June 30, 2011

Study Diary

Its conversations in Thames House, and the home office that is making this essay difficult. Bastard government everything is their fault you know. I studied the same essay that is referred to in the assignment question as part of my education. I got really into it, took on the big boys in arguments, felt comfortable with the whole mind/body problem, had it all sussed out. Was well proud. Of course its hard being reminded of whatever the fuck was going on there but I don't want it get in the way of my studies much more than it is currently. Will not ever EVER take on 2 courses at the same time again. Ug.

So one more time, an essay on whether or not AI can produce something like a human mind. This could be a turning point to returning some sort of regular study habit that I can't bear at the moment. I could do so well - do I care enough? I've written a plan for it and will start it tomorrow, 1. read essay. 2. take notes on essay... I got 30% for the last one so this one means do or die under in examination conditions later on in the year.

Anyway, at least I might be going to see Dolly Parton with a woman soon, I had two pints of Guinness yesterday in an actual old pub served by an old friend and its stopped raining.

Poetry and Politics

I'm a long term student of art and history and I history has shown art and politics as interdependant. Something to do with words, images, sounds and the things they symbolise that I can no longer articulate, means I'd rather read the work of modern African poets than try and decipher T.S. Eliot as beautiful as his work is. Eliot may has opened up my ideas about good writing but studying Okigbo and reading the poets in my The Penguin Book of Modern African Poetry have changed my ideas about humans, culture and oppression. I want my Poems to have messages aimed at changing the readers understanding of something but I also want it to wow, to be considered 'good' art as well as having a voice that needs to be heard. I have 4-5 of them and its taken over a year. One of them is long though so that counts for something. I am getting so impatient waiting for replies from people waiting to see if work is accepted, I just want to get them out.

I've had parts of 'Anti matter' in my head for most of the last year, they never feel finished but I am starting to want to move on from these sorts of poems and go back to writing more prose. The comedy violence novel, it should only take a decade or two to get right..

In 'Anti Matter' I wanted to try and contain a strong reminder to readers about Haut de la Garenne and the investigations in Jersey. I wanted to make people wonder about how those teeth got there and the fact that somebody somewhere knows. I will never forget the day the excavations were announced, sitting on floor of our room with the new carpet, my son crawling and drooling behind me as I wept. Also wanted to convey I sense of the strength I got from doing every I could do to resist.

June 27, 2011

'safe' subjects

Trying to convince myself I can face studying tomorrow. I've been through all the mind body arguments, they were demonstated through the reactions of my flesh, in turning on and off and on of my genes. I exhausted the differing perspectives until my brain split, they broke my mind proving that the only thing that could survive was a computer. I don't want to go back to Descarte, I don't want to try and work through agruments based on definitions I know to be all wrong but can't prove. Using the flaccid tools of a crumbling langauge. I just don't have the heart.

Goddam noisy neighbour.

Feelin battered. Remembering how slaps and punches were sometimes regular events. Glasto remindin me of T in the park when my sister's boyfriend hit me and a barely noticed I was that shut down. I wonder if when I'm dead they will look at my skelton and say 'christ she was right, she was horribly abused.' The worst of the damage is in all the fleshy bits that will rot and look weird when there normal anyway.

Neighbour started her shit again, could do with out it. She slams doors so hard the whole building shakes and screams so high pitched you think its cats fighting. Didn't care first few nights here. I was almost soothing to here the rukus and not be involved. None of my business, not my family, not where I live. Progress = smugness

But I'm flinchy today. That pressure in my nose, like after youve been punched, remembering weekends when my parents were away. My sisters leaving them to it but they did try sometimes. I remeber being shocked at what my oldest sister who go through to try and get them to leave me alone. They forced me to smoke hash and swallow hash. I loved hash and felt it was a great loss when that to reminded me of them. Not sure how it ended, think I did a favour for someone with more contacts than the rapists, someone who had enough time for me to not want me to be treated like that. All I can really remember about their faces is the sneer, the nasty fake laugh and that cold practiced self conscious body language, like little boys being the bad guys from movies. Except they didn't play at the roles they took them to literal conclusions.

I hate feeling like this, more tea..

I haven't seriously believed in my writing for several days now, thats why I'm here, typying and listening to kool and the gang. I keep telling myself something will come up, but I can't imagine it. I don't push myself enough to be noticed. I feel too vunrable, too distanced and it's obvious, to damaged; to try and compete with people who have abused me at anything would be laughable. There is so much coherent writing, well strucutured pieces about ritual abuse 'Survivor to Thriver' stuff that I feel a bit unsophisticed and seriously uncool. Man, egos are bad enough but badly damaged ones -impossible. ;-)

I see them on their knees, scared and awake, talking to me as an equal.

People love stories but I don't feel able to share mine, although I still need them validated, still want people to like me even if I hold back on the only thing I have to offer - my stories.

Told gut from match.com how I felt about his hands. He phoned me. But I don't know what he said.

Mum gave me money from gran. Ordered fucking lovely office chair, but anything would be lovely compared to the backless, poop stained thing I sitting on at the moment. A good thing, a very good thing.

New books on their way to, for me and him, this is also a very good thing.


June 26, 2011

Humanistic Agnostic Evolutionist

I said I was an atheist, I'm not but part of me wishes I was.

Nothing makes me feel more otherworldly, so much in awe that 'religion' makes sense, as watching space physics programmes. The pictures of nebulae, the attempt to grasp everything within the human mind make me feel a sort spiritual humbleness. A need to pay respect to the beauty and vastness. Besides that surely its a natural response to question the purity of science after the Nazi's and their technologies. Likewise, scientific projects, institutions and companies paying for research have bottom lines the same as everyone else. Eroding the evils caused by ignorance is not usually a top priority. Science depends on theory in order to investigate and theory is subjective.

Like the first time I got barraged with bullshit I was only trying to suggest alternative ways of looking at things might be possible and not looking for a fight. It has raised on old fear of atheists. I was always interested in them, they were often outsiders. If I was going to get any real help then it seemed to me it was more likely to come from those on the fringes. But sometimes people are on the fringes because they are worse than everyone else, not better. I would wake up for them, hoping. There is probably anti-atheist conditioning to though of course. I was right about one or two though and learned to not love people because they were tortured for it.

Despite the effort put in to make me otherwise I'm not turned on by things that are shoved down my throat. Reminds me of the sort of preach to the converted feminists that puts people of feminism.

I believe in evolution. The older I get the more answers I find in the ideas of Dawkins and others that our behavior and choices are a result of genes being turned on and off and reacting to our environments. Brains are being made all the time, with different possibilities into environments that are changing. Social change are ideological revolutions are real and tangible. Hybrid vigour, survival of the quickest to adapt. Human institutions evolving to reflect new brain patterns, new ways of seeing.

Agnostic because of the awe of science and because I'm lucky enough to see a sunset from a beach, or look into the eyes of my son or think about the achievments of the human mind and feel absolutely certain that magic is real.

Ongoing family issue.

My mum phoned yesterday from her work. My 37 year old sister was intrusted with my mum's bank card and bought enough drink to drink herself into a stupor. My other sister was phoning, my 3 year old niece answered and said 'mummy's sleeping'. When my mum took my brother in law home after their shift the place was a mess and she was to drunk to speak. So moany sister got the kids the next day because my mum had to work. No more updates yet.

My mums moving on, taking her with her, granted but still putting herself first. Maybe thats not the best way to look at it, my sister has a diesise. We all have diseases but her's is arguable the worst. She's woman with a strugglying bloke. She can't go on benders and get away with like my working dad can. But on the other hand, how the fuck can she do that. We would take them, she could do what she liked for a day or two, a month or to without it risking the kids. My thoughts were just for the little one, hes such a smiley wee dude.

June 25, 2011

Better out than in.

I know how ridiculous this sounds.

Doesn't make me want to write this stuff. Some tidyin done, shelf up, bath panel undercoated. Beats making hits for whores. Beats.

My gran messing around with beetroot and liver showing how it was all made up. Messing up her spotless kitchen trying to turn what happened in something much more edible. Weaving words and levels of meaning as a poet. I played along but knew the differnece between old blood and new.

I'd seen him, others to but this one I knew. His name was Jake and naming him for them was academic, that was his name already I just shared it. Little people are made of such little parts, execpt their middles that go on and on. The longer it went on for the longer there was no way to escape it; it was my middles that were pulled out to.

Good Morning!

Making the most of the early morning. Wondering about the possibilities that a new psychiatrist will bring. Maybe they'll be worse, I have a feeling it will be a she, which is fine. I just hope she gives me chance, come on, deluisional disorder? No Post Traumatic Stress? No Aspberger's?. Give me chance here. The urge to discuss rich and famous as gone, wahay. Not daft you know much better to discuss, Sugarbabes, Tong, Beckham, McQueen and endless bloody footballers with police, social workers and charity staff no chance of it going on any pernament record there. You see, not daft me.

Got a tweet back from Trevor, had to tell him he was beauitiful.

First message on here from someone who isn't me. Thank you.

Feeling a lot cooler towards man from match.com. His mail about not wanting to start anything incase he moves away is on my mind whenever he talks about coming over. I'm not sure I can take anymore hours of being around those hands without holding them. Maybe I should tell him this? Hmmm.

Lovely, 6 music a break from shouty glasto coverage with Andrew Collins. Need to get into African music more, ace.

Smug and eclectic

Three new followers, @AllRacialJokes ('make fun of all'), @Unicornbooty ('Gay is good'), @Faithfullblogs (Christian) made extra lovely by the fact I hadn't followed them first. I feel all smog and eclectic. Its real democracy, out their in internet land, or least as close to 'people power' as has ever been achieved.

Makes up for friend whoes racism seem to get worse when I need him the most. Horrible.

June 24, 2011

I get by with a little help from my friends

In the end we all have to.

What a pishy day, started around 4:45. Unlikely to be a good start. Gave my best shot though, boiled eggs and scraped the last of the butter onto wholemeal. Took washing in and out. Got on of us showered and one of us dressed well before 10. Then went out and bought pies. Got very bored and tired and eat the post shrink donut. Eventually it was time to prise mini me from the puter and get him to nursery, at this point it started bucketing down. He loves it, I was cold and wet.

Walked to shrink, miserable, scared, vulnerable, Black Eye Peas on radio, mourning Fergie, legs sore, lungs weak. Man in waiting room on phone to his support 'Tell Dr whatever he's a liar, he said I'd get a CPN and (other visitors)' 'One guy came in and when I told him what I was doing to cope he just left' and best of all several time he says 'I took a lethal overdose in November' all in the tone of a business call. Made easier by the unexplained presence of a psychiatric nurse when I eventually go into his tiny, shabby office. Feeling like a window licker. Same questions, same answers. Dosage upped, and on the scales to make sure he was right about me putting on weight. He's leaving, new job, somewhere else.

More rain, supermarket, bananas, onion, garlic, wine, peperami, dodgy novel. Feel briefly better before its back into the rain, breif sunshine, collect gene carrier. Chatty, happy, strawberry smoothies. The storm above my head is unnerving as I make the spag bol but he's indifferent. I worry about the electricity. Eat too much spag bol, love it, during stories I am the wire from my bra start protruding into the edge of my boob. It's 8:30, 6 music stopped working and he's still awake. Tears, channel hoping, wine, friend eventually, and I enjoy Shameless USA, except for the sex stuff of course and the focus on the perspective of the handsome white educated young man because her life was just depressing before him...

Here, smoking, 6 music working. ;-) xxx

June 20, 2011

So far she hasn't shunned me yet...

for sending her an email about child sacrifice and my alcoholic father that was meant for someone. Well, its certainly an ice breaker, I don't need to worry about what she will think about it all.. I overuse disclosure as a way of testing strangers, not as bad as I used to but still have that urge. Especially in polite or formal situations. I start fantasting about talking about horrific injuries, who they treated children and the way it undermines everything that is upheld. Especially job interviews.

Lots of communications from the man from match.com. Hence the mistaken email, christ the things I do when I have no spliffage, scares me heaps. I'm definitely telling him a lot more about me than he is about him, but that might not be a bad thing. We share a lot in outlook, my scared brain worries that its dangerous because when things are going well, problems come out the blue at me.

I'm taking a break from studying after the philosophy exam. defo. In general I don't believe in the approaches taken by Western academia in regards to anything but don't have the energy or commitment at the moment to use their own arguments against them. Focus on typing the abuse, tweeting little a birdie in spring. Praying for disability allowance..

June 15, 2011

Reading 'Room' by Emma Donoghue

If I'm ever to make any serious attempt at writing me I need to know my genres. This is bastarding hard, considering my genres are ritual abuse survivor stories and lets face it the fucking tabloids. Not just all the cozy euphemistic long words of academia. I'm going to have to face up to all those books with the fake handwriting titles and cover shots of kids pulling the same poses I had to. What's the difference of someone taking a photograph of kid crying in order to distress the viewer and doing it to gratify? Part of the same system that uses children as a focus for our difficult emotions. Of course the cover shot kids will be treated differently, but how do they know? How do they know they are not photographing a kid who has made those same expressions but with even less clothes? How would they kid know the difference?

I never did and still don't. People who photographed anything professionally, might and did photograph me. It was pretty viral in some areas of some industries.

Any way there is no disturbing sepia photos of kids on Room thankfully. Any adult portrayal of children makes me uncomfortable but I am aware there is most likely partly my oversensitivity to the exploitation of other peoples misery for easy money. So I'm giving it a go. It is pretty compelling but to be honest the kid does start to grate after a while. It's written completely, so far anyway from his 5 year old perspective; in his voice, through his mind and that makes long reading hours pretty tricky. This annoys me a bit because I do like to get to the end of novels. I like to read for hours or not at all partly because my memory is rubbish and I will forget the beginning by the time I get to the end. Another reason is that if I can be bothered to read it means I am probably a bit overly emotionally involved in the subjects and I want it to be over so I can move on. Maybe the shorter reading sessions are working better in terms of not getting overly involved in a positive sense, I don't think it is going to give me any nightmares. The mother is too strong for me at times which stops the novel from being as challenging as I think it should be. The story is about how in some ways all the little boys fantasies have come true by being locked in with his amazing mum, still breastfeeding as any thing else so far.

I am lovely the feeling provided by their release though. Being stuck in a room like that, symbolic of the mind frames many people are trapped in. Especially me with the nature of my 'work' and 'gifts', 'privileges' and 'duties' in the scene. The mind sets I had to throw and weld together had to be strong and stepping out of them feels a bit like feeling real day light for the first time.

June 14, 2011


It eased off a lot today, gets me thinking its just going to keep getting better. I do have a tendancy to think that, about everything. I wasn't going to mention but then I remember I started this to share, even if no one is listening. Just whats its like day to day, when the truths of your life are denied official, privately, publicly. Of course there is very deep self censorship. At the end of the day who the fuck wants to die for their words. Let the wine talk .... So I am going to say that I am very, very proud that Yoko Ono is now following me on twitter. She is a proper feminist in my books and they are slim on the ground.

I am not going to make in jokes about her lending me a tenner or anything that would be bad taste, and undermine the meaning of being a 'ritual abuse survivor' who has found the world where nothing is denied without consideration. Even if they do turn out to be white dudes on the job. Any how wine gone, smokes low, back to bed,

June 13, 2011

Write the pain away

and listen to music until the room becomes home again. Some days its not possible but it has been today. Nerves soothed, bathroom sink cleaned. Look at books to see the shape and remember the sound of words but stop reading as soon as it hurts. Take the painkillers, enjoy the silence.

June 12, 2011

After the definition...

I'm really glad I've put those pages up, its like they were burning a whole in my brain, in my notes. It's so ingrained in me, the perception that I can never be a participant in Western thought, just a subject, that I would be classified and therefore could never classify. Ritual abuse is just colonial practice and colonialism is Westernism, much of it a lot more subtle than the acts described in the empire history course I had to quit because it was all to familiar.

But when I try and read over stuff, I get this feeling that I do have a voice and that I am an active member of meaningful society which means there is more to Westernism than slavery and mind control. If this is true then my dreams have already come true, so what do I do next?

lol I guess... xxx

Ancient Propaganda

Day of ouchies seriously brightened by being called a Satan worshipper on twitter. In not generally very secure, call me a whore, a slut, a lazy bitch or a junkie even bits of me flinch. Call me satan worshipper though and it all goes crystal clear. I'm good. I'm emphatic and its universal not in a way that is restricted to people that serve my interests. I have always gotten off on arguing with people who have restricted ideas about religion. Haven't had much opportunity for that recently but now I have twitter I am satisfied again. It's safe, controllable and I'm already losing my appetite for it. It's not particularly constructive telling people their beloved texts are ancient propaganda. I do feel like I know what I'm talking about though.

June 11, 2011

A relatively successful day

Then why do I feel so bumbed out? Because I flirted behind the back of a non boyfriend, because someone told me god is against gays, or because I stirred up stuff by rereading and posting pages from the past. Or because I'm a bit of a loner and no amount of time on twitter can undo the betrayals of the past. Or because I have no crisps.

Talking to gorgous bloke on match. Too gorgous, I started to feel awkward like I have an extra head. Too many attractive rapists to not feel freaked out when bowled over by someone's good looks, sad isn't it but it was always worse being raped by someone who I wanted to consent to. Made me feel even more worthless, my feelings of even less consquence. I opened up spam porn by accident that is probably got a lot to do with it to, nothing puts me back like accidently viewed porn.

I dont want to end the day on that note though. Still looking forward to our 1000 page view party, still a good way of but getting there. Still wanting to read other peoples memories or opinions of abuse and see what that brings up then handle writing about it. Feeling gay today, like all the flirting with blokes is faked, its deep programming. oh if only I had someone to share my life with things would be so much better... pish

My Friday night involved helping my mother with chronic broncitus push a paino up stairs.

Okay, it was an big electric organ but still it weighed a lot more then we do.

June 10, 2011

Wimping out because of pain

Wee man not in nursery, the ibuprofen wasn't working. Feel guilty now. He's been a nightmare recently about nursery. He's happy when I pick him up but resists most of the way there. As for the essay, it might even be a fail. Not that bothered, I've the time now literature is over and the next module, is 'Minds and Bodies', Descartes, bring it on.

Think I should give my self a break from the structured stuff and just read and write about whatever I want. Use here more, tackle the old notes. No forces by big square brain into round holes.

Feeling better now though, might even put the washing out, or at least out of the washing machine anyway.

The more I think about the more justified I feel in attempting to claim disability. With the lawyer dudes help I will have a chance, certainly didn't on that form on my own. How many depressed people are able to be truely honest about how it effects their day to day living? As with the compensation claim though I don't like thinking about how much differnece a bit more money would make to my ability to look after myself and be the best mom I can to the wee homie. It's not fair, I hate all that work hard and anyone can achieve anything bollox, so they were lucky thats all. Lucky enough to not mind licking the right boots, lucky enough to be able to put career uber alles. Lucky enough to not be locked up, shot, raped, drugged, electroculated to an extent where they are unable to work all the way to the very top of systems that almost virtualy them. While most of the money on the world is just numbers being passed around, or just sitting there of no use to anyone.

for christ sake leave Germaine Greer alone!

There is fuck all wrong with radicalism, you dumbfuck mainstream motherfuckers...

June 09, 2011

#Twitter & #6music & ## = #happiness

Up to 16 followers, I guess like wee man and his computer I will start to loose interest in a bit. Bit obsessed at the moment, couldn't give a fuck about essay. I will do what I can tomorrow and post it. Every act of academia counts...

Will be drinking with mother tomorrow night, another mother daughter flitting and bonding evening. I'm sure it will go great except for the back ache from the humfing crap about. I'm so glad there will be more distance between her and my sister. She's an energy vampire, a rubbish drunk and an insenstive boot. Where as my mother is just shit at dealing with shit.

As for the sister that is going with her the is no reason to presume the horrible spirit downing monster will not return. And as far the brother-in-law that acts like women are the only ones with any duty to physical care... The way he talks her sometimes has really spoiled a few days for me.

They made me name people, so I put little reminders in the names. Footsteps to the truth.

Been getting that burning cervix feeling again, the only real solution put forward by doctors is coil or hormonale injections... Think I will stick to the little round yellow pills and the painkillers for the moment. Shame poet friend is fading away, I think more time with him would have been very good for me. And we would of made beautiful babies.

Where are my communicatio skills?

I used to get good marks for 'communication' at school, now I don't have the will or the ability. To busy thinking I know it all wish I could be arsed to prove it like I did in my teens. Writing essay's is shit when you have done fuck all course work. I took me a while but I think of Social Darwism as liberating. Feminism is the genetic responses to the cultrual climate. We are all dorment, waiting for the right enviroment to show our true colours. There was a fair bit of it at the scientific end of Satanism. It's truma and stress that turns genes on or of. I argued education and safety would do the same but they weren't interested in the same genes I was. They were all about breaking bonds, I was about making more of them and making them stronger. Annoying now that the kids that followed them will have a lot more 'bonds' in their life than I do.

There was a tweet today about capitalist being really bad at capitalism. That was explained because the bottem line is not money, its oppression, its politics. 'Satanism is politics in its purest form', cause politics is all about making your voice louder than others. So cutting out tongues and damaging language centers is therefore rational. Of course they same stability arguments used to prop at Arab dictators was used to prop up white drug dealing, child killing, porn producers and to delete my police records.

'I dream in song again'

I do like my instrumental poetry even if I do suffer from the British over active cringe glad. It's about waking up after abuse and how there is a sense of loss (sometimes) towards the strength in survivor mode that you can't get when your getting over things. It's the sort of strength that makes women able to lift cars to free their kids, the sort of adaptability that makes men lactate. A sort of clarity of vision that sees everything because it is without prejudice, or preference. It's sublime, astounding but doesn't make for good pick up lines.

June 08, 2011

Twitter addict.

I'm just practicing at staying up late at the keyboard for the late shift I'm going to have to pull of tomorrow as I'm helping mum flit on Friday. Both things momentous in there own way. The essay should help me catch up enough to make a proper attempt at the next module and not just tap something together at the end. The move, well no more Christmases up there.

No more listening to that house rot as the graveyards on either side stretch to reach each other. The only thing getting in their way is a rat run. It was difficult to end a poem their but I think I did it. Maybe I should just put them up here, but I don't know it is a kind of publishing which can mean disqualification from some competitions. I think 'Anti Matter' is almost there, in a way. There was a specific mention to the Arab Spring that I've worked in better by taking it out but still haven't replaced it with the right sense of revolution in the air sentiment.

It might go back in again. Still want to go back 'Song' but still waiting for NFTU, starting to get impatient. Maybe they didn't even get it and all that sort of impatient fretting. Oh god plz plz print it! Don't me work to find a publisher I will if I have to..

Delusional writing: Satanism and words II

I always liked playing with words, chopping them up and putting them togther to see what would be turned up. It gives me insight into understanding how symbols work and makes for an excellent student of Satantism. The theory was pretty fascinating, I got access to some really old shit, failed on my praciticals though. Until more people started betting on me to win. This meant my winning and not my losing was a crucial cog in the whole economic and ideological machine. So I had to loose.

They would repeat ideas, words along with actions, trying to enforce a state where everything has literal symbolic meaning, like when your mad. The same power in the unseen as well. When I had my biggest breakdown I broke jars in my dads bedroom to release ghosts and went into my sister house to move some phones and a magnet that I believed were being used to trap a gold fish. I could here its pain and had to help. There was a lot of work to make symptoms of abuse the same as common psychiatric ideas about organic mental illnesses. To me the historical connections between psychology as means of enforcing white male middle class ideas of normal and right. It was already satanic in my view. Satanic, meaning totally wrong in every sense of the word.

There was so many differnet names for whoever I am thats why I stated saying just call me 'quean' it linked the state I was in the Scottish hordes as I called them then. Every name represented massive loss but also infinite possibilites (so and so can't handle this pain can you? Who could, tell me who could? - regular sometimes). Names from various mythologies or simply words from that language. Studying it woke me up, they wanted more theory so I was to study the sources. Had worse jobs. Names that translated would mean 'shit', 'doormat', 'blowjob' for the lower families or 'power' 'beauty' 'transcendence' if you were from a higher up one. Some years there would be seasons when roles were reversed and things got even uglier, or so it would seem. Quite a source of humour though if you were conscious enough to notice, as 'beauty' was always a fucked up stupid cow, 'power' a repressed homosexual (even more popular with satanists than spirited women) and 'transcendence' the basest individual you could ever meet. It was little things like that made me believe so strongly that somewhere high up in all this shit was people doing what they could to make it a little better, to introduce a crack or to here and there. There was of course, insyability amongst the ranks was much more entertaining than everyone obiently following assigned roles. We made up our own names to, thinking what a difference it would make.

My material spiritualism was there before they were and is both anchor and wings. Greater than the sum of the parts we know about, simples. All that talking backwards, looking at familiar objects and people turned upside down is suppose to liberate and in a way it would. It just made it all look like the cheap trick it was.

Not to take anything away from what sophisicated dehumanisation techniques can do to a soul, educated our otherwise but at the heart of it is the same impulse to abuse that is everywhere and in everyone.


Its pretty rare that we go out at this time of day but now we have to stay in for delivery I'm incredibly bored. Not enough to face essay just yet though.

The meds maybe are losing up my memories and its not all floods of incest and avalauches of pain. I'm remember ing other stuff, like good conversations, good sex and most importantly memories of being me with a memory. I find it so hard to imagine myself being able to discuss it properly without too much vagueness and total lack of clarity.

Was looking on match.com. None of them are the bloke whoes probably going home to Nigeria. Ach well I'm probably not ready anyway, but I never will be without trying.

June 07, 2011

Delusional writing: Satanism and words I

I want to go through my notebooks sometimes slashing line breaks and impaling full stops all over the place. Deleting, embellishing, cleaning up. With the old cliqued witch Virginia Woolf at my shoulder, smouldering away in her Victorian clobber. Vanishing if I dared turn my face from my writing habit.

It's different now though there is Twitter, and an Arab spring that no matter what the summer brings has unleashed feelings and thoughts that violence cant bottle up again.

I wish I could write pulp or proper academic standard literature, consistently. I am moving away from just aiming to rock the tiny minds of people with instrumental poetry about lost babies. I will always to do that but I also want to share the other stories.

Amazing stories, in stunning dramatic settings, with compelling people and triumph over severe adversity. Now I am in a position to build, to invest, to grow I can separate the language I use from what happened whilst admitting how much of an influenced it had in forming my ideas about words.

2 messages from lovable ppl better than 100 from people who arn't.

Even if one of them was saying in his beautiful manner that he may be 'relocating'. He writes so lovely I didn't care. I have spent a fair bit of today thinking about how much money I would have to spend to make it right anyway. All that shaving. Buying candels, wine, meal, chocolate can I afford it, can I be arsed? The answer as it so often is, 'no' and 'yes'. I don't want to just do it I'm not 14. Blacklisted someone from match.com so a very successful day interms of interaction with members of the species. Still not writing that essay though.

I can walk again soon..

Because tomorrow my new watch/mps player/phone will arrive. Mum says she can't walk without a dog, I think dogs are a hassle, give me music. It provides an essential soundtrack to whatever memory lane I end up triping down. I'm sure there was less to my theighs when I woke up this morning, either way its still bloody uncomfortable walking anywhere at any kind of pace and that is no good.

Exchange genial words with a women I used to speak to on pinksofa, proper dyke. I love proper dyke but not really like that though.

So my dad has made my mums move easier for her by belting her. The radio thing. I think I've been in similiar situations but it hasn't got that far, or since my teens anyway. If he's really really pissed of when he staggers upstairs gutted he turns his radio up extremly loud. It rattles the whole house, so a reasonable action is to turn it down or off. Giving him the excuse of getting up and starting something. He has definitly forced his way into my room and excused me of it when no one has been near his fucking radio. Harldy a suprise for me, although it has brought back memories of him admiting the incest and refusing to admit to anyone else about it. Asked 'what about my sister' but it was too open a question. I didn't know if he was reacting to me saying that I knew what he did to her or at me telling him she did me to. It was not long after I had moved back, when I had the tolerance for him to sit and listen to the drunken puddle of a man and try and take out of it whatever I could. Any admission, anything I might be able to say to him to make him a bit less of a useless ignorant cunt. And drink his wine, christ he took enough from me. It felt good to not be trying to be pure. I had a 4 month old asleep upstairs I will take what we need.

June 06, 2011

Money day tomorrow thank fuck..

Got help with the disability form, marched over there and felt at bit asthmatic, sore, unstable by the time I got there. Good to attempt some sort of honesty about the depression. Now that I dont spend everyday glued to the sofa or under the duvet it easier to admit that I am like that, sometimes. There is no job out there that that would be worth the stress. I don't know where to look at the moment but that could change. I don't want it nearly enough at the moment. Just you and me babe!

'Work' Have I not 'worked' enough in every bastard connotation of the word. I love to be more useful though but I don't mind feeling like I have done my bit. Even if I don't have the paperwork or phone numbers to prove it. Duty to the one in hand first and try not to question anything I do for myself, trust me. There is no other option.

Life is much more pleasant when I have bread though.

gave in and installed google spellchecker

I liked the automatic one that came with chrome better, being a lazy sort.

Sooooooo he hasn't been emailing but he phoned tonight. There was something different, flirty in his voice he wanted to discuss arrangements. Wording I didn't think I could ever associate with sexiness, until this evening. It's great not to over think something. Things start to actually physically look different. I can't put years of work, and years of putting long term health before short term, on the meds I've been on for a couple of weeks. I'm glad I did though, say no that is. Fought back knowing the sort of things that would happen as a result. It was selfish, extreme, psychotic even sometimes but it worked. I wanted to end up with nothing, or at least as little as possible that way I wasn't profiting, exploiting the all ready exploited. I knew I would have nothing left to start again and it broke my heart knowing I would never feel the boards under my feat, tinkle ivories, transform lives or just generaly rock. The men and women wouldn't be lined up, for me to pick and choose, get to know or ignore. It was all too much anyway, constant overstimulation. Too much happiness made the worst worse.

Thinking about the does gene machine Darwinism and sexual attitudes essay. Not quite ready to hack on with it though. Writing essays is like a tour of my brain and whatever theories, or faiths that make up the touring coach is exposed as bastard flimsy pretty early. I don't always walk away with a handfull of lovely holiday snaps but its so worth when I do.

askin for fags..

It wasn't an easy descision, to tap on her door. But it had to be done now as the later it got the less it became feasible. I figured this option was a lot easier than the others in terms of effort requiered by other people. My friend has already bought be milk, tea and donughts today and my mum is knackered and miles away. She looked terrified when she opened the door, it occured to me that because I had just had half a spliff she might take me for a murderer even though she's my neighbour and we chat whenever we see each other. The look threw me,I hate asking for anything from anyone, words failed me.
'What's the matter?' She said urgently, with that expression she used when she talked about people that pissed her off. It then occured to me she thought something horrific has happend to my son.
'I've ran out of fags.'
'Well go the shop and get some then.' She motioned with her thumb in the direction of the shops and smiled.
'He's in his bed.'

So I go two Spanish import Mayfair, considerably better than nothing.

June 05, 2011

I think they went in through my eye

I get jealous of the clarity in which other survivors write. They know what happened to them and how did it. No so many poeple want to talk about being handed about between hundreds of people over 20 years or so. And the the lights flickering as they took too much power and feeling nothing. I find sites but they're not current, guess I'm not looking hard enough. I would love just to speak to someone though, 'remember Jersey', 'remember all those castles' 'remember the antamoy lessons,' remember the philosophy, theology, diplomacy, weapons training and being sent to war zones'. I remember today being on the phone to someone from Thames house, I think, security services anyway. I said the rape just made me work harder. When it stops I see the sunshine, feel food in my belly and I don't want war. But with the rape, the manipulation of people I spent time with, the theft the murders made me need to dedicate myself to protecting myself and everything I love. He said it wasn't supposed to work like that and talked quite openly, about it all. Afterwards the phone rung it was an American I had agree to tap my calls, he couldn't believe it. Wanted me to give more specifics, but I wrote it all down, filmed it, and told other people so I wouldn't have to remember. Or shared it with someone before the washes that left me mentally and emotionaly about 2 years old. Making signs with my hands, speaking in symbols. Fuck knows where it all is now, destroyed or in a safe place at the end of the day, from my perspective its all the same, like the faked deaths.

Have seen that four year old painter? Amazing.


It's just made me hungrier though, for lots of things thats arn't available. Like toast, grass, chocolate and sex. Sleepy too, but mostly achy and hungry. I'm hardly starving, I've just ran out of bread for peanut butter toast.

June 04, 2011

emotional to fair

Lots of almost tears, first because I had no blow then because I got some and after that because of Tangled. I will get by with a little help from my friends. Put some shelves up today, need more books now.

Started looking for tweets about ritual abuse and mk ultra. Its making me feel quite positive, big world out there that I am not excluded from because of reasons I have no control over. Whatever I am, whatever I am supposed to be matters so much less when I can feel some sort of life in the present in the future. I have 5 followers, although 2 are businesess and one is a girl who tweets about anal. A share too far.

The guy I met has been emailing and wants to meet me again which is a bit of a suprise but very much needed as I am getting nowhere on pinksofa. Loads of smiles, a couple of messages, updated my profile, added some more pics, fuck all back. Any reply I do get is two words 'thank you' or some shit, hay I made an effort to make you smile there and all I get is a 'thank you' Bitches.

I definitly want to see him again but the formal learner english is getting a bit frustrating. If I don't see him a bit more relaxed next time I wont be so sure. Food and drink I suggested, but food, drink leading to possible sex is what I meant. The language barrier might not be such an issue there. Wouldn't it be great if it was great. Therapy. Of course if it was all abut awkward and unpleasant... He would have to be particulary awful for that. He's so polite, apologiesed when I coughed... Maybe that will make him very attentive, my god I could do with that. Lots of eye contact, holding himself back to wait for wee but controled, not in a manner that puts me off. Or he might ask if I okay all the time, thats pretty off putting to.

I couldn't stop staring at his hands, which is a bit of a clique for a white girl with a black man but they were beautiful, big and slender. ooh err. I was dieing to run my thumb down that line between black and white. I feel very conscious that a part the attraction is against every racist comment I've ever heard by people who are close to me.

It's interesting that I'm doing gene machine Darwinism at the moment as well. I found part of it quite liberating, although it was taught it out of context to try and ingrain determinism in me. I was too smart as many would have known, all part of the trials, to turn everything into something positive. Rape being good because it made it possible for me to murder, and murder could bring liberties, promotion. Anything vagualy cerebal or spirtitual I could argue against and truma made me black out. Black outs mean unlimited access to faculties and no conscious moral code. Horrid isn't it?

Back it feels like gene machine psychology is a good motivator to do what you want. Not just in the terms of sexual partner but in every decision I think about which would bring about improved conditions to reproduce and bring up healthy off spring. What I need to reproduce and rear successfully is pretty much, in my interpretation anyway, what I need to be happy i.e., health, safety, happiness, sanity, in touch with emotions, intellectualy enaged...

June 03, 2011

Do people need to know Ultra never ended?

The drive is always there, people need to know that their governments were involved in thr ritual torture and the development of trailored programes of rape, humilation and truama of babies, children and adults in order to produce killing machines. Most people probably already have their indifferent suspicions about governments and organised crime networks.

I think the fist time I heard about Mk Ultra was in a forest in the glen in the middle of the night. I think I was running from the incest, when someone from secret service sat me down and tried to explain it all. I didn't bother listening much, but I remember the trees against the sky when the moon wasn't covered with clouds and sitting on the pine needles in my pygamas. I hated nighties, rubbish for running away in. He was kind of distant, drugged probably, his words and eyes would drift of then come back like someone woke him up. The acutal words though, I think I keep them to my self because I know people are desperate to hear them even is they choose not to buy it. 'You have to give more details', 'Fuck of'.....

No reply for pac lookalike this the polite 'my mum says i have to say thanks for having me' email. Oh well, I was late, I forgot to clean my nails, I took him to Macdonalds. I think he tried but the language barrier and the single momhood got in the way. I would of been prepared to give it a bit more time. But he was very serious, didn't make to many jokes, didn't quite know how to go with flow, and maybe thought we were plebs... I'm glad he saw me truthfully, I be terrifeid if I got all dressed up and fronted up and wanted to know more. Being accepted as what you are thats a turn on.

Got a smile on pinksofa, wahay! She likes my profile, I tried not to sound too grateful but probably failed. I hate all that generic 'how r u' list of hobbies bullshit, so I try and show my sense of humout strainght away. Isn't working so far, but I've spent far more time with people I don't like that anyone can and still remain sane.

Saw the weather forecast last night and was all up for shaving my legs untill I tried to get into last years shorts. Long winter and those meds have contributed to me being 2 stone heavier than I was when I was working. The worst thing is none of my clothes fit anymore. I hate clothes shopping, no money and I'm rubbish at knowing what to buy. Things don't fit but I can't be arsed to take them back. Anyway, think theres more pizza left...

DaffodilRites Tweets

Was highly entertained my the #ghettospellingbee stuff, very, very amusing. The sun is truly out and I am inside childfree with a small blim and the Juno soundtrack, the kitchen has been defilthed and I can still see the bedroom carpet, mum's coming round with the essential shopping. The hours last night were much appreciated sleeping boy. Lawyer rescheduled untill Monday, after I dragged myself out of bed at 9 oclock and everything... gotta go say hi I will love you forever...

June 02, 2011

time to twitter?

I could help me strech my voice, little and often, keep chipping away one day you will wake up with a masterpiece... Or at least something approaching functional.

Boyz asleep, got up at 4 and had a busy day, chances of him making it through the night slim, very slim but I should be free at least until I start feeling knackered, he'll get up then, bless 'em.

Mas picking up her keys today, really glad their moving down here. It was totally obvious it didn't work for any of us up there. Sometimes you need to give up on changing yourself and just change your enviroment. It's much easier and will bring about some change.

Working on another poetry compition entry, back to my instrumentalism. No news about song, could be a wee while yet, I want to see it in print sooo much. I wasn't expecting it with the first 3 but with this one it's different, it's long a later draft of the 100 line submission for course, they gave me a distinction. It's got the line about there being a cornor in every Holliday in that will be 'forever me', I do lap up my WWI war poems but resent them, for being taken seriously. Their plight and their work. Someone will publish it I just really want it to be in notes from the underground. It was seeing that that on a bus when we went to london for the Smash Hits Poll Winners Party really that got me fasinated in being an underground writer. I couldn't stop daydreaming about it. I told Jordan from NKOTB about it in my head when they were on stage. I was sure he was dancing for me so I told him he was my favourite but would never say because he was Rose's favourtie and I could never agree with her because she was weird and probably a bit bad. He smiled from ear to ear.

Actualy typed up some notes from notebook, and found the novel chapter headings. They didn't make as much sense as they did...

Fuck it, Daffodil Tweets

June 01, 2011

my room is pretty again

no crisps crushed into carpet, still some poop stains on the chair to remove but I can do that when I scrub strawberry sauce and fuck knows what of the carpet. My dark blue carpet, and operation bedtime was successful, as far as I know. Really don't feel like hitting the essay though. It's not a subject I can hash on with, biological determinism. Little bits, could work out well and I had a go at the introduction earlier on. Not in the mood for poetry, too snotty for poetry. It doesn't work with a cold just sounds stupid. Like someone using floral language to tell you your saked.

I had an almost seriously thought about taking all my notes seriously, typing some up, organising them. So I can go back on work on them. If I'm to be a writer then that is what I have to do but something heavy and dark gets in the way, something thats becoming lighter and weaker like I could almost walk right through it.

I would be good stuff but thats not enought to get me to do it. Forget about selling it for now, organise it for myself then reasses. Will need new chair..

So I decided to take a break from studying

... then signed up for psychology. It's just a short introductry course. This assignment has gotten by interested in human sciences, but only a little. Wouldn't it be great though if I could get credibility as a reasercher and then start going on about everyone being a rapist and why I should be compensated. Joy Division, radio live transmittion.