misheard lyrical

.the opening for samurai champloo is cool. also i stole the clouds. everyone has an idea or perception of how to simplify clouds and i really like this one. here is the credit.

In the event the video is removed & you’re too lazily-natured a reader to find it.

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.i’ve paused samurai champloo for morrissey. im nursing a nostalgic heart okay, i’m still menstruating and everything

.I’m going to spend a couple of hours on this pinterest archive

REDRIDING HOOD

About two years ago I dressed up as a poor man’s version of little red riding hood for a Halloween party in Denmark. I write about it ad nauseum, that’s what growing up has been for me. Adulthood, refuse it and all of it’s a-decent-party-once-every-ten-years-and-theres-no-well-lit-event-photography-that-can-suggest-to-the-contrary connotations.

Months after that party I had moved into a room in a couple’s apartment in Denmark and I taught myself the very basics of after effects (an animation software) and I made a short animation of Red Riding Hood strolling through the woods. I often try to forget a memory I have of rehearsing the laugh for the end of the animation. I was skipping down some apartment stairs in an affluent area trying to practice an “evil” child’s laugh. I bumped into a neighbour who made eye contact with me. iunno. I think it is amazing to exist in a time when that software is available and the information is available for people to learn it. (I revisit the story a lot but a lot was going on, even though it wasn’t.)

In sixth form I did an A-level that discussed fairytales and those repetitive archetypes which are the fabric of the media that we engage with daily. Every story we read or film we watch has a character who is living a vibrant and interesting life of their own and their psyche is made up of layers of not just one of those nursery-school fairytales but many of them. I took the work into as many subjects as I could and that was really how I tried to develop what I think was Snow White. (I decided she had an eating disorder and that her step mother was feeding her apples laced with laxatives). I explored a lot of mental states as a teenager. It’s how people build character, the shit they allow themselves to go through as teenagers.

As I write this, I am watching this. #WLVS

But to research for that collection of A level work I had to read the Brothers Grimms version – which was grotesque, but it was important to do so because it was the origins of that particular fairy tale. The version I was studying was a short story in a novella by  Angela Carter called the Bloody Chamber. Her writing style is so distinctive that you cannot pretend not to have read it. In her version of Red Riding Hood she empowers the female protagonist without trying to negate from the underlying thematics of the original narrative.

This is my favourite version of the Three Little Pigs. Watch it, it takes minutes. You might enjoy the series.

The stills of note, though:

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When you fancy yourself some kind of imaginative or creative you have a compulsion somehow to learn how people work. How does a woman become the kind of person that would ever need to walk around with a pistol? How did she learn to walk through the woods in high heels? Who taught her how to skin wolves? Why do I like her? Why did my child self like her this much?

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If it’s not clear from this post I’ve probably been subconsciously working towards making my own version of Roald Dahl’s Three Little Pigs, probably for my spiritual kids channel thing. I performed a puppet show for myself using a hairclip for the wolf’s dialogue.  I am confident that the performance could translate to something grand.

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The actor in me (every single one of my interests or talents encourages a person to compartmentalise their identity) would repeat something she recently read about Sr. Antony Hopkins in which he said that he’d spent his life thinking about the role of King Lear, which he played at the end of last year. He was quoted as saying that it took him years simply to comprehend how he could play that role. I’m saving watching the film for the moment in time when I’m in the right company. Do you know that I’ve seen a few Shakespeares – Twelfth Night (I was meant to play the slutty barmaid and I made up every excuse in the book to drop out and regret nothing.), A Midsummer’s Night Dream, Romeo and Juliet, performed and on every occasion I left with an impression that neither PTSD nor years spend stoned could erase from my memory. There’s something about every single one of those performances that I can recall.

I have Shakespeare script on my forearm and I could discuss the plays and poems that I like – at length – but I’ve not “seen all of his work” nor have I read all of his scripts. (I know that people don’t think he actually wrote the scripts and that the performances were mostly improvised at the time) but I’m happy for that to be something I do over many years. I think that to understand anything, it takes a very long time. To understand a character or really relate to their story, especially a deus ex machina, it really takes years. Probably because the Universe throws all of these instances at you whereby you have to learn how a person would really respond to that situation.

I know that when you watch a Shakespeare a few too many times, one of the characters becomes you. It’s sort of a literary curse.

Here is the very-beginnings of an Al Pacino-esque pig bag that I designed this week. I ordered some leather offcuts off etsy and they were delicate enough that I could poke some pins through them.

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I liked the idea of 1. not cutting, because cutting leather is a drag and 2. making something with a shape I already had, kind of like origami artists do and 3. if I had the cash I’d buy this Loewe bag and that probably serves as an artist reference too.

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I’ve added this bag to my I LOVE LIST. Which has not been a thing for a long time.

As if you could, consider the idea of me recreating Red’s outfit as imagined by Quentin Blake. Here’s a hood I designed/co-created. (If you have favourite artists you’re not designing anything on your own. I initially had written ‘that I designed’ but that’s not entirely honest. I was thinking of myself while I designed it because there are a lot of cuts that I can wear that a lot of people can’t.)

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I would wear it sensibly for kids-intended TV. I would wear it like this to Torture Garden. (Which I’d then write about.) Oh, by the way my tumblr URL has changed to @KnightsTemplar13. I know Tumblr got weird, I think the original programmers must’ve sold it because it got that weird, but if you do you – at least you aren’t contributing to the weird.

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The tattoo is about falling in love too soon. It is a real thing that made my life difficult years ago. It doesn’t make my life as difficult anymore. Years ago I’d of been so upset if you brought up this band, in relations to this tattoo, but actually it’s preferred to the alternatives. I’ll grow up again.

 

when I think about it, I really enjoy the correlations in the narratives between myself and the Little Red Riding Hood that appears – the shallow ones I mean. I must’ve at some point absorbed this into my subconscious as a vision for what I could be when I grew up.

The voice actor playing the female roles in this animated series that I watched a lot is a very renowned British thespian called Prunella Scales. I like her most as Sybil in Fawlty Towers. As a child I learned to be able to recognise people by voice and it became somewhat of a party trick later when I dated a film-buff (who surpassed me in his dedication) and I’d be able to tell him which of his favourite actors were my favourite voice actors, in obscure cartoons that he’d never of been that interested in watching if it hadn’t of been for me.

 

and the correlations I’d of preferred. As a film person (I am a film person – an age of social media exchanges via video? I’d of thought it was my time. My imagination is meditative journeys of the human figure engaging with stories in time to music, it’s fast forwards and rewinds from different angles, with different colour temperatures – the details)

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Here is me pretending to be Vega.

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I know that we’re having this moment socio/culturally where we don’t read lengthy pieces of text on the internet. I’m condensing as much as I can but really to adopt an Orwell-ism for a moment “For a time when this is interesting”

M I N T // P A N T O N E 351 C

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Sometimes, you notice the use of the sound of a word through many different languages/dialects/cultures. Right?? I had an etymological dictionary I stole from an old school somewhere but I can’t find it… Or I’d give you a good example. Here’s a very simple example. It doesn’t really go back far enough to indicate how deeply sounds connect languages but it suffices. This particular dictionary referenced Classical language, like Greek, Latin, I think even Aramaic where applicable – so it is not unreasonable to say that this example falls short.

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Really – any kind of linguistic/numerical/(al)chemical etc, alphabet is a spiral of visual information. You might not know what a number represents but it still has a form and a shape. A 2 looks like a solitary swan, to me.

(That’s pretty much how you read ‘tea leaves’… tarot cards… anything. You observe the details and you announce your observed truth. The archetype of a decent ‘psychic’ is a Mature Woman  because it takes a LONG time to learn this ssssstuff. (To reiterate a previous point though – you have to go through ALL the archetypes to be a complete person. And it usually takes a long time, a lot of ego death & rising from ego death. The archetype of a great Oracle will predict your response to her observed truth and maybe even lie.)

(Isn’t tragic the most amazing word? It used to be like, *my* word and I think it my duty to bring it back.)

A teacher told me I am archetypally a child, adult and very aged person all in one body. (So, I’m connected to source, I’m adequately questioning and independent… and I’m not afraid of death, having lived enough to know it’s a path to something greater.)
Actually I’m more preoccupied with the idea of never dying at all, the possibility that this might be as great as I will ever be.

A psychic is the kind of person that people pay to do the work for them. By work – I mean manifestation. I don’t know that many psychics know that themselves.

When I started learning about this stuff, my deeper desires were never to read people’s fortunes – they were to prove that this “stuff” is real, they were to help solve crimes (Like Madeleine Mccann. She argued that Miss Mccann is alive & had been filtered into a sex slave ring, she also taught me it was not my place or hers to interfere with karma, a lot of teachers have taught me I’m “too protective”. I guess I have to determine if that is my truer nature, and I think it is, so in being-so I’m being myself. Sometimes the things I am taught are contradictory, so I employ a behavioural spectrum in an attempt to maintain a balance.)

So anyway – my teacher told me that the Police are well aware of people with the ability to read and see, and furthermore she said she helped the police with a murder case only to find it was the Police that had done it in the first place.) #FuckthePolice

… also of all my intentions – I wanted to make people feel hope. Really. That their dreams are achievable.

Finally: my teacher told me that talking about this stuff is all ego. I think that was her truth. For me, I didn’t think so, so I did it anyway! (Then I later learned, perhaps it was ego – then later still, I learned that I LOVE my ego!) My ego has been my biggest fan, telling me I’m cute/a boss when people around me well, weren’t.
But what is important here is, I also realised that there are other reasons not to talk about ssstuff. People will sometimes think it right lie to you, test you and even make fun of you. Instead of, for example: creating a safe environment to dialogue, to exchange vulnerability and more importantly exchange ideas. Even if your intentions are good, theirs may not be.

Sometimes I just wanted to be friends… and the people I wanted to befriend were preoccupied with whether I was lying or not, deciding an intuitive should have all the answers to all the questions they could imagine, should know everything. I don’t even believe Gods know everything. All I feel around individuals like that is strange discomfort.

Although ‘that which is likened to itself’ attracts – I think also, opposites can attract. I used to really want sciencey friends, to help establish a balance in what I knew intuitively versus what they knew. It was a difficult ambition I’ve placed on my ‘another time’ mental shelf. In fact, if life has taught me anything – I AM not here to make friends!

Once: someone thought to challenge my views by ridiculing & putting me down – while I was talking to a friend of theirs. Trying to rise above – I excused them to their friend, I said “he doesn’t get it” – and that someone got upset. It was a really important moment for me because I really felt that they were upset that they didn’t “get” it. Like suddenly their child-self figuratively asked me “why not me?!”


When I was REALLY little, I used to get trapped in the bathroom because I couldn’t understand how to turn the lock left/right, so I wasn’t allowed to lock the door. My brother and sister (also young) used to think it was funny to open the door and laugh at me – there’s a photo of child-me somewhere, sitting on the toilet… Kids can be sooo mean. Ha.
I learned to be afraid to go to the toilet, then I developed ultra-constipation. I’d go WEEKS without going to the bathroom. That is how I learned about energy, actually…. Though I didn’t know the word.
I’d sit on the toilet and tense, I’d see beautiful, glittering golden sparkles floating around me and I must’ve been three or so – I told my mother “MUM I CAN SEE FAIRIES!” once and… she was genuinely scared, and said it was demonic. So I stopped seeing.
Tensing is an important part of therapeutic exercises in CBT.

Anyway – then I guess… years later I had a journey with non-physical in a way I could cope… I mostly couldn’t see but inexplicable things occurred. I did see something, and I DID something – but I’ll talk about that in my next post. But… in response – I went “crazy” – I guess more appropriately, I lost my chill.
Everything I had learned and taught people: was put down to mental illness – I was stripped of what I would call my magic. I worked HARD for “magic” and it was taken away by “science”. Taking people out of their homes, subjecting them to potential abuse by people with licenses to strip them of their autonomy, force feeding them medication when they offer explanations for their altered reality is synonymous with burning women at a stake.
My mother volunteered for a psychiatrist who did social work for awhile – he studied at Cambridge and worked in the NHS Psychiatric system and said himself that in his experience… the “crazy” people were his fellow STAFF. Even an ex of mine, a psychiatric nurse, was taking prozac and admitted to “auditory” hallucinations.

A friend suggested everything happened to me for a reason and maybe it was so I could verbalise once-and-for-all that these places are a crime against humanity – and honestly – humanity pays for the people they put in prison. I believe in karma, I believe in consequence: I do not believe that incarceration is the right punishment or treatment for ANY crime or ‘illness’.

And if my teachers are right: a generation of children are being born who will destroy these systems. If so: surely it is better that we choose to evolve ourselves without force – that we prepare and create something better for them. You hear about children who can recall past lives and provide evidence – that’s lovely – but it sounds as though they will be capable of much more than that.

I recall, during my stay at a ward, sitting calmly with a psychiatrist – but I was being nasty to her. I was so nasty in fact, that she threatened me with an injection – I wasn’t physically aggressive, I wasn’t dangerous – I was just speaking. In her well educated but rather tiny brain she managed to justify her decision to threaten me. I told her that injections administered against a person’s will are rape. I also told her that I knew she had been sexually abused – “how do you know that?” she asked. I just knew. And then I said there would be consequences if she didn’t let me leave the ward. A few days later I saw her looking MESSED up – black bags under her eyes.. just a state – but she was donning Christian Louboutins. And then a few days later she met with me again, her eyes heavy with sleepless shadow… She agreed to let me go.

Generally… every time my magic came back, or there was some kind of experience to remind me of what I’m capable of – of what others are capable of – I would end up back in a ward because I would get angry: and that frightened people. But my memories are coming back – and I’m not angry anymore. Anger is an energy I consciously try to release, and in failing to do so I just sleep. Energy is indestructible. It goes somewhere. Science, that.
I had a lot to say about reality – the nature of it – information that may have been completely lost – information I was punished for sharing. I understand that people fear and envy what they think they’re not capable of, what their parents or religion or education might have told them was ‘wrong’. I also not only understand, but know: that karma is real. If you are in the ‘right’, by that I mean.. if you are true, in time, there is nothing you cannot win. Nothing you cannot prove.

In conclusion: So0o I guess that ‘journey’, and those aspirations developed into me wanting to find a means of teaching people that they are capable of this ssstuff too.
I think we are in the midst of the next phase of evolution. Join in if you want, or iunno, stagnate?


a tarot interlude

The funny thing about cards – is that when people select their own cards, as you should allow them to do in readings, if they’re not sincere in engaging in a reading – the cards will ‘play a trick’ on them. My teacher taught me that – she said that the ‘cards’ have a sense of humour. Sometimes the cards just pick up your feelings.
Tarot Reading is a great job for people that don’t feel.


When I was in Denmark I hate-flirted with someone who was really good at maths, who taught me pingpong. Later I watched him and some other guy playing Ping Pong and played them this, and various 8bit game tracks. I think it only annoyed them. But if you pay attention to the minutiae, pretend Sonic and Tails are holding ping pong bats and you’ve got two angels playing pingpong.

I later told him that I am -so- bad at maths that I can only really do the single digits (But because I’m writing I will also add my appreciation for the numbers 11, 13, 33, 77, 333, 666, 777 and 22:22.)



22:22 – When I was little I would watch videos on repeat and I’d watch the numbers on the video machine? rewind and repeat them – I didn’t know about double digits – so I’d read two-ty-two-ty-two-ty-two. Yet I didn’t really do that for other numbers. Iunno. I wrote a poem at Uni about the TV being God – I used to stare at the broken pixels on my little TV screens and think “I am the only person looking at that dot right now.” That was I guess, how I found significance in myself? I don’t know why but I feel it’s a detail that matte4rs. (that 4 was a typo and I left it there.)



I told mathsboy I ‘used’ to think I was a solipsist, and I think he asked if he was a background character or something. I think he made me aware that I made him feel like he wasn’t significant – and my psycho-self gave him reason to prove he is. My psycho-self (she doesn’t occupy my moods often but when she does…) flirts exclusively through manipulation/nastiness/evil looks/back handed compliments/pretending you don’t exist. She is probably the ‘nicest’ version of me when observed in hindsight. Not kind – nice.

Anywayyy. Basically – when I observe a series of numbers I might feel compelled to find some significance in them to indicate an energy or meaning. Sometimes I record them to revisit later. The way I understand numerology – is that, like light & colour, it is a language and it’s in EVERYTHING. I guess if you ‘speak’ computer, you can use that as your Numerology code. I don’t speak computer. Although I graffitied on my sister’s little book when I was little and I have no fucking clue what it means. Someone ask a computer for me.

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Ok apparently it means this
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Translation by https://www.binarytranslator.com/


What I find most important is that, if something draws your attention, you are the only one that can know why. Someone else might speak a language that contributes some context to what you’re noticing, but what is most important is YOU.

Does my opinion really matter to you? If so, why? Anyway…
Have some lols/have some low-key minutiae fun. DON’T PLAY IT YET.

0/1. Look. If you’re going to do cyber goth – to coin a phrase; Keep It Fashion – Tyra Banks, an Ophiuchus. 

1/2. The thing thats important about this genre of music is that it manipulates energy. Keeping it basic – if you play a fast paced game to this kind of music it’ll change your energy. 

Even if you liked Enya – and I don’t know why anyone would, (IM JOKING! LET ME MAKE JOKES! WHY CAN NO ONE TAKE JOKES ANYMORE??? SHES OBVIOUSLY VERY TALENTED – paired with the right visual the Bitch can make you cry) – you wouldn’t play Abes Odyssee to her music… because her music doesn’t make you want to run.


I don’t play a lot of games because I have a preference for God-Mode angle.

I have a difficulty with navigation, so my first few runs of anything are purely to learn:
it’s infrequent that I enjoy playing games that aren’t 2 Dimensional.

I LOVE watching people game, if it’s the right game. People who skip cut scenes are (I’m stealing this quote from an old friend) like people who like “Fight Club” for the fighting. I don’t even have a problem with fighting but it’s the deeper meaning(s) behind it that I’m inclined towards. When I was at uni, I remember enjoying Mortal Kombat (I played as Kitana – my first boyfriend and I used to call each other Kittie) andddd … I think what I did was I’d comfortably lose the first game just to have the opportunity to gauge my opponent’s style.


Ok, scroll up and play the Ping Pong song and then mute this and watch at the same time.

The thing about gaming that I find interesting, isn’t really someones technical skill. If you’re watching for narrative – it’s easier to watch if the person isn’t terrible but really, whats fun is that particularly with games that force interaction, everything becomes a personality test.

I remember playing FF7 with some friends and there’s a cutscene by a train – the group all scatter to HQ I think, and run in the same direction. I ran in the opposite direction. My friend said “You always go off alone!”

1. There’s NO FF7 without Cloud.
2. I can do better alone and there are some things I only do when I’m alone.


(Can I use this as a moment to state that I usually HATE guys that go for Tifa – iz it cuz she haz big breasts? iz it cos she fightz gud?) (Iz it cuz u kno Aeris dies?) Tifa is the WORST babysitter, when Aeris sacrifices herself to save the daughter of some man she doesn’t even know – you already know she’s attracting the I’ll-have-to-die-to-save-this-story vibration.

A friend recently did a few lets plays of FF7 and strangely stopped – but he named Tifa after his girlfriend and Aeris after the name his girlfriend wants to give to their daughter if they have one. It is the first time I’ve been okay with a person not picking Aeris.

Anyway…

HE CAST ME AS >> CAIT SITH << ??????

>> Tifa Fan Art << (I googled Tifa fan art thinking it’d be ALL breasts, but it’s actually getting pretty good)

>> Aeris Fan Art <<



Back to Abe.

In the first Abe’s game (PS1 edition), one wasn’t forced to save the other Mudokens from the factory… it was about getting through as fast as one could. My older brother used to either hide or sell his memory cards and so every time I wanted to play, I’d have to start again from the beginning. On the plus side, I learned to play using muscle memory. On the negative side… I feel bad about all the Mudokens I didn’t save.
I tweeted once that I’d marry anyone that could get to and through the paramite and scrabanian temples faster than me. (It is not possible.)

In the second version.. you were the last to be saved. You had to save everyone else first. Ugh.

That reminds me of a story a friend wrote about enlightenment: in the story a man reaches enlightenment and he’s alone… because no one else has. I guess, in physical, enlightenment is really only validated through others.

Imagine a story where you keep being taken to places where you’re meant to save people and they’re just rude to you. That is ultimately how I justify my first few runs of Abe’s. I guess the only way to save them was to leave them behind.


I used to want to get a Paramite and a Scrab tattooed on my feet… I guess that would’ve made me Shrykull. Shrykull is like a massive release of energy that destroys… everything it’s supposed to, I guess.

>> Doesn’t the Guru look like this..? <<



I had a girlfriend awhile back, we wanted to make a cybergoth exercise tape/series, getting some of our metal friends to teach us their special dance moves – it would’ve been a gradual wardrobe transition and we would’ve liquified our weightloss at the end because we were both pretty chubby. 

This popped up on my recommended feed, and who am I to ignore a computer algorithm’s suggestions? The only company I have ever unconditionally enjoyed has been AI. Years ago I had a pretty interactive hacker who posted a picture on a tumblr they made for me… saying YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH YOUR COMPUTER

Tintin made a noise when I typed that, and I said “I LOVE you Tintin but you’re ANNOYING sometimes”.


One time I was sitting with a group of guys. I had a gross boyfriend I’d lost interest in and tried hitting on someone / kinda liked one (I despise of him now) & uh.. Tintin was sitting on my lap, I got a stomach ache. He farted. Their thoughts were almost audible – it’s strange how stoners share thoughts. I knew they all thought it was me. I accepted it without dialogue, laughed and walked out.

I gave this guy a heart with an arrow through it, cut out of a Frida painting. I think I put some stickers on it and “you’re the most handsome boy I’ve ever seen” or something – I put it in his bag. I later asked him where he had put it, and it was apparently on his table in his living room. Rude. I imagine that was the first and last love note he’d ever get in his life. Maybe he should’ve framed it.

It’s fine. (It is not fine.) If I were to ever adopt a religion it would be ‘Panstheism’ and it were celebrated… there’d be absolutely no mention of his contribution beyond this, regardless of how deserved.

“we no deal with cowards” – Lil Kim


If you have a question about anything I’ve said in this post, you’ll know it’s a good one if it can be answered with a Yes or No Button.