ughhhh fuck periods

basically if there were people on the internet I wanted to speak to I’d say

I just spent 24 hours without electricity (like 15 hours)

I was cooking bacon and I ate it – not raw – but basically raw (normally, fine)

and then a few minutes later, I was lying in bed trying to work out who to hate for the collection of domestic and physiological inconveniences that are presently bothering me and then I got severe diarrhea cramps and nausea and I wanted to throw up

I was trying to determine whether I needed to use the toilet (blocked, again, so that would’ve sucked) because I was having a bad reaction to the bacon or whether I was starting my period (which also sucks but sucks less than food poisoning or hypochondria. I don’t have hypochondria but if you get a stomach ache after consuming meat that is technically not fully cooked, it is appropriate to be concerned that your body might not be able to digest it. Iunno)

I thought of a doctor and asked if I had been poisoned and they said “it’s a period.” thanks. so much. love you.

I ate all of my brioche, all of my cornershop camelot vanilla wafers, all of my cooking chocolate and all of my ferrero rochers

i’m trying to teach myself how to save by “collecting” different kinds of chocolate which was never ever going to work, ever

saving makes no sense. gonna put that out there. it’s a stupid thing to do.

i recently bought myself a new harddrive so i could finish editing all of the videos i’ve made this year that i actually like but my electricity ran out just as i was about to dedicate myself to work. here are some unedited photos of my bedroom that i’d like to delete from my camera but that i’d also like to remember.

I found this really creepy “1 star house keeping” book next to a bin and it featured a photograph of this plate design amongst some of the food photography and THAT is why I am pissed off that so much of the stuff I had been collecting while I grew up “went missing”. (My first ever set of plates were a sky blue plastic set from Primark that matched the colour of my first bedroom, by some coincidence, but they disappeared)

sun.ninth.june.2019

I started writing this post late last night and I'm kind of 
compelled to complete it. It's incomplete. It's Sunday, so I'm going 
to edit it throughout today. 

It's now 14:37 and I've decided I'm turning this post into a playlist.

Play this 



This is a Patrick Wolf song I love. He might pretend otherwise but
he is doing a very serious Cloud cosplay here. If he dressed like 
this all the time I'd probably be following him on instagram and
day dreaming about dating him and Lisa (the Jpopstar) and Owen
Pallett. He doesn't though. Rude.

thats a line pregnant women get, not body hair. i naght pregnat. 
i do get body hairs but those shadow line are naght body hairs, okay

The caption is pretty sad. It used to be very fashionable to deprecate yourself – for awhile the internet was populated by introverted girls that liked to express themselves and explore visual fantasies through both getting naked and playing dress up and gallivanting as models, rockstars and internet personalities. It became really important to make sure that everyone knew that you didn’t look exactly like photographs of you (especially if your thing was being a transvestite popstar) that had been taken after three hours of playing with make up and grabbing every lamp in the house and then masking taping up some tinfoil as a reflector before photoshopping yourself into some fantastic anime.

I feel as though if I deprecate myself I will encourage you to think that I am not unaware that I am flawed. I don’t even know if I like doing that. I feel like it’s okay to make the art I always wanted to make if I do that preemptively. Or maybe it’s me guilt tripping you.

If you see a nice photograph of me, either I’ve taken it or I made a tremendous amount of effort to look nice. I don’t look like nice all the time. I don’t often enjoy bad photos of me unless they are capturing some kind of expression or emotion that better helps me express my inner landscape. Sometimes I like bad photographs of me a lot.

I’ve never made money from being in photos, I’ve never had a fanbase to speak of. Actually that is a lie. The issue was I DID have a fanbase and I considered them all friends with lives as interesting as mine.

I took some self portraits that I like a lot.

look. if I photograph erotica or what I consider to be erotica, it’s a performance. unless it isn’t. and it has never not been a performance. It’s why I went to University. But there was a lot of stuff I had to learn at University before I started asking people to get naked in front of a camera to stimulate the love/sex act. i feel safer photographing myself right now. i definitely believe it is important to divulge that what might (or might not, I might not be your type) convey some invitation to think about sex is actually a complete indifference on my part. i think that based on what I learned about the adult industry I know that it is preferred that a person capturing that stuff isn’t really aroused by it.

the women you see appearing in the porn on redtube and pornhub probably didn’t enjoy filming it all that much. Condensed: I seldom sexualise the human body and the likelihood of sexualising someone else having sex is even more seldom but I love to observe it with the very same feeling and very same passion I might I love to observe people making cakes surrounded by the perfect decor.

I like classical art, particularly religious iconography – that depicts what i consider unsexual nudity. I am like the grandmother that you’d sooner shoot yourself in the penis than ever mention sex in front of if you don’t get through the first two or three stages of trust-building with me, I could walk in on you watching a sex scene in a film and admire the way the light hit the upholstery. interior cinematics should be a degree of it’s own in an economy that will soon be structured based on people restructuring the architecture of their lives. i say soon – i mean. the next thirty years and the only things my generation will want will be couture and houses.

The image above is a scan I took of a postcard I bought from a 
charity shoppe in Farnham. It's a painting that decorates the
ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. 

but i am not uncomfortable in the knowledge of the male gaze. not irresponsible with it either.

A Jewish lecturer who I believe has rediscovered faith entirely – with fresh perspective – from what I think he and I could at least as academic equals would agree was inescapable proof of the extraordinary – and that the navigation of non-physical requires a person to stick to any and every holy law they’ve ever been taught in their life, once asked me if I knew about the ‘male gaze’.

At the time I understood the male gaze was the tendency men have to sexualise objects that emulate genitals and sexual organs and replied “I don’t care.” Well. We left that brief chat with two very different understandings towards the exchange. (We realised a bit later)

Throughout forever, and ironically this didn’t come across, was that I liked to be all sorts of versions of me. I compensated with the idea of not being an actor even though that’s all I had ever really worked towards growing up by deciding that when I got a job one day I could either design or buy the kind of clothes I thought I should really be wearing. I would be able to pay to write and direct the kinds of cartoons I’d like to watch. That I could direct my own vision for what sex between men and women who love each other could be like, because pornography certainly didn’t reflect that at the time and nor does it now.

i want you to understand that when i photograph myself: i’m not like. oh i feel like fucking someone, theres no one around, im gonna photograph the hell out of my ass and masturbate while I think about fucking myself. this is not an explanation, actually there is a version of me in time and space that would upload a photograph of me expressing some kind of emotion and then a sentence or two passive aggressively attacking an ex boyfriend.

Ok so before you scroll down - I want to create a multi-sensory experience. I wrote in my 'about me' that this is my art blog.
Please try to engage with this blog as an art-installation for
this song.



I learned about Laibach when I used to visit Camden on Saturdays at
about thirteen years old. I'd walk through all the goth shops and
very rarely ever bought anything because I would spend my money on
the street food. and Alcohol. Which I'd drink on the streets and
beside the canal.

One time I walked into a shop not far off Cyber Dog and there was
this sexy goth (look - all the camden kids fancied the grown ups that
worked in the shops. We had absolutely no idea that we were that far
out of their age bracket and I assure you that atleast where sexy
effeminate goths were concerned - it was 100% consensual if
foolish

rape is never consensual




. I was rarely taken by music, my tastes were so
specific that until now there are that few albums that I can say I
enjoy in any kind of entirety.

(If you're curious: A Perfect Circle 13th Step, I can listen to
throughout.)

Professor Germaine Greer sometimes speaks about some of her audience-intended erotic endeavours,  there are plenty of videos on youtube where she briefly mentions her escapades as an editor for an “indie” (but not indie at all) adult publication that publicised all sorts of cave man/animal fantasies apparently (I tried finding a copy online but I faile) and I think that contrast was what made her so popular with the boyz that she clearly pursued when she was studying. (I will never not regard her debate at Oxford as a formal introduction to the United Kingdoms most eligible bachelors)

She had her own publication – a magazine that had pseudo-sordid images of all sorts of today-taboo erotic fantasies that all-people have, but keep secret. Imagine, for a second, the power you might associate subconsciously with a woman who was so undisturbed by the most fucking awful depths of the human sexuality that was also a staunch women’s activist in a time when men were legally allowed to rape their wives, who authored many journals that planted seeds for a direction through which women’s liberation could grow so that we could better achieve an acceptable equality with our co-genders.

Her literature is forever my enabler in making any kind of “erotic” art. “Erotic” art is my favourite kind of art but I actually sourced a lot of personal guilt for that for a long time, because my fascination with art of that nature encouraged men to objectify the female body and idealise sex that they’d observed without considering that it was captured from a performative perspective.

which could lived within the confines of a domestic pig barn intended architecturally to host miniatures of dystopian male and female forms and to eventually grow up to be carbon copies of their parents

I’ve always been somewhat considerate towards how feminists might regard my

As far as my contribution towards any kind of feminist research goes.. the adult industry is the only industry that begins to compensate women or otherwise perhaps the first media-form to really portray women in positions of power over men in a way that wasn’t intended to portray the idea as some kind of social threat or narrative-propaganda. But yes – Germaine was once invited to pose for Playboy magazine and she offered to do so for free. Knowing about the male gaze she chose to be photographed in various spreads – which was socially unacceptable at the time and it was considered unacceptable for publication.  Prof. Germaine’s social peers were oxbridge boys and gals at the time and if I were told that one of those oxbridge boys had made a phonecall to stop the photographs from being published as some kind of secret act of love, she’d probably roll her eyes. I’d smile because it’s sweet that someone can be so entitled, but it is also wrong.

Someone once said that it would be wrong if everyone in this country were to seek further education (thats how we describe getting a bachelors degree. your first three years of university do not count as university, they count as acclimating to the real – world while trying to make sense of how you can contribute to it while also trying to discover the identity you kept hidden from the people you grew up with. in my experience, atleast.)

Did you know I learned about Germaine Greer through this? If you go thirtine seconds in Adrian Mole’s mother sort of offers my childself a testimonial for a book that would truly change my entire life.

(I am being Bert right now. If you watch. My life is Bert. I have no one to talk about it online with and I miss instant messaging so that I could tell my fake friends “I am Bert” and then we’d watch Adrian Mole together. But that’s not an internet reality anymore. The internets personal karmic narrative is not great right now. I’m really excited for the next big internet phase, and the next big internet phase AFTER the approaching one will be when people will begin to structure their homes to accommodate virtual reality.

My generation of weird and terribly attired london street kids made it okay to get body modifications. The kids that had scarification (the sterile kind you get in a piercers shoppe and also the kind you inflicted upon yourself in a rage or an episode of teenage heartbreak or depression or abuse or whatever misery we were all living), screws cut into their heads that would enable them to attach (and remove) little horns, their belly buttons closed up as a symbol of detachment to the “mother” and one’s own conception, competed the way that men do in pub banter by getting their bodies pierced (a cosmetic pain ritual that indicated some passing of age between us that is not too dissimilar to the practices of some African tribes actually.)

If I was born with two genders and I had my penis removed it is a freedom of it’s own, I promise

i mean. at this point in my life, unless you are someone i consider a teacher or angelina jolie the goddess her fucking self, i do not want a pep talk

before i went to uni my spiritual teacher lisa gave me a book that taught me this: “don’t steal”. it discussed stealing. stealing actually has many faces and not all of them are evil. i would never consider a person stealing a loaf of bread to feed their starving family “stealing”, but it is. Would I think it right to punish the person who had stolen that loaf of bread in the same way I would punish a person who had stolen my autonomy, because they had decided that my blog posts were secretly directed towards them and that I had been inviting them to have sex with me by posting photographs of my body on the internet? No. Here’s another example of “nice stealing”: if you go to work – and you’re ill, it’s bad karma. Society might encourage you to think that it’s selfish not to go to work – just because you have a the ‘man flu’, but in terms of the spiritual principles that are being expressed through laws like “THOU SHALT NOT STEAL” (it appears in most religious ideologies – the idea that taking that which you know isn’t yours to take is wrong. If you make someone else ill, you are stealing time from their life. If you went out with your common cold and gave the cold to a diabetic, they could be bed ridden for weeks because it takes diabetic people a longer time to heal. You pay karmically for that. Karma is not something people can quantify or determine and should avoid it. Just keep an eye on your own. Invading someone’s privacy is bad karma.

Imagine believing that this Planet is Hell and that I’m here for lying – about a disability. It’s a nice kind of lying, cos you don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want to talk about it – but it’s still lying. If someone says “how are you?” and you respond with “i’m fine” when you are not “fine” it’s still lying. And that if i’d of spoken about my issue, lots of people would’ve been receiving benefits because they literally couldn’t work but were being called lazy?

The bible says ‘sinful’ but what we can accept empirically so far is – if you steal that guys livelihood, he’s going to suffer for it, and he has never done anything to you that could make him deserve for you to do that.

Last night I was so stoned I enjoyed Nickelback. I feel like if I 
joined one of those secret societies where the lower tier frat 
brothers like to black mail one another by 'safe keeping' humiliating
 secrets - that that would be the thing that they used against me. 
So if I put it here, if I write about it here, it's confessed. 
It's in the open. Do I like Nickelback? I did once.

You know when people call themselves “fashion influencers” and you’re like… No.  But it’s very difficult to explain why you’re not a fashion influencer without sounding nasty or undermining what todays “fashion influencers” are – people who stimulate the economy by masquerading advertorial content as a form of entertainment thus encouraging people to spend their money, a form of entertainment that people respond very well to for some reason. (EVEN ME. I like seeing items that I can’t find anywhere else.)

but YOU are not a “fashion influencer”. The implication of being a “fashion influencer” is that you wore a thing in a time period that people were not wearing that thing very much, and that people were moved to imitate or adopt the look into their own style. This means that being a “fashion influencer” has nothing to do with what is already in fashion.

and because i’m having a bitchy fifteen minutes

i actually hated this Manson song but in saying so nonchalantly, I can kind of consider how I’m overlooking how fucked it is, with our present perspectives.

This fashion influencers that made it okay for todays instagram goths to have pink/purple/green/blue/aquamarine stripper Anne Boleyn flowing hair without being made a villain of by the locals, on unemployment benefits, police watch, – cos thats what it was like about fifteen years ago. (FYI – whether it is because I looked cute or because I looked like a fucking mess – I have NEVER not been a person that people notice when I’m walking in the streets and I can cope with that. If you can’t cope with that, do not even try to follow the ‘girl next door’ model for 15 minute famez

was blamed for mass-terrorist incidents. Bombings and school shootings. If you had any idea of how much thought has to go into each of these songs and these videos you’d struggle to work out how he could’ve wanted that. Artists are my favourite kind of terrible human. Good ones, I mean. But yes – you – not a fashion influencer. Manson is a fashion influencer.

I mean at best “be selective about your enemies”. If you make an enemy of a person who has not achieved 1% of what you have, they benefit from it more than you do. They’ll start thinking that they’re fashion designers, that they’re fashion influencers, that they’re Che Guevara iconic or something

i can hurt you more than you can hurt me btw

imagine sticking up for this guy through time and space and him

sticking up for your worst enemy, through time and space

Where else do you write that you were picturing how Tupac might reply to something – and he says “I’m Levi.”

and then chase and status say “and im so gad damn bed intruder parade”

the timing was so perfect you’d of laughed too

actually it’s probably the old Caribbean man that Lisa had me hip-sway dance with, at the pub in Homerton

Holding my first copy of the comic/graphic novel series 'The Magdalena'



I saw this comic years ago on tumblr, someone I knew tagged me because
they saw it and thought of me. At the time I was Magdalene on a site
called GodsGirls. I was very visible. 

The font on this copy is special to me because it is the one my
grandmother used to embroider my name on pillows. 

This copy wasn't available. Unfortunately.

I’m excited that I’ve something new to read.

#nofucksgiven

You know when you’re in a relationship and you ask the person you’re dating if they can get you sanitary towels from the shop? Or when you’re in a one night stand and you ask your closest female associate if they can get you the morning after pill from the local pharmacy and/or boots because you’re too embarrassed or you can’t move?

well yesterday I walked to the local shop and bought senekot and i didn’t even ask for a plastic bag to hide it in

i waltzed down the street with the most ineffective laxatives in hand, in a silk nightie, leopard print shorts and sparkle-motion jelly shoes. i opened the packet. i extracted the little blistered packet from the box and popped one of the tablets out. i put one in my mouth. i dry swallowed it. i contemplated if dry swallowing laxatives has the same effect on a person as dry swallowing pill form ecstacy tablets. (I’ve never dry swallowed either of those things, it just so happened to be the thought journey I decided to take on that painful saunter to the shop) I went home and waited for the tablet to work.

Still waiting.

Anyway.

i’m so0o0o glad i’m not a celebrity, like lady diana, and that there are no paparazzi living opposite me, like that investigative photographer slash journalist in that Saw movie

photographing me waxing my stomach

/back/moustache etc

actually i encourage that women don’t feel embarrassed about the fact that they have hair in those places so that wouldn’t be the worst thing. the way my body contorts when i do those things isn’t flattering.

femininity is a performance

okay so i don’t feel like posting stuff

but earlier for a moment – and quite honestly it wasn’t really even a miliseconds worth of rage

this asshole – this fucking asshole has a job designing shoes and i don’t

whatever

NO

WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU ENCOURAGE A PERSON WITH WIDE FEET TO WEAR STRAPPY CANKLE SANDLES