PINK

C A R N A T I O N S

Once I asked Lisa about Marie Antoinette. I was reading her autobiography, loaned to me by my landlady, a hilarious, wise Irish gypsy woman called Bernie – who had lived the most colourful life and was quite excellent at Tarot. When I asked about Marie Antoinette – Lisa simply looked at me and said that what Marie Antoinette did was “not good.” When I was really depressed, I watched a show called “Rose of Versailles”, an anime about a girl-called-Oscar-who-dressed-like-a-boy who protected Marie Antoinette. I’ve always been taken by extravagant characters from the past, who had the power to influence entire nations for generations.

I love strong women. #feminism

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I love Anne Boleyn too. My favourite of Henry’s wives – a total strategist.

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Henry 8th thought it was all for him. Hilarious.

{Edited to add – 30th March 2018}
Check out this article!

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Although she was never a Queen, I adored, more than any of these women, Emma Hart. Lady Nelson. She was a great friend of Marie Antoinette’s. I read two books about her, I picked one up in a charity shop in Somerset. She had a really tumultuous life – massively influenced art – had kids taken away from her. All sorts of shit that women have had to go through. She wasn’t murdered but I imagine she must’ve felt like she died a million times. She created a dance form called The Attitudes where she channelled mythological archetypes and great figures from the past, like Cleopatra. I found a silhouette bust of her when I lived in Farnham, in a charity shoppe. I hung it beside the front door, in the hallway leading to my flat – 7A West Street.

Emma Hart as Circe c.1782 by George Romney 1734-1802

Never a Queen – or is that a lie? I think so

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I’m doing a lot of research about the things I became frightened about when I wasn’t feeling well – trying to make sense of it all, ultimately – come to terms with it all. It’s part of my healing process, trying to be at peace with that scary part of my life. That awful alternate “reality” that became me.

It’s important, I think, that through Art we can come to terms with every level of our experiences – including the ‘unusual’ or ‘bizarre’.

When I was in my first year of University I did acid. When my mother found out she took me to a GP to discuss it – and I very frankly told him that I took it because I was inspired by Lewis Carrol – who wrote Alice in Wonderland.
I wanted to write something like that – something completely strange and “inspired” by some ether. Although it came many years later, I fell down a “rabbit hole” of my own and I feel like if I really wanted to write a surreal story, that’s the best I’ve got. And I feel like it’s important to walk myself through that part of my past to make peace with it.

A lot of people I was inclined to admire when I was having a hard time, were seemingly built up to be sacrificed.
There’s an episode of the Simpsons where they mock the story “The Lottery”.  That’s a pretty extreme way of looking at what I went through, but I guess  that’s justified by a few aspects of myself – my truer character – which I am becoming reacquainted with. Firstly – I am dramatic – I have a very – not extreme – but definitely particular way of observing myself. In any case – when I was being bullied – that was the truth that I was personally living.
So right now it’s important to write about everything I went through. I’ve got a “Story writing” thinking cap on – because I think it’s an important step in coming to terms with my struggles and trauma.
Putting together childhood dreams – not for money or anything like that – but so that I can finally “let it go”, y’know?

It’s like – I’m stuck in these repetitive behaviours of self sabotage. I loved subjects like History, and it’s ironic that I can be so taken with looking to great figures of the past and even the not so distant past.
I’ve heard that one of the reasons people are drawn to study history is that they’re taught “oh: it’s so we don’t repeat the same mistakes! It’s almost as though people don’t act consciously, as though they are programmed.”

Of course the things you observe in others are the quiet observations you’re not ready to make about yourself.


 

In November, last year, I observed a spider sitting in a huge web she had built beside my mother’s front door, and thought-asked “don’t you get bored?” and she “said” “I meditate.”

Ofcourse that sounds a little silly – I didn’t hear a voice, in my graphic-novel-writing-mode, I thought a question and I thought the answer. My mother, who has influenced me greatly, grew up engaging with Performing Arts and Theatre. When you’re in that creative place you really, I think, have to develop that “empathy” quality – not only observe something, but really think about what they’re thinking, about their experience.

When I listen to Wendy Williams – a woman who earns a living by gossiping and also occasionally offering non-factual information that she sometimes (often accurately) predicts as psychics do – and I am taken back to moments where I sat with Bernie, Lisa, Suzie and her friend Dee and that super fun aspect of black culture, where women get together and discuss things very openly and offer some kind of better way of dealing.
In a meditation Lisa told me that it would be in my best interests to look at women who have treated me badly as young-elephants that don’t know better.

Elephants are matriarchal animals that all have something to contribute to any situation. Baby elephants are raised by the community.
I watched an episode of Wendy some time ago, and Lisa had a solution for a celebrity that was being discussed – and Lisa’s timing was SO perfect it was as though Wendy replied “I disagree” and then Lisa engaged with that by continuing as to why she thought what she did.
That’s something I feel like women of colour have to teach everyone – that parenting is a collaborative, community effort. Individuals exchanging a variety of life-experiences and lessons learned.

Lisa really believed that the best means of me coping with the bullshit I’ve experienced from other girls is to not-exclude them. When an elephant-girl is nasty, she said, imagine an older elephant slapping her with their trunk. Elephants stick together, whether they like each other or not.

I’ve had a lot of advice from mature women who I admire greatly – and some who I don’t admire but who still had a truth for me to reflect on and somehow filter into creating a better capacity for judgement in navigating my life experience.

Does it sound silly I’m even watching day time TV for the first time in my life? Watching women I think to be wise, in an effort to better deliberate what I should focus my efforts towards – what I should be doing with my life.

A spiritual teacher told me not to have role models, but actually I believe it’s important to have role models. But also it’s important to be able to properly judge who makes a good role model. No one has all the information. When I am focusing on writing, I focus on writers. When I am focusing on art, I focus on artists. I find a quality I respect and I try to “embody” that as I work. I guess that’s not seeking a “role model” as such, but it is a means of guidance. Thats what is so great about the internet, actually. That ease of access to the greatest minds that exist, and have existed throughout our past.

Oprah – “inspired me” to start a spiritual YouTube channel. She said she had wanted to start a spiritual TV channel and I took that as career advice… If it’s an ambition worthy of Oprah, it’s certainly something worth aiming for.
Oprah strikes me as a very honest (as honest as show business allows you to be), very strong woman with a capacity for enquiry, asking important questions – (how can you learn anything unless you learn how to verbalise what it is you want to know?) and a woman who has amassed a great success through working hard.

When I was a child I used to dream about writing stories for children. I guess to an extent I’m doing that with my current project – I’m authoring a script, making a little film and animating. Collectively and very gradually putting together work worthy of a portfolio and an attempt to define my creative identity.


Speaking of strong women… (I’m going through memories and personal inspirations… feel free to close my blog because I’m sure I’m the only person who would find this even remotely interesting.)

When I visited my Grandmother in Paraguay, she sat with me at a table full of food.. and told me to serve myself. I did! I won’t go into embarrassing details, but basically she was quite shocked at my table manners and by how much food I had put on my plate and basically told me that when you eat in public you should serve yourself tiny portions – and always leave some food for others on the serving plate –  It was so much more painful than this

A year or so after that stay at my grandmother’s – I went to a secondary school where I was taught that you should serve others before you serve yourself. Imagine how much fun that was… in a school full of girls that I loathed entirely.

After THAT I lived with Lisa, who would prepare food for everyone – and eat last. And she said matter of factly “That is what mothers do.” She told me that men like women who clean and tidy, and who can cook. I told ONE girl this at University – a girl with a mouth bigger than mine – and ALL the girls suddenly became OCD Michelin chefs. Ha. (I’m working on manifesting a life in which I have a mansion full of beautiful, overpaid OCD maids in designer French maids outfits.)

Going back to Princess Diaries for a moment..

There’s a scene where Mia walks into her Grandmother’s house and accidentally breaks stuff. When I visited my Grandmother’s home, I wanted to play with toys (for some reason I thought that 10 was too old to be playing with toys) and I hadn’t brought any. I was pretty good at improvising… my Grandma had a little hand-carved wooden sculpture collection of the Christmas “nativity”… Mary, Joseph, the three wise men and a little baby Jesus. I played with that and broke one of the figures. I think it was one of the “wise men”. I was mortified and put it all away without telling her what I had done. Actually, it still makes me feel a bit uncomfortable to think about. I can’t find the scene where she breaks one of Grandma’s decorative heirlooms but yeah, so funny.

Also this scene is funny, because my grandmother took me to a plastic surgeon to get my ears pierced. Such a psycho. Amazing. So sly. I got my ears pierced three times per ear and had platinum earrings put in. The surgeon’s name was Pancho, not Paolo. That was when I learned that I needed to get my lips done. I love silly coincidences.

And he didn’t do my hair.. Grandma took me to the mall and I spent three hours sitting in a chair having it cornrowed. Poor grandma. I must’ve looked a fright!

It’s so weird, after years of smoking weed and doing all sorts of drugs (irresponsibly might I add!) I recall that my Grandma (mother’s mother!) had a spare room but she insisted I slept in her bedroom, on her lovely bed, opposite her widescreen TV. She would insist on sleeping on the floor so she wouldn’t be woken up by the light from the TV and remove her hearing aid. It was so much fun being allowed to stay up til so early in the morning because my mother would never, ever have permitted that. Ha.
At night I would watch Card Captor Sakura …by some fantastic coincidence… this anime would air in English, and Sakura wore her brown hair in little buns on her head – just like Chun Li. Paraguay is a Spanish speaking country! I still don’t know why they were playing a children’s cartoon in English, in a Spanish speaking country, at like 3 am. I guess they couldn’t afford to have it dubbed in Spanish or something…

How hilarious is this scene!?!?!?! HOW ANIME IS HER UNIFORM!?


Although it’s what I want – it’s unlikely I’ll get work as an artist – unless I’m specifically looking to learn something I can’t learn on my own.

I think the issue with applying for work nowadays is that most of the kinds of places I’d like to apply to work at would be the kind of places that might want to see a person’s web presence. And I don’t really have one.
And then there’s “job” interviews and things like that. I’ve always performed for job interviews and jobs – I think when you’re being paid – Service is a performance. Someone has worked extremely hard for their money, and when they are spending it on eating or drinking out – whether they are buying a sandwich in a plastic tub or a club sandwich held together delicately with toothpicks, served on an antique plate – if you’re working in retail or waitressing, its important to be the kind of person that makes a person feel like their money was well spent. So, for me, jobs in service are tiring.

I’m an introvert. The most basic interaction makes me tired. Working to take care of other people is a huge responsibility on any level – and it’s an exchange of energy… and if you’re an introvert, it means that you lose energy upon interaction – and you acquire energy by spending time alone. It’s a scientifically proven fact of life… There are pros and cons to being introverted and pros and cons to being extroverted. In any case, if you are an introvert – I personally believe that you should be paid a lot more. Just for me – I look back and I know how much I was inclined to give – waitressing was never taking orders and serving food and cleaning tables – it was engaging with customers and creating connections, and really trying to make them feel special. Those interactions were a reward to me, but also, while thinking about what I wanted to write for this post, I recalled an experience when – on one Sunday I was Front of House, working at a quaint two floor cafe in Farnham. It was almost full, on this occasion – the cafe – and I was hurriedly running up and down serving too-many people for one person. Of course it was so much fun, and fantastic that the cafe was so full – but I was really pressed – trying to make everyone happy.
I remember one woman had asked for skimmed milk, an obnoxious woman – well, I thought as much when I was so pressured – she complained that I hadn’t brought up the milk she had asked for. When they were paying, she complained to my boss Elsa (Anna and Elsa, ha) that I hadn’t brought the milk. I was so so stressed out and I said “you could’ve come down to ask if it was so important” and she said something (not memorable but to the effect of demanding that I should’ve remembered – because she was SO self absorbed she couldn’t see that I hadn’t stopped moving, the cafe was FULL) and I said she was lazy. Close to tears. My boss tried to diffuse the situation by removing the milk they hadn’t been served from the bill. I remember the ending of all that differently – but essentially I came out of that looking bad – not the customer.
I know the customer is “always right”, I know that, little kids playing pretend running shops will know that – it’s one of those sayings. But I do think that it’s concerning that there is a kind of person that lacks the capacity to notice their surroundings to a minimal extent, to observe a person who is trying to keep a lot of very demanding people happy. I love jobs in service, I am not above them at all – but when working in an overstimulating environment makes me unhealthy – because of how much of myself I give – and being exposed to rude people I can’t politely excuse myself from – who lack any sort of basic empathy triggers me. Like I haven’t learned how to maintain a neutrality in those situations. It is my nature to put so much – too much – effort into trying to create a fantastic energy and experience for other people. (The experience is altogether quite different if I consider you family.)
Everyone in the cafe was chatty, laughing, smiling. And over a little jug of milk this woman could’ve easily descended the stairs to fetch herself, she ruined the atmosphere of an entire shop floor. You think that when you walk into a lovely, vibrant establishment that the energy is brought in by a customer – but it isn’t.
That’s an illusion. Energy is something that a host gives out. I ended up losing a job in a cafe that almost felt like it had been opened for me. I think I wrote about it before. The last time I ever saw my boss she cried because I was leaving. I said “Why are you crying?” and she said “because I love you.”

She was the first person who had ever been sad that I was leaving.

Some time after that Frozen came out… Anna Karina and Elsa-bee (Her name was Elsabee!) by Disney. Ha. Life is so weird.

When I was applying to various Universities – one of the courses I wanted to do was Photography. I recall sitting with a form tutor at my college, and she was looking through my personal statement and I think she enjoyed that I said I didn’t want to create photographs that depicted reality – inspired by a chat with my brother about suspending disbelief – I think I wrote about somewhere in this blog.


This is a character from Legend of Korra – called Zaheer. To me, he’s my big brother (who even also had a slit in his eyebrow at one point) …

This is Zaheer’s partner… I dressed up as her once, for a Halloween party.

I always joke that my big brother is dark Goku, ha.


OMG my mother & a lovely lady she hires to help her keep the house clean (she’s slightly less “able” than most people but my meditation makes me truly believe she will get better some day) emptied out the book shelf in my office – of her/my/my sister’s books, to be redecorated. THIS BOOK FROM MY PAST CAME INTO MY POSSESSION.

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Check out how I ruined the inside of my little period costume book.

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Back to my point – I’m commissioning DaniPandi again – for something very special. So I’m illustrating designs for that. I’m listening to these fabulous and creative personalities.

I know these are crude illustrations. (Scribbles!) But I love them. The design is called “Marie Antoinette Carnation and Lambsfeet Teacup”. Everything begins as an idea. The handle is inspired by Marie Antoinette’s initials. I don’t know if Marie Antoinette ever drank Jasmine tea, I saw her drinking it when she was portrayed by Kirsten Dunst in Sofia Coppola’s beautiful rendition and it’s also a little homage to the plant sitting in my mother’s garden – “the Syrian girl”. The Pearl is a reference to Queen Kleopatra VII. I wonder if they make edible pearls.

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MAUVE, PINK, STYLE

P I N K

In, I think, about forty minutes I will fall asleep. My sleeping pattern is so so so kdljfsdfkgjsdfg. It’s fine – by the end of this weekend a load of things I’ve commissioned will become available to me. So exciting. To me. So… I live a lot in Dream Land (asleep or awake) … I’ve kind of walked around taking snaps of stuff. I really like documenting transitional phases, is fun

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I have almond oil in my hair. I put it on my legs too because my skin gets dry – it takes awhile to work but it does work and it’s inexpensive. I love a good “beauty” hack. If you want flowey locks you should invest in some kind of natural oil. When I was living with Lisa she told me that I should buy toiletries – creams etc – from shops run by black people (she is black, she can call black people black) and I actually bought this oil from a shop run by a brown person. (Using colour to collectively describe a culture is probably beneath 2018-internet, but I watched a Wendy Williams video where she described “white” people as “pink” and I wasn’t offended. Also I only look “white” / “pink”.) Shut up – this is boring dialogue – this rant is so I-need-to-sleep-I’m-typing-for-the-sake-of-typing-when-I-wake-up-I-will-cringe-wince.

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I got a cute duvet cover & pillow case. I’m waiting for a new sheet… This one has residue from some spray-painting stuff I’ve been doing. I don’t really have the best/safest work practices and I wiped a lot of pink spray paint out of my nose. But actually it’s kind of made me think that there should be super-light-tie-dye-ombre-faded-washes of bed clothing. V cinematic. To me.

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My room divider is nice. Everyone should have a room divider.
blog9stuff.pngI got a wig of a haircut I had a long time ago. Ugh it reminds me of this girl I was at uni with who literally only ever looked good when she and I were friends. I told her I saw a girl in topshop with short hair and a cute messy-grungey fringe and a top knot bun. She got a bob and I called it “the edwardian monk bob” on twitter when we weren’t talking. She was gossiping about me with people I wouldn’t of given the time of day, one time legit ran crying to our pervert landlord next-door-neighbour about mess our other housemates had left, particularly in the kitchen (around this time I actually wasn’t really eating very much – because I was catatonic because I couldn’t trust anyone – people thought I was paranoid because I was smoking weed – first of all, weed acts as a magnifying glass that enhances your intuition) and second of all – if you grow up around people you can’t trust, you attract people into your life that you also cant trust. It’s a cyclical behaviour and a truth of “human” behaviour that any counsellor will confirm with you. One day I’ll be awarded a complimentary PhD for my services to both psychology & psychiatry. Really.)

When I was super ill – and by ill, I mean freaking out about stuff like my boyfriend cheating on me with most (if not all?) of my friends, being robbed of stuff (five grands worth of Saffron. Pity the guy who created that karma..), being discussed by people – confronting the people who discussed me and being called names, severe anorexia, being so broke that I had no heating, being ditched by everyone that I actually really cared about… Reliving unfortunate childhood memories I had tried to forget over and over. Casually ignoring I’d had about three miscarriages (one time, a hobbit girl stood in the doorway of my kitchen talking with great passion about her super-ultra-deep feelings for about five hundred different guys, while I quietly started heating up/shaking and out of nowhere just started bleeding onto that Ikea Ofelia blanket I had on our red “sofa” and said quietly “oh I’ve just had a miscarriage” – to which she responded “oh” and then continued talking about these boys, while I ran to my room and put a pad on – and then dabbed at the blood with the kitchen sponge . She didn’t ask if I was okay or anything because obviously this chat was incredibly important. Anyway – people call me self absorbed and I thank every fucking star on the Planet (I’m leaving ‘Planet’ there because I typed that automatically, but the intended words were ‘in’ and ‘the Universe‘) that I am because if I wasn’t, I would not have survived. Anyway all of this happened, then later I realised I’m a medium – I channeled Jung and Freud at the same time. Ha.

Not insane or even actually mentally ill – just absorbent of other people’s emotions about both themselves and me, absorbent of their insanity (of which insecurity..) and mental illnesses, like depression. A weird sponge.

That girl also had a lot of things to say about my depression, that is a discussion for a more honest time. I give it about eight months. Actually she’s in my graphic novel. I did a lovely little drawing of her. She may well be the only person I’ve illustrated myself and the likeness is uncanny.

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If you look through the divider this is what you see. Fascinating right?

I bought this from Etude. Is nice. Everyone should have one.

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The upstairs hallway is being done up. I probably said before.

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These doors were installed years ago by one of my dads Arab friends? Contacts? Someone my dad knew. This door. When it comes to interiors my mother is .. uh. She pretends that she had nothing to do with this mess – it’s really, really funny.

A friend of my mother’s called Jessica, who we knew in Dubai (She used to escort distraught foreign women who had come over to the U.A.E to marry ((often abusive, actually)) Arab men – through airports – leaving behind their children.) used to joke that my family were the Simpsons.

I guess it’s true

I digress for a funfact – did you know that the internet started using ‘warm’ colours because of Godsgirls.com? A photographer called Matthew Cooke brought that in. The influence of Aesthetics is so so subtle. He, Lithium Picnic, Kelly Lind and Cherry from SuicideGirls were my favourite photographers – aside from Araki, Arnulf Rainer and also that David Lynch shoe-fetish collection of Louboutins. Y’know Instagram filters? They happened because of people like Lara Jade and even Felice Fawn (Who at 14 had a – dressed – self portrait stolen and used for a pornography. If I were her I’d have loved it)

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I get the concept of a “self hating” Jew. If anyone ever wonders – I don’t hate that I’m Arabic. If I did – I assure you I could offer you a huge list of reasons as to why it would be justified – but I actually quite like it. Apart from the like, body hair and stuff. Ive been conditioned to hate that. Like you’ve been conditioned to neg me for it.

Some Persian guy once pointed out something pretty cool about body hair – when someone is around you, the hair on your arms responds to it. He was a piece of shit though. But so was pretty much every guy I hung out with at University, even the white ones with the fanciest british accents. But y’know, men from every culture find some way of abusing women. Perhaps one day some brave woman will write a book about the abuses indigenous to various cultures. I heard Somalians are quite into female genital mutilation and beating women. British boys are into date-rape drugs and also beating women. Vikings are also into date-rape drugs. Indian guys like to harass women from cultures outside of their own, because within their own culture theres always some auntie that knows their mum. I’m more of an other-hating Jew really, I hate everyone

I’d probably really fit in in Israel actually

So uh, amongst the many thoughts/dreams/premonitions/etc that go through my skull when I’m staring – this is how I experience the entrance to my mother’s bathroom. My dad paid someone to do that. My mother let someone leave her house in that state. (The incompletely-painted floor happened years ago – when my mother started painting it… and then her leg snapped in two the day I had a pretty serious surgery.)

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R E S I L I E N C E Y

I attract contrasting experiences because somewhere deep in my subconscious I absolutely believe I need to – to grow. It’s an unfortunate life-long habit. The details of any particular story are unimportant when you believe in Karmic theory… when you believe humans are inclined to perform cyclically. You can replace individuals in any story with some fictional character that represents their contribution to the narrative.

I don’t like ambiguity, I don’t like details left out, I like to know what’s being discussed. I’m nosey. (Actually I’m not so nosey, more curious: where there is adequate justification. And sometimes there isn’t, sometimes it’s a self defence mechanism – when I’m functioning on a low vibrational frequency. Sometimes it’s jealousy – sometimes it’s concern – sometimes it’s some other emotion I haven’t learnt the word for.)
When I meet a person, if they are special enough to capture my attention – and so seldom is this the case – I like to know how they happened. I am personally attracted to that and those which can convince me – with success – that I have not experienced them before in any shape or form.
I like to understand things/beings – if I perceive them to be special enough I will mentally travel to the ends of the Multiverse in an effort to really understand them. Sometimes I regret this aspect of myself, but I suppose information comes at a price. (Thats really a beauty of retail actually, how you earn a certain amount of money for a certain amount of energy expended determines how you value a price for an item… but when it comes to something like information – which is not material – the notion of the price you may have to pay is quite open to possibility.) And I access more information than anyone else ever has – I assure you – if my intentions are in accordance with the Laws of the Universe.

When one believes (as I do) that the people that come into your life are ‘replacements’ of those you grew up surrounded by, (It’s a concept discussed in counselling therapy but my spiritual education gives the concept a context that better resonates with me) – if your life has made of you, a nature that is bound to character analysis… What childhood experiences are you trying to make sense of by living your life?
In childhood to adolescence to adulthood we essentially become conditioned, we sacrifice our truer natures to adjust – to become acceptable to society – we are forced to succumb to a societal thinking in order to ‘survive’. A quality of human & community and ‘connectivity’ that I am repelled by. I’ve tried being ‘normal’ – I’m not capable of it.

I’m irritated by someone who… people’s chosen guidance systems (such as religion) necessitate that I respect, the hive-mind teaches that this individual is my ‘example’. This individual broke an agreement with me. I’m at a phase of reliving my karma with this person, in a proximity I’ve never before endured. The result of this is the quiet (loud) realisation that they’re a disgusting person. I find them revolting. I can’t find anything compensatory about their difficult qualities – I once got a fortune cookie in a Chinese restaurant in Kent that said a sense of humour makes up for what you’re not… I don’t even find them funny. I find them useless. Expecting of me, something that they’re wrong to.

[I mean.. I’m not trying to give away too much but there’s an excerpt somewhere, in which Germaine Greer confronts the little girl that likes to flirt with her daddy. I’m not, and have never been, that little girl. Actually that became an issue – I spent my life being selectively mute and was thought to be intensely stupid for it.]

I know more than anyone that people demand strange perfection from others – and I am not perfect – but I try my hardest to be imperfect in a way that only really affects me. I have a lot to contribute to others that they’ve never learned to see value in until I was long out of their lives. It sounds stupid to say, but when I studied ballet I was taught that with great skill there must be a sense of effortlessness. This thing/pirouette/leap I’m doing that’s taken intense life-long training? Oh it’s just magic. You have to indicate ‘this is nothing to me’. That is a fundamental aspect of any performative skill. Actually it is something to me. I’m acting like I don’t care, because I know that this person wants to trigger me – I’ve killed any part of myself that cares about my interactions with this person. Consequences, consequences, consequences. The only thing that I value about this person has been revoked and they’re choosing to be deceitful about why. I know why, but they’re playing stupid. So am I.
This is a game I’m good at. If I’m playing against an equal adversary, we both come out nearly dead. Figuratively. The other person is not an equal adversary. They’re the kind of manipulative coward that would hide behind a schoolchild if it would buy them a little time. (But what use is time if you’ve never developed a good use for it?)

I’m thinking of getting one of those ‘sayings’ posters – that a Man is Only as Good as His Word. I could fill everything in, with every specific detail that you could ever want, but I don’t think I need to. I think this is some story you’ve experienced too.

[“As I said before – an eye for an eye. I’m a lot stronger than I look, you know.” – L, Deathnote]

Anyway.

I’ve been reorganising my bedroom and I absolutely adore it… I have an eye for colour… & detail. I’m exploring textures & introducing a new colour palette into my life. There’s beauty in every corner, almost!

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I’m currently taking a break from tidying; which has been a real-life tetris game – I’ve been shifting furniture from one side to the other in increments, hoovering the tiny empty space and then dettol-blasting the germs. Any worth-while process – with guaranteed fabulous results – is gradual.

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Patience is a virtue and uh. I’m not especially virtuous.

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Blogging again (I’ve been on and off blogging and documenting my life for years although I stopped for quite some time..) has proven to be a really important and cathartic means of documenting my adventure in living a life in accord with the Laws of Attraction.

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My bedroom is a good size for me – at present. I found a ‘handyman’ on Gumtree for a very reasonable price – who will be helping me dismantle my sister’s left over furniture & assembling my new bed. I’m excited for Monday!

I’ve always been taught that your bedroom is a reflection of your mind – which might be why I felt so out of sorts in my room in Copenhagen. Which was beautiful – but had a strong sense of ‘temporary’ about it. It was a good place to begin a healing process I think.

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I’m listening to Death Note on YouTube right now. I’m on episode fourteen. I’m trying to teach myself not to hate Misa, trying to acknowledge some hidden intelligence in her. I’ve always identified as L, who is an interesting contrast to me personally. I would never work with the Police, I find them inherently corrupt. It’s actually depicted in the show itself – L is also corrupt, something indicated by his treatment of Misa – & the police condone it. Iunno, most people are too stupid to read into any narrative so even if I wanted to talk to people about the shows I liked I would probably end up rolling my eyes (I’m infantile like that, it’s a flaw that I *love*)
A friend – a fan of the series – years ago observed that L and I both ‘sit’ the same and have a penchant for sweet things. I’ve been having a savoury phase lately though.

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[I’m now on episode fifteen!]

For most people, days pass in 24 hours.

[An ex of mine once told me about how these geniuses would explore with sleeping patterns – instead of sleeping through the night they would take naps every few hours & in doing so I suppose they could experience the energy of the varying times of the day?  The conversation related to productivity, it took place so many years ago now. 
At the time I was recovering from a break up and I’d spent many, many months asleep. I was authoring a fairytale that merged the mythologies of various geographies – I got to 14k words and stopped – and the fairy tale was lost years later. I know I have a better version of it in my mind.]

For me – a day can last for weeks.

I like sleeping late at night and waking up early in the morning. I actually started this to-do list yesterday. I wish the ‘Notes’ section on apple products was true to time.

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PINK

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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MAUVE, STYLE

M A U V E

When I went to Fashion School, I learned that fashion is transient – where style endures. So in a sense; I prefer not to be fashionable at all. Perhaps thats why I dropped out.

That said, I have to confess: I’ve finally fallen victim to the Slider trend.
I’d like to introduce you to my very first pair. EVER.

I find them both subtle and garish, obnoxious yet understated. SO ME. I love them!

My intention was to exclusively wear them at home but I fell for them so, that they’ve had a few adventures about London with me this week. Most notably I swapped them for a pair of six inch heels at Swan Lake, when, during an interval I had a cigarette break that lasted a little-too-long and I had to rush back to my seat. Imagine me running through the lavish hallways of the Royal Opera House donning these silly things. A steward sweetly told me he had a pair of his own at home, in black of course. We both laughed. After the ballet, I reluctantly changed back into my heels for dinner.

While I’ve always been a slipper person, (I spent the first six months of Film school – which I did not drop out of – almost exclusively wearing a suuuuuper cheap pair of black sheepskin slip-ons everywhere throughout my campus) (I’m sure if I were to expend some effort I could recall various moments-of-significance in my life by mentally drawing up a slipper-timeline of sorts, and perhaps, I will do that some time) I have to admit that I’m a slider-convert. I don’t say this lightly: I’ve spent my life abhorring and resenting these shoes vehemently.

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Now I’ve decided I’d like to start collecting them.

SHOP THE LOOK | DENIM X PAIGE | FRILLY SOCKS X TOPSHOP | VELVET KNOT SLIDERS X TOPSHOP