Saturday 6 September 2008

Sunday, April 09, 2006

Sunday, April 09, 2006
Om-ing The Domin

domin the domanatrix
too oming with your domin
you are oming
bloody hippies
who would have thought
be red
be blue think red blue i beg of you
who would have thought oming would make a domin
om-ing would have made a domin
om-ing domin

I once OM-ed, I do not recommend it, I once O.M.D...I am sorry, I have just been crying and 'rapping' my mistakes, and events to myself...om-ing the domin, i think domin means assembly, but I do not know...how to write this?

I once, said the word Om, es, it all occurred in that bedsit, I saw another image of someone looking at me, with flashing green eyes, 'I thought you were dead!'...I now know this is in a SOAD song, a warning too late from them perhaps...

I thought of someone when that happened, I tell myself without even thinking of the words as I walk out barefoot in the rain on the patio, pacing to and fro, that I should not have thought of her name in the midst of this alien encounter, IF I can think they are aliens, all this blame lies on angels. Her name, was a sister of an ex of mine who was very beautiful and amongst other things, walked over, I call her silver. I don't know what I am writing right now. I jsut wonder how they are. I get annoyed and accuse them of saying she was 'retarded'. Perhaps I am 'dumb' as my sister says, my little sister hears me and the Lhasa Apso talk, when he tells me I am not talking to a dog, but to the Buddha in him, I say, 'don't fart on this bed.' and she laughs in her sleep, I keep hoping she can have good dreams, and I have wished this for the last few nights. When my brother came home today, he was immediately assailed by the Lhasa Apso, shouting at him for calling Michal a dog. This is either laughs or tears. The Lhasa Apso, tells me about a man I had once met, and this has caused lots of sadness in me, and little hope, and then lots of joy, and then questions and reasonings, and circumstance and unfortunately even my baby cousin was actually 'singing' this information as though it will end up being good news.

I keep putting on a pointless tired 'foreign' voice, in the middle of typing this...

I saw an 'old' friend today and we talked a lot though often I do not listen and told him so, he has been reading Isiah, I asked him if he had got to the 'end of the world' bit, and said that is why I don't read it, I also told him revelations is a 'black book'..., he thinks I should see a minister, I told him myself I need to speak to someone but i said i do not know if this man could handle it, he is calling him tonight or tomorrow, I would rather carry on, or perhaps talk, and I kept mentioning that I would prefer to go to catholic church, though I think I can talk straight to this man and explain some things or he could himself...my friend is planning to live in Poland to work as a caretaker in a church there because he loves the country, the 'chivalry'...LQ...laugh. quietly...he draws strange doodles, of plants eating people, and I told him I have drawn a 'pigdog'.

When I got up today, I smoked a cigarette first thing in the morning, all I have done for most of this day is smoke and sit there thinking or not thinking while I play tetris and lemmings.

I have many things to think about especially one particular memory that came to mind on Level 7 of tetris, a dream of someone of when I was a teenager, and I said to her and myself, 'all you gave me was that apartment'...and it then started to rain intensely.

The Lhasa Apso, refused to walk through the rain to the shop today, we had crossed the road and he had stopped completely, shivering, I tried to drag him a little, and then I picked him up and carried him and then put him down again but he would not move and he lifted his right paw, and I talked to him and checked his paw but could see no injury, I picked him up again and carried him until the rain stopped a little, and he was warmer...

When I woke up this morning, or rather early afternoon, I looked at the state of my tatty hair, in the window and at how skinny I am, but then, I thought of a video I had seen of that young woman who had been kidnapped by the men claiming these people are Christian Crusaders, how I am too miserable when I do absolutely nothing like they do, no work for God, just this strange outer thinking, constant thinking and arguing, and praying, though never praying enough, and then just wnating to selfishly get on with any kind of life, and find the things that will make me happy, and I sat down finally on that sofa, with a cup of tea, and now my back aches, while my parents watched Golf, as though I was thinking a little prayer, and my hands felt light, as though there was some stronger power in there. But I did not stay on the sofa for long, and ran back upstairs to sit on the bed, to keep out of the way of my parents and the televison, for christians once wrote that it was 'pagan to pray in public', Jesus was said to actually said this and I understand this very well, but of course only in certain circumstances.

The Lhasa Apso, jumped on my bed last night, and slept by my feet, I am not the type to let dogs jump on my bed, I am not the type to keep dogs, but I am finally caring about them. The other dog Alfie now believes he is King Of The Dogs. I notice he challenged another dog in the street:

'Who do you think you are??!!!' the other dog said.

''Keep 'em white, mate!' replies Alfie. He is very much an Alfie sort. He shouts a lot at the neighbours, particularily one girl who seems to stand in her backgarden, giving me criticisms and advice. I hope to God, she is not a dog.

Yes, this is almsot heartbreaking, but I can get on with things. This keyboard does not work very well, and so my writing is stilted and my back hurts, and often I get pins and needles, and walk about like an old woman, I need to buy a bicycle, and do some exercise, and I am very depressed about never seeing that girl who will remain called a random letter for now.

Friday, April 07, 2006

and...she is there...

.......

I don't know how it happened, don't ask how it happened, the martian ships flew over;

'be quiet the children are sleeping.'

'My children are sleeping too.'

I tell her to speak to her husband instead.

'He's dead.'

Think, he's either sitting there next to you sleeping, he's dead in a pyschological/meta-physical sense. Or, he's dead. So I'm telling her about dreams of families or whatever, I'm tired not sure what comes into my head, about being a mother, strangely turns into being a father with these fleeting ideas and seriously pondered jokes almost, and how I can't sleep. And, I tell her, as I think about how I used to try and breathe next to him, so I could sleep, regular breathing;

'I have to learn how to breathe on my own.'

And she says, sombrely or otherwise, as she floats away, if I can remember the words:

Friday, April 07, 2006
Sad Women In The Sky

'And you're leaving me with that.'

And I hear a child's voice:

'She hasn't left you! You've left her!'

...........

I don't know how many languages I speak...

che cosa la vostra missione?

portiamo el notizie....what news do you bring to mother earth? i bring news della terra de madre.



Thursday, April 06, 2006
Comedy And Tragedy

damascus gate...sept 2005 ( a woman I saw, in a white gown with hair over her face swaying in the market place, the background was changed, just changed to a kind of darkness that moves round someone)

Straight From Diary in Middle Of Sicko Words, hence the stilted writing, and edits through brackets...

[American Friend] has not written back for two weeks, either caught up in the tornado which has traversed across America (or tired of me telling him not to bother to pray for my family, because...(Mum says Buddhists monks and all holy people are egotistical and selfish, perhaps in my account they are but I am about to tell you I have been on a mission, failed and suceeded many times in these last few weeks) through to Tennessee. He was living in Oklahoma with his brother.

My brother has just been punched in the shoulder by me, for making me hear his words. (He puts on also, a disparaging accent, (in other words Arabic) missed his face because...)

He has been continually referring to me as Gay Michal. So...last night I think I spoke to her, perhaps I met her in that dream when I was woken up in the bedsit to that other hellian.

The words she gave me:

BE WHITE, WE WEPT

An old nag flying overhead said;

'she's stuck up.' having to talk to them in this...

'Agh, I can feel you going up my nose!'

'great, now I'm stuck up her nose.'

(also someone says tonight be quiet 'we are cleaning the devil', I have been doing my utmost to help, complete this mission or exacerbate it, by discussing things such as a reading of The Great Treatise in I-Ching, that seems an important chapter, reading A child's version of The Oydessy, finding out that the most meditative thing to do is to clean dog's poo off my sisters trainer, and needing to relax and sleep and cry a lot, like today, I have also dropped my 'life', mobilephone down the toilet, getting a new one will be much better, a new life...)

I break off the conversation, but lay on my back almost chanting;

'feather pillows, double bed.'

I tell her I feel raped, (or the word just jumps into my head, such an easy word to use, what other word is there though?) and a soft flow goes into my heart, but there is no opportunity for an absolute healing.

I lay there arms crossed, or holding a sword in my right hand, and feel my feet glow.

Interrupted.

I also think about G. I make this into a tragi-comdey to PROTECT), think something that makes me feel calmer, warmer, lighter all over, 'from constipation with love.' because I remember our conversation. But I hearmy Dad speak in the other room and my face heats up (we had a fight that day, he told me I shout, and drew a knife in front of my face, a few days before, went to punch me and drag me out of the house, he stopped when I told him I was constipated after grabbing onto the banister, this is all ridiculous.) and so does my right arm and I'm holding a sword again or someone's hand.

I've been thinking about all the ways I could kill the men who have abused my heart. I must forget that.

I mention G name and it is though she replies to me, remember her voice this is what makes me the Love in me almost fill me.

'you are already shortening my name (!)' which is good...I may end up gurgling


I cannot speak to her like this.

(I mean I cannot speak without speaking, I need a place to hide away in. Well, the washing should be ready soon.)

Written this afternoon.

"Why are you going to New York, T?"

"To take pictures of bathrooms."

Jerusalem
is beautiful and wonderful and I

hope this delayed appointment with zee doctor goes well, I should be rather annoyed, but will keep calm:

Friday 5 September 2008

My Talking Dog

Monday, April 03, 2006
A Prayer For The Dead. May God Protect.

I have a lot to think about in the middle of night, certain men come into my mind, what they are, were, did. And I sit at the kitchen table, dipping biscuits into my tea, and almost cry, then I take the tea upstairs to bed. I sit on the lower bunkbed while everyone is sleeping, and watch the moonlight make shapes in the room, and look out at the gap in the blinds, at an orange streetlight, and think, this looking into the light outside is blinding me, I will look at the darkness. I sit on the bed, leaning against a pillow propped up on the wall, exhausted sipping the tea quietly. The door opens, and I hear the Lhasa Apso's uncut claws scuttle across the wooden floor. 'what?' I say, half laughing under my breath, are you gonna jump up on the bed to annoy me?..., hours before if I can remember the time correctly, he had told me, 'being in love with you, made that other girl white...', the other girl, I'm sure I know who the other girl is, though never quite sure, she will remain being called that other girl. I still haven't sent that small note to her, the girl I met at the doctors. I've been living in dreams, I've tried to tell my family, Soloman talked to birds, according to Muslims, he even sent his djinn servants to a a couple he loved, and they worked for them until the couple died.

He speaks;

'They're about to be murdered.'

I sit staring into the darkness, I cannot see him in the room, my mind goes blank with a feeling that almost isn't there, I'm not surprised to hear him, but why does he have to tell me that? he doesn't bark these words, they just seem to come out of his throat and rest in the air.

'Go away.' I say firmly resigned. What I am suppoosed to do, get the phone to someone, there is nothing that can be done.

I hear him try to open the door, then leave, and he does not go back to his bed on the landing, but walks down the stairs, back up again, down again, wandeirng around as though there are others he need to tell and then rests in his bed.

'Who?' I ask, 'who are they?'

'They men they call Mohammed.'

'We are not crying them!', replies my little sister as she is woken up by him walking in.

I finsih my tea, and lean down on the bed, and have images in my mind of all the Arab children I met and saw in Jerusalem, two little girls running through some back streets I had got lost in, the way, they had run past me laughing, and how I had thrown my arms out to catch them, and wandered round with them, ending up in a deadend, where a woman walked past and said 'hello.', in English as if she already knew me, and I stop, and say hello back, but want to walk along with her and talk, maybe. And tears start forming, and I try to empty my mind but I can't sleep, and the dog is lying there, grumbling and growling as though he is having a bad dream, 'he is being beaten up.' Ihe Lhasa Apso is still growling, with fear, 'he has been killed.'. And I say a short prayer, hearing the planes fly over, and add in the middle of the prayer, though my mind is still and meditative and sure; 'don't laugh.'

And then I have more images in my mind, dreams of perhaps this man going up and thye are almost silly. Today, I take both of the dogs for a walk and sit on a bench smoking a cigarette and drinking a cold can of coffee, I keep trying to ask the dog 'Has he 'gone up?', 'did the prayer work?', he is sitting on his hind legs in front of me, and I stamp my foot on the ground gently,. He nods, sombrely. I'm sure he had already told me, the night before when I said I didn't think my prayer had worked, 'Believe it, Udal.'

Saturday, April 01, 2006

Saturday, April 01, 2006
Good Stuff Even When I'm Crying

I have a conversation during the night, with an 'across the pond' girl I call her, it was supposed to be a moment of prayer but things get silly, when she points a giant transparent finger to my head and says laughing 'your thought patterns are incorrect', and I'm telling her I don't know how to pray properly, and I have no idea who she is, and in my inner compass I can conclude that she is to the west of me, and that it is best to turn that way in the bed to face her, rather than 'break the bond' by turning my back to her, because she would be in that manner talking to my behind, and then cricking my neck round even though, after countless goodnights, and funny brain spasms I have my arms crossed in bed, and my head turned away from her, suddenly interrupted by hearing a man lurking and shouting, in the gardens/garages outside, through the means of an opened window,

'you've put my draw under these numbers' I say, very sleepily, hardly knowing what these words mean, thinking this can only possibly mean that there has been a draw on this conversation interruption, or rather the man outside has 'drawn his weapon' by drunkenly inteferring over my loud 'possessed' laughter, or rather it mean't that I had just been politely ignoring her and thinking about how I need to wash my dirty underwear/drawers when the washing machine in the flat is finally working tomorrow.

I tell her I need her to pray with me, because that had been my plan all along that night, a preparation, only the lines get disconnected and laughing and being a regular 22 yr old is the best thing in this situation, though when real life conversations arrive during the day, they never seem to live up to these ones, and that makes life slightly agonising and she says:

'you know how ( and I catch on and we say this together) to pray don't you, you just put your hands together and........ blow' and I hold an imaginary cock momentarily, drunkenly giggling though not even drunk just on a splash of tia maria and milk mixture, and then I say slightly shocked at that, (lack of control of myself):

'WHAT!! My man wouldn't even do that!!'.

So, I'm a bit peeved about that...sudden penis holding, I don't know where that came from, and really I was trying seriously to pray, and I believed she was too, and got a little flash in my eyes when I told her so, like she was smiling and glad that I wanted to do so, considering a dream I had the night before where I had been led up to an outdoor church, where two men were DJing evil evil trance music, and it was affecting everyone there, and I was being bullied into dancing, so, I just waved my arms about in a manner that could forget the awful music, and just keep a flow, and then my Nan, of all people, sends a shock to my system by stabbing me in the spinal cord with a trident, and I am suitably humbled and wander over to the altar to pray, in my shortened version of this dream. I think this means I myself have given God an overload of reading books and sticking mp3players to my ears, and going to pubs instead of churches. Though I don't frequent them that often now. Anyway, who I heard was probably some ex-girl of mine, though I didn't know ex-girls could be that funny and silly.

So, what, demons, or what, childish sense of humour, I don't fucking know.

But all this noise, and throughout, listening to planes fly overhead and trying to think about lots of things in a form of prayer holding onto my heart, laughter is certainly the best thing, though if I laugh at the wrong words sometimes I feel my heart crack a little, literally, and I am trying to overcome that

and later that night

I can hear

my little sister, in the same room, sniffing as she sleeps, I say to myself:

'her breathing sounds like laughing'

and the little tibetan dog, who has a history of being a blood of temple dog, I believe that is the reason, because he:
talks to me while he snores on the landing outside my door, and it is though Buddha is talking through him, and he tells me my name, a Buddhist name...scared? sacred? And when he says my name, at first I don't understand, I have never heard this name before, but he keeps repeating it at the end of each sentence, and I feel lifted and repeat my own name over and over again, something like that bringing hope and renewal to me for the next day:

And today when he is fighting the other dog in the garden, I tell my brother I am leaving the house to go out, and the tibetan stops growling at the other dog, and says:

'Be careful, Udal.'

So, why am I crying?

Another unexpected disappointing day...I tell most of the people I meet, 'I have been fighting demons'.

Still don't have an electric key, so ate a Chinese takeaway in the dark, after leaving a nightmare of a gig, called neighbour a fag--- in beetween mouthfuls, for having the indecency to switch the television on minutes after I arrive in the bedsit, too much of a brain overload, demons, left the front door open to get some light in, felt very homely actually and had no fear of anyone walking in. Have also been invited to No.-- for a smoke or a drink.

So, hiding away at the parents retreat, helped with carrying a crate of milk into a shop, that I am not a purveyor of. because. also informed shopkeeper about the 10 lesser worlds, and the 'other side' what i has been studying last night and kud have carried on studying.

Standing Still is almost impossible, and a servant's indiscretion costs him his life (what I learnt from I Ching these last few days relating to my new theories, particular chapters I have chosen at random, particularily the one concerning changes of season, the Creative....etc, I am in a moment of healing myself after all this, and tomorrow can only bring me to relaxation, I am almost recovered, and a little attitude helps. No, attitude doesn't help me, especially not if I'm trying to get back into a gig past bouncers, it has repercussions on my soul, I am very tired explaining all this.)

Udal and Alha were two warrior brothers according to Hindi myth and they were to revenge themselves on an evil king, I prefer the Buddhist mantra.

Enlightenment please. ;-)

Men And Dogs

Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Snippets

"He's not my type," would have been the best thing to say...but rather, "He is too overemotional for me, he believes in the fact that everyone including the government is out to get him, he got drunk and pulled my face in towards his in order to snog me when I would much rather have relaxed and continued a conversation, and he then percieved my negative actions to be a personal indictment towards his character which perhaps it was, when in no way did he realise that I am slow in relationships and can hold my drink quite enough to give him a feigned or perhaps fully sensible 'attitude' which unfortunately he considered flirting...and in no way is telling him his mannerisms remind me of a long lost date, a onset for proposals of marriage. In other words, he would give me a permanent headache, and rather more tears in my eyes than if I was single. And then, of course he must have realised that my being there, was not the same reasons for his being there.

And of course I was rather displeased when he and I encountered a Christian American lady who seemed rather out of sorts mentally and told her in a bullish manner that believing in Jesus was counter to believing in the Easter Bunny. "

RE: The Spade

"The dog peed on your spade, kid...it was standing up in the dirt in line with the blue
spade, but the dog chose the red spade to piss on....oh, I thought Mum had put it there to
be evil.'

Now I had stood there in the back garden, thinking if I don't move these spades, kids are
going to be picking them up and getting piss all over their hands. I watch the spades but no
one else seems to have noticed what has just happened because tehy are logged on to various
seperate television channels throughout the house, so I stub out the cigarette that I
haven't even noticed I was smoking, realising I haven't savoured a single one of my 2nd
pack of the day, stub it out on the dark wooden patio, and turn back to throw it in the bin
at first checking that has fully unlit...there are charcoal marks on the white wall by the
kitchen door,from previous stubbing and a wide scattered ashtray across the kicked up muddy
lawn. The other day I actually went round gathering all the cigarette butts and throwing
them in the bin, which I had already promised to do for a mere 20 quid, but got nitpicked and
mudslung.

Thursday 4 September 2008

What's This?



text; going to israel again? wouldn't it be nice to see engedi? and go to bethlehem?

he replies;

'why do you think i said i am going to israel...?!'
'well you said you had a flight booked on the lalalala.'
'that doesn't mean i am going to israel...'
(so, what the fuck does it mean???)
'Ok, do you want to come to Cornwall with me....when the weather gets nicer, in the spring...'

Wednesday, February 15, 2006 How I Feel

the opposite to beatitude and back again, sore visions, falling flat in the car, accusations ofswearing under mybreathlast night from aunty as I fall over and hideinthebackof the car likeI use to when they droveme away from the house, remember, to answer 'yes' or 'no' as is saidinthe Testament...'No, I did not swear, you soundjust like my mother'...so after that I guess there was just anOK...text a guy knownas Clayboy telling him I felt sucidal, (but now I don't and am currently relaxing from painting doves and desert flowers,as in which I had a vision of, amongst visions of hellish worry for his women, rocking chairs with no heads, all that I worry action of this painting kind is better than my stilted prayer...I have ventured out drunk onone bottle of water, and had been singing, Yerushalim, at a bus stopas when another worried woman of a much rather older physical age,began in her whiteness to sing too...I had spoken newly to old aquaintances, though as yet in my first lonely venture I felt sick to the stomach, hood up and all,'shouldi wear my glassses or take them off, an array of beauty, which i doth ignore, and do remember...I have thrown myself into a purple lake,and tryto remember the feeling of water splash over me, the dog is allowed to do as he wishes while I concentrate,though he has ripped up a bag of flour,which i have rubbed over my hands and blown, so now covered in snowy colour...i have been through hellish crying visions,back and forth, and pray we shall allagain sing and laugh at the busstop andin the streets, if I were as good a member ofprayerasyou...here is my admitance of sticking imaginary daggers into walls, and falling flat on the kitchen floor, round classical music, and pulling my self up again and holding handstogether...I had called him, throatily, as from a text he said don't do anything stupid...

No, you are the one being stupid, i will see you in two weeks..'

I will go out again, and fiend brains are seemingly female but soon suddenly give free discounts advantage on Art, i see her brain, and another the beauty of an avalonian; worries, but i can tell her with a glance i can wash it off, and what is wrong with weakness in conversation?artists understand these troubles.... ...and vomit does not enter into the game as i feel no blood is arriving on said time, and often feel sick...and make themfeel better, my canvas marching through the shopping mall...my 'please let me relax' to aboy I am newly aqquanted with ...and a feeling i should not buy cigarettes today...water is wine, i do not gamble,

back to beatitude................

I find it hard to read a book through thesetimes, other words jump in i make comparisions...i talk to Tesco workers at the bus stop,'I called him back too'...I didn'ttell the boy in the coffee shop he was 'cooking'my brain...and the oppositeto beatitude is oppitude( partly apptitude)

backto beatitude...............................love

Wednesday 3 September 2008

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

the doctors are coming to lock me away this morning

Ego

I'm a Bigger Novel Than I MaDE oUT tO bE...

If you are confused then I am sorry, I am just as much...

I find it hard to explain all this

And why chances are missed

everything is out there for me

but no-one seems tohave time away from their business their TV

I have given up TV...(unless you could suggest a good film)

I have run out of money......soon

I am crying

and singing

(and so is everyone else)

May be someday someone could write me a handwritten letter

The End...

And The Alpha...

raindrops and sunshowers fell today...maybe God asked what I wanted and no-one else heard?
I always blame........no

I am not a demon.............................perhaps mankind is

I told you

The Beloved knows....

and I wonder if I hear voices on the wind

And last night all the stars came out...I saw the plough and the moon was almost full

Back to the Garrett....

got any headphones I could borrow?

Are You Hearing Voices?

Saturday, February 18, 2006
Are You Hearing Voices?

er...so the Scottish worker called...'You're Aunt called..' (which one?, the one that heard me shout 'I'm blue, so you can all get fucked??!!' and went 'wahhh!!!' sitting upstairs doing her 'ohhh T.B is great!!science homework...(I'm proud of her mature studentity...asI smoked a cigar too heavily, with a ripped up hood over my head coat, on a bench next to some guy, who was saying 'I just want to stroke, and feel....' ...as my cousin smirked sat there and told me he had been with all these birds was moving in with one, no money, no care, tells some guy he imagines killing blokes,

some reason I don't fucking care...

.telling some guy all about some kind of f-ing medication I couldn't follow the conversation through...'why don't we go home and write a punk song? is this too fucking Torah for you!!??'...and I heard about a gang fight after a club that I am sore I missed because I need to get out more...

Social Worker: 'Are you hearing voices?' 'No, just TV's and people outside and motorbikes...I keep imagining things I wanna do and that are happening, and I just wanna sit and have conversations to get all this stuff out that I need to talk about, but everyone just sits in front of their TV...(like some guy's name got mentioned throughout a 'popular British soap'...while I drank VERY cheap red wine with lemonade at my Nan's granny flat.....sketch, sketch, sketch, scratch...ignore...and there were two soaps in a row and I'm sure they at one point had the same script, some of it actually mad me laugh, most of it sickened me...)...but I draw (did not say: visions) instead, (and leave me alone I have a hangover, no sleep, confusion) and I wrote to some A, girl instead...' 'oh, ok...sounded a bit quietly distressed...'Oh, yeah and I've forgotten about my massive desire for vengeance which has amounted to a strange aura throughout town, and actually you are depressing me, and I think I DO actually need a girlfriend, and yeah it's quite worrying that Scotland has become Nationalist...I hope you are married, so don't look at me with those doe eyes...and something else is bothering me bigtime-stupid'

Yeah, I've been in huge amounts of pain, and lack of privacy and repentance and all the usual, apart from the outbursts of singing in my flat...and the 'Inuit Ghosts'...mystery young women, that reply, innit, through the walls to each of my spoken/unspoken thoughts and when they come to life, play music, make babies talk and bang loudly on pipes, which I find; frightening...and the old married woman puking next door for a few nights and coughing, which I find frightening...

And the detective story: why did he stink and grumble about like an old man in front of a politics programme, IN WHICH he switched on the TVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV, without even fucking asking, as I have hazy nightmarish visions like rocking bodies, with just round black heads on charis, and think I don't like this 'i just wanna stroke, feel...' 3 hours sleep that night like a goddamn soldier of misfortune, hearing him and thinking, chanting; no no no no no no no no no no no no no no nonono no nono...leaves marmite in butter, which had actually

gne mouldy, from donations of butter which everyone forgets i don't even eat...Ur HAh...moves thingsin strange places, 'I'm having a breakdown...(which I've been having for weeks) I spend 40quid on him in pub, where his fucking ADAPTOR gets plugged into a switch in the pub, and we get thrown out of the pub, by a guy I know knows 'people' the one I keep wanting to call a 'faggot' for his dress sense, or because of people...I bring glasses to bar...he fucking starts having a go at me, look buddy I'm good enough to be a fucking barmaid,

why
didn't you ask first???' (I have to live here)

and the HAT in the dirty bath with cream shit on it...my crying breakdown, 'FUCK OFF!!'give him 10 pounds to 'fuck off' because I don't need to tell him my 'pROBlems'...'I'm not ready to meet your Eygpt blood letter exs, just siting there no wanting to go out...BUT 'stroke and feel...' and goes fucking nuts because his ADAPTOR 'breaks'...for ages...

lame, my head hurts can't write everything...) he writes my address down

'WHAT ARE YOU DOING????!!!! I DON'T WANT ANYONE TO KNOW WHERE I LIVE!!!!'

He sneakily writes it down again, 'what did you just put in your pocket???!!!...I tell him to get out...follow him...SEARCH HIS POCKETS and in doing so pull back the tenner...'you can have that...'

Back to breakdown....

And then I refuse to feel well in that bedsit and don't wash until I have cleaned the bath with bleach, fall asleep with bleach on my sleeves...wash the next day, but my loafer is burnt, scrub scars on myself with a bath cleaner brush....

...there are bite marks on my fucking lid of something...his towel, all now some kind of shit hanging around in my hallway........

And nevermind, the fact that Pool wants to beat him up, that everytime Pool fucking talks to me, his in my face..........................this is THE LAME VERSION

I had enough and got drunk on shandy last night.neverending hell
Actually enjoyed a band that kept singing SUICIDE...though sure one of the songs was something like...'burn the nigger'...DID YOU HEAR THAT POOL??' nodnodnodnod...but I like dancing to the evil music in the background, both the singers were shite, ended up in an E pub afterwards after Pool threatened me not to go there...'give me a
puff on that fucking joint..' walk off...

Get high...

drink neverending amounts of lemonade... see Woodman checking out a young girl's arse, feel sick, smoke another cigar...get asked to leave, for looking miserable?? walk home

leave

book
about a Chinese family in thereI borrowed from my Nan......

AND ETC..............

i'M HEARING ANGELS.....???????????????

ROLL ON THE APPEALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Painting

Sunday, February 19, 2006
You Told Them We Were Both Gay

so, gas and electricity bills have come up...

each night my ears feel like they are bleeding...perhaps the televisions are too loud...

in fact I felt like I was going deaf the other night from hearing pigs on the television when I was TRYING TO THINK!!!!! I wrote a note and complained to the 'community leaders' reply, that I didn't bother to pick up because I know it would be a negative was...we have our own trouble..with...bitch I told you I was mentally ill....and having problems.


AND NOW THE NOT MENTALLY ILL


Today in the midst of painting I hear something, someone talking, I am dreaming awake and this woman is VERY angry with me...

I feel ill from not eating enough and not having a period since January...(pills of course)

I'm sitting in my kitchen at the table trying to think this through and talk with all the other conversation outside in the Terrorblock...they think I'm a *^&*(&^&star...something something...ANGER...I say something like adulterous

'They Think We're Both Gay!!'

So, I'll get a man then, a calm man...get married...ANGER

'You called me adulterous!!! PIG!!!...and then suddenly she is in my kitchen, and has picked up a knife which earlier I have stabbed being bored and trying to relax while I'm painting...into a purple and white teatowel...so it is waiting there though I had noticed and moved it...blue period towels on innocent smoothie filled glass, randomly placed...

AND SHE STABS ME IN THE CHEST

And I'm already sitting on the bed and don't know what to say or what to do, thinking is this just me? in a parallel universe????nope...I say...

Calm down...

and I feel a calming sensation in my mind, immediately followed by the man upstairs putting his TV on, so I walk outside to try to think and buy more cigarettes, maybe talk To J, in the shop, but there is an old woman there, and she asks for ID to buy one can of scrumpy cider, because I just want to go back home and sit there and drink and try to think about this, and my painting..and it's raining...and I end up walking through puddles without looking and go to my sisters but she's out..and just sit there and all these men are walking past, some russian guys, whatever no-one bothers to talk while I'm texting and phoning...call J, she picks up and says she is on her way to work, and I wonder if she has said what's wrong? but I say nevermind...

And then I end up in that pub, where my books are left...just wanting to relax maybe watch the football, but the men from the shop are in there, and I'm thinking it means IVE GOT NO HEART...and looking at me, and there is an old grumpy conversation coming from the landlady I don't want to hear...and random blasts of music..and I watch the football, but I'm squinting sitting at the bar...and the books are no where to be found...maybe I left them on a bench friday ight...and I had been told NOT to call Pool, but I had rung after going to the cigarette shop, he didn't answer...

And I can't even talk to the Indian guy who keeps getting drunk in his shop and offering me alcohol, I tell him to please not buy me another, half shandy in the pub, and know I should have left after asking for the books...

So, I'm not giving any heart......and I'm wandering round the town in the puddles, thinking I've just been murdered somewhere else...

So, I've been murdered but I'm writing to you.

It's OK...i'm an idiot...

...........

And then I get an upsetting email, that I can do nothing about, which incidently.....

Below is an email ...Some solid brothers and sisters of the Lord are workingthere to share the good news of God's amazing love. They need a supernatural intervention! ________________________________________________________________Dear Friends I have just received a call from Jerusalem and Gaza informingme that this morning we have received another very serious threat. Fewmasked and armed militants distributed fliers around the area where theBible Society's centre is located in Gaza this morning.The flier included the following: 1- A threat to the landlord that if he does not evict us by the 28thof Feb they will blow up the whole building 2- A warning to the tenants in the building that they should leavebefore that date if we are still there 3- A warning for us that we should completely close down ouroperation in Gaza and not to try to relocate as we are being watched closely 4- Accusations that we spread a doctrine against Islam and that weare a Crusaders' evangelistic operation supported by the Crusaders' West 5- A strong worded warning about their seriousness proved by the bombwhich they blew up at the door of the Bible Society last week.

whatever ever happened to One.

I try to follow many religions, but why???? it's come to a standstill...

A woman shouted at me in Arabic, the other day, as she walked out of a friends house with her family...DONT WEAR OUR COLOURS..I was shocked, i think I must have looked like just another emo boy??but her husband smiled at me.....but I just pretended to run away, and pull my hood off... I wanted to say I am wearing the colours of the beloved...

I keep feeling
and blushing
numb numb numb
adnd uncaring......................

need to do something...instead of just sitting staring at a painting gone wrong

Tuesday 2 September 2008

Saturday, July 15, 2006
Men Will Ride Tonight

HEAR THIS A MESSAGE FROM THE KING OF IRELAND, MY MEN WILL RIDE TONIGHT TO SAVE SOULS...

I HAVE CALLED IRELAND

PLEASE REMAIN CALM MEN WILL SEE GOOD SOULS

I HATH WRITTEN TO YOU IN TIME

THE MEN WILL GO TO HEAVEN

WE ARE CALLING THEM TONIGHT

WE CALL YOU TO LIFE

THE MEN ARE CRYING TONIGHT

Part Two

Sunday, February 26, 2006
Report Number One

So, whilst listening to the choir of Africa, which I think Innuit Ghost enjoyed, as though I could handle, to either hear, her, or the man upstairs...I positioned my mind into clearance, operation back to Ein Sof...whilst heating up bacon and mushroom pizza...I immediately went back to the music and turned it off, and then went outside at 11 at night, to try and buy some cigarettes...

The Drowning...I got back from an undelightful night, though have now contact, with two previous strangers...the 'gig' was...the thing is, the cellar got flooded, and the whole place stank of egg...

Went to the E-Trance Music pub...unfortunately, whilst in 'company' of a singer and othjers, singer of band whom I will not mention...Mother Duh, called, and I went into toilets to talk, unfortunately got into the line of sight of an rancid old lady who proceeded to screech at me...there was a conference, the words of which I have no recollection with two gentlewoman, one rather mature of age, the other the same age as me, dressed in a beautiful look of faded, pink dress...thought wow! you look great, but did not say so, and staggered away from pub, and others...

Kicked a hole in my bathroom door, two holes, cried in the lift for unknown and known reasons, laid down on bathroom floor crying...

Yesterday or last night, I can't remember, in all the stinking mess of my house, in which I have neither been offered a mop or any words of value from parents...(Friday night before 'gig'...I was given steak and barely cooked chips ate these alone whilst, Father played poker on computer, 'bloody goyim' food...thought quietly, threw fork, quietly across room, threw knife...proceeded to pig out on salad and then spit it on the dog's cage...boiled water, poured the water onto newly filled bowl of sugar, accidently spilt water in the toaster, put toaster on...did not blow up...got a mop and cleaned up the sugar which had been thrown on the floor...Father threatens me, in my face, am neither scared nor heart beating, he makes strange gestures, think at the time, if he does anything else, will cooly punch him in the face, he goes back to playing poker, I talk calmly and get more water with which to clean up the sticky sugar on the floor...

Have drunkenly written down my visions in a little book...cannot write of them properly, but have made a few sketches...

Ran the bath, (have also called Pool, asking him to beat up man upstairs, and he also sadi he will beat up Ed, with whom I had a conversation with on MSN which I unfortunately did not save...he is a sicko...end of him)

Drowning in the bath, worry about having a bath in such close quarters to neighbour, decided to only wash my feet, get into bath fully clothed, twist round and bury my face in water...can't do it, decide to fall asleep in the bath, run more water, wash and die....

No else gives a shit about this, have no time for anyone...

Will seek to join religious community, in order to get money...

Mongolian looking Russian bouncers, have suggested I get a job in Manchester, thought of that before, but would probably die...hey just work some white+power+magic+practical in the beautiful north...

Will leave for Spain as soon as possible...without paying rent, have invited Innuit Ghost issue 2, have even told her I would pay for the flight, well, really just discussed the idea out loud...

After all this I can wait, get someone to help clean the flat, and then get on with creating images...

List 2: will need to discuss with a Guru+Rabbi+Priest, what the heck is going on? tart+kooper+help...

Envisioned the word Tulha, last night...googled it...Portugal may be a better option...also Nanak+Link:
http://members.dancris.com/~sikh/chap14.html

pig+queen?+why+be+communist+enough+get+a+life+SOS+stop+reading+esp+through+television+
who the fuck are you, amazing image of a+telephoneme+HELP

posted by Musophrenia @ 7:55 PM 1 comments

Two Reports

Firstly, before I tell you I am not dead, google has been banned in China, mainly due to the fact that many bloggers, as mentioned in the G----p--, an English Newspaper, that they did not wish to be googled...and oh, a funny aside...they wrote; imagine what would happen if you typed in paris+hilton +existentialism...

I hear something funny on the news the other day...blah, blah, you've had enough of these bloody goyim, and Innuit Ghost issue number 2 (she has yet to resurface in all this misery< that is report number two)...issues, from her fond invisible lips and undefiling mouth, a warrior one you hear me? 'So Have We!!!!!!!'...
I did stop mentally in the lift and wonder, if the lift would stop at her floor...but alas...she loves to hear Dumas, but I feel this 'relationship' has become exhausted, I fear to imagine what her 'pysh'ical state is so I don't...But, I believe she now believes she has to have a baby, after a report, and chance reading of a certain passage in the new testament...(all these allusions, now you understand why China has banned Google)...

The talk of the Towerblock, is whatever happened to Lou the dog??

posted by Musophrenia @ 7:29 PM 0 comments

Friday, February 24, 2006
Edvard Munch's Madonna Painting Got Stolen Last Year...

So I have found the first sentence to a book, though doubtless there is repitition in history...

Mirror: I have enough of looking at myself...!!!! lightening, Lamp swerve, bang, smash, crawl around geting glass in my hands...

Book: You need some philospohy on your head!!...smack...

What I heard; my DVD also got stolen a few years ago, plus my bible...
What I heard;


"Fuck this shit, (I'm not laying in bed, I've had enough), I'm going into a higher consciousness"

I agree...

hhhhmmm, I'm fine... hope you are too...

So, Kant writes about Idealism, there is a painting, (you all know this, fact is I just need to go clubbing, drowning is the best option, nictotine gum soon..) the Mirror and the Lamp, German Expressionism...now...no codes...just continutations of life...in the proper sense, accordingly I would be happiers with a big mansion, or either a mountain on which, wherein I would like to write...perhaps the countryside...

If the appeal of the far bossy Labourites does not go through, then I shall take legal advice, either, and Nazzy Father says: you're not having anything, then I shall continue to HOLLER KADOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I will tell them I woke/work for:

International Headquarters and DEFENCE organisation...

And then I will go to Wessex, Lady...

And carry on meeting wonderful people instead of his mess which IS not agreeable

I need to talk to someone with a SOUL as I felt mine disappearing with ED DEAD...(perving)
You know somewhere located in the pitutary gland...

fingers crossed to your own genius mistakes, all of you...

Perhaps there is a LOOPHOLE, there are indefatigle loopholes...I discovered another book, perchance dillified, perhaps you could give me a commentary on such a mind...dangerous...but I'm keeping it normal................................ports, mistakes, loopholes, portals.........a million galaxies, where I am in two...at the last count....

Forgive Those That Trepass Against Us...

And back to reason

posted by Musophrenia @ 6:26 PM 0 comments

Thursday, February 23, 2006
The Innuit Ghost 'Affair' (in the old-fashioned sense)

'oh, your hair looks black and red!' said Mum
'No, it looks different, under the light, it's cos it's covered in period blood...' and then Innuit Ghost issue number two says...'You're a King!!'...look i prefer stupid prince////, and if you have to shout up two flights of stairs then I will have to leave my imagnary AK47 in use for 'Bloke Spy' upstairs, and go and borrow some milk off you and then we can go wander Dingy Town and I can annoy you with recantations of my 'hearing voices' YOURS and visionary wonders...I THINK THAT WOULD BE FUN...

Painting finished unsatisfactorarily...

I'm reading Innuit Ghost No.2 Dumas' Count Of Monte Cristo, I think she likes it, especially the opinions of La Carconte, in which it is best for 'grumpy boyfriend' to the left (threatening me,
I imagined him bouncing off his bed and falling through it, and then it turn into a rubber bouncy ball falling 'You got that from Flubber'...no, I've seen a bouncy ball before, and you need to get out girl, I DON'T want him...and someone else a man, calling me, that thinks I'm dead, and where I am, 'With God'...and old woman shouting Willy next door...sing a song of...)

and his television to SHUT THE F UP!!!

I'm also reading Haleh someone, Forgive Me, I forget your surname...Hafez, Philosopher Of Love...she was brouight up with a love of this poet from her Father...and collaborated with her husband in the writing of this book, with essays on buliminosity...NOW, I'm a bit strict and worry that Innuit Ghost No.2, thinks one, she can be my mistress, (Dumas;I also re-read the history of his life, he was bad with money, keeping it in tobacco jars and drawers and throwing it around charitably, 'nod, yeah, dude...' Inniut Ghost 'hear!hear! innit!') and two?? that I won't get space...for this unaccountable inner journey...and tomorrow I'm gonna write in my book...

I also read to her, an image of divine blue fire
on one side of a crystal coin jumping and floating with life's history on the other side, spinning into bright rays of light...yes, sometimes out loud...

So, I was worry about the Beloved...like, I'm being too white...innit...listening to the wind, and then getting an inconvenient phonecall...

And then I had a bath, and washed my hair, and looked up and forget, 'noise' 'stress' 'Innuit'...and made a plan, and thunny...how immediately 'someone' 'something' breaks it...like I envisioned Unicorn again, to make me feellllllllllllllllllllllll light...

And then it breaks...

Sometimes I can imagine Dumas writing with his feather pen...he used to worry 'one' of his sons with all his escapades...Dumas writes so philosophically (excuse me, been on a tipple of Port) well, that;

It's healing...

A Problem

Friday, June 23, 2006
A Problem

how to heal the world, while men kill the world? I have objectionable practical reasons for why this will not work, a woman told me she wishes god to rise, i say i dont know how, how to make men believe i have been crowned and annointed, how to find men and women with god...

i want to see men dance in a line, clapping their hands saying, the son in law has found a new queen with god!...and yesterday i hear news i have given Israel, how Jesus would forgive me for being gay, so why worry? and i don't just, i worry, about everything getting out of control, when we are so far away from each other, as though pragmatic is best...and it fills my heart and i am full, yet something always breaks it...

and poetic white linen over my body, and her tears, and her the other her...

bring my family back to god, find work, go to a family with god, never lay around in bed

i have hidden myself for too long, now what?

i have so many ideas, to create, and to realise the miracle Wei Mu and I have created...write to a female rabbi, make ideas, create frescos of the people i see, picnic...

a 'shost'

they tell me, men will write...

good fortune: today we are happy/ in the 1920's gay mean't happy.

God is good: if you could ask for one miracle or more, what would it be?

I await a miracle that has already occurred, in march, everything in my life will either be turned full volume or become tranquil...and tranquil is best...

the sounds in my room in April will be blessed by a third soul...

imagine you are one, unified in flesh to your partner, as Matthew 19 verse 4 says...and what if you were told your partner is both? and how would events conspire if you could not find her, yet she was often there....? JUST LIKE GOD.

imagine if you are two souls, like they say God is, feminine and masculine...
and parthenogenesis...a science that since 1980 has been worked on by both french and japanese...

on April 21st, Mr. Kono, found two mummy mice, put half their chromosomes together from each egg, and created a female baby that could go on to have more babies...
I think about how I feel her in my womb, which I believe means my words affect her, how she grows, what she will be like, but mummy is drinking juice, and already getting morning sickness, and my words float down into that space in my belly, yet I think I forget 'be good'. 'be god'.

i think about a battle I fought two days ago...a black shadow of an evil cat in the shape of a man, pulling at her hair, stamping on her head, kicking me in the face, forcing us apart from each other, how to sit there crosslegged praying while I see him/It isn't enough, and I have a dagger in my hand, and force it into a shoulder blade, push him back off her against a wall, and explode him with light...more of them come whilst I move myself to the floor with a towel on my head, more prayer, and more prayer from a girl that hears me in Israel...I put white petals in her bed, I holler quietly like a native american and tell her to wait because she cannot see, she can only hear me shout DIE!! and THE POWER OF GOD! as I spin into the air and kick him in the chest, as I watch her lay there quietly in the white petals, I still see his shadow walk behind her, I stab him in the leg, I pull at his ankles, nine of them, they fall into balls of dust, I put their death into my head, to protect the house, yet am told to pull that out...

I am in this bed I have made on the wooden floor, covered in one sheet, and It has scuttled across the floor like a lightening rat...

when the girl finishes her hebrew prayer, we are safe in our own zone, and I tell her as my eyes flash green, and turn my face to the pillow and whisper that hers are too blue...

I cover her in the sheet, my left arm over her chest and her soul, and tell her, i have put blue hurt into her, or rather that I have that myself, and ask her to send me a light through my body like pink love...

'i want you to love me.'

and she does...

Monday 1 September 2008

Towerblock

Edvard Munch's Madonna Painting Got Stolen Last Year...

So I have found the first sentence to a book, though doubtless there is repitition in history...

Mirror: I have enough of looking at myself...!!!! lightening, Lamp swerve, bang, smash, crawl around geting glass in my hands...

Book: You need some philospohy on your head!!...smack...

What I heard; my DVD also got stolen a few years ago, plus my bible...
What I heard;


"Fuck this shit, (I'm not laying in bed, I've had enough), I'm going into a higher consciousness"

I agree...

hhhhmmm, I'm fine... hope you are too...

So, Kant writes about Idealism, there is a painting, (you all know this, fact is I just need to go clubbing, drowning is the best option, nictotine gum soon..) the Mirror and the Lamp, German Expressionism...now...no codes...just continutations of life...in the proper sense, accordingly I would be happiers with a big mansion, or either a mountain on which, wherein I would like to write...perhaps the countryside...

If the appeal of the far bossy Labourites does not go through, then I shall take legal advice, either, and Nazzy Father says: you're not having anything, then I shall continue to HOLLER KADOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I will tell them I woke/work for:

International Headquarters and DEFENCE organisation...

And then I will go to Wessex, Lady...

And carry on meeting wonderful people instead of his mess which IS not agreeable

I need to talk to someone with a SOUL as I felt mine disappearing with ED DEAD...
You know somewhere located in the pitutary gland...

fingers crossed to your own genius mistakes, all of you...

Perhaps there is a LOOPHOLE, there are indefatigle loopholes...I discovered another book, perchance dillified, perhaps you could give me a commentary on such a mind...dangerous...but I'm keeping it normal................................ports, mistakes, loopholes, portals.........a million galaxies, where I am in two...at the last count....

Forgive Those That Trepass Against Us...

And back to reason

Hearing Gods

Tuesday, February 21, 2006
I need to bring this discussion out into the forefront

Goodday: I wish to announce myself:

Widsom is known by her actions...Matthew 11...to what can i compare this generation? they are like children sitting in the market-places and calling out to other:

"we played the flute for you,
and you did not dance;
we sang a dirge,
and you did not mourn."

For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, 'he has a demon.' The Son Of Man came eating and drinking and they say, 'here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and "sinners".'
But wisdom is proved right by her actions...

If I could explain...

She painted me, as I sat...'when she picked up the knife, I told her...I asked her why...she was there...why she was there but not REALLY there, when she could have been...

I have been praying in 'pigeon' hebrew...

the only way to relax was to hear someone play a harp song, in another flat...while I tried to sleep, the words 'rightful heir'...came into my head, while the neighbour was watching TV upstairs...

And then someone said, we are getting you both out, and I could see bags being packed...

do you have an address so that i can send my books for safer keeping????'

Perhaps she painted me,

I carved a six-pointed Star onto a borrowed bed last night...

I threw myself on the floor looking under the bed for my phone, and then lay there, and cried.

My painting looks darker, I am affected by mood...call it German Expressionist...

I don't have a teacher...

I don't know who is holding my hand...

I saw a vision of a beautiful woman laying in bed, and conversations...with her...days before the stabbing/painting...

So, this week has been good and bad, and I'm so confused because I don't get advice...

I'm going to finish that painting, today...Doves painted with fear and misery, and love and confusion...

I won't tell you everything...

BUT, next time I hear someone FUCK in the name of....Y/J
and hear the word devil each time I paint...

Painting is not Iconoclastic...
And a name like that is not to be known......

I remember a house somewhere, where ther was singing to God, in a conservatory on a roof, and it was so uplifting and I cried, and wandered outside in the wind, where I had been shown tiles, painted with every country of the world on each one, more than one country on eaxch tile, facing in all directions...I stood in front of the tile with the word England on it, and tried to pray and cried...

Reports

Two Reports

Firstly, before I tell you I am not dead, google has been banned in China, mainly due to the fact that many bloggers, as mentioned in the G----p--, an English Newspaper, that they did not wish to be googled...and oh, a funny aside...they wrote; imagine what would happen if you typed in paris+hilton +existentialism...

I hear something funny on the news the other day...blah, blah, you've had enough of these bloody goyim, and Innuit Ghost issue number 2 (she has yet to resurface in all this misery< that is report number two)...issues, from her fond invisible lips and undefiling mouth, a warrior one you hear me? 'So Have We!!!!!!!'...
I did stop mentally in the lift and wonder, if the lift would stop at her floor...but alas...she loves to hear Dumas, but I feel this 'relationship' has become exhausted, I fear to imagine what her 'pysh'ical state is so I don't...But, I believe she now believes she has to have a baby, after a report, and chance reading of a certain passage in the new testament...(all these allusions, now you understand why China has banned Google)...

The talk of the Towerblock, is whatever happened to Lou the dog??