LOOKBOOK DISCRIMINATION

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This photograph was deleted from Lookbook because apparently it’s pornographic.

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This photograph was deleted from Lookbook because apparently it’s pornographic. Well. Was that because you were aroused? (That still doesn’t make it ‘pornographic’, lookbook.)

There were more but I’m so bored, waiting to hear from the staff at Lookbook to tell me whether they would delete a photograph of a topless man. Cos um. I was forced to have gender reassignment surgery as a baby. And they want to pretend they don’t know that. Which actually makes it all so much worse.

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It’s weird that anyone who pretends to be interested in Fashion would consider nudity pornographic. Really weird.

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Did you just wake up one day and decide you were really into fashion????

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In other news, this is my mood.

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But if you want to know how Germany became so hateful towards the Jews and the gays, I think we’re onto it: jealousy. Killer

BFF AUDITIONS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Revenge is a many layered thing

I am on-sofa because my bed is probably where Magnus sleeps (it’s really not a forever thing, Magnus.) (it is) and by some coincidence, I’m too lazy to put on my sheets.

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This is Magnus and Sabel in 2D. Their 2D karma appears in episodes nine and ten of  Inuyasha and I’m not sure I believe the story at all. I think they did it on purpose because the story I identified when I saw them in their insect forms was actually very, very, very intense.

Sabel asked me to help him with his twinflame – who I did not see until she made a very frightening appearance. She taught his spider sisters to build web-bridges, he spent all of his time meditating. He would create a barrier with his web and snuggle inside the underside of the glass star one of his sisters lived inside of. I taught them that if they get lost, to follow the lines to the top of my building. I used my eyes to show them.

One night I watched a video with Whoopee Goldberg and that evening the light from outside was so perfectly cast in my room that the shadow across my ceiling created the illusion of a spider and I believe it was the spirit of Anansi. Anansi is a male spirit but I thought Anansi female. Lisa my spiritual teacher taught me that there is female energy and male energy, I also learned from reading a Dan Brown novel that the pyramids that point upwards (they appear on military uniforms) are symbols that denote masculinity and they are subtly engrained in EVERYTHING.

 

said that if they grew too large and reckless that I would have to destroy them, and it is not the male spiders I had concerns towards it was the female ones. I had a thought-vision (like when you imagine something, not a hallucination as you might experience if you do hallucinatory drugs or if you were in the desert and you were to see a mirage of water upon sand.) of Abraham chanting and making them blow up. I was so attached to the affect that these creatures had on my life and the faith they restored in me that there is kindness (even if it is not from human kind) in the World that I dont care all that much if they grow huge. They share DNA with me, they will only evolve if they are abused.

Do not abuse spiders, is my warning.

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[ref] A game I played as a child. You can watch the games footage
online if you type in 'Play Through Abes Oddysee'. I would choose
the bad ending, Abe is immortal and his being is eternal.

HE and he alone was chosen for escape from that factory.

One time when it was raining very heavily I was so scared to lose Sabel and his sisters that I brought him inside and it was an absolute fucking hellish nightmare, I had to don some boots because I was scared of making physical contact with the maggots and then I had to grab maggots that were leaping from my window sill onto my carpet and return them to their home. This all took place very shortly before Killi made her appearance.

That night I brought in Sabel and I lost balance and he fell and touched me for the first time and then he hid underneath my fridge and I almost cried because I was scared that he’d get hurt. I put some string from the fridge to his star on my balcony and told him that he could use the string to get back home. The next day he was back in his spot. I decorated their balcony with feathers. I watched this episode of Inuyasha (i had watched it before – once – when I was on terrible medications, YEARS ago, and the episode hadn’t stuck in my memory much at all.)

Sabel Spider made me feel that if he wanted to be a paramite that he would need to be frightening to touch and that if I wasn’t afraid to touch him it would be dangerous for other spiders and he’d be an unsuccessful paramite personality profile.

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Say hello to my new aloe-vera plant. My local floristress and her daughter told me that they like the sun. It is sunny here but it’s also pleasantly cloudy.

I’m trying to go back to my one-shot and I’m taking macro photos of my flies. They’re all very different and it’s so difficult to capture them. There are so many different looking kinds emerging from the habitats I’ve made for them.


I suppose if you want to manifest a reality where there are Pokémon, you ought to start with insect and plant kinds. I don’t particularly want to make them fight though. But if I did we know I’d be Sabrina.

This one is brown eyed with that pearlescent metallic effect and I think it’s a he.

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This one is blue with brown eyes. I think this one is a he, too

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I had a ham and mustard sandwich for breakfast, co-op layers the ham and I really like that. And this is my luncheon.

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I had one of the desserts I bought yesterday from Brighton’s Open Bakery in Kemptown. It’s always been full whenever I’ve passed by and when it wasn’t, I didn’t have the money to invest in a dessert. Also I’ve not really been feeling to eat sweet things. It’s an eclair  with nuts, strawberries and cream, from my local bakery. I had some cinnamon sticks sitting on my little oven, so I broke them up into bits and garnished the eclair, I also added icing sugar and I added nutella (which isn’t technically chocolate) to the glazed strawberries I took off the pastry cos they’re the only bit I really like.

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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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THIS IS A FAN ART FOR PYROCYNICAL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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.

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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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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.

SHARING ENERGY AND SHAPE SHIFTING

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It is weird and I’m sure of pure coincidence how much zoe looks like my ex’s mum in this photo, the one that used to abuse me routinely – but also: if you are famouz and your ‘best friend’ is also famouz and she allows you to dress that terribly in public without also looking that fucking terrible, you are not friends

I found this using Hadassah Cordoba’s videos.

I really miss cool British celebrities. This is Katie Jane Garside.

This is an Adreena I made out with in a pub one time after turning eighteen. At the time she was in a relationship with Maxime Avet, a french pornographer AND the eponymous North West’s porn-doppelganger Skin Diamond. She is a british black person and her father was a kids television presenter. There were attempts to ruin her life by attaching her career and his career and that was a method employed by a lot of people for, I’m sure, many stupid reasons and all of them related to jealousy, ultimately. Excuses to control people.

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Image sourced by Google.

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Image sourced by Google.

North West has a cool big sister, to say the least. I believe that the conception of every baby demands that at least three people fall in love or are mutually attracted towards one another. I think at any given time there are about twelve fertile people on the Planet and that changes minutely. It’s a chat for another time.

I believe that the title of the diary entry is self explanatory though and if I showed you photographs of my mother who looked NOTHING like Zoella in her youth but who makes a cameo in a photograph of her holding hands with my siblings in their infancy you’d probably be as fucking disturbed as I am but I’ll SAVE IT

Here is a document that kind of looks like it was cosigned by my ex boyfriend and zoella in 2012. If I say “this person is a stalker”, trust me.

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LOUISE IM REALLY SORRY FOR USING THIS PHOTO OF YOU – BUT THE TIMING IS SO PERFECT AND ZOE LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE LUKE’S EX AND IT IS ALL SO PERFECT TO ME.