there IS something WRONG with you

Disclaimer: yeah, it IS a guilt trip, and yeah it is probably a bit pathetic, but I AVOIDED it for my ENTIRE LIFE because my “family” would have responded with ‘shes looking for attention’ or ‘shes being manipulative’. Letting people evade important conversations is why my life became a mess. “They’ll realise the truth themselves” – well, no. That didn’t happen. People decided that I was an easy person to abuse and then convinced themselves I liked it and further fucked me over.

Being mistreated like that meant that I had a disability that got me raped and kept me out of school. ‘She’s FAKING’ – because I didn’t want to say “I HAVEN’T TAKEN A CRAP IN TWO WEEKS YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT”. I chose “i’m fine, thankyou! how are you?!” because I found personal strength in that.

To me complaining about what is actually-bothering-me is synonymous with crying after an argument, if I cry that person will ‘win’, that person will know they’ve hurt me. Until now: don’t be a crier.

I don’t know any other women who can be verbally bullied by twenty or so peers, standing around her bed while she’s lying down trying to hold in a shit and cope with feelings about Nazi-Germany (History is a thing I feel strongly about) and I never got a written apology for it. I never got flowers or a “we miss you and we’re sorry we ruined your already crap life that we knew way too much about and avoided talking to you about” or a teacher asking me to come back, offering me a scholarship for helping her school shit. I didn’t really get anything I deserved because I never thought it was acceptable to make people aware of what I was contributing to their lives. I chose insecurity and I chose any fucking delusion that could help me cope with the fucking hell my life was.

For me going out for a hot chocolate once in a year was a thing worth documenting. A habit of sorts that later had me labelled as a person pretending to be rich.

I found beauty in life through looking at a nice chair with something from a charity shoppe draped prettily on top of it. That is a difficult thing to learn to do when your “sister” was bought antiques, blankets worth hundreds of pounds and her wardrobe was filled with designer clothes that she insisted she had paid for herself when in fact I don’t think many people working at urban outfitters for a weekend a month or so would’ve been able to make sense of it.

I could forgive them both – my mother and sister – for everything they’d done if they apologised and told the truth but they chose to lie about me instead. They continue to do it. They ‘accidentally’ lurk me and think that I won’t accidentally find out. The thing about lying, and liars – and I know liars – is that they start small. Then it gets worse. And worse. And worse. And if it’s been done once, it will be done again. (So if you’re going to pick people, the same kinds of people to relive the same fucking hurts over and over, go for the hottest/most talented ones that you can find.) (you get a chance and then I get over you. I get what I need in five minutes – no it’s not love, no it’s not sex.)

They know my passwords but they don’t need them. If I didn’t need money, I’d disown both and I’d arrange for a restraining order but that wouldn’t really change what they’ve been getting up to my entire life.

And the NHS defended them. And believed they would do so without witnesses observing because you really do think you’re the only one, don’t you.

This country knows that I was dragged down a hallway and raped and that I was assigned to pervert doctors that knew I hadn’t been ‘cutting’ myself  – a doctor said “we got a report that you’ve been cutting your genitals” and I said “no I haven’t.” and he wanted to see. I looked after myself in that psychiatric ward which meant no one was looking after me – which meant I could’ve been living alone safely as opposed to being given sedatives they knew I didn’t need (I mean anyone in London can tell you I can fall asleep on a train like it’s nothing) – (I can literally decide to go to sleep.)

If someone told me “your mother/sister/father sold you to the NHS” – I’d believe it. My sister – that I met very few times in my life was asked to offer a statement about me to this psychiatrist. I told that psychiatrist that she was an abuser and was asked to leave the room. I could see through the glass panel door that they were flirting with one another, in front of my ‘parents’. A father that didn’t contribute towards raising me and had never really had conversations with me that weren’t about business-ideas (he once told me that the backstreet boys had broken up. I dont think we really tried to speak many times afterwards.) had apparently had some strange comments to contribute too. These people don’t know me. If you asked them to talk about me, they wouldn’t be able to.

and then accepting later in life, she knew that. She’s an abuser. Every woman in your family abused you in some way and got addicted to you and is deeply fucking envious of you when there is NOTHING to envy about me or my life


saffron powder (I dont know for sure if that's a real thing but it was a gift from Syria, 
which could be either a good thing or a bad thing iunno) + 
organic chilli from the local hippie-food place 
(I almost started crying happy-tears when I heard a mum and her 
daughter talk to the shopkeeper about living in a caravan because 
I DREAMT of that kind of life - now I want a real squatters-castle 
because I had friends go on my dream caravan holiday with a dwarf 
that insisted on pretending to be me - as girls do) 
+ yummy KOKA noodles 
+ a spring onion cooked in kettle water
raw mushroom and ham in soy sauce - it tastes better than you think

and food loses a lot of it's nutrients when you cook it. Duh.

So. Here’s a thing about me – I like to give everything I own some kind of narrative. I like being able to look at anything, anywhere, and give it a story. I like to be able to say “I own this because XYZ”, “I like this because of XYZ”.

I’m buying one of these ridiculous squidgy things. It is very expensive for me right now but I won’t turn this down.

Screen Shot 2019-08-02 at 19.35.47.png

because of this:

Screen Shot 2019-08-02 at 19.13.47

I spent weeks not using the internet, not watching anything – just listening to music and meditating and watering my plants. Please do read the posts below if you haven’t already.

The result of that meditation with Jane of Seth Speaks (and I was sharing energy with many people, and I await their moment to tell their truths of their contribution towards that – this is not something I achieved alone and I know that.) (But I made it happen)

was the above, and many fly specimens besides that make no sense. I feel like if I had Japanese parents somewhere they would’ve done this as a ‘well done for using meditation to affect evolution”.

I could not cope with Japanese parents because I would be an embarrassment. I know that and I’m sure every Japanese person would agree. I don’t even recycle properly or wear my slippers and that is considered quite disrespectful to Japanese homes. As in, I know they would be much too polite to say “you are disrespecting my furniture and my items by walking around with dirty feet.” and I’d live in guilt over it because I KNOW OKAY. I KNOW. And you don’t speak to Japanese people like that. Ever. I don’t have the manners I’d be expected to have in Japan. (So I don’t know how all of my youtube stalkers managed to sum up the audacity to visit – because your manners are far worse.)

It’s important for me to verbalise this, sort of, cos’ I sent photographs to my ‘mother’ and she didn’t manage to reply to the emails. I also once sent her a video of me doing a vertical split and she didn’t reply to that either. I’m really hurt that my mother didn’t even say “you did that with meditation?”. Until now, I don’t know what I can possibly fucking say to her to inspire some kind of conversation that doesn’t make me walk away absolutely fucking despising of her.

Defend a person like that from ME? and you’ll probably end up learning how she made me feel. Probably end up learning what she really did to me. Probably walk away from that feeling, for years: fucking stupid.

I bought the sexiest trainers ever. I saw a youtube video featuring some martial artists wearing these. They are bouncy and comfortable. I have size sevens because it means I can wear them with chunky socks. Which is important.

They were actually Tibetan Monks and I bought these because of them specifically. They were doing things with their bodies that don’t make any kind of physics-sense and they wore these shoes to do them.

I imagine that some of them must have some secret money stowed away and that they invested in these shoes and that they were inspired by the above meme.

The above might not be true, but I am attempting here, to teach you how to converse about your surroundings without being a weirdo.



People who need to use their feet in “sports” need to be flexible and need shoes that are flexible. Or no shoes. I am not going to ever be a person that doesn’t wear shoes because I have a balance-related condition that means my feet went weird. It’s not genetic, it’s because I probably shared a body with a lot of dwarves and dancers. Martial arts are not sports because generally if you are competing with someone it is because they are an equal and there is an honourable exchange. It is a whole cultural thing that azns have, honour, de disiprin (translated from Japanese that is ‘discipline’) and self control.


I was affected by watching a video of a martial arts student beating up his elderly teacher – like really beating the shit out of him. I don’t think that would’ve happened if we didn’t have athletes that encouraged that kind of disgusting behaviour. Footballers amongst them. No honour. Honour is a virtue that shapes your life. You can experience any and many losses in your life but if you pick a few virtues, you might come out with some kind of dignity about the whole thing.


Good manners are a virtue – so, generosity for example is a virtue. I love to buy people gifts. It makes me happy to see something that I love that I know someone else might love. I know that some people associate that with “if I give you this – you owe me this” and I actually never treated my generosity with any kind of expectation for something in return, other than that I might’ve liked being bought something back.

Not indebting someone when you have absolutely no idea of what you owe them. I find a lot of joy in sharing things with people, if I have money to go out for a meal I like to share and pay for other people to have meals too. I sometimes feel like a boy and I like to be able to pay for the other person because I believe thats what boys ought to do if they take people out. It’s what my culture taught me. It’s what my ‘family’ taught me. It is my understanding of hospitality, have something to offer to guests (if I don’t offer you something, I am being passive aggressive or I am destitute.)

Some Portuguese people I was stupid enough to allow into my home and share my food with decided it was a ‘slavery’ game. Actually my relatives – diplomats, remember – would’ve simply said “they are not known for being very intelligent, the Portuguese.”. They were wealthy kids that stole expensive items from me and ate my food when they could afford their own. They put me in difficult situations on purpose because they thought that they were doing a humanitarian thing or otherwise competing over something they were not raised to be involved in at all. They were the kind of people that shouted the word ‘nigger’ to one another, and I didn’t like it – because they meant it for a start. They were abusing me to time travel. If you’d kindly stop pretending not to know that, I’d appreciate it. You doing that changes the future but it doesn’t change my path. You can’t stop me from doing what I’m supposed to do – you can prolong it, you can run, you can do all sorts of things but the karma is worse for you.

If you know someone is going to be spending a holiday period alone it is kind to invite them over even if you don’t really want to and to share your food with them. You can get away with absolutely HATING someone if you are polite to them. Not fake – polite. You can be genuine, rude and polite at the same time. It’s just a matter of personal honour.

For example, if Bruce Lee in his element was pit against Jackie Chan in his element I imagine that Jackie Chan would’ve absolutely rejected the idea of fighting Bruce Lee because in every pursuit of life there are some people that paved the way for you, to do something. A veteran if you will. Jackie Chan, I am certain, would have won. If they had fought one another – Jackie Chan would have won. The idea of beating my heroes, whether they are on ‘my side’ or not – is revolting.

If I don’t like you – I’m not wrong to dislike you. But if I dislike you, you can endear yourself to me with as little as an interesting opinion. Thats probably not a good thing but that’s my nature.

You might struggle to see where I’m going with this post but it has a direction. I might spend a few days editing it so bear with me.

Jackie Chan would not be a household celebrity name if Bruce Lee had not gone through the racist rigmarole first, the token asian guy doing martial arts type casting, the abuse I’m sure he’d of been given by American directors – on top of the abuse he got for probably fetishising Japan when he isn’t Japanese.

My “mother” once told me that my grandfather once said to her “you do not compete with the Japanese”. For whatever reason – there are some people you should not compete with. When you encounter these situations, it is appropriate to emulate them and not to be caught bitching about them or outright copying them so that you can STEAL what they have worked towards. Do not steal people’s dreams, be inspired by the fact that they have worked for a dream and find beauty in the idea that you’ll soon find your own dreams if you keep your intentions pure and you enrich your life by enjoying – NOT COPYING – other people’s work.

As in: there are aspirations that I had, that I can go far back into my memories having had, that I worked towards – and that were stolen from me by people who had money, enough money to stop me from achieving what I wanted and to cover up doing so. Trust me, whether I have money or not I am social classes far above most people you see attending horse races on television. I am also the kind of person who has always been quite grossed out by that kind of pompousness and it is only now that I’m compelled to state the facts as they are.

Shoes, though


This is a shoe for athletes. I am not an athlete but if I wanted to be an athlete, I could’ve been an athlete. I could’ve been a dancer. I wasn’t because I was not good enough, not dedicated enough – and I had a disability that I avoided thinking about. A disability that comes with a heavy stomach (I can shit and lose a stone.), back ache and serious fatigue.

I could do ballet in these shoes because they let me point my feet and jump around. If I ever go to a party where I am encouraged to dance because there is good music I will be wearing these. If you are a guy that likes to do fancy footwork dancies I encourage you to invest in these shoes because you can move around in them. It doesn’t matter who made them, or who designed them, they are decent shoes and they are flexible and they are pretty – to me – as a person who very rarely likes trainers. Did you design them? If you designed them you are a talented shoe designer. Good for you.

Moving on. Sort of but not really – changing subject.

none of this stuff was 'expensive' or was otherwise a gift from one of the weirdos that owe me a lot of money. i am not pretending to be rich, please do not look at this stuff and think that it is indicative of wealth. I personally feel wealthy to have such good taste in stuff but I am not wealthy, I am not performing wealth. I spend all of my time at home and you'll find people with my disability generally do.

Today I made to order a mockup of an interiors magazine. It was unsuccessful. It is weird to me that a photo-book printing company (most people really aren’t printing books with text in them.) would struggle with high resolution images and I think that someone is investing in making my life a bit more difficult.


Everything is relative – you do this to me and worse will be done to you. I know it is law and I know you will hide the suffering you’re putting yourself through because you’ll see it as ‘me winning’ and that perhaps you will take out your issues on me. You probably aren’t significant enough to me for me to really want to get revenge, but this is annoying. It’s weird and annoying.

In any case I’ve found a few beautiful independent shops from book shops to hardware retailers to specialist interiors around Brighton that sell items that I’d be very honoured to have a couple of copies of my magazine sitting beside; and I am excited about it for whenever it materialises. It is ultimately a long term project, especially if someone has stalked me/hacked me and invested in the company/software specifically to make things difficult for me. 

I promise you I have much, much meaner stalkers than you who I enjoy in a way I will never enjoy you or your company because you’ve fucked up that much.

My magazine has reached a hundred plus pages of photographs documenting the years of bedrooms I’ve had, trying to work out where I might find a place to call home.
It offers some homage to the details of home keeping that I picked up from the Paraguayan women I met growing up, many of whom either went to finishing school or failing that: their mothers most certainly did.

Women in Paraguay – not the Guarani Indians, (the indigenous people, that is) but the Europeans that would’ve emigrated over the last a hundred years. Paraguay is a multicultural country that, like the United Kingdom, boasts offering a place for people from Europe to Japan to reside in. 

The economy allows women not to work and many of them don’t particularly want to, which means a lot of those women become artists, musicians and hobbyists who live very comfortably on little money and socialise – having tea parties every night and going swimming at country clubs during the day because it is a hot country and if you don’t swim what are you doing there. Granma had a humble house with a pool and a select circle of friends that she had carefully picked.

When I lived in Dubai, I would watch our housekeeper – a Sri Lankan woman named Mala – make my ‘parent’s’ bed some mornings on the weekends. I recall on one of those occasions I thought she must have studied a photograph to be able to arrange the decorative cushions so perfectly. I asked her who had taught her how to make beds and I think she said that my mother had, which means granma taught her how to make a bed.

I learned how to fold clothes from a woman called Sylvia, my “mother’s” best friend.
Her father was the president of that country before her family were reviled and mistreated and that was, I think, how she was introduced to my mother. My mother’s other best friend is a latina woman called Cecilia who spent her childhood as a slave. She works for an elderly aristocrat as a housekeeper and lives comfortably in a beautiful flat in Acton – that I stayed in when we ran from the secret police in Dubai. I still remember playing with little ceramic mice when Lady Diana’s death was announced on TV – I ignored the TV because the night before I’d taken a huge shit (I was about five) and my mother had made fun of me in Spanish, and when I confronted her she lied. Spanish was my first language but I forgot it mostly, and learned English instead. My sister and my mother would speak about me in Spanish while I was growing up – and I knew they were doing it. They’d lie.

They thought I was mute because I didn’t speak much – people who don’t speak much are very good listeners and observers. You don’t often value people who can listen and observe keenly until you need a friend who can take a good photograph of you or who can listen to you when you’re hurting. I was playing with the little mice but I was listening to that televised funeral at the same time as obsessing over how to get the hell away from my sister and my mother.

I believe that night I screamed at her “I am going to make your life HELL”. That is not a very characteristic thing for a five year old to say so I must’ve been absolutely distraught.

Being lied to triggers me. It triggers a life of being lied to by abusive women and men and every friend I ever had. Harmless lies are not harmless to me, the chances of you needing to lie to me are minimal. There is very little that I won’t be understanding about.

It doesn’t matter even slightly what you lie about. Even if it is a cute lie. You trigger serious PTSD in me when you lie to me.

Here are acceptable reasons for lying:

Life or Death situations, but you better not lie about your intentions. If you don’t really care about a person’s life or death please don’t pretend to. I’ll know.

Where the lives of truly vulnerable people are concerned – for example: children, the disabled or incapacitated, the elderly.

And you better tell me the truth after the lie is no longer necessary.


This is a flattering photograph of myself in a mirror that fortunately hides (or it does at this size and screen light/colour calibration. If you are using a screen that detects the leg hair – good – it’s important that you accept that women have leg hair.) that I have hairy legs and that I felt like playing dress up with these terribly made shoes. They are slingback courts that you can’t see well, but I got some metal-based gold ink and made some imprints on top. I’m going to customise them with some ribbon, to hide the imperfections, because they are not well made. One of the Coppolas inspired me with the details and embellishments in Marie Antoinette.

But to the people that sold these awful shoes to me: have some fucking pride in yourself.

When I worked at Slug and Lettuce, I couldn’t even cope with placing a poorly presented plate in front of a customer. Even if I disliked the customer, even if the customer had been rude to me – I would feel awful if I had given them a plate of food that had no effort put into it. I actually really liked the look of the food there, but I was disappointed to know that their chefs had mostly been reduced to preparing microwaved and oven-cooked foods.

There were some pastries on a tray in a local shoppe and they were on display for anyone to serve themselves. It’s a home-made vibe the shoppe employs and it’s really quite nice that the shoppe keeper said “you can pick them up with your fingers!” (I might donate some tongs so I don’t feel bad again) and I got a loose hair on a pastry I couldn’t technically afford. I know the shoppe keeper would have pretended not to know that it happened and perhaps he’d of thrown it away but I felt terrible the second it happened and I purchased the pastry because I couldn’t cope with costing someone that much money. I don’t think this gentleman’s shoppe relies entirely on the sale of one of these pastries but it’s really the idea of choosing not to be a shit person. Not to affect the credibility of a company you’re working for. Not to be shit when you’re earning money doing a job.

If you run a company like ASOS and you comfortably send out faulty items, you shouldn’t have a job. Actually the fact that you think you’re getting away with stalking and bullying me is ludicrous – the fact that you think you’re not being observed by people who WANT to be friends with me (CEOs ETC.) so that when I have the money I’m owed (neither you nor I can comprehend the digits and figures right now) I return favours.

Do you know that post WW1, pre-holocaust, the Jews had a hard time shopping because they were mistreated by German shopkeepers.  The Germans were racist against the Jews. My Tescos pork steaks had maggot eggs in them. My shoes were poorly made and I know because I bought TWO pairs – one in a teacher’s size (she’s become the headmistress of a school) (she’s a size 5) and one in mine. The finish on the shoes they sent in my size is disgraceful and hers were perfect.

What might seem harmless and easily solved problems aren’t at all. O WE WUD GIV U A REFUND IF U ROTE 2 US OR VISIITTED THE POWST OFFISS 


I appreciate that someone will rush to take offence to the above – I love cockney accents – its a classic accent that people spend years at RADA trying to master. But some women’s voices cut straight through me because they have nothing interesting to say. Those are the kinds of women I’d think should be working for the warehouses of sites like Asos. It’s a stupid woman job – put it in packaging, put a stamp on it. If I was doing it there would be an uproar because I’d be OCD about the packaging, about the placement of the stamp, about the graphic design of the sticker used for the address, about every detail that would go into making sure that someone received a package.

I go for days without talking to people and most people would go insane, but I did it my entire life. I had post men when I first moved in that would try to get attention from me and abuse me verbally or get me to do weird things outside of my front door. I had a just-eat delivery guy steal food from me because I wouldn’t respond to his request for my ‘full name’ when he knew I live at this address, and he knew that I was the only person living here. If a child had answered the door for the meal I ordered would he want their name so desperately too? Iunno. Not many people could emotionally cope with what feels like ‘harmless’ abuse that I experience on a day to day basis from people who want attention or who want to annoy me. I don’t think they really understand what I am going through all day long or they wouldn’t be so fucking stupid.

It unnerves me how many stalkers have access to my address – but not really. My teachers taught me afew things : treat all children as if they were your own (I’m not mature enough to do this – I make no pretence of it – there are reasons I don’t have children that aren’t fucked up) and be prepared to be of service. If I let them abuse me I can put it right and make sure they don’t make the same mistake again if I defend myself. I don’t presently have the financial capacity to exact the kind of revenge those people deserve for the inconvenience they actually caused me.

If people don’t learn respect in childhood, they won’t learn it in adulthood unless someone sacrifices their sense of self to say “you’re hurting me”. That is the hardest thing for me to fucking say and the idea that it gives men some kind of ego-boost is fucking terrible.

I have a disability – I hate that word but until I am certain I’ve healed myself from it, to call it anything else would be dishonest and worse – continuing to live in some kind of denial that I lived in my whole life. I know that the people working for companies like ASOS and Zara (not the CEOS, not the managers) that arrange this shit are fully aware I don’t have the energies to get a refund. I won’t push for it. I’m not lazy, I am living constantly in some kind of physical pain and physical exhaustion.

On the plus side, if I walk in heels for 20 minutes a day or so for a week – I can spend hours walking around in heels all day.


This is my vagina. I once saw a woman on, years ago, and she had unkempt pubic hair all over. She had hair around her asshole – which she was happy to show on camera. This actually affected my life – this woman who comfortably showed off her 80s bush. It took a long time, a lot of insecurity about growing stubble literally hours after shaving. I am Arabic and I have a body that has lots of hair on it. If you did not know I was Arabic it wouldn’t be as weird but the reality is that people associate my genes with their preconceived notions about my culture.

I ignore it because I don’t care. I grew up with a mother who resented that I am Arabic and who encouraged me to lie about it. I had friends that told me not to tell people where I’m from. I joked about marrying a friend of mine and he enjoyed the joke, and said “yes but you’d have to not-tell my family that you’re Arabic” and he also picked blondes over me. Many. I didn’t resent that he was attracted to blondes, because I defend your right to have a TYPE.


One time I posted a nude – something I’ve been doing for ten years (with a year or two gap in between when I was at University and I didn’t want my colleagues seeing me naked because they didn’t have the maturity to accept that I’m a talented photographer – and that if you’ve ever heard anyone who works in that industry – you’ll know that no one wants to see models looking the way they do in ‘real life’.

I had a friend who is a photographer, who posted photographs of me with my tits flopping on either side of my torso. She posted series of really unflattering photographs of someone who was already insecure and who wanted to appear erotica, but they were beautiful photographs and she is a talented photographer. She could not have coped with me doing that to her – is the truth, but I coped with her doing it to me. In fact once a hijabi I studied at college with kindly and honestly told me that she’d seen the photographs and that it had made her feel confident about her body (she is very skinny, and very pretty and ridiculously academically talented) and I was flattered by the idea of having that affect on somebody. I don’t know if she was being sweet or not, but it was a sweet thing for me to hear – because it was reading girls blogs and observing women’s art that helped me cope with the functions of my stupid fucking body.

The idea of people selling themselves for their personalities came from the adult industry, women blogging their lives. ‘Vlogging’ was a result of sites like SuicideGirls and youtubers pretend otherwise when they insult women who had the guts to get naked on the internet but it’s a fucking slap in the face to the women that shared their lives with audiences beyond their imagining and they didn’t get paid for views. I shared the most terrible moments of my life in blogs that people were reading that I eventually deleted entirely and I didn’t get any compensation because no one really considered that as a possibility. I still do it but now people don’t really have the ability to read things and if they do, they’re continuing what they’ve always done. Anonymity as an audience. It’s fine, I don’t do things for an applause. I don’t like the sounds of people clapping for me, I don’t like the idea of people adoring me. I like the idea of being a normal person that can engage with society and maintain the potential in any stranger having the potential to be a genuine fucking friend. I will never not be that way inclined. I will never not expect people to grow the fuck up. I will never accept that I’m the one that’s naive – when you perpetuate those awkward, performed social acts, when you choose to be disingenuous – you will eventually learn that the truth always comes out. Especially the truth of people’s natures. Do I expect you to be perfect? Hell the fuck no. I expect you to not be a fucking liar – because you don’t want people to lie to you.

It was deeply important to me, to be able to see ‘girls next door’ naked because they often hadn’t had the surgeries that ‘mainstream’ pornstars had. They had real bodies with flaws and imperfections and what was important to me was that they were still beautiful to me. They were still objectively beautiful to me with their flaws.

My favourite model ever has a deviated septum and a bump in her nose. She is still the most beautiful woman I might ever have seen. I wouldn’t hang out with her because she makes no attempt at pretending to be a kind person and I value her real personality more than the idea of a friendship based on a performance. I don’t think she’d ever want to be friends with me: but were she to offer I’d know better than to take her up on the offer. She’s a bitch, but that was something that came out in photographs of her and that is the kind of thing that photographers and wannabe directors enjoy in performers.

I’m speaking conceptually. Trying to encourage you to take little thought journeys that force you to consider a perspective outside of your own.

A girl that I thought of as a friend – that I had always known was a bitch – had been stalking me: used my posting a nude photograph after years of not photographing myself very much at all (certainly not expending any effort to do so) as an opportunity to insult me, after years of my making her feel secure about herself. She had lied to me compulsively throughout our friendship and people defended her, when we were no longer friends. Because she’s blonde. Because they thought they’d be popular.

Psychics pit us against each other and I’m glad they did what they did: to get her out of my life. She was bitching about me to my friends because she had nothing else to talk about except for me, it was the same when we were friends and I’m sure it was the same when we were no longer friends. She was fucking my boyfriend – that is: he’d sneak out of my bed (I was paying for him to eat, paying for him to live, buying him things – not your ‘problem’, but know the facts) and sneak into hers, she was living rent-free in a room upstairs in a house that I’d arranged and paid for six months in advance (which means I was paying more than anyone else) because she had ruined any chances of making friends with the people she’d been moved in with at the University she applied to and attended specifically because she rang me up one time, crying, and said “I HAVE NO LIFE AND NO FRIENDS HERE”. I said “you can come here, you can have my friends and you’ll have a nice place to live”. She took my ‘friends’, for sure. Thanks. She used my laptop and accessed personal accounts and one time I opened my laptop to see her tumblr logged in, and that she had been bitching about me with complete strangers on the internet. I decorated her rent-free bedroom with objects I removed from my own bedroom.

If you are in my thoughts or my life, I can guarantee the following:

  • You will become more physically attractive because my negs are legit
  • You will attract lots of men and women
  • You will feel beautiful leaving the house in pyjamas and dresses (If you are enslaved by some insecurity that has you
  •  You will dress better than you’ve ever dressed in your life if you choose to

in an area a guy might’ve touched


When I first got discharge, I thought there was something wrong with me.

When I had my first period I thought there was something wrong with me.

I’d learned about both in school but when you first start getting the body changes you associate with puberty it is very easy to think there is something wrong with you.

I do not like pornography or erotica because it arouses me. The issue is that it really fucking doesn’t and that is not because I don’t find the human body or sex fun, it’s because it’s tacky. The lighting is bad. The story lines are bad. It’s a performance – and not one that required months of method acting and character analysis before hand.

Men think I’m bad in bed when they struggle to make missionary position fun. Men who had never before me made a woman orgasm told me I was vanilla. Girls who had been having sex for perhaps about two years of their lives tried telling me what to do in bed “oh when I’m doing ‘doggy’ i push back” (thats how I know you’ve never orgasmed, theres no way you’d bother if you had) and I realised it was because they could occupy me. Its painful that I was surrounded by liars that used me for sex my entire life and if you learn about ‘the game’ you’ll know that the chances of me meeting someone that won’t use me for sex (for whatever reasons they can imagine) are uh. not-not minimal.

I went to University to study how to make films and before that I studied fashion at the best fashion school in the World (McQueen would’ve chosen London College of Fashion but he DIDNT because he didnt think he was good enough. That is why he went to CSM, and don’t ever let anyone make you think otherwise.) because I hated the clothes I could afford and I hated the clothes that were being handed over to me. I was always insulted by fashion that was not designed by artists who were artists before they were fashion designers.




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.


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 

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.


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.


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.


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. 


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.)


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.


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. 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.


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

This is why.

Screen Shot 2019-08-02 at 00.11.01.png

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.


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

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.

Screen Shot 2019-08-02 at 00.23.58.png

[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.)

Screen Shot 2019-07-26 at 22.25.17.png

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.


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.


But this is Sesshomaru.


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


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


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




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”


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.)


There are more photos.






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


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

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

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

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

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

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



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





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


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

.i need waterproof earphones. NEED. and goggles.

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






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

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

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


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


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


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


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

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


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


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


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

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


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


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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



they worship women

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


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

It’s still not “for you”


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

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


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

Screen Shot 2019-07-05 at 22.06.15Screen Shot 2019-07-05 at 22.06.44

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

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

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


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

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


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

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


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

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


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

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

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

Screen Shot 2019-07-05 at 21.40.54.png
photo credit: Eyal (do you really want credit for this one?)

not really though, ew – you’re both ew

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

OR trunx, or Levi

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

BRIGHTON interiors Nagging STYLE WIDT


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

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


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

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


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


It’s taken me longer than usual to write this post. I should really tidy and make my bed. I took these photos on Friday morning. It’s now Saturday afternoon. I have to run out to meet a few of my daily errands.

Here is a rule I’ve learned as someone who has been consistently fucked over – whether I knew about it at the time or not – the people that fucked me over paid for doing it. Like – they really, really paid. If the people that fucked me over knew me at all they also would’ve learned to “carry on” as if they were not suffering: because that is how I suffer.

I would’ve learned that from my mother – dancers are in constant agony and that is why their careers very seldom last for longer than a period of twenty or so years. I am sure the span of their careers are also related to how little they typically ate throughout the lives they spent training – they eat little to avoid having ‘body builder’ physiques and even the men don’t particularly want to look like inflated wildebeast/brontesaurus hybrids leaping (sometimes their own heights distance) into the air, amongst delicate petite women as ballerinas were encouraged to appear. It is a digression from what was supposed to be a concise paragraph about karma but I am still in shock at how stupid people have to be to believe that footballers really are that bulky. I eat more meat than most human beings do and have done so all my life. There are plenty of things I know nothing about – but their bodies, you can’t lie to me about. If only because I’ve met too many physiotherapists and specialists. I’m still trying to work out the memory of me going to a doctor because I wanted to have my leg muscle “shaved down”. You know you can affect my memories and most people I have personally known that liked football have later realised that it was quite likely that the worst moments in their lives and their torn apart families were probably affected by footballers doing the same to them. These men should not have been made celebrities of. Their wives should not have been made celebrities of. These are not the kinds of people that we should encourage young people to idolise. And whether we like it or not, we are constantly looking to other people for qualities deserving to be emulated. It’s probably an evolutionary trait.

And when it comes to people paying for fucking you over – if people are suffering over unacceptable decisions they made out of selfishness – they often do everything they can to hide the fact from you. A person who had made your life difficult to suit themselves or to soothe whatever you were doing that was fucking them up (I was just living and uninterested in football.) is paying for it. You might not see it, but know it.

I don’t like to watch people suffer and nor do I like to know that they’re suffering either. If you knew how much pain dancers were in, you wouldn’t want to watch them dance.

It’s all relative. This is a big deal to me and you might think it’s okay because I don’t seem pissed off – I am pissed off. I am furious. I have been through so much that it actually isn’t really possible to work out the time length of my reaction. I mean my sister told me she was gang raped and woke up with two men in a hotel room and many, many condoms scattered across the floor. It took me a few years to explode – and I know that there were consequences – and to add insult to injury I know that everyone knows who did it and I know that the people that did it or had any remote involvement whatsoever know that I don’t even know their names.

I despise my sister and I probably wouldn’t get on with the kinds of women that are mind controlled into the idea of enjoying rape fantasies with men that they might’ve convinced themselves would’ve been able to cope with being in relationships with them. I would not be friends with those women, I sometimes think my sister would be worthy of the death penalty for the stuff she did to me as a child – I am still that pissed off it happened. It’s not about those women in particular – it’s about the fact that someone has to be accountable for this and if society allows it to be those women they have ruined the lives of every woman they know. It’ll take time to realise and I have plenty.


I feel quite awful because I still can’t find my phone and a gentleman was supposed to come over today to help me tidy my room. It’s funny how one can coincidentally lose things in such a tiny living space when one has appointments that they need to make. I don’t believe in coincidences though.


Today I donned Kari’s Naked Dress

(Dear Kim Cattrall, I heard along the grapevine that is Wendy Williams – that you had a fall out with your co-stars. I know how it feels to fall out with people – especially younger friends – that you look out and that actually quite took your influence in their life for granted and I know how it feels to feel betrayed (women betray one another all the time and usually we don’t care or turn a blind eye but when we actually feel it – it’s terrible) through your most difficult and hardest times, but there are lots of women – amongst them myself – and men, actually – straight and gay – who dream of a SATC come back. I don’t have the stomach for watching sex scenes unless it’s you girls… and actually I think it’s a very important time for women to stop regressing to the 50’s. I am not asking you to be FRIENDS with them – I am begging that you ask your management to ensure that you are the highest paid cast member – and publicised for being so – and interviewed about it “well ofcourse, Samantha is the star of the show. They’re nothing without her.” ALL THE BETRAYED SAMANTHA’S NEED YOU TO DO IT – and to dedicate all that fury towards the angriest-Samantha that the World has ever seen, we actually haven’t seen her truly angry – apart from when Bailey okayed you for flypostering your cheating monster boyf – I swear on my life I think I heard an agreeable gunshot outside) (I also think that if they can manage to include within the script that there has been a fallout amongst the cast it would help a lot of women learn to apologise to other women – who deserve apologies – and how to fix friendships.) (YOU DON’T HAVE TO MEAN IT – PLEASE DON’T MEAN IT AT ALL – BUT IT WOULD HELP A LOT OF WOMEN. TRUST ME.) (I mean my “friends” were only ever “acting” as friends anyway and I’m sure most friendships between women who are in the same line of work would be the same)

and a leopard print pyjama shirt with a pair of nude tights from Bloch.

I don’t have the budget for such fantastic pairs of tights but theres an online sale and I advise this brand before any other. They’re made to be worn and not to tear or lose shape because they’re for dancers.

They sucked you in in all the right places before people knew that underwear could do that and – not that I am – I’m legit not actually –  I shower like Keith Flint back in his rockstar days (UNOFTEN – unless my shower is really pretty – it’s not right now) they are made to absorb a lot of moisture and it’s difficult to make them smelly.  Notice the marks from where they were sucking me in. FYI I’m into tights and the marks that clothes that fit too tightly leave. I know that makes anorexic women want to cry but thank GOD they’re out of fashion now.)


FYI I’d like to think I am a little bit of all of those characters, (Or Big’s mother. Tell me that Mr Biggles isn’t one of my future sons)

Actually it makes sense that biggles would get jelly about the Jazz Man.

I love like Samantha has sex – and I fantasise over the arts and domesticity and bento lunch boxes like Charlotte does (but I am more kawaii) and I have a lowkey admiration for SINCERE, bald, Jewish guys – WITH DEGREES – with hilarious temper problems that I can bully (there is little I can bullied for back about), I guiltlessly overshare my personal life and obsess about myself at inappropriate times and prefer the idea of having a wardrobe full of my own handbags and shoes rather than sharing one with a husband, like Carrie and I think that I aspire to someday be a Miranda-esque cut-throat professional of somekind. Also they all sort of bully men in their own way and what a time to be alive. Men have been bullying us for years.

went grocery shopping, had a look – both – in & around some of the local charity shoppes and visited the brick-a-brack. (Actually it isn’t a brick-a-brack; it’s a fantastic shoppe that sells pieces you really won’t find anywhere else. I’d like to make a proper video about it in a month, so Brighton has some time to learn to mind their manners.)


(I imagine that biggles would say “like HELL are you my mother in those shoes, but thanks for taking back Vans”)

This song came on when I was snooping around in a charity shoppe. (poor biggles)

I had to avoid the Vintage Workshoppe today because I’d of spent ALL OF MY MONEY. If you live in Brighton it is your favourite shoppe that you did not know existed.


I have Tiger-Lily feet in this photograph. I can dance like Tiger-Lily – IN PUBLIC – and make all the other girls wish they could dance like Tiger-Lily IN PUBLIC too but. If I’m not doing it you don’t have the guts. I know I should delete it from history because I am hunching a bit and I am not accentuating my curves the way that Betty Page would’ve expected all of her slutbaby-sittees to, but if you can’t comfortably do this – don’t pretend you can comfortably do otherwise.

(Remember, the upside down pyramid represents FEMALE energy. So these are men with male bodies and female energy – before we are physical forms we are energy, so.)

Also it’s worth noting – and this is the real reason why Big won’t have babies with Carrie – that in Peter Pan that it’s an OLDER woman carrying a baby on her back in a papoose. The Levis and the Bigs have ‘milf’ fetishes. It makes their lives really difficult.

Like women who are into men carrying babies and being maternal and shit,  Levis are into women carrying babies. This fucks some people up because it leads to conversations that they do not want to have or otherwise can’t have outloud. Trust me to tell you all.

So – some women and men go into “BABY VOICE” mode (I live in baby voice mode – remember though, that I spent most of my life asleep and alone. And that by the age of about. um. thirteen? Most human beings have left the house more than me at twenty nine and spoken to more people than me, at twenty nine.) and I know that I attract people who are into that – for whatever reasons – but also those people then get accused of being ‘pedophiles’ and all sorts of nasty stuff like that.

At some point we will need Madeleine McCann to come out of whatever Russian Hideyhole they’ve got her in to explain what a REAL pedophile is. Real Pedophiles have evolved, they have lots of pretty children – even though they’re very rarely in love with their partners – and get jobs where they’re entrusted with positions that let them into people’s homes – like becoming “police men” or “firemen” and they do all their pedophilia stuff within the safety of their police and firemen appointed blocks of residential flats while their wife prepares them a meal. They like to get their pretty kids to hang out with other pretty kids and watch them do all sorts of weird stuff – they occupy the bodies of those pretty kids and those kids end up with memories that keep them mortified late into life. Fortunately that doctor ass raping me with an enema while four nurses held me down gave me such severe ptsd that I have forgotten MOST of the stuff I did in those pedophile rings. It was so kind of my colleagues at University to have reminded me of those terrible stories that I had to consume drugs to forget, with the kind of nonchalance that has me until now wondering how they got into University/survived into adulthood at all.

See you think that I’m the only person that this can be done to, but actually if you were a Jewish man you’d have been taught to be grateful for not being born a woman because it can be done to ALL women. AND SOME MEN TOO.

I have no idea how the fuck Jesus Christ controlled his erections when he was posing for those paintings but men get them ALL THE FUCKING TIME. THEY CAN’T HELP IT. MAYBE A CHILD BRUSHED UP AGAINST HIS CROTCH. WHO THE FUCK KNOWS.

I don’t know about Big being portrayed as particularly spiritual but if you are spiritual you believe that your baby and it’s mother are sharing energy when they’re pregnant. That is a nice way of saying “they take turns occupying the mother’s body”. A lot of women don’t know about that and there aren’t many men who will be prepared to explain it the way I can.

I did go to a spiritual school that taught it’s students NOT to have sex unless they were specifically trying to get pregnant. Government schools do not teach you this because they encourage young people to fall in love and have sex – they sell on the fetuses that young girls get aborted and do plenty of weird stuff for the wealthy – who often aren’t in love and who often aren’t raising their own children because they know too much about the World to be able to fall in love. Then there’s the fact that – AND IT IS IN THE BIBLE – it takes THREE to fall in love AND have babies. Scientists will tell you that “falling in love” is a chemical imbalance in the brain – that is why people who are in love all the time seem completely drunk. Men and women who go around fucking everything in the absence of love are important – for a few reasons – women NEED slutty women because those women put men in their place. This is a good thing for social evolution and it is also a bad thing, because some men get led away from relationships where they could’ve genuinely loved a person (and having sex before you’ve hung out with someone for two weeks is not going to make him love you, nor will making him marry you/making him so jealous that he marries you to stop you cheating on him/fucking with his abandonment and mummy issues that I irresponsibly joked about in my early twenties and which women used to coerce men into relationships that have fucked them up so much and that they can’t leave LITERALLY because they’re too embarrassed for me to know that I – AND MY SPIRITUAL TEACHERS – MANY OF THEM MATURE WOMEN WHO WERE PROMISCUOUS IN THEIR YOUTHS – WAS RIGHT.)

I am anti BDSM. I think it’s grotesque. I think most people aren’t mature or intelligent enough to really acknowledge the affect it has on any living thing’s brain. The ONE – ONE argument I can honestly advocate for towards it’s benefit is : if you want a sex life, sometimes you have to do stuff that would keep your weird spiritual child – THAT YOU STOLE – out of your bedroom. By doing stuff that scares them. I don’t know.

Anyway. POOR LEVIS AND BIGS. Also if you were to research the archetypes in the Greek Pantheon you’d learn that we have a karmic history wherein daughters/sons/mothers/fathers fall in love with one another and it affects families. If i humped your leg as a child, I’m very sorry, I wasn’t in love with you and I probably wasn’t attracted to you – I was bored and I really didn’t think you knew I was doing it. Also I wouldn’t of associated it with sex because I didn’t know what sex was until I was at least eight? I did pretend to be stupid for a lot of my infancy because I learned that if you pretend to be stupid you can eavesdrop on conversations and the ‘adults’ will think you don’t know what they’re talking about. I grew up with a brother ten years my senior, who was a drug addict at fifteen and a LOT of his friends. I mean most of my memories are very isolated but I have a few cool ones and I held onto those like that guy in Cast Away holds onto Wilson. His friend.

I think at some point in my infancy I genuinely decided I wanted to sleep until I was an adult. And for the most part I actually did that. So take that as far as you want. I think that I love like a child does (and I think Carrie’s character and her friends – BAR SAMANTHA YOU GODDESS do too) (do you have any idea how much guts it takes to portray a woman with a man’s sexual appetite? probably not because that requires empathy and apparently most people don’t have that unless they’ve grown up experiencing serious, serious abuse.) thats quite nice for people like Big – and probably Levi (apparently his mother IS a prostitute but I’ve not seen any episodes with her in them yet and I’m KEEN to) who are professionals in psychotic industries, surrounded by sociopaths who get married for status and visit dominatrixes because thats the only thing that actually gives them an erection – and women who know too much to be genuine and really do only want you for your money.

And then that is how “the game” happened. The game is a thing that men do where they basically do the stuff every man they think you’ve loved has done to you – you know how you rudely watch my memories? Ladies? Men can do that to you. They tell you they can’t – but they can. And they do. Sometimes they make you think that you are sexually turned on by being abused but you’re not – if you read Germaine Greer’s “the Whole Woman” you’d learn that sexual energy comes from people with penises. So no – YOU’RE not turned on – HE IS. It’s SHARING energy. And sometimes you are sharing energy with men who aren’t even physically in the same room as you. But lets return to “The Game.”

Some men, for example footballers, are retarded. They have never been in love, mostly. They wouldn’t want to have become footballers if they had ever been in love. They play the game and that involves seeing how much they can get away with doing to a woman under the guise of ‘unconditional love’. This means they steal “personal jokes” from your first relationship, they create ‘levels’ through which they engage with women, if you were one of the lucky ones that got bought lots of gifts by ‘daddy’ then they’ll buy you lots of gifts (fucking HAHAHAHAHAA by the way) – a lot of men have been leaving their bodies since infancy to stalk women and watch them do stuff, going to the toilet, showering, bathing etc. So they aren’t very clever. If you want to know what books they’ve read, you have to find out which women they’ve been stalking.

So if you’re one of those women that had tingly feelings reading Dave Pelzer – that’s probably one of the men in your life, don’t worry. But they do later use that to fuck you over with and make you feel guilty about. They might’ve heard stuff about “twinflames” or read about BDSM – and guilt is a form of controlling another person. If you have never loved anyone, if you married the first person you slept with – they’re not your twinflame. Gamers will understand. Twinflames are your “final boss” in IN-LOVE relationships. They’re all of your life lessons condensed into one person.

People that play football left school at sixteen – and if they have learned too much about social hierarchies like the Illuminati, they try to dominate everyone that they know to climb a ladder it takes many, many, many familial generations to climb – TOGETHER -, even if it means stalking women and faking all of their in-love relationships by doing stuff their first boyfriends did

Now I’ll explain MY family. My sister is not an academic. She was good at GCSE level maths and manipulating men. Not as good as me, but good enough. The difference between us is that she grew up with Omi – who told her the truth about boyland.

I was not told the truth. I listened at Sunday School and I actually concentrated on watching my favourite shows – which taught me how to speak. Even if I could manipulate men, and perform an attraction – I wouldn’t – because it would be dishonest. She wanted to be a ‘lawyer’ when she grew up because my mother encouraged that aspiration, and I think that’s great. Whereas she could only get so far because even though she had a private education, and I mostly didn’t, she hadn’t paid any attention to spiritual laws. If you ignore spiritual laws – which are a bigger deal than the laws that make police feel im-pow-tant – you aren’t going to get very far with the Illuminati, thats for sure.

That is why people like Tupac are important – that is why people like Ville Valo – who sang about LOVE were important. That is why Disney films are important. That is why secret societies like O.T.O are important.

Your shadowself might want power but if the self you show to everyone isn’t as flawless as how the Catholics like to portray the Virgin Mary (who was a compulsive liar – and had to be – or she’d of been buried in a hole with her head sticking out and stoned to fucking death) – your shadow self is fucked. And we are constantly alternating between the two of those. And all the selves in between those.

My shadow self and my “light” self are quite aligned. My Shadow self loves the idea of power – because she can use her power to do “good” things. My lightself likes pot plants and enjoys watering them. My shadow self enjoys how much it pisses people off that I can take care of pot plants. My lightself likes to make food that is pretty so she can take a photograph of it and also because she likes food that tastes nice. My shadow self enjoys how much it pisses people off that no one has taught me to cook and that generally, my meals taste better than any of the food I’ve been served by chefs that weren’t working at my favourite junk food franchises. My lightself is actually much crueller, to other people, than my shadowself – my lightself will say out of honesty if she doesn’t like what you’re wearing. She’d feel like a liar if she didn’t and she’d feel terrible for it. My shadow self would tell you that you are beautiful as you are and would justify doing so using spiritual laws that teach that it is wrong to be superficial.

You cannot be Illuminati if you have not had a spiritual education. It will kill you.

Another thing: if you want to be Illuminati, you have to be good at something. And not just one thing – you have to be good at lots of things. The idea is that we evolve through learning. Not playing a game and competing with people. That is not evolution unless you are doing sports – football is not a sport because it is actually quite UNSPORTSMANLY. It is a game – but it is not a sport. Martial Arts are sometimes a sport, but that is only if you have learned about honour and respect. It combines philosophy and all sorts of humanitarian arts and sciences that footballers have no braincell capacities for.

My talent is communicating. I am so good at it they had to put me in a hospital and render me afraid of expressing myself. That is a very stupid thing to have done to someone that you believed was mute. And yes, I suppose I was. People certainly thought so. If you want to converse with me I have to feel safe in your company – that means I have to trust you. That means you have to be your vulnerable self. You can act fake and disingenuous around me if it gives you an upperhand, but I will do the same. And what I have to say will stick in your memory and what you have to say will be swiftly erased from mine. More often than not it is. The PTSD. Thats what happens.

So to that.. the shock that people get that I can write but that I won’t speak to them, and when I do sometimes try to write to people they occasionally won’t reply or get obnoxious about it and start playing a word game with me when actually a conversation with me has the capacity to take you out of that “game” you shat yourselves into – because I have social status – whether you OR I like it or not – and actually the truth is that my being a mute child was a result of feeling I was being lied to and that people were unable to communicate honestly.

I think at some point some of these men accessed information from the free masons – who WORSHIP WOMEN (and not in the way that people who practice BDSM “worship” women – as in they truly believe that women are divine) or spiritual schools – but never got an education that accompanied that information. Or 4chan. There’s a lot of weird stuff on 4chan. These men could not compete with me conversationally because I would embarrass them – we’d both know they were repeating things they’d learned from stalking my family, my teachers and myself or that they’d seen on TV. They’ve since learned that the media is endorsed by all sorts of financial entities (they’ve even been stupid enough to invest in a few – whereas they’d only previously done so to have their wives appear as celebrities in “Hello Magazine” or to arrange to have their wives insulted for having cellulite and stretchmarks two weeks after shitting out a baby that both of them ought to have known could not have been theirs) and that not a single one of their opinions is generally their own.


We’re coming up to the worst bit, one sec. Imagine falling asleep at five or six and waking up very occasionally in between to go to school on days when you didn’t need to take a shit – and then going to University so you could finally do drugs and dance like your big brother did. And then realising at some point that everyone in life was competing over the most fucking ridiculous shit and that neither you nor they had even the vaguest understanding of how stupid it would be to compete with someone who had never had any motivation to do stuff when she realised she was never going to be a famous actor.

As in – you are this threatened by someone who has been mostly asleep since she was a child. And that the years she spent awake she was on drugs that supposedly make you “stupid”. I went to school once or twice a week, on good months, my entire life. Your sixteen years at school definitely beats my .. um. Maybe year or two attending school. And you are that rude to someone that has been a victim of a system that you think you have any business running, when actually you are perpetuating it into an oblivion that will – honestly – have you all wishing for your own deaths.

Obviously that is a very sardonic version of a life story but if you wanted the abridged version that would be it. I know you like the bits with abuse, you can read my entire blog for those. I am bored of those. I am bored of the idea of your girlfriends using Tor (i think an ex-crush of mine programmed that because he was embarrassed that I could see who was lurking my tumblr – literally thats why Tor exists. EMBARRASSING ISNT IT) or private browsers to read my blog or watch Zoella videos and that you actually use them to do so and the idea that you might do the sexual energy thing when I talk about how shit my life was, on my blog, is also. ugh. so. embarrassing.

But lets return to slutty women and slutty men and sex and the city.

Slutty men are also important – but not for any good reason, and particularly to the NHS – because they can be used to impregnate women who are only sleeping with them to get over the fact that that they’re in love with someone who prefers the town bicycleta (I LOVE THE TOWN BICYCLETA – IF SHE STAYS AWAY FROM MY BOYFRIEND/S SHE IS THE BEST WOMAN IN THE WORLD TO ME AND SHE’LL BE DAMNED TO FIND A BETTER WINGMAN TO ENABLE HER FEMINIST-FORWARD SLUTTINESS), to transmit STDs and STIs that get fertile women into clinics where they can do all sorts of tests on them and tell them all sorts of lies, and generally they are only tested for fertility (because every guy you meet is planned for you, in advance, particularly if you’ve attended a government school – but especially if you attended school with ME) and later arranged to have abortions. That’s right – every abortion that you – you and you have had was PLANNED. BY SOMEONE ELSE. SOMEONE YOU’VE PROBABLY NEVER MET AND WILL NEVER MEET.

If you think your ‘state school’ education was free, you’ve been lied to. Nothing is free. SOMEONE pays.

You can give someone a gift, but if you are giving it as a “GIFT” from the “heart” – that is, your highest self wants to sacrifice something out of true and sincere generosity – that means that YOU are paying for it on their behalf. A friend once said, after I joked – and really I was joking – that I wanted a “gift back” after I took him to charity shoppes and bought him a few things (I LOVE giving people gifts, it brings me so much happiness).

If you give something to someone expecting to get something – or worse – TAKE something back – or out of some engagement with a ‘game’ or because you might’ve somehow come across the story of Hades and Persephone – well fine. Lets explore that.

Archetypes are important to me. Who is Hades? Who is Persephone?

Persephone is the daughter of the demi-Goddess Demeter who controls the seasons. She is so close to her daughter that when her daughter goes to Hades she spends Autumn and Winter in absolute fucking misery and depression. The entire Planet suffers for it. Animals die. Harvests die. People die. But both she and her daughter stick to the agreement.

Then lets consider Hades. As an archetype – not a sexual archetype. It could be but I don’t think thats a spiritual path that many people could cope with taking.

To me Hades represents an archetype of an immortal being who was betrayed by his brothers – his entire family actually – and who resided amongst the dead with a three headed dog to guard the entrance of his home, the dead – that is –  who were living their karma as non-physical beings in a dimension or thought-landscape that probably wasn’t especially pleasant. Although I’ve never read descriptions of his home or seen depictions of the interior detailings of his home.

You’re told by Disney that “he rules the Underworld” but I don’t know that it means the same to us – species that have ‘monarchies’ and hierarchies – as it does to non-physical. It could just mean that his body is occupied by the dead.  He is surrounded by beings who are suffering because they DESERVE to – because they NEED to – to GROW.

He gives Persephone some food. Apparently all he had was a pomegranate. Karmically the seeds were so valuable to him that it cost her half a year of her life in his company. Eating that little of his food put her in that much karmic debt. Try to see it as a means of illustrating the Theory of Relativity, try to see it as a means of explaining that our interactions and our actions have prices – before making it a sexual fantasy through which you could somehow fashion your romantic relationships.

And then consider that they were chatting while she ate his food. He might’ve shared a lot of information that sped forward her karmic lessons. He might’ve taught her things that he paid a lot to learn – that’s not free either. What did it take for him to acquire that pomegranate? Her mother being in a good mood, perhaps.

Do not – please – do not romanticise archetypes for stories that have nothing to do with you. That is another reason that stories like Sex and the City are great. “I want to be a hard working woman like Miranda Hobbs, who doesn’t adhere to societal norms about what it means to be feminine, who spends her own hard-earned cash money and who has been decently educated and could probably hang out at the country club with fancy barristers and judges but cultivates a meaningful and genuine friendship with women she shares very basic things in common with and that it brings a lot of pleasure into her life to do so.”

We all have varying levels of education and they do matter. You can intrude upon and remotely watch someone having an art class but that doesn’t really being to prepare you for what it takes to be in an art class. It doesn’t teach you how to cope with competitive, insecure artists, it doesn’t teach you anything. You might watch a youtube video about pottery but that still doesn’t have even the remotest comparison to being taught by someone that has travelled the World and had to adapt to be able to learn a craft like that. Don’t compare yourselves to masters – don’t sexualise being a master. Masters very rarely have friends and their life paths are fucking tough. If you believe you are stupid, that is something you can take straight to an interview for an adult learning course.

And that on this Planet if you mistreat a woman carrying a baby it probably renders you infertile for a LONG TIME. If you decide you’d make a better parent than that person, first of all you have no idea what karmic lessons their baby (if it is their baby) would’ve wanted to learn and what that baby’s life purpose was. There’s this thing in the bible about “judging” – it is very rarely your place to judge. If you want to be a “judge”, study the law and learn to argue for both sides of an argument because you have to be able to do that to meet any kind of truth. And if you want to start playing a spiritual teacher – learn spiritual laws. Learn all of them. Appreciate every religion because our species would not have evolved if religion served no purpose. I do believe that you can transcend the need for religion, particularly when it has the tendency to become dogmatic, but first know the laws and the truth that they afford humanity. It’s not an instruction, but it’s a very important suggestion.

Try watching Sex and the City from a man’s perspective – that everyone that any of those women dated or fucked was arranged for them. The one man that Samantha could have loved – as in a man who was as driven as her professionally and successful and attractive enough for her to introduce to her gaggle of babes – ended up cheating with a woman or many – probably many – by far beneath her in every respect and ruining her life. Which would have affected her career. I mean if we are talking Illuminati the narrative changes entirely. These characters were kept single, were kept sexually active, were somehow kept away from their families (and for some people – that is a good thing I’ll admit.) and were kept in jobs where they were qualified to do much more.

I recall that an ex “friend” once commented (lets just say I was her sexy babysitter and that I should’ve been paid but I wasn’t. All I got was a crappy “benefit” lipstick that I would never have worn and a tacky cross necklace that again, I only wore once on the day it was gifted to me.) that the “charlotte” character has a miscarriage and that “carrie’s” character is so self obsessed that she makes it all about her.
It is ironic to me that she could have made such a comment, when she did so much worse to me in our friendship.
But where spirituality is concerned – why did she have that miscarriage? What men are they connected to – that could have been eaves dropping influenced that conversation?

I mean – you use what I’ve written here to explore your favourite stories. They’re all of our stories. I am really interested by history – why did Bloody Mary keep having miscarriages? I mean – obviously because the country hated being catholic – and why did people pretend that Elizabeth the first was going to marry any of the men she was being introduced to? Were she and her ladies in waiting being drugged at night and then raped? PROBABLY, YES.

SAD. Almost as sad as the World making my family – who have lived so humbly – responsible for something that has nothing to do with them – and through our being humble, have decided that they can COMPETE with our family. A world that would venerate someone like “The Queen of England” when we all know she had Lady Diana murdered, while she was pregnant.

I mean how stupid are you all? Why is it too late to insist that she is not given a percentage of your taxes? Or to give her a lie detector test? (Many, in fact)

FEELING STUPID IS HARD. I WAS CALLED STUPID ALL MY LIFE. Do you know what you do? You accept that. Thats what I did. I agreed that I must have been – I didn’t get the same grades as my peers. I wasn’t in the top groups. I had no validation to suggest otherwise.
I learned to find value in other kinds of intelligence besides academia. That does not remove the value of academia – you might suck at school but there might be other things you’re better at doing than everyone else. Sadly mine was winning arguments.

The idea that you knew anything that I didn’t and you are STILL THIS STUPID is SHOCKING.

Back to the Peter Pan Video. Up there amongst the text.

Actually I’ve been thinking lately that it would be really cool if we had a sexy effeminate/raver/pop/electro/goth Native American popstar that was too good for white women and still lived with and probably toured with his aunts/mothers/sisters. We have never had one of those.

Because I haven’t got enough to do, I’m starting a blog about Brighton Streetwear. I really liked people’s outfits today but I think you need a link to redirect them to if you’re going to approach them to ask if you can photograph them. I’ll get onnit today. I updated my LookBook. I have had three views and I credit them all to myself. A’thankyou. (Maybe I am also Charlotte’s Jewish husband’s mother as well)

This song just came on YouTube and I think I’ll leave it here as a post finale.



My mobile phone remains unfound but I’ve managed to tidy my flat up in the search for it so it’s not an altogether terrible thing to have lost.


I put lipliner, a lipgloss and some blusher on today. I’m thinking of making a youtube tutorial about it. (I’m not, that’s a joke. I’m trying to be funny. Sometimes I try to be funny on the internet and I am unsuccessful at being funny because most of the funny things I write are short statements that can be taken quite seriously by people who don’t share my humour.) (I am actually quite offended by people who do make up tutorials but haven’t studied make up or worked as a make up artist.) (Or studied chemistry, so that they can explain the ingredients. Why are so many women ‘famous’ for make up tutorials? I appreciate the idea of using your ‘personality’ to entertain people but so few people on the internet actually have a personality or care to admit what might’ve inspired their tastes in interiors or make up – and that kind of theft will only ever make you “famous” for a little while.)

The idea that people who studied and worked – and got bullied – for the notoriety that they aspired to just as much as uneducated celebrities that aspire to act but probably couldn’t write dissertation length essays analysing in depth the personalities of the characters they’ve been cast for is also offensive.

I am complaining a lot on my blog but my audiences, I’ve learned, only seem to enjoy knowing that I’m suffering.

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I like my outfit today. It’s a hand-me-down H&M shirt dress that I was given about twelve or so years ago now. I’m unsure it’s ever been washed and I’d quite like to have it taken in, in places.

This is what I look like without make up or fake tan.



This was brunch. A pork steak with egg, mushrooms, sliced tomato and a spring onion.


This might be the worst photograph I’ve ever taken but I love the edit.

I need a frame for this. How cute is my guide? (Well, I have a few guides – but how cute is this one?) (the female one with the eyelashes) (a lot of people/beings come with other halves, if you’re going to pursue a spirituality it’s wise to start with the ten commandments – basics – “don’t steal” “don’t covet” – you know. Before you decide between light and dark, know that you’re responsible enough without labelling yourself as either.

“Know thyself” is a really important one for spiritual people pursuing fame. Or have a teacher that knows the real you – so when you lose yourself she or he only needs to say one thing and she’ll have you running to your room crying happy tears because she remembers who you are, even after you’ve been through hell and back.


If I do get invited to act – I’ll be taking this role. You won’t find anyone better.


The image above is Toph from the children's Nickelodeon series - Aang the Last Airbender. 
The story of how I came to like this show is pretty good. I'll save it for my INTERVIEWS.

I’ll upload a picturegraph of me soon with make up to justify why I’d also be a great Azula incase you can’t find someone else.

I know I could do both.



I’m having a snuggly period day. I contacted the Citizens Advice Bureau regarding my issues with the Job Centre and quite frankly that was exhausting. I have emailed their ‘manager’ and he’s yet to respond – either he is stressed out because he has to fire at least three people or he’s in on it. I read somewhere that 83% or so people in the UK have a job. If that is the case – why did the Job Centre fight to justify giving me £317 pounds a month to live off? As if this country is struggling? The amount increased after a conversation I shouldn’t of been forced to have – but they really tried pushing that I should be able to live on £317 a month.

Either way I have to locate a small diary of mine and start an official complaint with DWP. I can’t locate my phone either which is a nightmare. Not because I use it to socialise but because I missed a call from Tescos about a shop and I was asleep when they were scheduled to arrive. I’ve no idea how I didn’t hear the bell, the bell is loud and my flat is small. And I quite like it like that.


I’ve finally invested in a clothing rail. It’s from John Lewis and it’s very sensibly priced. If you’re looking for a rail that’s under £40 that won’t slide to the left with a few heavy items then click here. I’ll get a better picturegraph soon, when I’ve colour coordinated and arranged as many garments onto it as I can manage.


A neighbour is coming over to help me organise my flat, install a lock in my bathroom and on my window and to put up a feature wall with some wilko wallpaper (I want to insert one of those big grin emojis but it’s actually a very nice wallpaper). That bottle of wine on my counter is for him. I’ll need a better photograph of that too – the art is inspired by a Titan Goddess called Eon and I bought it from a local shoppe here. It’s not an old wine but I think it’ll look nice ageing in his kitchen. I ought to get him some other bits too.

Edited to add: Here's the photo of the wine that I promised myself I'd upload.

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And the back.

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"Eos is a Titaness and the Goddess of the dawn, who rose each morning from her home at the edge of the Oceanus to announce her brother Helios, the sun. 
As Goddess of the dawn it was her duty to open the gates of heaven so Helios could drive his chariot across the sky every day."

[edited Wednesday the Seventeenth of April, 2019]

I watched a few episodes of Salad Fingers and Marie Antoinette today. I want to invest in adding sleeves to everything I own. I am a sleeve person.


I had elderflower cordial, lemon and nectarine noodles with lemon, red pepper, sweetcorn and garlic and a ferrero rocher today, before having 1000 mg of a painkiller (paracetamol – every tablet is 500mg) that has yet to help the pain at all. I know that people have been prescribed weed for my bowel condition but the fact that women can have period cramps like mine and sooner be encouraged to take harmful medicines that stay in your body for twenty five years (and trust me – they do) is terrible. If you really think that both the NHS and the pharmaceutical companies manufacturing these medicines don’t benefit from the lies that pharmacists and doctors are often bribed to tell, to endorse these drugs you’re completely foolish. Did you know that as far as the sciences go, we’ve reached breakthroughs that mean that technically NO ONE should experience pain? It shouldn’t be a thing anymore. As in the NHS and their manufacturers sell you medicine that keeps you ill and test their new drugs on you (they do, and they do not have to tell you they’re doing it either) – you might’ve heard the phrase “it’s a new drug” – thats code for “you’re a test subject”.

When I was about seventeen or sixteen I had a birthday in Camden. My friends and I smoked shisha at a bar there and some strangers came and sat beside us. It was a heterosexual couple and I remember them often. The woman, as I recall, wore a hat and had short hair. She told me that she worked for a company that manufactured drugs for people with AIDS and that the disease officially had a cure. This was years ago. She told me that it was technically an inexpensive drug.

A teacher of mine once told me, knowing that I had an “audience” of sorts of promiscuous and irresponsible gay men who weren’t pursuing love but were pursuing as much sex as they possibly could – to avoid gay men. She did not explain why. She taught me (a person who sort of used to wish she was a boy and who used to scream “IM A BOY” at her mother and who might’ve been born a hermaphrodite but whatever) not to have sex with someone until I’d been in their company for two weeks. Some people can have sex without getting attached emotionally, those people – she told me – make fantastic prostitutes. Some people get attached emotionally when they have sex and obviously they do not make fantastic prostitutes because it ends up damaging them psychologically. The gay men I thought of at the time – some of which were actually probably more effeminate than me – ended up having successful, first attempts at serious long term relationships using her advice. If you have sex with someone before a two week period of spending time together constantly – it will only ever be about sex. It’ll be a prolonged one night stand. At the time I didn’t realise why she’d said what she said, about homosexuals – an uncle of hers had died of aids and had not been told he had it by the STD clinics. It is a form of population control. She is a person of colour, and the virus was initially administered to people of colour and it was easiest to do so through homosexual men. Do not trust the NHS or STD clinics – if you are promiscuous and if you have unprotected sex (I am not promiscuous but I do have unprotected sex – I am severely allergic to latex) invest in a private GP. I recommend Dr Coxon – Lady Diana visited her. She was tested positive as pregnant shortly before her murder. (Not awkward at all)

Fortunately people can be moved into new bodies, a fact I’m sure people have become aware towards. (They’re not ‘computers’, they’re new bodies. AWKWARD ISN’T IT)

The NHS refused to continue employing Dr Coxon after she made a habit of insisting treatment for children whose families were being lied to about whether they could benefit from said treatments. As in – children who were going to be left to die by the NHS.

Nothing is free, the NHS convinces you it is – but it isn’t. And be careful with giving out sperm for STD checks – they do sell it on if you’re fertile and free of STDs. Why on Earth do you think that they need to check your SPERM for STDS?

If I am given a prescription to smoke weed – and I should be, if not for my condition then at the very least for the PTSD that the NHS are responsible for and a life story that would  probably make me quite eligible for euthanasia in certain countries – I will probably test the weed being provided by the NHS, but realistically when I know (trust me on this) that most of the weed being sold on the streets is being sold by the police (sad, isn’t it.) and that the pharmaceutical companies are so deeply invested in keeping people on drugs that give them more problems than they solve, and that the uneducated social “elite” (we can’t call you that anymore, you are comparatively less educated than most of our countries poor people that you keep poor) are still convinced that cannabis perpetuates proletariat subcultures and gang warfare when – it is really just our police – I will probably have to research the laws on growing. And even then I’m uncertain and uneducated about the strains attached to the seeds being sold on the market.

I recently telephoned the police with regards to making them aware that I was pretty certain my laptop was being hacked by locals (I went to University with a ‘youtube celebrity’ so I have no doubts that there are ‘youtube celebrities’ that know who I am, I was unimpressed by ‘youtube celebrity’ then and I continue to be for the most part. External beauty I am always impressed by, for a time) and I did discuss the local laws pertaining to weed here. No one will share a contact with me because they all know that I’m stalked by the police, too.

Who cares that I’m in constant physical pain. Haha. Who cares that I’m probably tired because my body has to exert energy to not feel that pain. Haha.

Imagine if all the footballers, police and other stupid people just dropped fucking dead. Haha.

O0o Dinner is an avocado, an onion, a tomato, lemon and seven prawns. But it’s being served with vintage silver wear on a tray (I think the fork was a tenner from the local brick-a-brack) so I’m still fancy. #5vegetablesaday


(I’m sitting here laughing that people actually think that this is a legitimate meal portion. And technically I’ve eaten more king prawns today – fourteen – than most people are served at Chinese Restaurants in a single portion.)




The thumbnail art of me, was commissioned from an artist on fiver 
called @dreamybon

I updated my spirituality for kids channel on YouTube with a cute teaser and accompanied it with a little song I channelled Levi to compose digitally. >> Please see my little video here. <<

When I was at University, I saw a job post for a children’s television show. I applied for it but I was concerned that my background in being a very well known blogger who journaled about her very meaningful intimate adventures and the experience of being female might’ve affected it. I find most children’s television boring and unimaginative – the kind with women and men donning ‘bright’ tshirts or embroidered jumpers embellished with sad logos and trainers.

When I was little, I got upset because I noticed my maternal Grandmother had painted lots of beautiful porcelain pieces for my sibling, and not for me. I visited her in Paraguay and at three am, when I was suffering with terrible jetlag… I saw this being aired on television: in ENGLISH.

A word of advice… If you managed to access a tarot reading that was intended for me – there are few blondes worth ‘sticking up’ for – Lady Diana is one of them.

If your blonde isn’t Lady Diana, I mean a true humanitarian that ignored her status to walk amongst people who could have caused her serious harm – to show them true unconditional love – a humanitarian who walked amongst people with diseases and gave them her time, the kind of person who would use her celebrity to draw attention to the nature of bullying, the misfortunes of people suffering with illnesses like aids and who took the first social baby steps required to encourage British people who were suffering with mental illnesses like anorexia and more young women than you might think who practice self harm and self mutilation as a form of emotional release to discuss them and to seek help – then PLEASE don’t bother falling for the manipulation of other blondes. I’m doing YOU a favour here. People forget that we grow from disputes – if you consistently ‘step in’ to protect someone from a dispute that you know nothing about, you’re actually interfering in something that might’ve otherwise had a positive result. Firstly: you cannot befriend someone you cannot argue with. If you seek to protect every blonde, you’re actually doing them a disservice because they will never learn to ‘protect’ themselves. They might also never learn to accept when they are in the wrong.

Sticking up for a blonde, when your intention is to become “popular” – is more often than not – a trap. Popularity is more often than not, a word to describe being surrounded by false people who want something from you. When I was popular – whenever I have been ‘popular’, it has been because people wanted things I had. I had many genuine male friends – male friends that saw my used sanitary towels, male friends that saw my mess, male friends that I shared very serious family secrets with, male friends that knew I had problems and my deepest vulnerabilities. Male friends that saw my armpit hair other bodily hair – and even smelled me when I was on a period and hadn’t had a chance nor could be bothered to shower because my periods make me tired. Male friends that unblocked toilets for me and pretended not to know it wasn’t me. Male friends that I treated, as closely as I could, as though they were more than friends. Male friends that I would give advice to, when they were interested in women that I felt they’d actually suit being in relationships with – because I wasn’t threatened (still am not, sorry) by other women and didn’t want to stop my male friends finding romantic happiness or love or even a one night stand if that was their thing.

Men have been the only people in my life I could ever have wanted to be friends with, and that is because I’ve identified as male. Most often I couldn’t of been in a relationship with the men I was friends with, even if we had moments of attraction towards one another. And often those men would, without my knowing (sometimes with my knowing) use me to make those women jealous. And both would do me a tremendous disservice as a result because I’d be left friendless.

Being friendless isn’t an issue, is nothing I can’t cope with – but I did get raped and sexually molested by the police, even in front of a ‘boyfriend’ – because there was no one around who cared about me enough to listen when I said “Something weird is going on.”

When I had a boyfriend who had friends I didn’t want to be friends with – I let that boyfriend go. Do NOT steal a boyfriend from his friends – because that is toxic – and because later, when you want to break up (and you will – because a person necessarily is the product of the people s/he hangs around with – so when you start ending their friendships, the relationship will suffer.) you’ll both be left with absolutely no one.

Me+You against the world is NOT romantic. It doesn’t work. I haven’t been in a relationship for years, but to say you’ve been in two long term relationships (that is – a relationship that lasted for 3 to 4 years being my first, and my second being a relationship that lasted for 5 years) by the age of twenty nine means that I probably know more about relationships than you do. My sibling is prettier than me, more feminine than me – has had 9-5 jobs working for people that did very important jobs – she can drive and is to an extent, ‘responsible’. She has never been in a proper relationship. She has lots of friends, lots of acquaintances ready to pounce at the chance to be in her life – but when it comes to being in a relationship, I’ve been in relationships with men she would never have had a chance with. I’ve turned down relationships with men she’d of never had a chance with.

Once I was talking to a guy that I’d found on a friend of her’s twitter, he was a music producer and an actual-someone. All of her ‘friends’ were actual-someones. Her friend asked her, to ask me, to stop talking to him – because he was hers first. The moment I was asked, I deleted his details and stopped speaking to him. That kind of decency is hard to come by, you meet a person like me once every ten or so years. We’re pretty easy to take advantage of but also we know that if we are true to what we percieve as values – that when we need it, the goodness is returned to us in equal measure. If you keep stealing other people’s dreams, wishes and aspirations – or even friends or love interests – worse will be done to you by some version of me that doesn’t share my decency. I can take a hard time because that is all I’ve ever known – most people can’t. Don’t give yourself a hard time by fucking good people over. Especially not to make yourself ‘popular’.

It takes a lot of effort and energy to make true friends and to maintain those friendships it takes years of loyalty, disputes and ideally growth. Not everyone needs true friends, but that is a very rare person indeed. We’re taught that all people aspire to is to be loved, not me. If a person like me: takes time out of their (difficult at times, frankly) life to offer you advice – you ought to listen to it. People are not born choosing to “be alone”, they’ve become that way, and they’ve learned the toughest lessons life has to offer through the decision.

But words seldom teach, especially to a generation that has never bothered to pick up a book.

This is somewhat a passive aggression towards a few of the women that stalked me to University – one stalked me to more than one university – copied how I liked to dress, copied my aspirations – didn’t stop thinking about me at all. It’s very tiring to be even remotely associated with people like that.

And it’s insulting when people think that you’re somehow more talented than I am – I inspired your talents.


How wonderful are these little cakes? The one featured in my video is my Golden Petal pudding and it has an orange filling, without the bits. The recipe can be found >> here. <<

This is the video I didn’t use.

Postsecret was decent this week.




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

screen-shot-2019-01-26-at-22.04.44.pngscreen shot 2019-01-26 at 21.59.29

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.