Posts from the PINK Category

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.


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


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’.


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.


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.


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.




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.


(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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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)


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.


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.


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.)


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


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.


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.


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.


This is how I served them.


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. <<


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.


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.


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.


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.





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.

I’ve had a fun weekend and it’s only Saturday.

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I offered to intern at a cafe today but the guy that owns it apparently already has an intern. Apparently she “does ballet”. I ought to have asked “what on EARTH do YOU know about ballet?” but I didn’t because he kindly gave me a discount – I illustrated on a tile, to gift to one of his young customers who was celebrating her birthday and was sweet enough to come over and compliment my work even though she was having a little party with her friends. They were a lot of fun to eavesdrop on and a bit too old to be so intently supervised by adults actually. There were enough of them to create a devastating riot in a cafe and they were not timid, quiet flowers – they were actually quite wonderfully naughty (not destructively naughty but gossipy naughty).

I ought to offer some suggestions as to how to properly decorate and cater for a birthday party, actually.

My phone has mysteriously disappeared and the only things about it I’m sad for losing are a video where I prove telepathy is real through a chat with a reader on Oranum (that ones caused a lot of awkwardness with ‘family’ actually), some excellent nudes, a weed dealer’s number and the beautiful Kikki.K initial stickers fastened to the back. I know I’ll get it back but… ugh, I need it to sign into my YouTube account. I thought for a moment.. “if those girls stole my phone they’d probably make me famous”. (They’d laugh at the suggestion.)

Edited Monday 28th January 2019 to add: I found my phone – also

I noticed the girls hadn’t brought any cakes to the cafe so I baked all Sunday, thinking about them. I made little sacred heart cakes. >> You can see more here! <<


And I noticed that they weren’t even dressed up for their visit, I also noticed they were very kawaii and I wish they’d of made some effort for a birthday party.

You only ever get one of those annually.

Ealing is never going to get fancy if you don’t make an effort.




Today's dinner was chicken breast in garlic butter. I ate it with
Tescos out of the packet macaroni cheese prepared by ma and Himalayan
pink salt

INGREDIENTS: Apple, Black Pepper, Chicken, Double Cream, 
Garlic (chopped as finely as I feel confident enough to),
Mozzarella cheese, Olives, 2x Oranges, Paprika, Tomato


Tomorrow is a really big day for me, I’ve an appointment at ten in the morning, with the NHS. I’ve so much that needs discussing that I’ve managed to annotate it all on lined cards, so I don’t forget.

Anyone who has PTSD – or has otherwise had to repeatedly recover from numerous incidents in their life that have given them PTSD (and what a souvenir, what a name to succinctly describe an all around life-changing, mind-altering, severely-traumatic experience – flashbacks of the event for who knows how long, freezing into a state of incapacity, difficulty maintaining concentration and staring into space, nightmares of the event, anxiety and an inability or reluctance to engage with humans that you know you would allow to hurt you – ever – and some sad pity towards the ones you don’t care enough about not to hurt back), will tell you that their memory is questionable. Anyone who has grown up in a home with great levels of conflict will tell you that their memory is questionable. I don’t mean the occasional lovers tiff between a cheating mum and dad – I mean – literally not speaking to your mother for weeks unless it was to fight. Not being hugged by your mother unless it was because you’d just apologised for defending yourself in an argument she scheduled to stop you going to see a friend, and of course, never receiving the apology you deserved back.

Apparently growing up amongst a family that never stopped arguing is synonymous with being in a war zone – as in the brain chemicals released in both circumstances do not differ. Numbness and de-sensitivity is a temporary state – I’m sure in years to come it’ll be discovered that the result or outcome of the chemicals that we associate with happiness and the “lack” of feeling associated (wrongly) with sociopathy will be acknowledged as one and the same. A happy person is as oblivious as a sociopath is uncaring, and both are often guiltless about rudeness – ESPECIALLY if the rudeness is inflicted upon a person that deserves it.

The truth is – I’m SO HAPPY. I’m SO HEALTHY. Better than I have ever been, in my entire life – and in the absence of “friends”, “drugs” (unfortunately, because I enjoy those) or cash (sadly, because I enjoy having that).

There’s so much that actually needs to be discussed in that appointment, and it is not happy stuff. And there is so much more than I think could possibly be discussed or comprehended within the time frame. But as always: I make do with what I can. I’ll try to be concise and see how it goes.

I spent this weekend at Picasso’s Place. It’s a local cafe where you can spend hours perched at a table, painting pre-sculpted crockery. It’s then taken from you and placed in a kiln to be collected later. The owner cooks the ceramics about once a week and it’s so nice to have something to look forward to this weekend.

Did you know that Picasso’s career began with ceramics? Ofcourse he’d have been painting before he started working with tiles, but that’s where his career truly began to take off. My grandmother used to paint ceramics and had her own kiln in her home in Paraguay, in her artist’s studio. She had a bathroom she’d painted the tiles for herself. What a dream. If I ever design my own bedroom, it’ll be full of tiles and carpets.

I’ve not asked the owner much about how the items are made, and I ought to. I used to visit the cafe frequently as a child and I’ve thought to for years since but I’ve not felt to.

A girl I was friends with many years ago was at the cafe this weekend and it was really nice to share a room with her. We didn’t speak much – but it was nice to work with her there, all the same.

I made a #WIWTW video to document my outfit. I’ve added it to the >> style << section of my site to edit later. And above is my personal DBZ Pantheon. The credits for the images used in my cover photo can be found by visiting the link @youtube.

The apple piece was inspired by a sketchbook I completed in sixth form, about Snow White. I had been studying Angela Carter’s Bloody Chamber book for English Literature and I wanted to connect my English studies and my Fine Art studies – so I combined the two.

The work is intended for sale on my OphiuchusBorn shoppe, and a 
segment of a biblical (old testament) text I read yesterday in the 
early morning at the kitchen table. It was an inspiring read because
there were parts written about people who prophesy, I want my site
and my work to be available and inoffensive to people of all faiths
so I decided that when it comes to a structure relating to how I
read Tarot - I would like to only discuss what the cards mention in
terms of archetypes in relations to what I have learned from my
experience in counselling and also through my own relationship with
the figures in the cards as archetypes. I will not use the cards to
discuss people's future, only to discuss what the cards might afford
me to reflect about the present and the behavioural cycles in the 
querent's life. I have found that Tarot can be more successful in
resolving long term issues in people's lives than most forms of
therapy, and that promising people a future can be difficult as
when you open a spread to do so, the querent can also exercise a 
freedom of choice - that is they can choose not to take the advice
preceding the potential future the cards suggest. 

So my work is also an homage to the creationist story as written in
the book of Genesis, where the notion of Freedom of Choice is 
written - the 'forbidden fruit' certainly signifies the choice for
Adam and Eve to learn truth - but they have a choice not to.

The choice of a green apple was inspired by Son of Man, by Magritte. 

Ren? Magritte, The Son of Man, 1964, Restored by Shimon D. Yanowitz, 2009  øðä îàâøéè, áðå ùì àãí, 1964, øñèåøöéä ò"é ùîòåï éðåáéõ, 2009
The image was taken from the Son of Man Wikipedia Page. 

I once had a chat with a traveller in Uganda, a man from Israel. I
told him about what my family had done, and he said Thankyou on 
behalf of Israel - quite unpretentiously. A simple "thankyou" - and
he taught me the word "Benadam" - which means "Son of Adam". I wrote
a story later about the nature of parenthood, and divorce, 
the names of the protagonists in the story were 'Aphra' and 
'Benadam'. It subtly discussed the archetypes of man and woman 
leaving one another, to continue life journeys without one another.
I'm sad it was lost.
I'll include some snake references also, as I did do my initial 
sketch using shapes I found in photography on Google.

I’ve listened to this scene – on repeat – while I worked this evening. I’ve not yet fully watched it in it’s entirety.

Above is a video featuring a discussion between Zamasu and Master 
Goasu - that was uploaded by @Dragan Kraljevic. 
I've never seen these episodes but this character resonates with me. 
Like books.. I do judge characters by their covers, I think.

I'm never wrong about covers I like, though. I mean - when I like
a cover it means I'm receptive to learning something. 

There is a first time for everything however.

“You lack faith in mortals, tell me why – this tea is a mirror pointed inward. If the soul of it’s maker is clouded, the tea will be as well. So is it fear that clouds this cup, or bewilderment? Speak.”

“Master Goasu you’ve said something often, to make mistakes but learn from them thus forging a better World. That is the essence of a mortal spirit. But as far as I can see, mortals do not learn this way at all. Planet Barbary is no outliar Master – you’ve seen this countless times before.”

“Patience Zamasu. Every seed needs time to grow.”

“Gardens are tended – not just watched. Should not a gardener not pluck the weeds? When I was invited here, I thought you would teach me divine justice. When all you seem to do is – watch – while these monsters stain existence with each other’s blood.”

“Hm. Zamasu, do you ever ponder the relationship between good, evil and justice?”

“Yes. All the time. Evil is the great obstacle to good. And justice the sword by which good can over come this obstacle and flourish.”

“That is one perspective. But I have come to view it this way: justice is not a sword eradicating evil but a scale keeping good and evil in balance.”

“Balance, Master?”

“One can succumb to evil but reject that darkness and rediscover the light with new understanding – justice makes that journey possible. Evil informs good – and that is why we give the mortals their mind.”

“You give corruption far too much credit. Evil does not inform good, it sullies it, like the barbary sully their world with violence and that arrogant Goku sullied a sacred ground by swinging his fists at a God. Mortals receive the divine gift of intellect, the potential for wisdom. But they misuse it to destroy the beauty of creation. Mortals do not succumb to evil, they are the evil – they create it and spread it with minds they shouldn’t possess – how can we call ourselves Gods if we watch this plight and do nothing to stop it?”

“Zamasu you have a strong hunger for justice – and that can be a great thing. But we must put temperance over righteousness and guide lost children to the good path that seems slow, even for us. Do not forget the true reason you have honed your fighting ability is to strengthen your mind for your journey toward enlightenment. Being Gods does not make us perfect. We too must learn and ?? over time. Reflect on our discussion as you make more tea.”

“Merely watching. That’s a sin too. Don’t you see?”

Last night, I borrowed the tub my ma uses for dishes and began dying clothes that I felt needed to be livened up. If you have garments that you like but are a little boring, I strongly advise you researching how to upcycle them. You might even be able to sell them if it’s something of a talent. I’ll be sure to post the result when I’m happy with them.


I like to pour the powder in specific areas of clothing and rub it in myself using a toothbrush, it gives you more control over how the dye is absorbed by the fabric. I like messy and directional paint strokes.

How do you inoffensively write a speech impediment?

The video above is a montage of >> Cheese << dialogue, a character
from the kids show on Cartoon Network called Foster's Home for
Imaginary Friends. Kindly uploaded by @Sara Nelowe

Here is a screenshot taken from his >> wikia page. <<

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It is 7 minutes to 3AM. My sleeping habits have changed, are not at all in keeping with what society would deem appropriate but certainly, I have improved energy levels. I’m having a cup of Cookie cereal and I think hemp milk. I can’t remember, we’ve about four different kinds of milk in the fridge downstairs (only one of which came from a cow – and that is because I’m having a desert making moment. I’m in a trial and error phase and it’s fantastic because it’s opening all these neural pathways in my mind and that is very, very exciting to me as a person who identifies as a problem solver and strategist by nature.) and the non-dairy kinds all taste the same to me, differing only in that I like the sweeter ones more.

peach is a shade of orange not pink

(I’m also a *ridiculous* multitasker – as in my brain is thinking towards many things at once. Not all of them academically inclined but all of them are always most definitely artistically inclined.)

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(I’m creating a categorised system within my note keeping, which is otherwise entirely confusing and a lot of good stuff gets completely lost. A word came to my mind as I was writing this blog post and I had to make a note of it. I’ve had a tab up on my browser about archivists for awhile )

This is what my browser tab looks like.

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If my life were a cinematic, a detail oriented/visual narrator type of media student would suggest that the detailing of my tabs probably signifies how I am constantly thinking – all the time. A spiritual person would probably say that my compartmentalised innerbeing’s ADHD is where confusion came in as to my preferred meditation methods.

I woke up shortly before midnight, after taking a nap beside >> El Tintino << (I’ve neglected his twitter but I think it is forever meta appropriate, if you’re inclined to understand his personality) and interestingly enough, he woke me up, without touching me at all – I opened my eyes and I saw he was looking at me. I said “PEEPEE?” and his ears propped up in an acknowledging but in-desperate “yes.” If he had been desperate, he’d of jumped up and off my bed and ran towards my bedroom door. In light of him not being desperate, I grabbed him for a cuddle (which was really that guilt ridden habit that originates for me, as the five minute  to fifteen minute to half an hour moment in which you plead with yourself as you might’ve done as a child being woken up before having to go to school) and drifted into a little sleep with him beneath my duvet. Ofcourse I later took him downstairs, came back up and listened to h3h3 (I LOVE their purple velvet sofa and the mis en scene) (and working out how Ethan would be if he enlisted in the Israeli military the way his wife Hila did – I also think it’s brave that he talks about God a lot – it is actually very brave for any Jewish person to discuss or allude to a belief in God at all. And their viewers are cruel sorts.) (I admire bravery in all forms) (He reminds me a little bit of a comedy character an acquaintance and I wrote about, based on an assistant teacher who was in charge of my sixthform’s trip to Uganda. He was a fun person to irritate and very inspiring. I later wrote a script for a two to five minute webisode at University. I’ll upload it, I really ought to.)

AND I STITCHED. I’m making a mobile. I mean I have the makings of a mobile in my head. Not because I am infant crazy but because I’ve always obsessed over them as sculptural pieces.

I’m listening to a lot of debates, conferences and discussions amongst literary types. Really in an effort to teach myself how to speak again. I enjoy hearing writers speak, because they put so much of themselves into structuring the delivery of a single sentence. I imagine it’s a kind of compulsion – there was a moment in which a lady discussed it in this video that I’m currently listening to as I author this post, that she witnessed Professor Germaine Greer’s dedication to conveying messages in beautifully written sentences for her books.

Professor Germaine Greer meets the Archivists
uploaded by @The University of Melbourne

I’m moved by Mr Lachlan Glanville’s speech, I’ve only just begin to watch it but as I’ve written many times, a sentence or a ‘mere’ few words can really trigger a very comprehensive thought journey of sorts and in this he discusses that a redefinition of rape is necessary in society. And it is true: I believe that administering any kind of penetration that has not been expressly consented to is for all intents and purposes, rape. For example – an injection that has not been consented to, is rape.

Here is something worth noting to myself: I enjoy paragraphs in which the use of tense – that is past/present/future interchanges and carries no consistency – I can’t cope with it in a sentence yet but in a paragraph, it is interesting. Perhaps that is my inner science fiction buff being seduced by the idea of a narrator, for example, playing with the concept of time travel as they write. It is grammatical incorrectness but don’t you think that there has to be some kind of artistic evolution in literacy?

The question is rhetorical, you give a reader too much significance by encouraging them to think that their opinion can validate or otherwise discredit yours. But I love a good conversation, I find those are lacking in my home.

Painting the Daisies Purple

When I moved from Dubai to London, I had brought no belongings with me and I had said no goodbyes.

I stayed at a friend of my mother’s, a council flat in Acton. I must have been aged about six years old, perhaps five. I spent days playing with the little ceramic mice in her home or watching television – Friends videos and early morning cartoons were the only media that could hold my attention. I imagine that, and my brother, was what kept me laughing through terrible times. Kept me performing that life was okay.

One time I was playing with these mice while Lady Diana’s faux funeral (trust me) aired on television. The night before I’d had a painful episode trying to use the loo, and I’d heard my mother speaking to her friend about it in Spanish; thinking I couldn’t understand to some extent the jist of what she was saying. She joked that the admittedly huge shit I’d taken was elephant-y in size. She undermined perhaps for the sake of social sensibility that everytime I took a shit, it wasn’t just taking a shit – it was a source of fear, it was humiliating, I was overwhelmed with my own fear of humiliation and unimaginable physical pain also. On the plus side, I’m a grown up it’s sure as hell difficult to humiliate and it’s a sort of autoattack I inflict on others effortlessly. Sometimes without meaning to.

I didn’t want to watch the funeral. I was in pain. And I certainly hadn’t been taught that there were products that could alleviate the pain, nor had I learned to communicate that being in pain wasn’t a form of weakness. I’d always been laughed at for talking about using the loo, siblings aged +7 years older than you and “parents” who’re stuck in the worst phases of their childhoods are pure hell for toddlers because they expect the toddler to skip the familial getting-to-know-you phases that they went through with one another and that means that even if the toddler is the baby of the family and believed to be the favourite, LIFE AS THE YOUNGEST IS RARELY GENTLE.

So amongst my intentions with Miss Kittie – is that I’d like to make something that kids suffering with similar life problems might be able to enjoy. Something for my own child-self. My child self felt empty (figuratively), alone and probably had pretty serious depression. But she enjoyed laughing and she lived for cartoons. And later – games she could play with any success.

Amongst the cartoons I’d watched, was one starring dogs. I saw a sexy bee lady – in two different shows. One of which I can’t remember, one was a very dominatrix-y Queen Bee.
She was a character featured in the show Earth Worm Jim.

screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.06.29screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.06.50screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.07.10

Above, Princess Whats Her Name glares at her co-stars because she's 
trying to tell them about her life and Earth Worm Jim is only 
interested in a relationship and the other one is only thinking about

screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.08.31screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.08.45screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.08.58screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.09.24screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.09.42“It’s the saddest story since Bambi” Earth Worm Jim cries

I took these stills from >> a video kindly uploaded << 
By @Richard Wagner of Episode XII, from the first series

You might think it controversial for cartoon characters to be ‘sexy’ or ‘sexualised’, I do not. I think if you do think that, that may either be because you are in a phase of personal growth that undermines your own childhood sexuality or because you have never forced yourself to acknowledge your own. That is not to say that I think children should engage in sexual activity – and believe me they do – they really do – I certainly did, and most people I’ve met have managed to somehow allude to there having been experimental moments or curiosities between them and their siblings or childhood friends. Marilyn Manson writes in his book about moments with friends of the same sex (gender) in which: if an adult had described them as an activity amongst consenting adults, would’ve been considered sordid and depraved by even the most sexually liberated. (Whatever the fucking hell that really means.)

I actually think that children would choose not to if they could comfortably dialogue


I think that as an artist, and a feminist one at that, it is fundamentally important to offer both a personal motivation and an academic perspective of every decision made in film making.

So this aunt’s flat – in Acton – I was able to appreciate the memories of her home and I relive the nicer ones regularly. And she had two books amongst her possessions that really stayed with me. One was a children’s activity book, and I had none of the items a person would’ve needed to do any of the activities. The other was the book Heidi. A battered purple copy with a fabric cover – the story of which is one of my favourites that has ever been written. Through that book I learned not to hate men. I ought to have learned to despise women but that would’ve probably halted my desire to become a feminist and also a templar and also the kind of person that finds the female body divine – the female personality… rarely so.


Miss Kittie’s introducing two entirely new characters to her cast: Monsieur Hugh le Poodle – he is inspired by one of the admissions staff (he would be so00o0o0o offended being described as that but it is revenge – he’s actually the person that decides whether students get in or not) of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts. So – the best performing Arts School in the World. I MEAN A LOT OF PEOPLE MIGHT BE OFFENDED (I’ve a picture in my mind of a bearded American gentleman that interviews thespians being rather infuriated at such an underserving statement -)


My favourite thespians and comediennes are alumni of both RADA and of Cambridge University. My favourite films, my favourite animations – my favourite Shakespeare – was performed by an all American cast and non of whom studied at RADA, except for Ed Norton. So maybe that’s a little short-winded an analysis.

My favourite non-animated comediennes are the entire cast of Black Adder, the entire cast of Frasier,  the cast of Friends (though in real life we’d probably all dislike one another – except I think Chandler and Phoebe and I would probably really connect and Ross and I would have arguments about paleontology – one of my first dreams was of being chased down a cobbled street by a tyrannosaurus rex. I’m adamant I’ll raise one one day and it’ll be chasing me down the street trying to snuggle me. Did you read about my thought journey with Komodo Dragons? I still haven’t learned how to teach animals that licking is not the most successful means of conveying love.)

I do not think about the actors as personalities of their own, I think of the characters they’re playing. I don’t care about their personal lives, and to do so would be stalkerish. Ralph and Joseph Fiennes are two of my favourite actors of all time. Would I want to hang out at their houses and watch the news with them? Hell the fucking no. I enjoy that they are artists at a distance and I think that their being exclusive and mysterious and also not tacky celebrities (I have no issue with tacky celebrities, I’d happily have been one of those when I was younger – for example I ENJOY the Kardashian family. I think that tacky celebrity has it’s uses. Would I have cast Kim Kardashian in Shakespeare in Love? Hell the fuck no. Would I have cast her as one of Elizabeth’s ladies in waiting? Hell the fuck no. But she’s Hollywood royalty all on her own.)

What I mean is tacky celebrity is not a life style that sits with the kind of people that study at RADA. If I wanted to act, I’d want to be in tacky super hero movies that were really well shot. I’d want all the electric-fans pointed at me as I stood above an actual mountain in one of those fitted thigh high slit gowns and making my hair billow majestically in the wind and the light to be low lit and for there to be blood stains on my face. Do you get my inner acting vibe?

I couldn’t do The Importance of being Earnest. (I totally could, but I wouldn’t.)

Unless they are actively performance artists or reality TV stars – when I think of british actors I do not think of actors, I think of thespians.

Actors are people that would want to be in Hello Magazine.

Thespians are the kinds of people who would spend about ten years psychoanalysing a role (even a “background character”) that they’d dreamt of playing when they were three years old and then maybe refuse the part, even if it meant losing money they NEEDED – because they really felt they weren’t ready for the role – because it meant that much to them to do the role justice.

There is NOTHING wrong with being either of those people, it’s just how you market yourself. I’m tacky. I like being tacky. I can do not-tacky but that apparently makes people want to murder me. Not kidding.


My intended audience is 1-3 year olds, but I’d like to think I can appeal to any audience. Most women think it’s normal to breast feed children between those ages, I personally disagree – but it is at your liberty to raise your children the way you’ve been taught to. I do not think you should be using breast feeding to ‘bond’ with your children either, especially if you use it as a moment to day dream or your partner uses it as a chance to sexualise you and sexual energy in turn flows between you and they and also your child.

I personally believe that that is why children create such a fuss when they have to stop breast feeding, because they’ve become addicted to that sexual energy. I used to hump stuff and weirdly enough I recall as a child hearing “they don’t know you’re doing it.” Not as a ‘voice’, but as I hear any of my own thoughts.  I learned later that it is possible it wasn’t always my own thoughts I was hearing, at all.

That is why I think it is so important to develop neural pathways that are unique to you, unique to personal interests you have developed yourself.

But the crux of my point is – your child should not be sexualising mammary glands. Certainly not at that age. Your child should be comfortable with nudity, nudity should not be associated with intimacy or even sex. Your child should be comfortable in the body they were given, should be comfortable with other people’s right to a body. It is idealistic, as most men and some women I’ve met are perverts – I do not judge perverts, it isn’t the worst flaw – as long as you aren’t spending all day thinking about sex in between four second intervals etc. I don’t think people who obsess about sex are ready to be parents. It is an unkind thing to say, but I believe that obsessing about sex is a form of slavery. I think that if you obsess about sex, you will raise children that obsess about sex.

There is nothing wrong with having sex, there is nothing wrong with sex work, there is nothing inherently wrong with the fact that we as beings have the capacity to be sexual and that some people’s identities have been built from our sexual inclinations. It’s not wrong, but it is sad – to me, that for example this photograph or the one above could be considered a sexual invitation. And there was a time when it would have been – about the 1930s.


Some men respond very well to degradation and humiliation, sexually – some men hire women to mistreat and abuse them because it takes that much of an extremity for them to achieve any kind of sexual arousal.
Again – not judging – but that is often as a result of serious childhood abuse.

I’m sure if I didn’t have an unhealthy guilt function and a capacity for empathy that surpasses most people’s comprehension – to a level of sorts that I truly resent, maybe I’d have been a dominatrix. It is a kind of healing work, and I think sex work is important for keeping men from acts of rape. Really simplified in a way no psychiatrist could get away with some men enjoy the prospect of: hit me the way mummy/daddy used to. Sometimes it is kids/men who got away with doing heinous things and who needed a guilt trip in order to heal.

It’s kind of loosely discussed as a topic in this film – read the book (it’s a small book) BEFORE you watch the film. MAYBE TWICE OR THRICE.

Brian Warner – the performance artist responsible for the iconic persona of “Marilyn Manson” acted in this film, and later found out that it was a work of fiction. He confronted JT Leroy and said “how could you make this up?”

My mother was taught to sexualise a male figure that punished people for doing naughty things. She in turn emasculated my “father” because he could never be that to her face. So he did a lot of weird shit behind her back, behind all of our backs – and came running back to her home when that didn’t work anymore and we all stopped being affected.

He gave more to my sister than he ever gave to me – EVER – and knew that in doing so he’d create a hella weird and damaging dynamic. She, like him, is very devious and quiet when she feels envy and likes to ‘get revenge’ behind a person’s back, promising to keep secrets and then later sharing them for the wrong reasons, calling up a doctor to tell lies (and sounding quite insane, upon reflection – I assure you), flirting with my doctors etc – and I CANNOT blame her for doing it. She is STUPID. The only man she’s ever idolised had to be my equally STUPID father and the two of them LOVE to have a little flirt.

I want Miss Kittie to teach children how to enjoy being alone, some children truly need it and I’ve never seen it done properly.