I D U B B B Z R E D & P U R P L E

OVERTHETRAINBOW

Be prepared for the most Meta blogpost I’ve ever written.
Everything is connected, even if it doesn’t seem that way.


F R A G M E N T S

Simply put: Yin and Yang are fragments of a dualistic whole. That is the most basic explanation I can give in an attempt to shed some light on a concept that is actually really, really complicated. The expansive Yin and Yang – super close up – actually looks more like a Final Fantasy X Expert Sphere grid. (She writes, as if she had any real understanding of how to engage with sphere grids when she played FFX at eleven years old.)
It’s just a useful visual reference. Take a second to google it.


Kim Kardashian recently released a meditation playlist & that inspired me. I L-O-V-E her.
My playlist is called “If you were songs” – it’s not a meditation but it is a multi-sensory thought journey.

I promised I’d write a letter for my big brother. Here it is, Omi


Your problems start at home – but you carry them with you wherever you run. This is how I understand the nature of Karma. Sometimes it’s easier to live your Karma with people you can’t lose, like blood-family. Sometimes it’s really not.

Someone once told me that you pick your family – maybe that’s how it looks physically. Think about it like this: your life is a solipsism. A multi-sensory cinematic of your subconscious made conscious. When you cast a film, based on the script that is your subconscious: you might meet hundreds of people that carry a similar energy qualifying them to play the role of that character, the space in your immersive theatrical that needs filling/some manifestation of some-often-unrecognised aspect of your character. I guess that what determines who wins the role in your movie depends on which of their qualities matter to you as a casting director.


Supposedly Feminism is about equality and sisterhood, but I’ve only experienced that once or twice – and without long-term consistency. Any real understanding I have about Feminism is entirely with thanks to Men and fraternity. I mean, I’ve heard women talk about it and I thought it was great but I didn’t really believe it, y’know?

Enter Supreme Womanist antihero Wolfmother, Naiobe.

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Edited to add a selection of tweets – screen shots taken from Jada Pinkett-Smith
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Like I’ve hung out with feminists that made their preconceived notions about my personality based on how I chose to dress, or how I chose to sexualise myself etc, and they gave themselves liberty to treat me poorly because of it.
(I’ve also hung out with ‘spiritual’ women that also made preconceived notions about my personality/identity based on physical information too. Sucks for them.. because when I connect with people who meditate I take them on pretty epic journeys.)
(Why I prefer the company of Men. And that is not to say I get any kind of special treatment from men, my best male friends are NOT ‘nice’ people. My ego really doesn’t need that, at all.)
I’ve hung out with spiritual, feminist artists… a photographer ex-friend comes to mind. She was really academic. She read feminism but she didn’t really live it.
She took photos of me that I hated – she insisted my looks weren’t important – but where is the empowerment in using a photograph of someone that they hate? It’s not for you to tell me how I’d like to be portrayed. She made the photos private, and then made them unprivate when I introduced her to a male version of her – who was attracted to me.
What is the real intention here? Intentions MATTER. I’ve found feminism can be the biggest lie a woman can tell.
>> This scene in Legally Blonde kind of sums it all up for me <<

ANYWAY.

Feminism has traditionally come in ‘waves’, in keeping with social evolution. Basically think of it like this:
1st Wave – We nag, men change their behaviours a bit to quiet the nagging,
2nd Wave – We find something new to nag about, some of us go cRaaAaaZy and throw ourselves on horse racing tracks/get so dramatic we starve ourselves, men change their behaviours to avoid the drama – so on and so forth, etc etc etc

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Disclaimer: I am actually deeply grateful to the ancient Matriarchs that made it possible for me to simplify such a profound movement with roots in deep, deep, deep suffering – something that has cyclicly affected generation upon generation through various forms and expressions of misogyny,  which is ingrained in many (most?) (all??) cultures and religions.  (See, being multidimensional – as women often are – means you have all these sides of you that want to express themselves and you have to pick ONE to indicate your character and I think that’s almost impossible verbally – so I stay quiet.)

K, so… Here is my definition of Feminism for the ADD generation.

I think the best manifestos are concise-one-liner-maxims..
To me, feminism means: “Fuck you, I do what I want” …

I think we’ve earned that, as a gender, as an energy that occupies physical regardless of gender. Unfortunately I can’t take credit for it.
I could justify it, but that demeans the essence of the sentiment. I really shouldn’t have to justify myself to anybody. The moment you start “waaaait…. even if..X,Y,Z?’ing” you’re shitting on my beliefs. Don’t shit on my beliefs, its rude.

Eric Cartman is one of my feminist anti-heroes.

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>> watch this <<

Eric Cartman is an extreme personality who functions as the ‘contrast’ in that particular dynamic of friends. He is an archetype so well written that he is loveable even though he is … terrible. If I could restructure a wave of Feminism it would be inspired by Fraternity.


Segue //

Abraham Hicks argues the following:

Firstly: That fictional characters are no more or less real than you or me.
Secondly: That contrast is necessary for growth.

Well. Obviously I agree. You’ll have to listen to all of her talks on YouTube to find where she says these things, sorry.

// Segue


I once got a book called “The Philosophy of South Park”. I uh. Didn’t read it, but the title was a powerful thought-seed.

My brother used to love cartoons so I grew up loving them too – I looked for company to watch cartoons with. I have an ex my brother never met, that I dated for four years, who was… just like him. He once said “cartoons are ALL about what you can get away with.” He was a fascinating person to spend a few years of my life around because he was unbelievably smart/funny and full of unique thoughts free of influence from the internet. South Park is full of minutiae to over analyse, but lets stick to what I know.

Setting the scene: I visited Syria years ago and spent a lot of time watching South Park because I wasn’t really allowed to go out by myself. *insert side eye emoji*

(FYI, I was nineteen. On my one adventure out, I went to a pet shop about a five minute walk away from my dad’s. My dad rang me consistently, between what felt like 2 minute intervals. He rang me on my journey from his flat to the Petshop. His reason being it’s socially frowned upon for women in Syria to be seen walking in the streets alone. Ok.)

So… I bumped into a very badly-dressed-fat-goth-guy around my age, called Abouda Mahoud. Ah-Boo-Da-Ma-Hood. I mean there are some fantastic sound-vibrations in there. Basically, segmented, these were all individual issues that interfered with my capacity to cast him in my personal movie.

Wait, shut up, and let me explain.
1. Why would him being badly dressed bother me? Because I care about clothes. If you are attracted to ME, I assure you it is atleast 50% thanks to how I’m dressed. Costume design is important in my personal movie.
2. Why would I care about him being fat? BECAUSE I CARED ABOUT MYSELF BEING FAT. (Years later I would go on to have the biggest-long-winded crush on someone not fat, but pretty chubby. Lol, karma)
3. Why would him being goth bother me? IT WOULDN’T. AT ALL. But “badly dressed” and “goth”, connected in any kind of physical description, does not fit in with my personal movie.

So to clarify: nothing written is necessarily indicative of anything wrong with him, I was the one with the issue(s).

Disregarding my shallowness, I still gave him my number (I think he made me laugh. Making me laugh excuses you from most things I might find awful about you) and yet, if I recollect on the incident it makes me eye twitchy and uncomfortable. Like I think at some point, I was so bored we exchanged sexts…? THEN I found out from my cousin that my auntie had seen me speaking to him at the Pet Shop… I think she believed that was as well as I could ever do… She told me to come back next year and we’d find me a husband. Perhaps I should’ve taken her up on that *insert side eye emoji*) Not really. If I don’t get exactly what I am wanting, I don’t accept. In some contexts, compromise is for the weak.

Back to South Park. I recall watching an ‘extras’ scene, where Matt and Trey observe that Cartman is the only being who could possibly enjoy a theme park on his own.
I spent five years completely stoned, creating wonderful memories lost in the ether and somehow… I remember that. I have a theory for why: as a person who spent most of her life chasing not being alone, I possibly manifested a series of experiences that would enable me to empathise with the only being who could possibly enjoy a theme park on his own.

People wonder sometimes why I prefer to walk alone. (by walk, I mean get taxis. but if I DO walk, I’ll probably listen to my iTunes.)
For the most part, the thought of being close to people enters my mind and I immediately jump onto some other, unrelated and most importantly less uncomfortable thought. I am too complicated and too difficult a personality, if I am going to be friends with someone – that is, share my energy and personal space with them.. I have to be able to trust them.

Let me try & explain. (TL:DR – the only soul that has ever both earned and deserved my trust, has been a funny-definitely-potentially-evil genius that bounces from sociopathic to being full of uncontrollable emotion… and do you have any fucking clue how hard it is to find people like that???? And how much harder it is to get them to trust you back!? It’s ok I was made for challenges such as these)


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Shoes by Louboutin – I’d dress Dorothy in these & nothing else

I first listened to this in a friend’s car. Upon the first time I met him, I asked him if he was Jewish (he said no, disappointing) and then out of nowhere, I just erupted in laughter. I like.. rolled around on the kitchen floor in hysterics. He asked me why I was laughing.. I think my explanation was “You’re just so awkward. You remind me of Larry David”


And here, let me introduce my next Feminist anti-hero. Courtesy of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Her husband is cheating scum, she’s loud, obnoxious and holy shit don’t piss her off. She has socially unacceptable emotional outbursts. She doesn’t follow any kind of social construct that dictates how to be maternal. She doesn’t care about what you think of her. She is confrontational. >> Watch << An ex of mine used to compare me to her. I used to compare him to Geoff.

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Back to the friend. I spent a few months in love with him, I’d lie on his bed while he drew (he’s a very skilled artist) & we’d listen to music & discuss music & I felt comfortable talking to him about my spirituality – he asked me if I knew anything about astral travel. I told him that in my childhood I’d had a bestfriend that used to have ‘outer body experiences’ in her sleep… that was before she got diagnosed with “schizophrenia”.


Prior to her diagnosis, I remember a sleep-over at her house. We spent the night watching horror movies. We went to sleep in her living room, on mattresses laid out on the floor, wrapped in duvets. I had my feet out at the end of my duvet for ~temperature regulation~. And I felt something grab my ankle. If I were telling you this story to your face I would grab your ankle with my hand to show you how it felt. My eyes shot open, I sat up, and at the foot of my mattress there was a huge, white, smokey face of a girl with a plait. I lay back down, eyes wide, shook my friend awake and said “Something just grabbed my foot.” She sat up, bleary eyed and looked. She said “Oh, it’s just the ghost girl.” And lay back down. At that point I hadn’t told her what I’d seen, so I knew we shared that experience. (I was so scared of the ghost I kept my eyes closed and asked her to make the ghost go away. She said “You have to ask her to leave.” and I said “I cant, I’m scared”. So my friend asked for me.)

I think that it’s important to state some facts. Firstly, we were little kids when this happened and neither of us had ever, ever been exposed to alcohol/drugs or stimulants that mess with what I’ve been taught to describe as your radio frequency of perception. We SHARED what a psychiatrist might describe as a hallucination. We saw the same thing. Our friendship disintegrated and many years later I found myself knocking on her door – she was so open about what she understood to be mental illness that she comfortably described the things that she saw. I learned she had become a self harmer.
Self harm is a means of releasing built up energy – this is a significant piece of knowledge – try keeping it in, try tensing your whole body, try visualising. Or don’t, whatever.

A teacher would later explain a few things to me: horror films make you feel fear – and fear is an energy that non-physical feeds off. Similarly, if you feel fear you can prevent yourself from being able to see non-physical. You do not have to accept gifts you aren’t ready for.
When you accept that everything is connected: you accept that just because a person is hallucinating, doesn’t mean what they’re hallucinating isn’t REAL.

Funfact: This childhood friend had a HUGE crush on my brother. In a school play, She played Alice. My brother used to call her my “fat friend”.


Back to my friend: I eventually transferred the feelings I had for him to other people, because I accepted that no matter what I did, I was never going to be good enough for him. He triggered in me, an unbelievable sense of unease and insecurity. Perhaps he was transferring his feelings about himself. I like to think so. Basically tho –

This friend and I slept together & he told all our friends. I didn’t mind.
The next day he got a blowjob from his housemate … & he told all our friends. I didn’t mind.
One time I went to visit him at his parent’s home in Kent. His father overheard me on the phone saying to my mother “No, he’s not my boyfriend, we’re just friends.” and got upset because I had apparently indicated I was too good for his son. His son did not stick up for me. This I minded.
Then I went through his phone (I am the kind of person that will look through your phone ok?) and saw he had described me as a “jealous arab”, to a female friend of his – a reference to a passing joke I made about being jealous of his other female friends. This I minded. I let him go.

Well. I distanced myself, but we had moments of closeness in our somewhat more separate lives.

Years later, after all our friends had gone off to do their own thing and triggered both his and my own abandonment issues: he and I left long term relationships at around the same time.

That was around-about the first time I got sectioned. When I left the psychiatric ward, I stayed with him at my flat. We slept together. There was a moment we were lying beside one another, just touching and we felt strangely connected, our physical bodies forgotten. I have to stress that I’m not being poetic. I found nothing poetic about being in his company. It was a totally chill, physical-non-physical experience. I joked that it was “alien sex”. Maybe I wasn’t joking. MOVING ON.

One day, he gave me a rock he had crudely painted on, saying he loved me.
This: I really fucking minded.

Throughout our friendship I had done a lot for him: in some way given and given and given without expecting him to give back – often with no regard for how he upset me. I saw this rock as a poor effort that summed up his capacity to feel towards me.

I left it on my kitchen table and pretended to think nothing of it.

This, to me, was a lesser fragment of my brother’s soul. By lesser I mean… He hadn’t learned enough karmic lessons to be able to engage with me in the way my brother would have. For all the pain this fragment put me through, I learned a lot. Actually that is an energy following how I engage with his soul. Always some new pain to discover.


One time this friend played this song:
>> This song is significant <<
It reminded me of a painting I gave to my brother. A black and red scribble of Alice falling down the rabbit hole. It really frightened my brother. (As far as Alice in Wonderland archetypes go: I am the white rabbit, the cheshire cat, the rude caterpillar and the obnoxious colour Queen.)

∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇∇

War is Peace
Freedom is Slavery
Ignorance is Strength
George Orwell, 1984
…. A Cancerian, surprisingly


Once I helped a wonderful-but-distant friend write a dissertation, it was about The Wizard of Oz. (This friend – who is, fyi, NOTHING like my brother – told me I visited him non-physically when he was on an acid trip: he said I was blue. It reminded me of an illustration my brother did years ago, when he was addicted to taking drugs – a blue woman… with my nose.) Back to this friend – he was a dealer back then, and without argument the most decent, ethical business person you could ever meet. A virgo. He gave the biggest bags of the best weed & always made time to sit and smoke with you. The second or third time I met him he saw me spraying fake tan – and I was mortified. He was chill and said something like “it’s harder to be a person that conforms to society’s beauty standards”.
I call him ABC. ABC was particularly interested in colour theory… And although I can’t remember too clearly, because I was in the midst of what I’d describe as a spiritual awakening – what you might describe as a psychotic breakdown – when I wrote it. Whatever language you use, I was in a very, very different place perceptually. I was much more receptive to the significance of visual than I had, or have presently ever been. He engaged with me during that time – not in a patronising way, not with the intent to pacify me, and I don’t think he went to discuss it with anyone else. I think he really valued the experience even if it’s taken time to make any kind of sense. In strange light-stains I saw his face morph into a cousin of mine. Fragments.

At the time of writing the essay: I somewhat recall feeling that Dorothy’s red shoes signified a form of slavery that led her to her freedom. Shoes that belonged to someone else and yet fit her perfectly. In the movie I saw Dorothy take a journey through various forms of suffering that women have endured. From men and women.

I read somewhere that Dorothy’s dog Toto was a metaphor for Anubis – he judged her as pure of heart and he led her through the underworld. So… ‘her’ dog and ‘her’ shoes: freedom – a combined effort.

Disclaimer: Being pure of heart has fuck all to do with being nice, fuck all to do with whether you’ve done or said shitty things. Karma is a bank that dates back to the dawn of physical. Sometimes you’re nasty and nasty and nasty – and nothing “bad” happens to you for it…. karmically speaking, it turns out that you were just returning a favour from way back when.

Red is the colour of communism. Communism needs to be redefined. To do so would be revolutionary.
Red is the colour of menstruation. Menstruation needs to be redefined. To do so would be frightening.
Red is a colour that triggers a subconscious fear in men. Fear needs to be redefined.

Red is also the colour of the blood in our arteries. So.. red represents inhalation.
Blue is the colour of the blood in our veins. Blue represents exhalation.
The combination is life.

The significance, I think, of Dorothy in heels, is that these shoes are painful to wear. That bitch traverses Oz and doesn’t once complain about how much her feet hurt. That is quiet evidence of a quality people who haven’t ever really suffered overlook with an ease I personally find shameful – strength.

Femininity is a painful ideal, a form of slavery in and of itself. Women can take any form of pain better than any Man. Trust me. And if some monk somewhere has mastered pain control, somewhere along the line of knowledge passing in a ‘Chinese Whisper’ (what the fuck does that even mean?) I promise it was a Woman’s body that taught them how.

Men and Women have been conditioned to adhere to gender-acceptable behaviours and have had all of the varying aspects of their physical and non-physical identities dictated to them. Men and Women have been inclined to fit into moulds and social structures in keeping with what is accepted by those that occupy their environment. Sorry to back-track a little: but Cartman doesn’t give a shit about any of this. He is unapologetically himself. It is the underlying nature of the quality that I admire – not his resulting actions. But also I think it’s important to state that we as individuals are at least four archetypal energies at once. More as we suffer ego death and ego rebirth. You have to experience the energies of a whole tarot deck to be a complete being, and once you’ve done that you go again, and again… and again.

I have a memory of my brother, hearing me shaving my legs… He snitched on me. He was furious about it. He shouted about it to my mother: “Why the fuck should she need to shave her legs?!” … The first – accidental – feminist I ever met was my brother.

Before Dorothy ends up in Oz, she lives in Kansas on a farm with a group of Men who are, I think, somewhat controlling. Perhaps compelled by a need to be useful, they are under some illusion that their opinion is relevant in her daily life. In simple terms they fail to meet her actual needs – something I think Men have been taught is their duty. Their failings are her failings too. Perhaps she was supposed to be their example. She only had to stick up for herself.

Another friend-love-interest-that-also-reminds-me-of-my-dad told me he thought I needed a protector once, he also told me he wasn’t prepared to be that. Somewhere in my past I learned not to stick up for myself. I guess I never explained that somewhere along the line of that thing called ‘growing up’ that I’m not convinced I or anyone I’ve ever met is done doing – I learned that when I stick up for myself.. I really hurt people. Emotionally. Physically. I can cause damage.

Wizard of Oz:
A woman holds her hand out to touch Toto – and Toto bites the woman. In my friends dissertation I wrote that Dorothy’s dog teaches her not to let anyone touch her without permission.

I projected heavily onto Dorothy in Oz & I saw her friends as deceptively portrayed: stripped of their innocent demeanours, they each represented struggles of powerful unisex archetypes that resonated with me. The lion who couldn’t roar, the tinman who had no heart & the scarecrow… who had no brain. (I dated that guy for five years. Trust me – he’s not the one – he doesn’t even need a brain to pursue any of his personal interests)


Soulmates (such as the friends Dorothy meets along her journey) are people who are meant to help you to cultivate qualities that prepare you for your Twinflame – I would suggest Dorothy’s Twinflame was the Wizard – a man who embodied the desired qualities of all of her soulmates combined.


Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about artists: we are essentially sentient sponges that absorb sensory information and claim everything we find pleasing as our own. I’d love to ask Frida Kahlo if you can really be an artist and a communist at the same time.

In one particular secondary school I went to: I’d-love-to-mention-the-name but the current headmistress was my form tutor and I know she’d be LIVID if my nudes popped up in connection to them…
We were taught the Art of Debate: the ability to argue on behalf of multiple sides of a notion. The school enforced a uniform policy – a skirt two inches below the knee, NO make up, NO unlaced doc martens… On the one hand I think it was an important effort in ensuring that young girls aren’t sexualised – this is an important feminist notion. But uh, as one of those girls, I can say we all quite happily sexualised ourselves. This is also an important feminist notion. Enter feminist anti-hero number three, Ja’mie King.

‘On paper’ she’s a lot of marvellous things. She’s a humanitarian. She’s an academic. She’s a dancer. But she has a personality too. She’s your darkest self, your intentions exposed, flaws owned and shamelessly spoken aloud. She’s a drama queen. She’s a control freak. She’s got an eating disorder. She’s a bitch. Maybe if women owned these aspects of themselves, men would be able to too. I don’t want to exist in a nice World, just an honest one.

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Back to me and my school ‘mates’… I guess having rules about how to dress/behave taught us how to break them with style. I think I learned a few things about the Art of Breaking Rules and not getting caught. I’d be a nightmare if I were a member of a secret society or two, or three, huh..

I made a youtube video and in the description I suggested that YouTubers are essentially free babysitters. Sometimes I feel like I was raised by the actors and actresses I grew up watching on repeat. Gotta give it to my sister and my ma, they have good taste in entertainment.

Enter the ultra feminist anti-heroine duo team…

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I posted an Absolutely Fabulous video on my FaceBook (it would take a very special and perceptive person to make any sense of the nonsense I document on my FB and thankfully it seems as though no-one pays any attention to it) and thought that Eddy and Patsy were Saffy’s parents: and of course they’re ‘terrible’ human beings that neglected Saffy… but then, were they such awful parents when you consider how she turned out? They swore, smoked, drank excessively and took drugs in front of Edwina’s daughter.
Saffy’s autonomous, intelligent, intellectual, empathetic, responsible, creative blah, blah.

In part I used it as a space to verbalise how I found it upsetting that YouTubers are forced to act as role-models for their child viewers. A spiritual man once told me that if I wanted a role-model… I should consult a tree. Personally I think trees have better things to do than engage in conversations with people. Also… I actually feel sorry for trees that get molested by tree huggers.

Maybe YouTubers are actually better at raising your kids than you are. (The Universal you, but not the Royal We (I learned that term by watching Whoopi Goldberg at the Oscar’s ceremony on YouTube and I love it) because the Royal We think parents are gene-and-money-donors and that kids actually choose their own ‘parents’.)

All growing up is, is collecting thoughts.
Oh.. and the people that brought ME up were softcore pornstars & photographers. I don’t think they realised that’s what they were doing at the time, though.


 

Celebrities are people who have found some form of expression that resonates with the collective consciousness. They are examples of what people perceive as ultimate-archetypes. People who have achieved what humanity perceives as immortality. I have a few favourites… but my very favourite is Kanye West. My sister noticed that I admire him recently, and I said “It’s not that I’m attracted to him – he’s hot – but that’s not why I like him.” Anyone can be hot. “I like him because he is an artist, everything about him is art. He’s made personality art.” In general I sung (I don’t mean I actually sung, I don’t do singing) his praises, I often do. He is the art teacher I’ve always wanted. (If we were friends I’d be like “ok so can u teach me design for free? thx”

I think people wonder why I admire Kanye West so much. Oh gosh there are so many reasons. I’ll explain the least obvious – when I learned about archetypal energy and fragments… I was inclined to notice minutiae… a small example, being that Kanye shares a middle name with my brother. I know psychologists argue that we look to replicate our familial relationships in people we meet, so there’s nothing extraordinary there. And there are differences in my brother and in Kanye that separate the “fragment” and I’m not speaking superficially – this has nothing to do with ‘physical’.

My older brother has been living in and out of psychiatric wards since he was sixteen. He is now forty seven. (Psychiatric wards and psychiatric medications make zombies of human beings, especially creative ones – but especially spiritually awake ones. They are an evil of humanity. Torture chambers. Possibly the reason for the UK being so spiritually undeveloped. We keep people who access any higher truth as far away from society as we can, where other cultures might know better.)

I thought of my brother as an ultimate gamer and yet he has never been able to play what a friend described as “the game”. He couldn’t fake-normal. People like that can’t escape psychiatric wards.

I think I once wrote about him in the personal statement I wrote up to study film. I have this memory that’s too fucking distant to really describe – but he basically taught me about the importance of suspending disbelief. I think we watched House of Flying Daggers and I suggested it was stupid, people can’t jump from building to building like that. He got angry with me for being so attached to reality that I couldn’t even enjoy a film. He isn’t allowed internet in his psychiatric ward, but if he was I’d love to show him some parkour videos…


When I was a baby, my brother would sit on a beanbag playing games and my mother would sit me on a pillow on his lap. In a broken family your siblings are your parental figures. As I grew older I watched him play games & make music. Eventually he was removed from my reality. I kind of learned to play the games I loved watching him play.

When we were younger and living in Dubai, we were partly raised by an Indian woman called Mala. I assume she must’ve left Bollywood music on the TV and that it was a source of comedy to us… This was a time before political correctness (A necessary phase of social evolution, in an effort to kill racism.)

Omi LOVED music videos but really didn’t enjoy the choreography in Indian music videos. (Took the piss of the choreography) (He was an amazing dancer). One time we called him down early in the morning to watch his “favourite music video”… imagine calling a seldom-home-teenager-who-went-on-two-week-raves-in-super-illegal-quarries-in-Dubai down to watch something they found horrendous, as a prank.
>> I guess it’s this kind of humour. <<

Something in Kanye keeps the hope in me that somewhere my pre-psych-med-zombie brother exists and that he’s making amazing art.
>> This is one of my all time favourites << Like my brothers soul speaking.

kfsvgf

My brother had a lot of really interesting friends. “Druggies” and “Dealers”. (I grew up being the kid that taught her kid-friends these words, that lessened complete individuals into something awful… that made the parents of these kid-friends not want me around their kids. And then: when I learned to keep secrets I grew up the super-innocent-preteen with the Christian mother (Don’t get me started) that you couldn’t play uncensored Eminem songs to…?)
I recall sitting in the car with one of these Druggies, a scruffy black guy. My mother was driving. She is so inquisitive, I’ve always found her nosey but really I’m the same if I find you interesting enough… and she asked him all sorts of questions. She found him fascinating. He was very well educated. Turns out he was African Royalty. Casual. Hard to imagine a person is Royalty when you come from a culture where royalty live in palaces… when there are people in their country, living in poverty. “You are only as strong as your weakest link.” Who authored that quote? It’s so Sun Tzu.

Kanye and my brother have many, many similarities: for example, I used to get pushed around a lot as a kid and I never wanted to take up space. People would walk into me. My brother was a scary teenager that did-not-take-shit. He got away with it. Because he was fucking funny. And he was a genius, so arguing with him and winning was impossible. He could also glance at you in a particular way and make you feel fear. Yet somehow everyone who met him kind of worshipped him.
So.. when people got in my way, I’d say excuse me, and they’d either ignore me or perhaps I’d go unheard. One time he noticed and he angrily said to me “Push them out of the way!” He uh. Did a demonstration.

My brother is an artist. He loved to watch cartoons, game, skateboard, listen to and make music and he was the first person who took my dream-journeys seriously. He had a mozart bust as a child. One time in primary school we made a tape together on a weird synth and I took it to class for show and tell… No one really responded when I played the tape so I assumed they thought it was bad. It might’ve been bad? I thought it was good.
When I see Kanye, I see my brother in another body. A brilliant, rude creative living some many years in the future and way too clever to be understood by just anyone. I’ve never really found anyone as amazing as either of them at-their-best.


I think that Willow Smith and Jaden Smith are Twinflames. If I put them into some kind of narrative I would say that they were enlightened beings that rejected Nirvana, to incarnate one last time, to help a Planet completely void of love. On the condition that they wouldn’t be separate. It’s important to acknowledge that the Greeks have five words for love (more, maybe). When Twinflames find each other – and the World really doesn’t want Twinflames to be together – it’s a magnet thing… MAGICAL SHIT HAPPENS. My brother is not my Twin but he is a soulmate that has taught me a lot of lessons I needed to learn in order to be myself. You can only FIND your Twin when you are your true self, you can only ATTRACT your Twin when you’re comfortable without them. The one exists. Really. Also… I found mine and I don’t actually give a fuck.


I listened to an Alan Watts youtube video, where he discusses that “incest” is the last taboo. I think Willow and Jaden would be doing a great disservice to the World by engaging in that. But what if they were inspired to reconstruct relationship dynamics? Future-Willow could get away with having a fuckboy harem!

I’m really glad I don’t know their parents because I imagine they’d glare at me. I’d be like “I’M ONLY SPEAKING MY TRUTH”, >> play this song <<, beg Mrs Pinkett-Smith to let me sleep in one of their spare rooms & tell me bedtime stories… FOREVER


Funfact: I had a maths teacher in one school who kept forgetting my name. With frequency, when I would disrupt his classes, he would scream “DOROTHY!!!!!” *insert angry emoji*

B R O N Z E | A T O M I C N U M B E R 29 / 2 + 9 = 1 1

אל What is an Angel? אל

I understand Angels as beings – Gods attached to Gods, who have realised their purpose but not yet acknowledged the extent of their own personal divinity. Gods who have yet to master their own personal magic, but are a conduit of their teacher(s). I don’t mean to imply any kind of hierarchy – just stages of personal development. It’s a process of learning to acknowledge true intention, acquiring a true understanding of suffering and helping others through their own and then acting upon it. Even if it means leading by example, or standing by others as they suffer. Even if it means simply being an example of strength. Even if it means telling the truth when no one else will.

I suppose that most importantly: I see Angels as beings that need to be loved by others. Beings that need to be rewarded. I see Gods as beings that are a source of love unto themselves. Beings that need no reward.

Early on in my spiritual development, I visited a church in Canterbury & what struck me was the use of sacred geometry in the architecture. I don’t speak that language, personally. I learned that triangles with the point facing North represent divine male energy and triangles with the point facing South represent female energy, then I began to vaguely understand that we are surrounded by “sacred geometry”, then I saw the roof of Canterbury Cathedral, then I meditated asking to understand Soulmates & Energy. I was shown a square pyramid sitting on top of a mirror, and beneath it another square pyramid. The pyramids were each orbited by a sphere, one light and one dark.
I’m still trying to understand what that means.

I try to stay true to what is revealed to me, because that reflects my own journey. Yours might differ – I guess it depends on what languages come naturally to you.

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The only thing that really matters now is whether man can climb up to a higher moral level, to a higher plane of consciousness, in order to be equal to the superhuman powers which the fallen angels have played into his hands. ~Carl Jung, Answer to Job, Para 746.
>> Taken from here <<

GOLD / AU / ATOMIC NUMBER 79 / (7+9=16) & 1+6=7

What is a God?

A source of energy. A “self sufficient eco-system”, a teacher told me once. I think, also, a being who has transcended their lights/shadows through integrating them. A being whose existence signifies immortality.

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If you were wondering what Gods eat… A box of chocolates might do. I read somewhere that desserts were a luxury because they’re the only food type you eat purely for pleasures sake.

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“The Maison Charbonnel is one of the oldest ministrants to the taste for sweets, and upon their counters will be found the latest dainties from Paris…” – O. Wilde

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A prevailing theme in literature is that most Gods have many, many names – to suit different aspects of their nature & the various forms they take. It doesn’t matter which name you use and whether they occupy a body that can be perceived by the five senses or not. The energy is the same. Energy is constantly transferring forms.

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Not even atheists can refute energy: or archetypes.

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Edited 22 November: While smoking a cigarette in my mother’s kitchen I thought: one exists either in the Matrix or the Vortex. (A word I learned from Abraham Hicks)

A moment to reference the Matrix film: No one can tell you if you’re a God or not, you just know it. >> WATCH THIS INTERVIEW WITH KANYE WEST <<
Truth spoken on many, many, many levels

Our next instalment: What is an angel?

NAIL ART BY MITKANAILS | FIRST PHOTO TAKEN BY MY MOTHER WHO ALSO SPENT ABOUT HALF AN HOUR CRITIQUING THE LACK OF TECHNIQUE IN HOW I EXPRESS WITH MY HANDS AND I HAD TO LISTEN BECAUSE SHE WAS A CLASSICALLY TRAINED BALLERINA| CHOX BY CHARBONNEL ET WALKER |

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BOOM FOR REAL. As I posted this on Instagram, there was an eruption of fireworks and a car alarm went off.

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All hail the scribble God who inspired Scribble Scribble Zine.

Click Here for Event Info

If you’re local to London between now and 28th of Jan, go. Then go again.
If you’re not local to London hop on a boat and float over, or something.


Edited on 10th December to add:

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If Basquiat had a twitter I would say in response – the facts might exist without you but you give them life.

Rainbow, rainbow. Inspiration? Co-creation?

Afew weeks ago I wrote about a job application I really exhausted myself putting together, by tailoring a twenty one page book of art concepts and illustrations. Inspired by their brand ambition to empower women, I felt excited at the prospect of working for a company that shared my personal values.

I was not right for the position, a decision I accepted. However, upon perusing their editorials a month later, I came across something that didn’t sit right with me. This is what I saw – beautiful work unlike anything else in their editorial gallery. I’d love to credit the team that put this image together but that’s not possible, and I’ll get to that in a sec.
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Here’s a close-up.
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Here’s a section of a page I included in the book. I thought it was kinda cute.

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This is the final page.

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As a detail oriented person.. I’m not convinced that my work didn’t have a part in influencing the editorial.

Of course I could be mistaken: that is to say: after a period of anger, I’ve accepted the potential for the similarities to be pure coincidence. There is nothing like that editorial anywhere else on their site.

I’d like to discuss some of the personal symbolism that featured in my own work.

Colours inspire feelings in me, light affects my mood, profoundly. It’s a purely subjective experience I discussed with a GP years ago – who told me I have synesthesia. Years before that conversation I had a sort-of-colour-blind friend who saw letters and numbers in all sorts of strange colours – and thats what I thought synesthesia was. Well, last year I learned that it actually takes many forms.
On my second day in Denmark, when I was staying as a guest in a mansion occupied by a fantastic collective, with whom a friend was staying – I met someone who told me that everyone has a form of synesthesia. Then we went outside and saw a huge rainbow. That little synchronistic moment was a huge source of inspiration for me – I had been feeling that life had lost it’s colour. I used to want nothing more than to be a creator.

Last year I began an MA degree, to try and explore creating packaging, something I’ve been interested in a long time. (I’m a visual person – I take packaging really seriously. Right down to barcode placement.) That decision didn’t go well for me – because I find working in a team challenging. I didn’t like people taking ownership of concepts I believed to be my own. But I reached a breakthrough that I’ll discuss in a moment. Basically, a negative experience with my MA made me give up.

>> Then at a Halloween party I was introduced to a woman who exuded magic and creativity. She let me glimpse her personal world through beautiful, unrivalled illustrations. <<
She made me excited about art again. In every sense. I told her I think she’s an angel. I once had a necklace made for someone who has a similar energy to her, and it had “angel mother” engraved on it. ❤ I just found out they share a middle name, too.

Here was my personal breakthrough. I often speak about Abraham Hicks online, who I consider to be a teacher of mine – though we’ve never met.
Today when I woke up I put one of her videos on YouTube. She says that ultimately ‘ideas’ aren’t yours – they belong to source. I think if I want to develop as an artist it’s important to credit my sources of inspiration.

So I will accept the entire thing as a wonderful mass-co-creation, from my end, certainly, involving people that probably don’t even know I exist. I might’ve deserved some credit for contributing to that editorial – but then I realised that this company doesn’t even appear to credit their own, fantastic resident artists… Not really a company I want to work for I guess. I’m glad I didn’t get that job because if I had worked on a piece of art for a company that didn’t even put my name to it, I’d be really upset.

Dear NakedCPH, in the event that you read this: my advice, coming from a place of love, is that in business… empowerment begins with the people that work for you.

—-
Basically, there’s this clip I shared on FaceBook advertising a film making course, where Werner Herzog talks about film makers, but I think perhaps he’s talking about all creators really – he says “we are thieves”. Here’s the first breakthrough: I agree.

Here’s the second. One time a spiritual teacher was trying to teach me about “soul fragments” – she didn’t use those words, and she was very ambiguous in her explanation. But now I understand: she showed me a piece of art and said “I made that.” But.. I knew she didn’t physically create it. I just realised now: her soul/archetypal energy made it.

Here’s the third breakthrough: amongst the saddest stories throughout history are those belonging to teachers and muses of artist thieves.

Edited on 20 November to add this – the image was taken from Chris Riddel’s twitter

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O C T O B E R F A V O U R I T E S & A R T I N M I N U T I A E // I D U B B B Z R E D

Preface: I know I said I’d learn the names of all the colours, but fuck that, I’ll like, name them myself. ~~~

Thursday 3rd November

Today, when I woke up I found an invitation on the >> House of Hackney << Instagram asking people to attend a spiritually motivated talk on The Alchemy of Space. I’m quite interested to attend “Alchemical Snake Charming” on 16th November. If you are genuinely interested in interior design, alchemy or charming snakes.. you should come along!

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The background of this invitation is from their new Serpentis line, which I think I shall be using to line the inside of my open wardrobe with. Some fantastic, figurative Ragnar-Lothbroke-esque pit of snakes to guard my garments and shoes.

We’re having work done to the house… Teenage me is delighted to know that she’s finally getting her dream bedroom. If you’re curious as to the vibe I’m looking to manifest for mine and my little dog friend’s bedroom, it’s on Pinterest.

(Here’s an anecdote I find amusing: When I was a lot younger and I had my first chance to decorate a bedroom, I went with my mother and sister to purchase wallpaper. I wanted a navy blue damask. I was ten? And um. My sister and my mother didn’t like my choice, so they picked a blue snakeprint wallpaper with a border of pink rabbits. Then my mother got me dinosaur doorknobs for my wardrobe. And blue and white plaid lampshades. Like, I felt really petty recently and brought this up to both of them. hahahas,dfdfg. They both insist kids are supposed to have kid-bedrooms but what if your kid is a really, really, really old soul that takes themselves extremely seriously!?!!?!!)

Friday 3rd November

There’s also an event about the Art of Manifesting using symbolic objects – that sounds fun! Right up my street. I learned a few years ago to recognise the energies in my life by noticing the recurring symbols and colours that people I meet adopt. I mean.. When you experience enough life, you stop engaging with people as individuals and instead realise the energy they are.. but you need physical information in order to do that. The sound of the vibration in a syllable or two of their name, a colour combination, some detail in their clothing… whatever minutiae speaks to you.

>>Here’s a song.<< Maybe it’ll speak to someone that understands what I’m saying. Maybe not. I am Mclovin’.

I find that with most exercises in creating, you have to gather the basic data/tools and exist intimately with them – not necessarily engage – but keep them around. Kind of like an artist that scatters pieces of inspiration about their studio. For example… have you ever bought a book that you intended to read, and eventually you created an entire pile of unread-but-loved-all-the-same books that created a narrative of their own simply by sitting atop one another?

Once I sat with a girl, a glass blower… who moved into a flat I rented with a boyfriend in Surrey… I later realised her to be a manifestation of some younger energy of my own mother – a woman who adores glass (a form of sand, which I spent six years of my life surrounded by when I lived in Dubai – I’m from the desert, baby!) … who lost her greatest love, a little dog called Jojo when we left Dubai to move to London.
With that housemate’s permission, I looked through old, kinda boring drawings in one of her work sketchbooks. Drawings that might not have seemed to carry any kind of deeper meaning. She had, I think, drawn some orange coral? possibly I’m mistaken, and the steeple of the beautifully structured local church. I pointed out to her that if she were to look outside her bedroom window, the church was right there in the angle she had sketched it from. And then I pointed out that her orange drawing was exactly like her little keyring. I don’t speak much, I mostly avoid it, but I observe everything. Even if I pretend not to.

When you study film you learn that there is no such thing as an insignificant detail: everything captured in the frame carries significance. I only really ever cared about the meanings of colours, and of the few lectures I attended in the years I spent at uni, my most memorable was one in which a lecturer I regarded as a surrogate parent (An admission I made to him, that was wildly taken out of context at the time… to people who sadly live such a base existence that they associate and demean such relationships by associating them with sex. I am personally repulsed by girls calling men/boys they’re sexually attracted to “Daddy” – but thats not related.) – one time he showed us a cowboy film, and he compared each shot to a Renaissance painting. I got to ask “What is the significance of red and blue?” I think he told me that those were very valuable colours used in paintings (religious iconography I think?) in the past, that were funded by the church. I considered him a spiritual teacher more than anything and I never had the chance to communicate that to him. I’m sure he worked it out. I still remember him asking me if I had ever heard of the Queen of Heaven, which I associate now with divine feminine energy. He was a total angry-feminist and he often encouraged me to live my dream of shooting feminist-erotica. I don’t think he realised how long it took for people to actually understand the things he was trying to say. One time I sat with him and he was completely exasperated, because he couldn’t understand what teaching methods to adopt for my generation. I pointed out to him that the people he had accepted onto his course were all really damaged in some way or another and that it was possible he was teaching them something more than the Art of Film. I had a soulmate in my class, one of the hardest working students on the course, and whenever he presented work our lecturers gave him the harshest critique – I told him I suspected it was because when you identify potential in somebody, you feel a strange liberty/are compelled to put more pressure on them to create something better. That said – I don’t think people realise that kids at University are actually still kids. I think adulthood starts at 35, for healthy people. Later, for fuck ups.

Another significant lecture I recall, that also carries relevance: is that on one occasion we had a class on creating/writing characters. This was with another lecturer.

Oh wow, my memory is fuzzy.

Give me a moment to recollect. OK – basically our lecturer brought up the film Taxi Driver – and as coincidence would have it I had watched it pretty recently with my then ex-boyfriend… who might’ve projected himself onto Travis. Probably because he was the male protagonist of the story, and men in my life have a habit of thinking they’re some kind of universal epicentre. I know, because I have the same habit. It’s a healthy habit. It may well be his only healthy habit… Also I think at the time I was amused because although he didn’t have any resemblance to Travis characteristically or otherwise… He had a gorgeous friend who did.
Anyway. So. This day, I had the flu – but I still went to class. Pretty unusual. I’ve never been the sort to need much of a reason not to go to school. But this day I went in.

Our lecturer asked us – Why did Betsy lose interest in Travis? And… I raise my hand with utmost confidence. He invites me to answer. I say “Because she was just like everyone else” – those were Travis’ words. The lecturer says “No. Because he took her to an adult movie on their first date.”

Dude, we were both right. But I looked pretty stupid that day to a bunch of people – lecturer included. That probably made me not want to go to class anymore for awhile. But what is interesting upon reflection of that experience was the differences in the details we were inclined to notice. My lecturer argued Travis did something wrong by inviting her to an adult movie. Would it not have been disingenuous for him to have done anything else?
I don’t think you can do anything wrong by being yourself. You need to live your truth to grow.

I’d love to watch an adult film at a cinema on a first date.

TAXIDENIRO

In the small details of the things you accumulate: books, decorative objects, clothing, technology etc, you will find that you are manifesting a much deeper narrative that presents itself in your life. The tiny, seemingly insignificant details; such as the characteristics you observe – and when you observe something, you anthropomorphise it – in inanimate objects: have the potential to present themselves in your personal narrative. Your subconscious pays attention to everything. I actually kind of wince thinking about how many telephones I’ve had stolen. Telephones, friends, lovers, etc. This month I’ve been carrying out an exercise in fresh manifestation. New objects of significance. Nabakov articulated it much better than I ever could. Here is a page from >>a journal<< I’m pretty proud of, that I made for a presentation module I did during my degree.

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Segue of sorts: I had such bad period cramps on the day I presented this project, that I was lying on the floor in agony clutching my belly – a rumour circulated that I had come into class fucked on ketamine. I’d love to read a book the people I went to University had written about me, about all their assumptions, all the lies they heard from jealous girls etc… In fact, low and behold I manifested an opportunity to act out a bunch of rumours about me.

This is a face I make when I am slightly irritated and/or, mostly: flirting.

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I used to get upset about this photo >>>>
But here are the facts: it was taken inside of the ensuite bathroom in a hotel room belonging to a gorgeous Al Saud princess/The hottest woman I’ve ever seen (She was also a psychology masters student/fashion designer… I used to have her on Instagram before I deleted it. I think she remains my biggest account-deleting-regret) … I was in love with her! Like, actually in love. I am super straight but she was sexuality-questioning-magnetism. That is her Chanel lipstick. That powder on her countertop was crushed from her paracetamol.

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I think people confuse classiness for wealth. (I’m being ironic but also not. Could you pull this stupidity off? If so – write me – lets be friends) (Ps I credit Rowan Atkinson circa the Elizabethan episodes of Blackadder, for teaching me this smile. Fuck you! Love you.)
I think people also think that having good taste means you’re rich. Well I definitely have good taste. Kanye West says the greatest luxury is time. I have plenty of that – so I guess I’m rich AF. I only got over how bad that photo is pretty recently. I rang up the Vice Headquarters and asked them to take it down once. They offered to reshoot the photos. Why bother. Why not just write another epic article that discreetly makes light of the war on drugs? Some part of me wonders how many people developed addictions after seeing this ridiculous photograph.

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Anyway. Onto the Art of Manifestation. I spent my monthly income on objects intended to attract experiences in my life. I can’t wait to see what comes out of it all! (Psst.. if all you’re seeing is an ordinary object, you’re not seeing right)

(There are more! but I was in a rush to get this blog posted… And I wanted to make pretty animations of everything… so you’ll have to keep refreshing to see the rest of last months haul, I’m afraid)

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Lucite heels so cheap and so0o0o astonishingly poorly crafted that I’ve got to paint them to justify the whole.. funding slave labour.. thing. I’ve made a habit of seeing beauty in imperfection… and anyway, perfection triggers my OCD. Don’t need that.

The significance in this little pin featuring a glass of wine, is that, well. Recently I had a chat with a witch/Goddess in an OTO meet up. We had in common a strange childhood experience. I told her that after this experience, I remembered ascending a staircase in my family home, onto a roof top – in Dubai – where a family of cats (that we later brought in) were hiding from the sun in the shadow of a vent or something. But the first thing I noticed was a dead kitten lying in the sun, the blood from it’s nose congealing. I was fascinated by this kitten. I crouched and stared at it. Then I remember seeing myself staring at the kitten from a third person perspective. I jokingly suggested that some part of me thinks I traded spirits with the kitten. We finished our cigarettes and ascended a staircase together and she said “come on, Dead girl, come back upstairs!” That made me think of one of my favourite >> Lil Kim songs <<. I don’t much care for wine, but she poured me two glasses.. and I found it quite symbolic.

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Death chic is my aesthetic. This Idubbbz-red-faux-fur compliments that vibe imo. I also bought this fucking adorable succulent. Back when I was living with aforementioned ex I had this glorious indoor-garden that I was deeply, deeply emotionally attached to. I got hospitalised for a period and came back and all my plants were dead. I cried more about the loss of my plants than I did about my break up. Actually, I did not cry about my break up. But amongst the many laws of manifestation is this: the things you lose come back to you or get replaced with something better suited to you.

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Years ago I bought a hoodie that read ‘Deus Ex Machina’ & at the time I thought it the best manifest-tool I’d ever purchased. It’s been upgraded by a SHEEP hoodie designed by some epic-asshole-idiot-YouTuber called IDubbbz, who recently proved himself to be an accidental??? women’s rights champion by mansplaining Rape Culture to a dude whose dad clearly couldn’t be bothered to.

This is a 100% real photo of me painted by Botticelli, wearing a hoodie designed by >> Idubbbz <<, inspired by >> Dita <<, >> Lil Kim’s entrance in Christina Aguilera’s Can’t Hold us Down video << (the bit where she throws her cape off fyi, SO INSPIRING + I LOVE David Lachapelle), tentacle hentai (because I also love tentacle hentai) & real life

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Design clothes >> @IDubbbz << cos you’re really talented.

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L E A R N I N G N A M E S F O R A L L T H E C O L O U R S B R B

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This is a messy animation of my inspiration fairies waiting on me to get things done.

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Actually if I had inspiration fairies, they’d probably be male. And they wouldn’t be fairies, they’d be magnificent angels. Maybe. But I’ve never really been inclined to draw boys & I’m not about to start now. (It’s for the best, I’d probably spend all my time illustrating yaoi.)

Oh! Speaking of inspiration, have you seen my >> I Love List? <<
I update it once a month with beautiful/meaningful objects that I consider to be art. This one is my favourite so far.

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I’m quietly berating myself because I haven’t blogged for a month. I had a brief burst of creativity & productivity that I used to compile an elaborate job application, then I exhausted myself/collapsed into an introvert-hibernation-ultra-feelings-mode & needed a break.

I’m feeling myself again & I have a zine to finish and some stationery to print… October’s gonna be a great month.

M U S T A R D, I V O R Y, S K Y B L U E, R E D & B L A C K

Today I’m really feeling Michael Vollbracht and Gustav Klimt. Two contrasting interpretations of the female form. The Klimt is titled “Allegory of Sculpture”

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Then I started looking around me for inspiration and the colours of the day seem to be blue and white.

Starting with the walls of the box room my parents are turning into an office for me (currently though, my “bedroom”) and this strange little mirror my sister picked up from a charity shoppe a few years ago. Then, my work uniform. (I stole a shirt from my dad’s wardrobe, because most of my clothes are still sitting in suitcases in my mother’s entrance. Terrible, I know.)

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Then I went out to run some errands (sat in the car daydreaming while my dad ran some errands) and saw this…

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While my mother was looking through my Fashion Illustration coffee table book she observed one piece featuring a woman holding an apple – she said “This is Eve holding an apple, and of course the apple is fashion” Loved it.

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I *love* overlapping tracing paper with scribbles on to find new shapes…

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I asked my sister what her dream dress was, and she said “A-line babydoll” – “WITH RUFFLES!” Thanks sis! Abraham Hicks says that in order to create, you have to start with things that don’t matter. It’s been a long time since I studied how to draw fabric, so I watched this video on how to draw ruffles.

The pose is Klimt. The mood is Vollbracht.

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Even if you have the skills to draw like a master you will never be one. But no one can replicate a scribble.

SUNDAY 3RD SEPTEMBER

“It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.”
Pablo Picasso – a scorpio, duh.

So begins part II of this entry. And what scribble journey begins without Picasso energy? I did this thinking of Picasso, with a Klimt coffee table in front of me, hence the gold I guess. I think it is really important to feel comfortable making mistakes – in college I got told off because I would throw my work away when it didn’t look the way I wanted it to. I threw piles of sheets/entire sketchbooks in the bin. Learn to find something that you like in everything you do – in this, I liked the textures. Playing with the vibe I got from overlapped tracing paper I kinda messed around with it on Photoshop. Fun.

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Today I was feeling Rodarte and Yoshitaka Amano. I need to work on style. I love how Rodarte draws legs, I love the atmosphere of and movement in Amano’s lines.

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This was my first attempt. I love the skyblue/black combination.

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My favourite scribbles though – and I actually advise this – occurred when I was listening to music in the car. I’ve never scribbled in a moving car before because I’m usually off in dreamland but tonight some distant thought urged me to bring my sketchbook along for the ride.

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B A B Y P I N K

Different people have different methods of getting things done, and I think the majority of successful people are the sort that focus their attention onto a single project at a time. At one point I felt an inability to be consistent with any single idea I had, so I would often start things that would never see completion. Or I’d just not-do-anything. I am the kind of person that simply cannot find any satisfaction in focusing my attention onto a single project at a time. I am too easily inspired, too happily occupied by a vast emotional spectrum that dominates how I spend my time and how I express myself. I need a project per mood, I also need enough self acceptance to do nothing-at-all. The One-Thing-At-A-Time method DOES NOT work for me. I like to have many little projects going at once, and I work on whatever invites the least resistance in me. Kind of like a bee hopping from flower to flower. It might take a lot longer to get a result – but if I limited myself to a single thing: I would never get anything done. Nothing about me is one-tracked. I have a lot going on internally.

I think I wrote this incase someone like-minded wanted some validation for their internal conflict. Like – maybe you’re inundated with ideas that are fighting over your headspace. Maybe you do yourself a great disservice by only picking one. ANYWAY

Firstly: >> I recently blogged about a zine I intend to self publish << and my >> call for submissions << is ending in 2ish days. I’m about twenty five or so pages into putting it together and I’m very happy. I don’t have the desired 77 pages… but there’s still time. If you would like to be published in a glossy indie zine maybe you should >> check it out. <<

Secondly: This is an early-stage mock-up of another project that I am quite excited about. I’ve been on/off doing this for years. I guess I just really wanted to finally share. I am in a sharing mood, which is kinda unusual for me – in school I was the kind of person to keep my work hidden from everyone else. At my BA degree show I exhibited my work under ‘Anonymous’.

I’ll show you but I’ll keep it relatively ambiguous. It looks nothing like the new version I’ve been gradually working on for the last few months.

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