I don’t for a minute believe that the GQ office staff have the time nor the inclination to check to any kind of great depth everything that appears from an outsourced advertorial sponsor – that generates adverts based on the search terms used by individuals that peruse the articles on their site, as I sometimes do.

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I clicked the third of these options ‘recommended’ by a company called ‘outbrain’. I don’t know who owns outbrain but I know they use a lot of what I imagine are stock images

(By the way – the eggs-linked-to-diabetes post – took me to an article that I won’t post here, but at the bottom there was a disclaimer that this wasn’t a news article at all. Initially they used the term ‘Shen Nong’, as the name for a herbal remedy that was supposedly being advertised as a herbal remedy for people taking metformin (a thyroid medication) and/or other diabetes medication.

I googled Shen Nong and I got a wikipedia page – that said that Shen Nong was a Chinese deity. All the screen shots depicted were taken from >> “Shennong’s” wikipedia page. <<

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I think that its possible the individual who authored this page confused the words ‘mythical’ with ‘fictional’, they mean two different things, friend

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Here are some of Shen Nong’s credentials:

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(Did Shen Nong invent the shovel???) “well known” as the first Emperor of Ancient China – he invented farming tools *AND* HERBS.


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What herbs did Shennong domesticate??

I got some other results that I wasn’t even remotely convinced by, amongst those an allusion to a television tower that didn’t appear on google maps. Do you KNOW HOW PROUD THE CHINESE ARE OF THEIR ARCHITECTURE?! AND THEIR DEITIES? THEY HAVE SO MANY DEITIES THEY COULDN’T EVEN BEGIN TO LIST THEM ALL ON WIKIPEDIA OKAY. THEY CONSIDER THEIR ANCESTORS OF OVER 50 GENERATIONS (WHICH THEY PROBABLY STILL HONOUR AT MEAL TIMES) TO BE DEITIES – SORT OF.)) (I am one of those AZN obsessives, I will never not be a little bit racist to cope with how much I resent that I am not AZN.) (It is a true hardship)

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My favourite bit is the bit at the bottom which says that Outbrain has a ‘firm’ policy against “fake news”.

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Actually that is a really immersive and drawn out little game for any advertising company or even a reuters kind of company to engage in – monopolising lots of google search terms to teach people first hand how easy it is to lie on the internet. That is amongst the many reasons I am so glad that I have cultivated a heart felt blog, with all of my family issues, weird photos and other kinds of content that would of made me unemployable a million years ago. You’d think that the only job I couldn’t do at this point was being an agent for the secret services but that’s incorrect. I won’t say why.

Also it is neither here nor there but a first edition, of a book published in 1981, that is leather bound and gold embossed – for less than a tenner? MOTHER FUCKING BARGAIN

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May I suggest some other books about the Chinese Identity as recommended by >> waterstones << at least some of which have been authored by people whose names also sound AZN

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I’ve made a habit of being quite kind to people who I felt were truly sticking up for their heritage and generational abuse or type casting, for example, in the media by making of the person responsible for whatever racially motivated hardships they experienced in their lives or their careers.

This is for people that choose to single out one person – that genuinely really didn’t have anything to do with your personal struggle.

Sometimes you are perpetuating the nonsense that people associate with your culture or heritage by being a dick, and you might be empowered by the fact but there will be other people who are not and who will suffer for your mistake.

Conversely – sometimes you are teaching people it is okay to be a dick. And sometimes it really is okay to be a dick, such as when you are defending yourself.

If I am a dick – it isn’t from nowhere. It is something of a feeling that has built up over a very, very long time. It is out of a personal insult. It is a response to something you did or said.

Don’t compare yourself to me. And don’t make yourself look like a victim, don’t manipulate people in benefit of your cause. For example – people used to assume that I was caucasian. I’m not at all – if I’m really related to my parents – I’m unsure – I’m part Arabian, part Mexican, part Italian blahblahblah. I have no cultural identity whatsoever. And I’m glad of it. It meant that my identity could be built from something that actually had meaning to me, and my own personal struggles and not that of a culture I don’t seem to understand or truly value at all. I resent the sexism associated with Arabs, even when their culture is matriarchal – I resent that a lot of Mexicans are criminals that kidnap little children that visit the country on holiday – I resent that my Italian grandfather was so highly regarded as a diplomat but actually treated his daughters and catholic wife like shit. His wife was not perfect at all, she was an orphan who was forced upon a wife who had her sent away to Texas for boarding school. She went to finishing school and married the son of one of the greatest men that have ever lived (in my opinion.) and she probably had a lot of serious psychiatric problems that now run in the women of my family. But she was a devout catholic and she never remarried and had to be okay with keeping the family name of a guy who left her for a woman that looked – I swear to God – like an actual human-pig hybrid. Only one of her children actually looks like her, and she’s fine with the insult, she can afford plastic surgery. Paraguay has some of the best plastic surgeons in the World. It’s okay – I was the ugly child in the family too. But that cousin will confirm that being the ugly one means that you develop other qualities – she’s a poet. She was kind enough to arrange for one of her poetry books to be sent over, written in spanish. I don’t speak spanish – it was the first language I had learned and it meant I wasn’t able to communicate with my ‘dad’, and I only ever saw my siblings asking him for cash so that was one of our first communicative exchanges. I’m somehow made responsible for my mother’s dark sense of humour (which I am grateful to have inherited.) The other one looks nothing like either of her parents. I mean you can teach a diplomat many things but apparently studying biology is difficult for our family.

I’d prefer to think of myself as Israeli, I’ve certainly been publicly outspoken even if the consequences of the fact resulted in my being bullied, even by people that I had shared food with (when I had no money to be doing something like that at all) – but the embassy haven’t even acknowledged my emails. My family are the reason Israelis have a home.

If your family make it okay for one another to abuse and mistreat you, everyone else will do the same. That is why I aspire to at some point be a templar, because once your karma/the script of your life is fucked, there’s no going back – unless everyone that abused you apologises for doing it.

There’s this epic Lord Byron quote that can be applied to anyone that has been victimised or mistreated, I reblogged it on tumblr – it is the only Byron I’ve ever read. I appreciate a beautiful guy with a beautiful name. Something like – to punish or to forgive – both are inevitable – but which comes first?

I have a song for how I feel about this nonsense - 
uploaded by @BlameSociety.

This song by Chad Vader is great. Chad Vader is a reference to what
became of Anakin. He fell into a burning pit of fire, was given a 
new body and became a dark lord sith. I mean he wasn't THE darkest
of the dark lord siths but you'd have to understand how the Illuminati
works to be able to even vaguely comprehend the nature of a very
intricate narrative like that - you'd have to understand the nature
of our existence. And it is difficult to do so if you're uneducated.

Your struggles for power through monopoly (the acquisition
of imagined power through fame, selling commodities and/or natural
resourches that the people (confused for 'the consumers') have
been taught that they really need to survive, and hoarding wealth -
rather than using it to stimulate an economy of hard working civilians
who need you to spend your money in order to fucking LIVE -

The 'universal' you that get your Illuminati tattoos and throw the 
word around in association with earthly tragedies - you're not wrong
but you're also not right, at all - and people who believe themselves
to be in power are:

amusing to people who truly, truly understand the
Illuminati. You cannot progress to any kind of power until you have
learned how to love. And how to love begins with loving yourself.
That begins with having decent parents who have learned to love
themselves - and that is a struggle - when you are bombarded with
media that sells you things to make you feel prettier, to make you
feel like you fit in with everyone else. When you follow a standard
that makes you believe you are 'professional' - also a visual
standard that has been sold to you for the benefit of a very select
economy that no one in the Illuminati cares for, outside of ensuring
that people are not being sold harmful products.

The original Chocolate rain song is by @Tay Zonday. Tay has a strong
and decent voice but treated himself as somewhat of a novelty, rather
than realising how much potential he had - he could've actually
trained to sing opera and earned much more than his YouTube videos
ever could've paid him. He could've done a service to the Black
Panthers by being one of the best black opera singers (do you
personally know of any by the way?) that has ever lived.
He chose YouTube fame.

I may well be the only person to have ever told him that he was 
capable of something like being an opera singer, the only person who
had developed enough maturity to see beyond what was funny about this
deeply, deeply autistically produced video that even Kanye West saw.

This is a song by Rihanna that Kanye made-good. It's called
"Shine Bright Like a Diamond". 

Diamonds mean a lot to me - first of all because of the blood diamond
trade. These still exist - diamonds that cost miners their lives.
Diamonds which are sometimes kept by jewellers, to control the diamond
market, but which are sold to fund acts of terrorism in countries 
which have huge news that never gets publicised. I mean when I was
visiting a genocide memorial in Rwanda, during a particular week of
reverence and memorial - an 'anniversary' of sorts - moments after I
left, a grenade was lobbed over the wall. There was a newspaper beside
me on a bus once, that said toddlers had been crucified because they
practiced black magic. 

Diamonds mean a lot to me because one time I was pregnant, awaiting an
abortion and I went on a drive with a 'friend' and his family - and my
eyesight is so poor I saw the road glisten and made a journal entry
with Indian ink that read 'Diamond Roads'.

Here is that journal entry. I was nineteen at the time.


Diamonds mean a lot to me because a psychic called Shannon that I
met in a psychic shop in Farnham - once said, to me, that
the Pyramids around the World are believed to be triangles but infact
the architecture is mirrored under ground. So they are pyramids that
point up, but also pyramids that go into the ground. 

Diamonds mean a lot to me because I learned from a Dan Brown novel,
the protagonist - a symbology professor - discussed that the use of
an upwards triangle represents that which is masculine. So - the
idea of masculinity is represented through science and knowledge - and
balanced by the upside down triangle which represents that which is
feminine. Femininity being represented by wisdom.
The star of David is these two triangles combined - that is - the 
concept of truth must align with both aspects of the inner self. We
must be both of those pyramids to be a balanced individual, and that
much is true I think of anything. And it is a truth that is made
present in many individuals - an excessively effeminate man who
performs "campness" because that is how he feels to physically use
his body and who possesses a nasty side that is very logical and
very cruel and who might be very scientifically gifted or minded.

In me - I identify as a male who was sort of trapped in a female body
and doesn't have much issue with it because he probably would've had
a sex change anyway. Genuinely.

I first came across the Rihanna song in a psychiatric ward. 
I am not a Rihanna fan, but I can appreciate when anyone makes a song
that is good. 

I got put in there because I smoked a legal
high - I couldn't find a drug dealer to give me weed to kill the 
constant pain I was in. I spent my birthday and Christmas in a
psychiatric ward. My Grandfather died, I didn't even get given a
cigarette break. The people working in psychiatric wards are some of
the most fucked up, shitty people you can imagine. They dispense
medication their patients don't need because they're told to do it.

This version is WAY better. Uploaded by GoodLyricsHD

I'd brought along some poorly made Mary-Jane
shoes and I bought the song on iTunes, I heard the words Mary Jane
just as I slipped mine on. I almost cried. 

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[a still taken from a lyric video uploaded by GoodLyricsHD]

I walked to a park and I listened to this song on repeat -
sat by a bench - I had a fifteen minute break from a drug induced
sleep in my room. I took iPhone photos of a heron. I'd never even
seen a heron before. I walked back to my room and the Mary Janes had 
given me bleeding blisters on the ankles of my feet and I didn't
even feel the pain because the song made me that happy.

Has a song ever made you feel that much? Has anything? That is
power to me - to experience pain and then moments later - to 
experience true happiness from enjoying Art.

I don't hear voices, I only hear a permanent ringing in my ear, from

I want Chad Vader to teach me how to be funny, in character. But
I have noticed, that people either don't find my jokes funny - don't
share my sense of humour - or otherwise don't enjoy validating women
by laughing at their jokes. Are prepared to expend great energy into
repressing a well deserved laugh. 

I've learned that people don't realise when I'm trying to be funny
and that my jokes require a lengthy explanation and disclaimer.

This is a video of a Bill Hicks speech, a really important one.
Apparently it was uploaded by Bill Hicks.

'It is just a ride' is a metaphor for life.

C H A T S I N 2 0 3 0

I feel like this was an important conversation to filter into the mass consciousness for so, so many reasons and maybe it’ll make even more sense in years to come. I really appreciate that Kanye mentioned the stigma attached to mental health – and perhaps that’s because I was called crazy a lot – but it was only through experiencing my own mental breakdown/through that I realised (and actually managed to prove in pretty terrifying ways – remember, a psychiatrist documented me saying “someone is about to die” and moments later a person had strangled herself – and that was really the most basic of things that were observed about me in that environment) that my experience of reality involves a connection far beyond the one that any kind of attachment to the laws of any given physical reality can even begin to make sense of.

I feel like Kanye has perhaps managed to heal in a way that it isn’t my personal purpose to and I admire that.

I’ve spent my life letting things go and rising above – never actually confronting what was done to me. Never demanding the apology I deserved.

The best and worst thing was that the people that called me names and bitched about me throughout my life, know that I have all of the abilities that I ever claimed (and more) and they haven’t even had the courage to say “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you” or “I’m sorry for the part I had to play in making your life so hard – thanks for making mine so fucking magical”

Or y’know, a simple “sorry for fucking your boyfriend &/or stealing from you &/or telling lies about you &/or telling your deepest personal secrets”
“thanks for making school/college/university so exciting”

In 2030 I imagine some kind of University reunion where someone might garner the guts to say “so what’s it like being a vampire?” (and I’d say “Iunno we’ll talk about it in your next life”) to ask me how I am I’ll whip out whatever technology is around at the time and play them this

Here’s Kanye’s energy and light work coming through (an hour or so into this interview) and a thought journey with Lisa. I get thoughts of the people I’ve known (people who, friends or not I’d have stuck up for if they were being bullied – even if they were talking about me behind my back) and family I’ve known, the people who gassed/drugged and raped me and she gently pushes them all to the side of my mind and says “that was a past life”

But before I accept walking into my “next life” – a step up on the food chain. (Funny, I remember this line from a film, I think – you’re either a predator or prey.) I want to create a kind of timeline for you.

A LONG time ago – in my very early teens and before I actually ever understood the concept of energy (so, think along the lines of – some other me occupying my body to tell this story) I was walking with an ex, a female version of me in a boys body. We were walking from his house to the train station and I was telling him a story.
I said that there was a group of girls who hired a girl to help them save various men in their lives that were being used as energy sources. In this story, I said that this girl’s motive for helping was that her brother was on death row – and in this story-universe, the equivalent of death row was people being used as sources of energy.
Her incentive was that she wanted to save her brother.
Whenever I listened to music I’d close my eyes and I’d picture this same kind of story in all sorts of pretty cinematic equivalents. Any character I identified as myself was always the one that was left behind, the only one who could really defend herself anyway. Some ridiculous self sacrifice. Often, it was just an exchange of a scroll.

In my first year of university I had said to my friends “I’m going to be a drug dealer next year.” They all told me not to do it, told me that I couldn’t do it etc. The general shit little boys say to little girls before they steal their idea. ALL these boyfriends ended up doing what I wanted to do. I didn’t do it. If I’d of just done it, I’d be in a very very different place right now. I’d probably be extremely wealthy actually, and I wouldn’t of had to of come back home. Jay Z’s script.

It’s funny, one time I was in a drug dealer’s room. He was a lot younger than me, having joined the uni a year after me. I vaguely recall a chat we had where I told him the letters in his name almost exactly matched mine.
The thing about versions of me is that we identify with the wrong people, we use our capacity to empathise in some form with the wrong people. We can be victims of manipulation, often confusing poorly intended performances for genuine vulnerability. In an attempt to understand our pasts, we project our personal story onto the wrong people. Pay attention to the wrong details.

I looked around his room and I saw a mess – and I thought-heard my Lisa say that mess was indicative of depression. Unless you’ve spent years of your life completely fucking stoned, you won’t know how big a deal it is to remember much of anything.

Lisa once had girly time with me in her bedroom. She told me about her Twin-flame – his alterego-name as a musician was Johnny. She told me that this was their song.

His real name was Steve. I had a lecturer called Steve at Uni – I’ve said before. A guy I had tremendous respect for, that respect was confused for some kind of weird flirtation. He once gave us a Herman Hesse poem to analyse for a writing class, and he asked if I’d bothered reading it. I told him I had and that I concluded that the protagonist in the poem was looking for his mother.

There’s a bit in the video where Cyndi shows her boyf her shaven head and he’s not into it. My first real boyfriend and I watched this Resident Evil together and we were both obsessed with this scene – I asked him to shave my head that day. Fun.

(When I hear this scream it reminds me of waking up after a surgery when I had my tonsils removed – I woke up, the first thing I did was pick up a drink on my bedside table. It was orange juice. It was so, so painful – as you can imagine drinking something acidic might be immediately after being cut open. I drank the juice and then I screamed and it sounded just like this.)

Lisa met that boyfriend – Kitty – he had the same tattoos that Constantine had on his forearms. >> Image Credit <<

Constantine is a character in a comic called Hellblazer, which was his favourite comic at the time. The sound track was performed by A Perfect Circle – a side project of the singer of Tool – his favourite band at the time. Don’t you love the coincidences?


Lisa told me that “Constantine” (and Avatar) were both real stories. She said he balanced my energy. It’s strange how in my memories of him as a teenager, he looks so similar to Ekko – the character in League of Legends.

At the end of this video, the cop says “I’ve always known that I could see, I’ve always known that I could see”. I could see when I was little, not now. But Lisa said to me “Learn to pretend not to see.”  – a message for my older brother. Omi.

I told Lisa, when I saw her recently – that I thought Kitty might be a fragment of ‘Ekko’ – and if not, someone who could channel him. Upon hearing Lisa was “psychic” – Kitty said “CAN WE PLAY ROCK PAPER SCISSORS?” … Later she had us watch Avatar together on her bed, beside a huge tetrahedron ‘machine’ she had cast out of metal, that you sit inside to meditate. I reminded her of that – and she said “HE’S NAUGHTY!!!”)

Twinflames are your highest point of personal growth. Thats it.
And that was a past life. When I see her in my minds eye, I see her standing with her partner – an incredible man I met years ago when I was living with her in Hackney. I hardly got to know him but I recall the things she would say about him, that he might’ve observed about me for example – and I appreciated it.

For me, and what I now know, the kind of people you attract into your life are a testament of your current state of vibration. When I lived with Lisa – I moved in completely broken but I left functioning on a high vibration – and for the most part I went on to have the best year of my life. As things got worse and worse for me at uni, I attracted worse and worse experiences – people that matched my emotional landscape. People I should never have met.

The last time I saw Lisa, I told her about this card – and said that if she and I were twins we’d be Ka and Li. The Pleiadian being on the card looks like her, and Beyonce. I think.

Isn’t it strange, how the card kind of repeats the sentiment “that was a past life”?


(One time Lisa walked into my bedroom and tidied and cleaned it for me. Have you ever noticed how the energy of a room completely changes when it’s clean and tidy? It just “feels” different. Try to understand – Lisa is a mature woman and her time and energy is very, very valuable to her. People say “oh, psychics are the kind of people who take advantage of vulnerable people – who steal their money” etc. Lisa never received any money from me. To anyone else she’d have just been a woman I was sharing a house with – although she cooked for me (when I would’ve otherwise starved) and gave me cigarettes when I ran out (I was chain smoking) and taught me things no one ever had (That filtered so far and deep that people haven’t even realised how normal it is now, to talk about spirituality or energy. These were NOT things people said on the internet ten years ago! That was her – I swear on my life – that was all her.) Also – she once gave me a pair of French pants, which is way – way more significant than you’d think.
Without Lisa, I’d have never of been receptive to Abraham Hicks and Esther Hicks (Turns out they’re acquainted) – which I think is the next phase of my journey.

Back to this drug dealer – the one whose name was an anagram of my own. All of his stuff was scattered on the floor and being in there felt icky, energetically. I tidied up his room for him, just like Lisa had done for me. I remember it as being on the same day, but perhaps it wasn’t – we had a conversation and I said “If you were a time traveller and you bumped into people you had known in a past life – what would you tell them?”  Hilariously enough he said something along the lines of it being unimportant, because it wouldn’t be the same. I think I said “ok.” (During my mental breakdown – I told him that “his mother was tidying his room”. At one point he visited me in a psychiatric ward and watched a psychiatrist telling me how ill I was – for saying things she didn’t want to hear. And then I said to her that I knew she had been sexually molested – she asked how I knew that. She eventually threatened me with an injection for simply saying things she didn’t want to hear, and he defended her. Not understanding that he was defending a threat of rape. Forced penetration of ANY kind is rape. But most importantly not connecting that her threat to me was her doing to me, what must have been done to her.)

Lisa would’ve said “child, you have a lot to learn”. When I saw Lisa I showed her a picture of this character and said “I feel like he’s your son, and his name in this game is “ekko”. She nodded and said “Echoes of TIME.” Let me stress this – she is not the kind of woman who plays video games. She meditates, works, spends time with her family, reads a lot, cooks and watches movies. She glanced at this image of this character for a brief moment and said something about energy. (If you play or have ever played league – it’s a “hex tech energy” weapon he carries on his shoulder.)

This is the place I was renting when I lived in Farnham. 7A West Street. Can you see that underpass? The entrance to my flat was through there. Doesn’t it look like Ekko sitting in front of a scroll covering the wall? I guess you’d have to visit to see it.

Some not-friends once tagged “GOOD MORNING” on the wall opposite my door cos I never said good morning to the girl I lived with and she told a lot of half-truths about me, a lot of manipulative lies. Made all the guyfriends she stole from me think she was a victim. None of them really had any idea of her true nature, or mine, in their defence. (She was the very wealthy, easy-fuck kind, nothing wrong with that at all – but sometimes girls like that have jealousy issues and I had a lot of things she couldn’t have paid for with cash. Like a personality. Which she did try to steal.)
The truth is… that when you grow up in a house with no one speaking to you much, with a mother who was ill and slept all the time, you don’t really “learn” to say good morning.

Do you see that arched window at the top? That was my bedroom.

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When I lived in Homerton, Hackney – I meditated once with a lit candle. I remember that the flame was flickering pretty wildly and I saw what I thought was the back of a man walking away and through a flame, wearing a black hood. (It’s only recently that I realised that “man” – “male energy” was me.)

Before I moved out of that home in Homerton almost ten years ago, Lisa and her friend gave me a CD called “EK ONG KAR”

Kind of like this

In a meditation I did years before meeting her I saw myself wearing a black hood and meeting a woman carrying a baby with a third eye, in a strange town. She gave me the baby (her baby) and told me to do the only thing I was good at doing – which was running.  I best visualised this meditation to this song. I saw myself running into a green domed vortex that was linked to my etheric signature. There were armed guards killing people with special abilities who were trying to protect me (because I was protecting this baby.) – they couldn’t access the vortex which gave me time to navigate through the buildings. I have no sense of direction in any life – that’s the beauty of dyspraxia. Have you ever seen The Book of Eli? He doesn’t walk with a direction in mind, the route is internal.

One of these guards got through the vortex, I assume because they shared an etheric signature with me – and I don’t know what happened next, but that is the nature of past lives.

When I went funny – my dog ran out onto the road to chase after a fox and I fell onto my knee trying to chase him. If I told you it was like someone had pushed me, you probably wouldn’t believe me.

There’s a League of Legends video of Ekko – he hurts his arm. When I think of Ekko I get an ache in my arm. I’ve never told anyone about that.

When I was with Lisa she got an ache in her knee and her arm. I didn’t say it to Lisa – but some deep place in me thought “Imagine Ekko really hurting the one person that his mother trusted to protect him.”

I like to think my job is done – because I’ve led him through whatever dimensional travel he needed to experience using me as an anchor, in order to find her.

It upsets me that there are parents on this Planet that are raising children that have abilities that they grow up never dialoguing about because it’s not “normal”. Jaden Smith talking about his eight year old self being a “vampire” in an interview is more real to me than my mother’s house.
Kanye talking about living a life very much in the “future”, or a little boy in a cafeteria telling me that when he stares at his hand long enough, it becomes invisible – or a little boy astral projecting and finding his own Planet, and inhabiting it with creatures… and not discussing plants… is actually more real and more serious to me than the half of a burnt cheese burger & chips I ate for dinner, sitting in a takeaway foil on a plate on the carpet beside my bed.

The fact that that ex of mine, a psychiatric nurse, was handed an essay on metaphysics that was authored by one of his patients – by his co-staff – for him to try and analyse for signs of mental illness upsets me too.
This tells me that freedom of speech and freedom of thought are just nice thoughts. That give or take a few minor details, we are constantly reliving the past. That ex of mine had one ethical duty to that patient and that was not to play pass the parcel with that essay – to say “that patient trusted you with that so keep it to yourself, okay?”

Every science fiction movie teaches people that it’s the government that keep things ‘hush hush’ and it’s actually not – keeping people quiet or invisible begins at home, begins with ridicule from childhood friends and ripples through every kind of engagement or social interaction. If you’re not kept silent, you’re ridiculed.

The idea that there had to be a novel like Twilight, to gauge how people would respond to creatures sitting above them on the food chain, who are almost physiologically impossible to kill… (Like – you might accidentally die trying)
That in order for them not to be depicted as all that threatening, they had a “good vampire” versus “bad vampire” motif. The BAD vampires eat PEOPLE. So does that mean that bad people eat animals? What is the difference? The good vampires spend their infinite time and physical strength having sex that poses great risks to interiors, playing piano and being really really ridiculously good looking.

The Twilight novels are good for one thing –  the knowledge that there is a space in the human understanding that people must be forced to observe how they treat individuals and creatures who are more vulnerable than they are. Whether it’s the insane, children, the disabled, creatures or people who can’t speak.

Y’know, a kind of mirror – sort of depicting how humans have treated livestock… rather than a weird sexual fantasy.

Lisa says that at any given time we are four archetypes. So – we have a light side and a dark side that are visible and a light side and a dark side that are ‘invisible’. (She keeps things simple with me)

My favourite is Jane ❤

I’ve written about this before – there was no toothy bite into my throat, no release of poison that would either kill me or turn me. A non-physical sexual experience with my Pleiadian guides that led to a foetus being painlessly removed from my body using crystals, with the umbilical cord in perfect condition (faux friends got to look at it close up, nurses got to look at it – no one cared all that much that they were looking at a THREE DAY OLD foetus that was, by all scientific accounts – huge for its age.) and I gently placed that foetus on a little rock in my room, watched it turn from pink to brown and somewhere inbetween all that during a moment of weird adrenaline a hand reached into my heart and stopped it beating.

After that I was compelled to message my cousin (I was at this point, what anyone would consider crazy, unless they grew up in a culture that understood shamanism) who I NEVER speak to – to say that his wife would be having a “Cleopatra baby” or something. No one had told me, but it turns out his wife was already pregnant with twins. Cleopatra had twins called Alexander Helios and Kleopatra Selene. (I learned this WAY later.)
(I think he called one of the kids Nile – which is nice – the idea that Queen Kleopatra VII uses your cousin to channel a message over via social media and you can’t even be bothered to give them their actual names)

After that I channelled my father’s mother – a woman I had never, ever had a conversation with because bless her, she didn’t speak a word of english. Basically disowned her entire family from across the grave.

(My whole family – well, not family anymore, that was a past life – have pretty much worked out that I’m clairvoyant (like, proof beyond proof) but failed to apologise for the stuff they had to say about me.)

After that I channelled a person (Lady Diana) who had been murdered (by the British Queen btw), who explained through me what had happened – then I put my hand through fire – with dumb and dumber witnesses present – and didn’t feel a thing. Not one of the little hairs on my hand were singed either.

My teacher explained that the painless and bloodless miscarriage was necessary because people have to learn that abortion is traumatic, and causes women to suffer needlessly – and that the foetuses removed from women are bodies – which are often used for scientific experiments, including being kept “alive” in stasis? rather than respected as human-dead. Women in the UK are so preoccupied with fast resolution, (understandable), that when they get pregnant and choose not to have the infant that they don’t seem to realise that there is a reason that the real reason they are made to wait for the foetus to develop, really – the reason women in the UK have a choice to abort is because the NHS and all of the family planning clinics make a FORTUNE from selling stem cells.
It is possible for people to lose children they never knew that they had – humans don’t know how to perform painless miscarriages like the one I had. Miscarriages are often confused for painful periods. I’ve tried telling a girl I know what happened when she thought she was pregnant, and then got her period – even her partner has tried to “tell” her – but she never listens. People who don’t listen to the things I say are a waste of my time. Once i’ve done what’s right by my own conscience I leave it to their ability to recollect.

I had one of those strange, painful miscarriages not too long after hearing a foetus say “I’m a little sun drop”. So if you want to know whether a foetus has sentience or a consciousness before being born, yes, they do.

I will say this though – whether through physical or non physical, conception takes three. At least. That’s why Adam, Lilith and Eve were created. It’s the strange recipe for an in-love vibration. Have you ever noticed how great your relationship is when your boyfriend/girlfriend spends nearly as much time talking to you as they do talking to some friend, although iunno – that relationship in their life makes you feel jealous? And then most commonly you separate your partner and that friend, and your boyfriend/girlfriend stops treating you as nicely? Have you ever connected that slight change? Your boyfriend/girlfriend is someone else when they share energy with that person.

The hand through my heart was me learning that I’m an eternal being.

The hand through the fire was that … well, the Universe has my back and wants me to speak not just my- but the truth.

Oh, uh… If it makes you more comfortable, me saying “this is for my graphic novel” then lets go with that… but it’s all completely true.




This year I was fortunate enough to manifest owning half a property with my sister. That was after several months of listening to Abraham, through Esther Hicks.

It’s a one bedroom, ground floor flat in Surrey & my sister’s been having it redesigned and decorated. I should ask her to send over some before & afters!
So.. the top photo is some of the stuff she’s moving out. The second photo is …. some of my stuff. (I made a little video, go check it out on my iPhone diary later today!)

My parents have been getting furious with how much stuff I’ve been having delivered to the house because the dogs bark like crazy (orders every one or two hours in the morning and early afternoon for afew days) but opening THREE shops and a service is always going to be noisy business.

So Vogue tweeted about Yeezy’s genius ad campaign. >> Here’s the article. << Kanye got Wifye to go out in his new collection and she got snapped & put her favourite photos on her insta and thats how the campaign was launched! I updated >> The I Love List << with my season 6 faves & some other cute stuff I found.

The clothes are made-per-order & I think thats a special for two reasons: it sends out three messages to me, personally. As I’m opening my own shops i’m trying to learn seller-strategy. So I’ll share my observations about this –

Firstly, he’s clearly designing to create art, not to make money. I have no impression that he cares whether his art sells or not. Of course it will, it’s the kind of stuff that’ll probably be scooped up by the Victoria & Albert museum some day. But I don’t feel selling was his primary motivation.

Secondly – everything he has created is stuff that he truly thinks is wearable – so, what I take from this – is to only sell things I would really want for myself.

Finally – I think it’s an eco-friendly advancement strategy that the fast-fashion industry can perhaps take some consideration of. I’m not actually the most eco-friendly consumer but I am trying to become more aware as I hope to manifest large-scale businesses over the next year.

When you buy ‘designer’ items to sell – fashion houses often won’t sell you stock unless you are able to pay thousands upon thousands worth of ‘cost’ upfront for it, that means selling a very high quantity of garments. Which always comes with a potential risk. Obviously having the right to sell garments for a reputable fashion house is an absolute honour but truth be told this is a serious issue I have with luxury – for a myriad of reasons. Firstly – when I worked on a shop floor selling clothes in an affluent town, I learned that it was important to show no more than two or three items at a time to give the illusion of the item being exclusive. Secondly – I really believe that if designers thought less in terms of seasons and more in terms of weeks, they would better serve the fashion-economy. Fashion shows could become as accessible an event as visiting an art gallery, etc.
I think the kind of people that buy designer items (the kind that I’d personally like to sell to) are the kind that won’t be seen in the same ensemble twice. If designing clothes or accessories was my sole profession I’d want to be designing five or so things a day with a “buy it right now, or regret it forever” energy.

LOOK AT THIS. I cannot afford this yet. But I can decorate my piece-of-the-internet with it. It’s 18K gold and it’s £££££££££. Good for Ye. It’s a necklace… but I would wear it as an overlapped bracelet. If you have £££££ you can buy it >> here. <<



I D U B B B Z R E D & P U R P L E


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


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.


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 <<


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.


>> 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)

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.


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.


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…


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.


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*


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.


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.


“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


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.


Not even atheists can refute energy: or archetypes.


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?