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I felt like I’d had one of those lazy days then I kind of realised I didn’t and that people have no idea how much I achieve in a day if I stop daydreaming (meditating, visualising, whatever you want to call it) for several minutes

This is a Madame Bijoux Dior ad. I love Madame Bijoux.

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This is Ryvita with philadelphia cheese. One of these has chia, tomato pureé (Tinned tomato), paté, lemon juice and afew different kinds of seasoning. The other has chia seeds, manuka honey and nutella. I served myself using Killi’s saucer. (I decided that Tintin and I could share the mug but I bought a brown tin mug recently so I think he’ll have that instead.) (It looks vintage)

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I designed a label for a pink sweets bag. It’s a wedge I free-hand scalpelled out of black card. I could’ve been one of those epic surgeons if you’ve seen my cuts and my stitches.

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This dress began as a bow weeks ago, and then while I was doing a meditation with Jane of SethSpeaks I illustrated over with some glossy housepaint and a dress happened. Then I added to it with some bits I cut out of card months later, today.

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Imagine if I’d of had the pennies to design the things I’d like to wear. That I’d like to dress women in.

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Art takes years. And if it doesn’t it’s not the “best you can do”


a tweet worthy of note

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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.

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[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.

MY INTERIORS MAGAZINEANEENENE

Awhile ago I made a post where I said “I LOVE my flat.”

Before I moved here I will tell you about some of the places I’ve lived in:

– A number of psychiatric wards filled with nurses and doctors who were not “caring” about or towards a person they believed was ‘ill’ but who felt safe abusing me, invading my privacy knowing that I was neither a danger to myself or anyone else (which you HAVE to be if you get sectioned.), punching me in the stomach, raping me at night, sedating me and otherwise ‘defending a blonde’ to be ‘popular’. I was not ill. I was put with a lot of nurses that had been raised in spiritual homes and who chose to abuse me anyway. They knew I was real. They didn’t even bother trying to talk to me about my spirituality.

– The floor of a drug dealer’s home while I finished the last year of my degree, where my ‘lecturers’ were abusing me. Where I was being roofied occasionally. He did his best and he treated me better than any of my fucked up friends did so I accepted it.

– A halfway house where I could HEAR myself being recorded in my room and where the creepy fellow male residents seemed to know a bit too much about my toiletries.

– The floor of a box room in my mother’s home while my sister slept in a double bed – she had not been living in that house for as long as I had. That is – she was sent to boarding schools, expensive flats etc to live in (and I don’t believe any of her salaries were paying her rent.) I could’ve slept on a sofa but the sofa wasn’t long enough for me to be comfortable.

– A single bed in denmark that I felt uncomfortable in, suffering with my bowel condition and with drug induced parkinsonism. I experienced excruciating levels of pain when I was given parkinsonism. I also was in so much shock I couldn’t speak.

– A room in a house with a psychiatric nurse I had been set up with. He was declining sex with me and preferred to rape me at night. I’ve no idea if everyone else in that house was raping me or not. I don’t want to know.

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My flat served, at that point of its primitive interior journey – as simply a place that was oozing with all kinds of potential and that is, for me, something that brings genuine happiness. I mentioned that I knew lots of youtubers that had amassed all kinds of wealth have fancier living arrangements and that for me it was nothing worth envying because I could see that when I had found the look I was going for, my flat would be better. After I posted that I became physically exhausted, as if people were really determined to make sure I didn’t love my flat.

Anyway.

I love my flat even more now.

EDITED TO ADD: True to my feelings upon posting this entry
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My landlord is a reasonable guy and I’ve not been kicked out. But actually the above email was a response to this:

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(I actually said a lot more than Jack could remember. He was staring into space for most fo the conversation.)

My landlord is an elderly gentleman and I think he’s at his wits end with everything. But it’s difficult for elderly people who have to rely on trusting their ‘contacts’ and probably even MORE difficult to realise they’re all fucking LIARS.


Back to the original post:

It’s obviously no where near finished. I live by myself so I have to move everything by myself. I have to do the construction work by myself. I love learning new things so while there’s some delay, it’s worth it. Don’t you think it’s worth it?

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This is me, with Killi’s cushions. The purple one I bought recently from ‘Home Sense’ (one of the weirdest shopping experiences ever but there are little things that you’ll be inclined to find if you look carefully.) It is a reference to Blue Velvet. I am easily triggered by David Lynch films but I enjoy his erotica.

www.christianlouboutin.com1_

Image above taken by David Lynch. 
The Shoes are by Christian Louboutin and are OBVIOUSLY not meant 
for wearing in public. The image was sourced via google.

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Oviosuly this is not a flattering photograph of my feet. I know that. But whether I play Toph or someone else plays Toph, these are the kinds of feet you’ll probably have. Realistically a “blind girl” would’ve had to struggle to learn how to balance and that is how my feet happened. If I can make anyone feel less insecure about their feet, that’s awesmoe because when I have cash I am getting my toes filed down and if you get jealous of my feet – and you will hopefully be a bit jealous of my feet – I swear on my life I will have someone execute you.

Anyway, I’ll be purple velvet. In film the colour purple signifies that there will be a death. In classical Art the colour purple indicates royalty.

(Killi Update: She took flight, she wasn’t ready to as far as I’m concerned but I know she has a very discerning and observant and protective boyfriend called Sesshomaru who visited her often and who I’m sure will have brought her meals where I couldn’t. I know she can forage on the ground for food because she most certainly wasn’t even slightly hesitant to stick her beak into my magnus/magnet/maggot farm. I won’t ever do anything to control another being, even one doing something outrightly suicidal. You have the right to experience almost dying, Killi. You have the right to a vibrant emotional landscape that will shape your evolutionary growth and karmic growth for lifetimes. Yes I vampired this body – but I know your inner being will have plenty to work with based on your experiences with me alone. She has an inner being to honour and she was able to say yes and no – with her head. Before you teach anyone words like “mama” and “dada” teach them “YES” and “NO”.

I wish I had filmed her responding to my conversations before she left but I didn’t because I assumed she’d be around for a lot longer.

I even thought: I left her alone for fifteen minute sort of intervals so I could run to the shoppes to buy her food – I know mother birds have to leave their babies alone briefly sometimes in the wild and perhaps the emotions I was pretending I didn’t feel when she left are the emotions that she felt in those intervals and that is our karmic exchange. Killi if you ever read this through either time or space – how could I have taken you with me, when you hate being confined and held so that you cant move around at your own desire?) (and even if I had wanted to bring you with me, it was too hot for you.)

I’m preparing my flat with consideration towards the fact that I like the company of animals and that means I’m practising not leaving pens, scissors, pins, wires etc lying around. For people that do not want to control animals (If you have two dogs trying to kill each other, either let them kill each other, put one on a lead, separate them or consider who they are copying.)

or train them (Let them train you first)

or otherwise treat them like zombies

I care little for people who take offence to this, your treatment of animals is entirely your own business. You can choose any kind of guilt prison you like, it isn’t helpful to anyone. There are primates kept in cages smaller than my tiny studio flat and I imagine atleast one or two of them have found some kind of happiness in that. Suffering is subjective.

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There will be happy dogs belonging to wealthy owners that get luxuries most humans would covet, walked daily through mountainous regions amongst many other happy dogs who find as much suffering in not being given chicken snacks and hotdog snacks as the aforementioned primate. Suffering is relative as much as it is subjective. (There must be some disabled person who is really happy they have MUCH cuter feet than me.)

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These are MY values and the idea that you could ever want to manipulate someone for expressing their values or their opinions on their own fucking blog is uh. Bad weird.

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Stop trying to manipulate me, or anyone at all – because it numbs me to people who are actually trying to express real emotions and I can’t differentiate between manipulation and the expression of genuine vulnerability and I come across as an insensitive bitch. The opposite is true, that is how I personally became callous. I’m not callous.

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But before people start arranging for me to see videos of pathetic looking women with their equally pathetic anime-eyed pets exchanging cute dances that they were TAUGHT (taught, not trained – and i did NOT train Killi to do the ‘scissor step’ I learned in modern dance when I studied it as a kid) to make me feel bad for saying its wrong to ‘train’ animals – I DONT WANT TO SEE IT. DONT BOTHER. I WILL BE NASTY TO THAT WOMAN IN MY HEAD. It’ll hurt her feelings more than it affects mine and she’ll have someone to direct all of her lifes hates towards when actually I’m a person who made eye contact with her for a few minutes of my fucking life.

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if you said “LOOK. THIS DOG I HAVE IS A MESS. IF I DIDN’T TEACH HIM/HER/IT TO SIT THE FUCK DOWN AND STAY ON COMMAND – HED PROBABLY REALLY SERIOUSLY INJURE HIMSELF AND OR BE DEAD” based on a knowing of that dogs real personality, not one you had projected onto them but one you had become familiar with over time spent connecting with one another, then I’d say “fair enough” because I had one of those dogs and she had me climbing down a fucking 3 meter tall muddy ditch in the rain (I was about eight or nine or something and I felt very military chic doing it) and she was hella dopey but if I DIDN’T I would’ve lost my only good childhood memories.

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Dominos know I ordered double ham 
but they did not give me double ham. 

Whenever someone fucks me over I think 
"which blonde do you think defending will make you popular?" 
(If I give you some attention you will become popular and think 
that your abusing me is in defence of a blonde that I assure you 
abused me in some way. And in your personal lives - you'll learn
what that blonde did to me. And what you're defending her from.
Probably defending her from someone that had a crush on her and
was really, really nice to her until they reached a breaking point) 

It's fine

Most people train animals because it massages their own egos. 
It makes them look good to someone they need to look good to.

If you are connected to your animals and your animals are not being controlled somehow by outside influences (I know it is possible now, and that puts me off having children – that I can’t protect animals and children from stalkers who can’t control feelings of jealousy) then eventually – like me – you’ll have an animal friend that mirrors your closest relationships. A dog that can sit on your lap and snap at someone and you’ll know they’re about to do it so you can grab their mouth just in time for them to scare the person they don’t like talking to you and they don’t get put-down for it.

 

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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#widt

I overate today. For breakfast I had two bacon in Vietnamese rice paper rolls coated with lemon and caramel. Then I ate a salad. I ate a lot of bacon in moments between that. I also ate a lot of biscuits. Then I had a pasta with pesto and salad for dinner. I’m about to serve myself another serving of pasta. I have cooked enough pasta for about thirty people this evening. No like. come on, self. Probably three or four servings worth for very, very hungry people. I used half a jar of pesto for my first serving. I imagine I will use the other half now. I am still hungry.

So as avid readers know – I know I must have a few of you, though I imagine most of you have downloaded Tor or some other anonymous browser. That’s actually really rude but whatever. I’m sorting out my flat a little bit every day. I moved the boxes by my cupboard a bit.

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gradual. a process.

the living area of my flat is “art studio slash games room slash “wardrobe”

my kitchen vibe is chinese/japanese/tibetan/thai cottage cum apothecary cum acupuncturists medicinal cabinet

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I made some wings using pressed tulip petals. i enjoy pressing flowers. I placed them on the illustration above. If you are into 3D work or  special effects, I recommend using tulips as fairy wings. They dry really well and have ‘veins’.

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I’m putting together a collection of greetings cards, called “seventeen”. Iunno when they’ll be done but I’d like to sell them locally.

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If I “inspire” you, credit me. I have no doubt that my ideas have made countless people money – the least you can do is credit the person that inspired you. That kind of decency comes back to you many times over.

And remember that just because you can access a memory where I get a psychic reading, doesn’t mean it’s free. I had to pay for those – so once again, have the decency to credit me for paying for information you convinced yourself was for you. Also – I have made it abundantly easy to get in touch with me on the internet. If you want a psychic reading you can BUY ONE off ME. I am amongst the best psychics you will EVER meet and I have helped more people to realise truths about existence on this Planet than I will ever perhaps be given credit for.

 

SUBLIMATION

You won’t be able to trust any online definitions of the term ‘sublimation’ – it’s transferring emotion into something useful. That is what sublimation is. So if you have feelings of what might be anger (it is very difficult to get me to be angry about anything these days because I am that desensitised to absolute abuse) you ‘focus’ that anger into making art or something along those lines. I cooked some stuff, to take nice photos of.

I was pissed off that someone ripped off my art – they didn’t even TRY to make it look like they hadn’t ripped me off – and they made money for it. A lot of money, going by how much these items sell for.

I was also pissed off that someone had made a three day PAID appointment with me and then cancelled without giving me any kind of notice. I mean if someone can’t clean a table properly/can’t tell the difference between parsley and basil, she shouldn’t be working in a restaurant without one of those ‘I’m new” badges or at least some kind of mention of the fact upon introduction. Or maybe she should just admit “I know nothing”.

I’ve noticed though – that (mostly the foreign ones but not exclusively) people really enjoy pretending to be “the manager” in Brighton – and when you ask “can I speak to the owner please?” they say “I’m the owner”.

I was front of house to a forty head capacity cafe over two floors and I had ONE tantrum throughout the entire period of working there.

A lady refused to have a full english tea (£15) because I didn’t bring her her jug of milk –  she did HAVE a jug of milk, but it wasn’t the milk she had asked for. The cafe was FULL. I called her LAZY because I was outraged that they were trying to avoid paying, because I was protective of my boss whom I knew was struggling financially.
I had serious anorexia (I did think I was fat – but that wasn’t the reason I had anorexia, I had just stopped enjoying food to the point that I physically couldn’t eat it. And I was a size zero and my boyfriend at the time was enjoying how insecure I was. One of the first actual gifts he bought me was a pair of size 14 jeans – when I was a size 0.), I had severe anxiety because he was cheating on me, stealing all of my money and I had severe depression too.  I also had a bowel condition I later learned was technically a disability but we discount that cos like, I’d never not had it.

And that ONE little tantrum lost me my job when I came in the next day with such bad period cramps that I had to go to the bathroom to vomit – (as in my period cramps were that serious at the time. I am lucky I had time to run home and have an episode of liquishits in private that day) and my then-employer thought I was “hung over”. Hilarious – the idea that I could afford to buy enough alcohol to get me drunk when I was being underpaid (as in – not even minimum wage) or that I had the energy to be going out. AS IN IT WAS PROBABLY PREMENSTRUAL TENSION. I was spending my money on weed cos I was living in serious pain and also food for my then boyfriend (I was eating about three/four chicken nuggets a night at the time), chicken + rice and vegetables for my chihuahua and also for stuff to do gardening with.

I am infuriated by incompetence and rudeness from people in service. If you are not well, do not go to work. If you don’t know what dishes you’re serving people, don’t pretend to be a manager.

Do not arrange for people to come in for three days to do a job and then not tell them that you changed your mind – especially if you changed your mind because you’re threatened that they’re hotter than you. I know thats why you don’t want me to work there. And I know you read my blog.

SO. FOOD. YAY.

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JELLYBASE

I experimented using a vegan, Japanese alternative to gelatin. A multi layered jelly to accompany a meringue – coated in the oh so freudian double cream – but it looks like milk, not semen. The level of acting it requires to pretend you enjoy the taste of semen is supreme. Everyone enjoys milk.

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(I OBVIOUSLY wasn’t breastfed and my mother and I despise of one another – but I do enjoy how it looks when women perform sexually while they’re breastfeeding. Which is the point. It’s the real reason as to why cave men didn’t run off. Promise.) (Yes – that IS a disgusting thing to say – but what else will make people realise that it’s DISGUSTING?) (The implication here – is just because it’s “natural” – doesn’t mean you should do it.

If you’re going to play the ‘it’s natural’ card… you’re comparing yourself to people that live like this.

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[reference/source]

Taking a shit in the woods is as natural as humanity can possibly get but does that mean you should do it, having evolved to the point of having TOILETS?) (You work it out.)

Breast feeding – sexualised -in Editorials/Advertising. If these kinds of things make you uncomfortable – you probably didn’t study art. Or psychology.

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Source unknown, I typed in ‘breast feeding editorial’

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The image above was shot by David Lachapelle.

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Tori Amos breast feeding a baby piglet [source]

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Teenagers and men are much more honest about the allure of female than women are. [source]

(The thing that women call ‘bonding’ when they’re breast feeding is actually sexual energy moving from family member to family member to family member.) (I am VEHEMENTLY against breast feeding. I mean – go ahead and use one of those degrading pumps, certainly have one lying around for emergencies – but keep your nipples the hell out of your child’s mouth) (So when I go ‘freudian’ – I AM MAKING A FUCKING JOKE.) (Freudians are the most embarrassing variety of psychiatrist amongst other psychiatrists – but it’s of crucial importance to let them realise – and then let them realise why, and on their own too.) (#karljung #feelingsarereal) (butyoucanveryrarelyseethem)

grrrn

Here’s a story: I told a girl I was friends with to avoid getting knocked up by giving her boyfriend a blowjob before he had a chance to ejaculate. A lot of girls use that but it was mine. It could only come from someone who has an allergy to latex. Mwahaha.

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Do you see all of those patterns I made with double cream in the jelly before it had a chance to set? Psychiatrists call that art Rorschach – it’s when they hold up inkblots and ask you “what do you see?”

Apparently the correct response is “I see ink blots?”

If you have poor eyesight like I do, you’d be very lucky to see ink blots and the psychiatrist would have to be sitting in an unprofessionally close proximity.

JELLY

Baking with silicone hack – place the silicone mould ontop of a baking mit, so it’s easier to move it later. You read it here first. (Not many people are multitasking by cooking with an oven baked dessert at the same time as making jelly.)

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I played around with the designs for the jelly but I didn’t use enough Agar. Next time I will have to use more.

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I used Gordon Ramsay’s BBC version of Meringue (google summer berry meringue, I think) – this time I stuck to the recipe guidelines more closely but I keep adding too much lemon. I can’t help it – and actually the inside is fluffier than most meringues I’ve tried. I’m not especially fond of crunchy deserts. Though I later realised that this isn’t the kind of dessert one would want to eat in a restaurant unless they used a knife and fork, because it is quite stickyicky.

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The jellies fell apart and looked like a fucking mess (but it added to the effect – and my recipe tasted gooood) but the second time around I know the mistakes to avoid. That’s probably why, when you study the sciences, you do experiments two or three times – at least – before the final.

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I’m really enjoying all my subtle feminist essays lately. I wish I had an active audience of educated people who could dialogue about the arts and or feminism, and or exchange knowledge with me.

If there are conversations you are afraid to have – particularly about the female body – do NOT have kids. You’re not mature enough.

FOOOOOOD

This is how I served them.

S O F T

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I used the BBC recipe for the >> yorkshire pudding mix. <<

I added my own ingredients also, to make it sweet. 

I used tescos >> cooking chocolate << that I chopped up and a 
tescos >> tinned mixed berries. <<

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Efficiency Tips: If you properly line the tray (I use a silicone one, because I don’t like the loud noises I associate with the metal ones) with an oil of your choice (My favourite cooking oils are almond oil and Israeli argan oil) your puddings won’t stick to it and if you don’t make a (wasteful) mess pouring the mixture into the moulds, the clean up will be fast.

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This is how they turned out after 30-40 minutes in the oven.

I added a small amount of mixture to the mould (I had some left over which I used for ham and cheese yorkshire pudding bars – see the end of this post!) and then let it cook for about ten minutes. The mixture goes solid fast – at this point I added the berries and chopped chocolate, and more mixture on top.

I didn’t want the puddings to overflow, the way yorkshire puddings normally do – so I once I added the second layer of mixture (it’s not sticky, so the layers might not stick to one another, so take care to add syrup too) I lowered the temperature of the oven and allowed them to heat more gradually.

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This is a sauce I made, using double cream, Chinese cooking rice wine (the alcohol evaporates, so if you don’t like alcohol, please don’t be concerned that it’ll get you drunk), Persian mango powder, cinnamon, caster sugar and I suspended a sieve above the pan which contained banana, lemon (with the peel), orange (which had been removed from the peel and the actual segment skin, containing the flesh). The taste has a hint of mulled wine but I think that is actually the mango powder, which I’ve never used to cook before and which I strongly recommend. I purchased it in a corner shop.

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For the Black Aphrodite cake, I used the left over chocolate to create a sculpted effect, with a standard dining knife. I then used a very small paintbrush and some edible gold paint to line the wave like bits. I used some edible gold foil to create the flame effect, atop a strawberry that I had cut the top and bottom off. Sadly you can’t see it.

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Above is my ham and cheese yorkshire pudding bar. I used edam and british pork, both from Tescos. It definitely required a little bit of salt but I enjoyed it anyway.