DOG GODS

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When I was younger I saw amazing candy-dispensaries for selling and distributing school girl’s underwear in Japan, on television. There are many taboos and the fetishisation or sexualisation of adolesence is amongst those. I don’t resent attraction between two people. Once I quoted Germaine Greer about society wishing that young girls wouldn’t fall in love with older men in their lives, but that they do. I don’t compare those instances with people who seek images of children being compromised in documented scenes of abuse.

The word pedophile is very tired for a person who was raped at three and who was very content to sexualise herself from a very young age.

As for the school girl underwear novelty: the girls would basically visit the stalls in the morning to collect their underwear, wear them to school and then return them in little cute pop boxes to be sold.

People have sordid sexual fantasies. Feel at liberty to explore a sexual landscape, feel very safe doing so in the confines of your imaginations but nothing is private anymore.

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This is female discharge. It is clean and it is not-clean because discharge is how your womb cleans itself. Mine smells faintly of dettol on days when I use dettol – which is a medicinal grade antiseptic. When I can afford to buy it, when it isn’t “sold out”.

Spiders are OCD.

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This is some green ribbon I purchased from John-Lewis. They have a good in-shoppe haberdashery, if I recall correctly from my childhood.

Everyone should have a flower or ten of choice and everyone should have a ribbon or ten of choice. What I mean is: know what you like.

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Aztek Anubis is the fanciest Anubis around isn’t he.

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If Killi the bird reads this, I miss you.

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These plants make me very happy but I probably make them quite depressed sometimes. I like to think they have an ever-expansive emotional intelligence and landscape and that they appreciate a variety of feelings.

If you asked me, of my maggots, which were the most emotionally intelligent, it would be the ones that peacefully existed in the ‘Tintin’s soil stash’ that were left alone but were aware of stimuli, such as music that I’d play for them. A pretence that Tintin was a teenager growing weed, by enriching the soil first. I think maggots are as good as worms are, at interacting with soil, but that’s intuition and not based in scientific ‘fact’. How someone would really test that, and I’m sure it is possible – is to me – very unethical. Again, it is my intuition that tells me so. Magicck is art and science and the absence of that which is clinical. If you were to ask me which of my maggots were the most physically interesting – I’d say “the ones that had been abused, had been raised in poor circumstances (a plastic bag.) created the most ground breaking results in terms of their metamorphose into becoming a fly. And they made sure to wait, made sure that I saw their bellies – they wanted me to see what they had meditated to become” the most intelligent ones – the ones that know to HIDE – are the ones that had to experience my bird-friend Killi haphazardly and without any kind of care towards her personal safety, launching herself onto the balcony and quite violently helping herself into their home and eating some. Esther and Abraham Hicks would say that the magnets (I prefer ‘magnets’ to ‘maggots’) chose that fate for themselves.

I had to accept from the moment that I brought her upstairs that I had a choice: that if I had chosen to kill her and feed her to them, it would create a very different kind of result. I chose her because I know that she was more obviously interactive, and cute, and because I could hold her and there was less struggle to interact and less for me to overcome in terms of growth. And that is speciesism.

I have learned to hold maggots that wander too far from their home with my bare fingers and that’s terrifying for me, even though as an infant I used to gather insects – beetles from the pool side. I’d save lots of them. And snails, I remember once going out after it had rained and I gathered snails and put them all on a lamp post outside of the place I called home in my childhood.

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Lucifer likes Fererro Rochers. That is a a lot of glorious packaging to be reluctant to recycle and I am using one of them as a propagator for some chilli seeds I scooped out of a chilli that I then fed to my magnet friends, and they really like eating chilli.

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When I was in Farnham, I had a lot of avocado seeds that had grown and grown – I kept them in water that I didn’t often replenish because something told me that the exchange of fluids and the avocado skin etc was actually nourishing to the avocado seeds. Plants are not for “clean” people.

There was a lot of jealousy because of my plants, the avocado plants especially – and I was enraged when I came back from a stay at a research hospital (that I was put into because a WHOLE TOWN was jealous of me) where a person had died after I said “someone is going to die” (and they did) to find all my plants dead.
Coming back to find that these plants that I had poured love and memories and body fluids and TALKED TO – were just left to die. That was the last time I experienced genuine heartbreak actually.

there’s this bit where kouga says ‘piri piri, curry curry’ and i smiled

26:02 minutes in – that is not racism – especially not if you were raised in part by a sri-lankan or if you have mexican roots. or if you have an actual close friend – I dont think any of my present stalkers do – that can claim that you’ve somehow been let into their life so much that you are family enough to be that familiar. it is offensive otherwise

if you were close to me you’d call me kari or kaz or kittie but no one is close to me

and i think the reality is that no one will ever be close to me again and theres a whole new kind of restraining order that will need to be implemented. and if you can’t stop yourself from stalking me you deserve to be executed.

one day someone will say on behalf of a very rude species residing on a very rude planet

“im sorry we don’t know how to tell the truth, how to cope with feelings of envy and embarrassment and being responsible for a life of tragic loss after tragic loss and defending the people that abused someone that actually didn’t abuse anyone at all”

People you didn’t know were Jews.

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I enjoyed her in a few things. I don’t think she’s a nice person. But she’s a Jew. She did a lot of work with Emirates Airlines and actually, Arabs really do adore her.




This is Heath Ledger. Heath Ledger is one of those fancy sephardic jews (Sephardic like Sephora, like Sephiroth etc) which is only less fancy a variety of Jew than the Cohens

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This is a Jew playing a character that was based on my Syrian dad

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THIS GUYS AN ARAB

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I used google image and these actors names to find the images. I don’t own them. I don’t know who took them. I’ll add more images of people you wouldn’t of thought were Jews later.

Like me, though, they’d of had to of whitied themselves up a bit to get work/co exist with white people.

A BOOK REVIEW: WOMEN’S HOSPITALS IN BRIGHTON AND HOVE

(The original book cover can be found here, this is the cover I have and I like it.)

Edited to add later: You can tell this book was written by a person that really considers the construction of sentences – almost every page has a beautifully written sentence that you could remove from it’s context and put in one of those foil LIVE LAUGH LOVE prints. I’ve just highlighted some favourites:

“The Green crevasse of Devil’s Duke was a favourite place for picnics and could be easily reached by train; bandstands belted out favourite melodies in the sunshine by the beach and there were large numbers of public houses, pimps, pickpockets and prostitutes of both sexes.”
p.5 #architecture #alliteration-that-doesn’t-piss-me-off

“the married woman did not exist as an individual”
p.16 #legalhistoryofbritain #subtlerage #butnottoomuch

“the distant feminine ferment”
p.18 #again,alliteration #condensedwomanistrage #sentences-condensed-specifically-to-avoid-masked-male-ADHD-or-nagging-or-male-confusion

 I mean. They’re just arty sentences aren’t they, worthy of highlighting. Brown takes heavy subject matter and articulates it in a way that is not imposing (there is a lot of subtle anger towards the patriarchy but she glosses over it so men can read it without hating themselves too much) 

and actually enjoys literature as an art form. It is a really entertaining read for anyone who is interested in British history (so far, a lot about the Victorians), British architecture and also who needs help writing a decent feminist essay because the sentences are that fucking perfect

When I first arrived to Brighton I was appalled at the rudeness of the locals who would say things like “the hospitals da’an the road”, as if to say “I know what happened to you and I’m so misinformed I think I have the right to say things like that” (a silent “thanks for toilet training me, I’m already taking you for granted.” entirely avoided because that rudeness inspired insult and shock, it was intended to and it did.)

I’m reading a book about Women’s Hospitals in Brighton and Hove, by resident Val Brown (I’d imagine that to write such a controversial book you’d assume/adopt a moniker, and that there would have been great lengths taken to prevent it’s publication) and it’s written so far – at six pages and an appendix in, like a beautiful novel. I have never enjoyed someone describing architecture like this, nor has a writer ever written the nature of a town that actually compelled me to google map the address.

I can tell that the author is a humble person, and that she sees potential in the architecture of her town that honours it’s original designers. You’d perhaps be inclined to think that she does the architecture of her town a lot of poetic justice but it is so wonderful to consider a person who has a town that she can call home and regard it with so much love. A likeable person did not author this book, I can tell that much in the few pages that I have read. (But she’s probably a white, British person for a few generations so my most determined of anonymous stalkers can give her a chance too, maybe they will learn something.)

I’ve learned a word I will now employ the use of if I get into a mood

‘tenements’

to describe a block of flats. It is also a fancy word. I mean it works both ways. I can use it angrily or I can use it non-angrily and it remains effortlessly elegant, like the author’s writing style.

Apparently though: Brighton was a liberal town, with numerous red light districts that spanned across the wealthier and poorer districts therewith and it was proudly liberal until the latter end of the 1800s when conservatives (both male parties and female, I would never have thought so) were invited to positions of local council.

You’d think conservatives would hate me but actually my family did a lot for your country’s faux royal family and a lot of them, conservative. I’m not. My politics are pretty liberal (because I believe that cannabis should be legalised, if only because most people that smoke cannabis are in very serious pain of some kind – and sometimes you realise you are in physical pain by first acknowledging that you are in psychic or emotional pain. Cannabis is a ritualistic drug that probably could also work wonders for counsellors and psychiatrists who will have to evolve the nature of their profession to an EXCHANGE of trust and information rather than monologues that can endanger their patients, and note taking that can be influenced by feelings of envy and jealousy unacknowledged by the doctors and nurses making them.) but my personality is conservative and so any attempt at being a balanced person really does not make me ‘centered’ either.

Apparently a lot of the hospitals in this town were founded by women, who banded together so that there could be affordable dispensaries that offered locals affordable healthcare. One of those buildings is apparently owned by a solicitor’s now. But Brown’s description of the building was what compelled me to look, actually. She sees the magic in Brighton that I’ve sort of stopped seeing, because the locals are rude. (I lose track of which blonde someone might be defending but it is always, always poorly motivated and always insultingly stupid. And often the people who ‘defend’ the blonde, end up making her situation much worse because if I don’t like someone – it is never without a very good reason. And rarely without my having tried to like them first.)

There’s this bit at the back of the book “the struggle for women to forge a place in public life” and that, is actually what compelled me to buy the book. The concluding sentence. Being ganged up on, from country to country to four street town to town – by people who wanted to be popular – to the point that they could perpetuate some pretence that they did not know I was being raped in that hospital, that I was being given drugs that I should never have been given, tells me that society is not yet responsible enough to remove individuals from their own autonomy.

My spiritual teacher Lisa once told me “if you kill yourself, your next life will be three times worse”, and that was the only thing that saved me from moments of suicidal rage. I know that anyone who has ever accessed that memory will share the belief: that there was no lie in her saying so, and the acceptance thereafter that the idea my life could’ve been relived – and – fuck, three times worse? I spent time with PTSD, I’ve even been told I had ‘psychosis’ (I didn’t, I should’ve been left to the care of a spiritual teacher – and I wasn’t. And I think it was on purpose.) – and the reality of that truth with the sincerity on her face when she said so was more sobering than any ‘reality check’ soliloquy of my entire life. If someone has seen that memory, if they then kill themselves – they were mind controlled to do so.

Hosting briefly, that baby bird, that was determined to throw herself into my window just to attempt to jump off my balcony and learn to fucking-fly-already (she’s a brilliant flier and she does pass by my balcony at perfectly timed intervals – she’s alive and well) but I spoke with my angels, and they insisted that if my concern was that she wanted to kill herself, I ought to let her do so.

What really compelled you to get this book? I was being a dick. Because where I have proven I was only telling the truth, where I have proven that every blonde your British/Danish/EVEN ARABS DID IT society has foolishly defended (as if a single one of you, could do a better job defending that blonde than I could have) that was later found to be outrightly abusing me without fear of consequence, I know that it is not me that should be wasting tax payers monies in those hospitals.

And the findings of what goes on in those hospitals when the doctors and nurses convince themselves ‘you’re the only one that knows what you’re doing’, will affect the lives of thousands of people. How many other women, like me, are in those hospitals because their female ‘friends’ and ‘relatives’ were jealous and the men that they were manipulating used their male-insecurities to support the decision were defending a blonde – to be …popular…?

It is a good book though and it is not boring. I’m a good book judge.

Also I learned to consider that people might be jealous or envious through watching British period movies. My favourite novels have always been British period novels. Ironic, no? Theres this scene where Joseph Fiennes as Lord Robert says to Elizabeth that the women and men that surrounded her were ‘jealous and envious’ and that film was directed by an Indian guy and I really don’t blame my bird-friend for deciding that her first human form will probably be Indian.

 

  1. flirting with weebs
  2. flirting with weebs that can assess personality files using very little dialogue
  3. inviting 2D Spirits to Visit to Sci-fi priestess medium clairvoyant sorts that are more taken by the idea of being both sexes which is what angels do/are
  4. chatting with the 2D spirits through the clairvoyant for anime ideas and then sending them right back because we are not ready for you here and if you’re stolen by someone that wears jeans you’ll meet me eventually and probably want to take it out on meexpanding-brain

“this is your type isnt it”

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“both, yes”

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“well no one that sexy could happen unless you had them and you’d be the only person they could get on with.”

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“I know

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“this is what would happen if someone stole you and tried to recreate you without your rich life experiences and everything that made you who you are”

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“I can do that look, put me in there”

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i am, alone, a multifaceted being
your personalities are wasted on you
freedom of choice is wasted on you
is every single thing that comes out of your mouth not a waste of dialogue

you can put any spirit in me but my personality will overpower them

strength is an illusion in physical realms

X

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


a tweet worthy of note

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