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.)

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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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