Maggot Spirit.

Magnus.

But this is Sesshomaru.

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He is a seagull that visits me occasionally and who I take great enjoyment in leaving out water and food for.

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My friend’s got many, many, many names.
Her nickname is KILLI KILLI.

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This is Killikilli sitting and looking out onto the balcony when Sesshomaru comes to visit.

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Moments after (or before) I took this photograph, Killikilli (that is not her government name) bit my nipple and I thought “if anyone ever tries to convince me that breast feeding isn’t a sexual performance EVER they are full of SHIT”

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She is the most amazing creature ever. So are maggots.

Of course: it is worthy of note that Chihuahuas are magical creatures too, but to me it is important to acknowledge that birds and insects are also equally worthy of their magical note.

In other news – I have been living in Brighton for almost half a year. I started tidying a few days ago (that’s when Killi waltzed into my life, being the least domesticated bird ever.)

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There are more photos.

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<3

Here are some phone photos to tell you all what I’ve been upto. I’m not bothering much with instagram. It isn’t worth it for me.

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.this is hilarious. I refuse to allow this country to compensate me without telling the truth, though. I won’t accept compensation and shut up money from the lottery. By the way WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE LOTTERY?

The Lottery” is a short story written by Shirley Jackson, first published in the June 26, 1948 issue of The New Yorker.[1] It has been described as “one of the most famous short stories in the history of American literature“.[2]

The story describes a fictional small town in contemporary America which observes an annual rite known as “the lottery”. The purpose of the lottery is to choose a human sacrificial victim to be stoned to death to ensure the community’s continued well being.”

I don’t know much either, but I heard about the story – referenced in an episode of the Simpsons. I don’t want to read the book because I’m lazy but also because I’ve lived enough pain to not want to project my life onto a story like that.

.I found a local abandoned pub, there was a bottle of alcohol on the table and my inner teenager picked it up – it had some alcohol left in it. I drank it and I danced around by myself.

.I found a bag on a table outside the pub and it had all these cute props in. The faux (honestly – not the consistency of blood at all – a cute sugar syrup thing) blood packs were SO MILITARY CHIC. I didn’t take them, although I’d of liked to for a photoshoot I’ve been planning. It’d of been stealing. (I want to make ‘TEMPLAR LOLITAS” a thing)

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I’m into this look. It’s anime. The crotch stuff.

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I paid a woman – who has a shop, where she sells ‘hand made clothes’ – I saw the quality of ‘her work’ – and she really thought it was okay to do this shit to my jacket. Seventy pounds for this shit. It’s surgical stitches for me, from now on, for all of my stuff. Fuck you. I didn’t say how pissed off I was before – I was pissed off. Its inexcusable. I keep being robbed by people in Brighton. Independent shop keepers, bankers. “do you have any idea what I’ve done for this country” I think at the back of my head.

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.you can’t see it here, but I have TREMENDOUSLY hairy legs. I went to the beach and took off my stuff and walked through the sea recently. I’m not one of those tacky hippies that doesn’t shave or remove their body hair, I just have no reason to remove it right now. I’m concerned that if I remove my body hair it will indicate that I’m doing it because I’m attracted to someone and that’s disturbing because when I’m trying to attract someone, sometimes other people think I am trying to get them instead or something (my attractions are specific and personal and if you don’t have the guts to hang out with me – or you dont want to hang out with me cos I have ‘hairy legs’ or I am wearing an outfit you don’t like – remember it for the rest of your life)

.i need waterproof earphones. NEED. and goggles.


I wish I could copy and paste the notes I just made on my phone, but my BT internet is so shitty that my phone can’t connect to it. I have some spiders residing on my balcony that I am VERY attached to. I’ve been meditating with them about becoming huge. (One sec, I uploaded:)

Like:

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I meditated with Jane of Seth Speaks recently – I swear upon my life, my bed was shaking. I was still and my bed was shaking. I asked to learn to levitate. I didn’t levitate. But yeah – my bed was shaking.

It’s been a few days since I last wrote to myself so here I am, self. Writing to you, self. In the meditation I was asked by Jane not to do any art for two weeks – so I’m uploading some art from weeks past that I thought I’d uploaded but apparently hadn’t.

This is a photograph of a shelf sitting on the ledge of my window sill, I’ve put some plants in it.

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Awhile ago I bought some slate coasters from Amazon – like a really long time ago now. I wrapped one of the coasters in a bathroom mat (they have sticky undersides – the good ones) and smashed it with a hammer. Then I started applying the bits like a mosaic to this shelf. I BUILT THIS SHELF! With help. A lot of help. But I built this shelf. (Actually a guy called Adam who helped my mother do her house up let me use some left over wood and let me borrow his screw driver.)

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I am excited about how this might look when it’s finished. Years ago I visited a woman’s house in Paraguay and she had a whole wall made of stones. That’s never left my mind.

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This is a photograph of my little kitchenette. That is the worst hoover anyone has ever used in their life, amongst the top ten worst hoovers. It is a mostly ornamental and decorative hoover, that adds colour to my life.

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This is a tea thingy. You’re meant to put tea in it. I took some mint from one of my tescos plants (THEY ARE TWO POUNDS!!) Oh, no, I just checked. TESCOS SELL MINT PLANTS FOR ONE POUND.

They are definitely indoor plants, these potted mints. I’ve tried keeping them outside and it is too hot for them. That is: I’ve noticed that when I put my plant friends outside, they almost die – even the ones the florists say are “meant to be placed outdoors”. What happens is – they almost die – and then they acclimate.

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So this is a tea strainer with some mint that I handpicked and put in hotwater with honey. No matter how much fun it is to be a person that does that – it’s not my thing. I am a water person. I drink water and elderflower cordial. Sometimes. And hot chocolate. I’m not a tea person, I will never ever be a tea person. I like coffee with two spoonfuls of butter. Try it. (I don’t drink it often, but it actually tastes much better than you’d think.)

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I know they say “don’t mix meats” but if you have a non-salty meat like this prosciutto and a salty chicken, and some potato, and some lemon drenched salad – you’ll be surprised at how much you don’t care about what “they say”.

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The NHS told a relative of mine that a portion is technically this much food. So If you eat a portion of pasta – this is the correct amount. This is what we need to be healthy, this much. If you think I am a person who can live on portions like this you are on crack. But my plate was pretty this day. I’ve not been cooking much, I’m having a lot of sensitivity to the sun here – Brighton is having a fantastic summer – but with a history of migraines and some mild vampirism I can honestly say that both myself and a relative of mine that I “vampired” in a “psychosis” (lets pretend, for the lols, that that is wat that was) can’t do ‘sunlight’. The doctors have told her she has lupus and she will believe anything she’s told by anyone that isn’t me, the only person who has ever told her the truth – in her entire life.

This is my hand. I was concerned (this is something that happens when you are abused by the NHS btw, as I was.) that people would think I had self harmed. I um. I do not self harm at all. And this would be a bitch of a place to self harm.

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If I had the time and date settings on my camera and you saw how fast I healed you’d be as weirded out as I was but I’m so lazy about documenting stuff like that. One day I’ll do it for the theatre and film it. When I’m getting paid for my documentary habits.

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I recently dressed up like this to check if (a very, very, very large sum of) money had been put into my bank account, as compensation from the United Kingdom for their human rights abuses against me. And my family. For three generations. I can’t tell you how many of my family’s friends (not mine, I don’t do friends – my FAMILY’S friends) are waiting for an apology. The money hasn’t been deposited – yet. Weird.

I was so sensitive to the heat from the sun I walked into the supermarket and projectile vomited on the day I made this video.

I also went to a poorly and disrespectfully kept World War Two Monument. An obnoxious woman convincing herself of being a patriot shouted “THATS A WAR MEMORIAL”. The water was so filthy – I shit you not – that my toenail went green, and started coming off – I had to rip it off.

We have birds that swim in that water. They’re british, if that makes a difference to yobs like that woman – ruining what is technically a really important moment for anyone that knows anything about this country’s military history. (I know more about this country’s military history than most British people – to the point that I remain until this day affected by a single stanza that I heard when I visited Berlin on a school trip.)

BLIND MEN, LOOK UP.

 

It was filthy. I waded around in it trying to be a sexy pin up for one of our boyz. It was a really proud moment. I’ll explain: A gentleman was, I think, wearing something to indicate he had fought in that war – he was sitting in a wheelchair by that memorial.

I asked if he’d film me in the water and he stood up off that wheelchair and filmed me.  He might’ve been an actor – people do orchestrate strange things like that – but I hope with all of my heart that he wasn’t.

War pinups – I promise – are my thing. I keep trying to upload the video but it’s a struggle to do so. Weird.

It’s actually a deeply important video but maybe I’ll save the footage for something special. Right now – Brighton – your war memorial is fucking gross.

.I had a poppy flower. If you knew about the Second World War, you’d know that poppies littered the graves of British, Polish and German men alike. Some of our boyz were buried over there. I remember because we went around looking for the graves of our teachers relatives. We found some.

 

Some of the soldiers that fought in WW2 died what would’ve been referred to as ‘dishonourable deaths’ – as in they either ran off to be called “deserters”, killed themselves, or hurt themselves so much that they couldn’t fight anymore. They were considered cowards. The human mind is very easily traumatised and a lot of those boys were aged around sixteen to eighteen. There were boys who lied about their ages so that they could go to war – often compelled by the idea of winning the affections of a woman.

This film came out back when I was doing the nude girl internet thing (I’ll bring it back, read below) and it is one of my favourite films. I encourage you to watch.

.If you have ever had PTSD – you’d know that you-don’t-know-you-have-it until you DON’T have it anymore. Like some people might’ve reacted to that trauma with ‘shellshock’, and run screaming onto battle fields – but there’d of been some people who went completely numb and blank and their responses to anything – absolutely fucking destroyed. They become like zombies.

“You” do not know how to treat PTSD unless you have HAD PTSD. You can’t live with people who have PTSD. They’re monsters. I’d know.

Anyone that tries to tell you that they can ‘help’ ‘treat’ your PTSD without having had it is full of shit.
That means you cannot – CANNOT – just diagnose someone with PTSD. You don’t know if a person has PTSD or not until they do not have it anymore. Thats it.

This is so poorly authored, an almost offensive attempt at explaining PTSD – that it’s perhaps offensive to include it in a post that offers any mention of WW2 and the people who were robbed of validation that their service and selflessness to what they believed was a good cause to humanity. (I struggle to believe the British cared about the holocaust. I don’t really know why they bothered getting involved, but they did. I think actually that any remaining service men must be pretty fucking furious, actually.)

There were also many horse memorials ❤ you don’t often consider how many animals have died in service.

I have investigated enough: Hitler is my comrade, and an innocent – whose motivation was to defend his country against the terrifying reparations we expected them to pay, that left them poor and defenceless. Mein Kampf was edited by his brothers.

I am perhaps the only person, in history, who has been lied about more than he.

The World watched the holocaust and the Jews paid to have their home back. If you challenge this judgement you will embarrass yourself doing so. I paid for what I learned to find the truth.

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T IS FOR TEMPLAR

they worship women

and the ownership of a vagina, does not a woman make


 

If you enjoy a nude of me, if you enjoy a thing I’ve written – that is really nice.

It’s still not “for you”

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I’m not ‘secretly’ into you – if I am into you – I promise you – I’ll let you know. (And the second I do so, millions of people will suddenly confess interest in you – and you will prefer them to me. I’m not your type.)

I don’t care how much you think you look like Alfie Deyes/Ash Stymest/Davey Havok or this guy – YOU ARE NOT THEM

(ALL OF WHICH ARE AMERICAN DREAMS. #CELEBCRUSHES. THINGS TO FANCY TO PASS THE TIME.)

I’m into PERSONALITIES. This is a portrait of a monk who was burned alive.

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If I consider myself a babysitter of yours, or ever have – I probably don’t – but if I ever have – please don’t think I’m sexually interested in you. I’m not. But when you grow up I will set you up with unimaginably hot babes. Babes that are much hotter than me, that you can get revenge on me with. For example: as a teenager I watched “the pursuit of happyness” with an ex boyfriend who is – definitely – a sociopath when he’s in a bad mood. If Jaden Smith EVER expressed any kind of interest in me, I’d die in a not-nice way. I’d be destroyed by that. If I could choose a girlfriend for him it’d be Frances Bean. Thats it.

If you think I should be into you – don’t stalk me, write to me. I am SO easy to get in touch with. If you are unable to get in touch, uh, I have an instagram. Leave a comment or something. Leave a billion. Thats what I’d do if I wanted to make sure someone knew I wanted their attention.

Unless you know I’m not interested. Do not make me create a list of men I wouldn’t accept money to date/hang out with. Please.


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I live in agony of every imaginable kind. You’re welcome.

If I had written this as a letter to myself I’d put ‘p.t.o’ (pronounced puh-toe)

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.I fucking laughed
stop forcing women into sexual slavery, domestic slavery etc – if a woman kills her kids they’re either not hers or she’s being mind controlled. Or it’s fake news. I don’t care. If I had kids I’d find the cutest, most kawaii magnet and attach this to my fridge and call my kids in and ask them to read it and say “YOU HAVE BEEN DULY WARNED.”

and if they were really my kids they’d get to the bit of “got in the way of her life, which included offering to sell sex” and they’d be like THATS EXACTLY HOW WE FEEL ABOUT YOU KARINA. THATS EXACTLY HOW WE FEEL ABOUT YOU. (I’d be like “do what you want, but when you see a kid walking into Perfect Fried Chicken, that looks exactly like you, wearing shoes like this – UNIRONICALLY –

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YOU’LL LEARN THAT YOU CARRY UNTOLD CAPACITIES FOR PAIN. Which would’ve been what I was protecting YOU from. (you could’ve paid a bit more actually)

(I have been taking adult man’s sized shits since I was at least two.) (my family are so clevers that they didn’t think I might have a VERY SERIOUS disability – well I spoke to a pharmacist who very kindly said that shitting once every two to three weeks is ABNORMAL.) (Fortunately that disability means I can do a lot of awesome stuff and if I like you, you can do it when we hang out.)

.IF I HAVE EVER BEEN IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH YOU – IF I HAVE EVER HAD PHYSICAL SEX WITH YOU – I’M NOT INTERESTED. NOT EVEN FOR MONEY. UNLESS ITS MONEY YOU ALREADY OWE ME. GET IN TOUCH AND ILL SEND MY BANK DETAILS.

.for example: luke’s dad stole a lighter from me – it was worth about five grand. he told me it was “fake”. (He got my original one valued and returned a fake.) fuck kent

.There was this moment in my flat, in a University town – where I’d found some strange enlightenment – and also learned I was technically royalty to Israel. Luke walked in and was like “what are you doing?” – I was painting the history of the world on some ikea thingy. I said “I’m ROYALTY LUKE” – you’d of had a “breakdown” of sorts upon that realisation at the same time as having recently had a terrifying miscarriage. He was like “so?”

YOU DON’T KNOW ME AT ALL LUKE DO YOU. Also I’m into bald guys but I’m not into you. I’d rather fuck a guy that wears shoes like this

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photo credit: Eyal (do you really want credit for this one?)

not really though, ew – you’re both ew

this is a good example of what my shadow self is like. thats why i am “single” unless the Angel Lucifer, HH or Zamasu decide to show up

OR trunx, or Levi

I was always this way which is probably why no one bothered telling me

VIBES

I have had several bowls of coco pops today. I was actually really dwelling on how I am now one of those people that consumes cereals more than once a day. I’m a poor sim. (Nono, this is the second or third day I’ve been eating cereals. I’m in it for the chocolate milk. My budget doesn’t permit chocolate milk. My guilt function makes it really difficult to buy things that I need to recycle because I hate to wash the packaging so I leave it sitting in the sink and end up binning it anyway.)

My Tescos shop is coming in on Tuesday, I think. I’ll have to snoop around for a pound or two for some extra milk.

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I am waiting for paint and glue to dry. My artists studio? um flat? has gotten twenty times cuter. I am pretending to be riche with a £12 William Morris-ish wallpaper I bought from Wilkos by pasting it into the cupboard. It has changed the vibe of my flat from at least one angle.

I bought that trunk for about ten pounds and I’ve been doing little things to it. The lady in the shop said it was from the Victorian Era (she might’ve said inspired by or something to that effect) but I don’t know that they had turquoise dyes back then. It’s unimportant because I love it.

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Here is me donning some shorts I dyed purple when I was living at Bernie’s.