Until you hang upon such a cross, you won't know a thing about laughter or loss...and you don't believe me now, but you will...you will, you wil you will you will...you will, you will - Titus Andronicus

Hey All, Best Read This First:

reetings and a warm welcome to my blog.

First things first

This blog contains words and references offensive to those who never made it through the maturation process.

The intellectually and psychologically impaired will find nothing here to enjoy.

If this applies to you, dear reader, you're welcome, and strongly encouraged to leave now. No hard feelings on my part.

I'm trying to make this clear to the 'boo hoo brigade". If you CANNOT grasp this simple concept. This page is NOT FOR YOU


*PS: I'm pro Palestinian, pro animal rights in a way that pisses many people off. You should consider fucking off now if you object to this kind of thing.

Cheers Kiddies.


PS This blog is not really fit for human consumption, it's best read as it was written, drunk on vodka or otherwise high as a kite...Enjoy...


Don't Try This At Home

well well... i'll begin with my customary salutations and best wishes for your health. I'll get straight to the point as I'm neither feeling in a very purple prose nor in a literarily expansive mood.

To begin with tho, congratulations to America on the re-election of its 44th President Barrack Obama. He is awesome. I was deliriously happy. I stayed up all night to watch. Republicans are shit sticks and fucktards. We all know that.

Ok, on to me.  (naturally, as I am after all, as some of how you have politely pointed out, a wanker), I have had a horrible time.

In brief:: I began to experience a condition where I could not breathe properly. It became by degrees progressively worse. The Dr gave me antibiotics, 2 weeks later, no improvement. i went back, by that time, I could only walk 3 steps before I had to stop and force air into my lungs.

I was sent for an x-ray and told to return that day.. I did. The upshot of all this was, my right lung had completely collapsed. The Dr and practice nurses explained that that the entire lung was full of  fluid and that I had to go to hospital straight away.

Ever the optimist, and having a deep seated dislike of drama queenism and excess attention. I suggested that as I still had one functioning lung, could I not go tomorrow? No, apparently, that would not do. The dr explained to me that if left untreated,  the collapsed lung could (apparently) at any moment flop over onto the healthy lung and squish it. To add force to his argument, Herr Doktor informed me that in any case, it wasn't legal for me to drive in my condition. I conceded that might be a clincher. So, i was hustled off to a room and had some tubing stuffed in my nostrils to feed me air. And of course, then followed the inevitable embarrassment of my "pre existing condition" (the collapsed lung was on the same side as the tumour)

It's embarrassing and awkward. Hey ho, shit happens. i was shoved into an Ambulance and asked lots of questions, I find this irritating. Like "fuck off, we all have comps these days, get the info from ur data base asshole..." Shit and shit.

 Well well, in emergergency, I was given morphine, (shitloads of it, they couldn't understand why it wasn't knocking the pain out. it was the one high (!) point) and a tube was pushed into my lungs through the rib cage. It fuckin' hurt. It really really fuckin' hurt.

This tube was attached to a box thing and my lung fluid poured into it. Now here's the bit that's worrying. My lung fluid drained red. Apparently this is cause for concern cuz it's supposed to be tea or straw coloured. With my pre-existing condition (as the Drs euphamistically put it, I was like, just call it Krebs dudes, I know very well it's there) red coloured fluid is rather... bad. So I was informed.

I'm not going to elaborate much further, there isn't much more to tell. I discharged myself the next day. They took the tube out (fucking ouch) stitched the rather sizable hole back up again (more more more fucking ouch) and gave me a little warning lecture about my health status (you don't say guys) and my partner drove me home.

Well, I am still waiting on results of the test of the lung fluid and the other scan. i forget which, the one where they inject u w the stuff that gives u a metallic taste in your mouth n you feel you've pissed yourself) I've been back to get the stitches out but it hadn't healed enough. They're still in there. I asked the dr about collapsed lungs, were they not a relatively common thing? nothing to get too excited about? He replied "no, they're not common" I mentioned I'd known ppl with staph infections with collapsed lungs...couldn't it be something as simple as an infection? He said "no, they have probably had a bad infection. You had a complete collapse of the lung". He seemed sad when he said it.

It may just be my paranoia/suspicious or sceptical mind, but i got the strong impression he wasn't telling me something.

I'm much better, but still not good as new. I have these horrible sensations of gurgling in my lung and my ribs are starting to hurt more and more. None of that is conclusive of anything, it's just extremely blah.

Ok, so here's what I want to tell you: Whatever happens to you in life, wherever you go, take care of your health. This was no fun at all.

Don't smoke cigarettes, don't eat overprocessed crap. Don't drink sugary lolly water. Just don't. Don't let things get under your skin, don't let them insinuate themselves into your psyche till your thoughts and memories become mere impulses of pain. Don't let anything/anyone hurt you. Stay away from predators.

I learnt this all too late. I believe much of immune weakness is because we psychologically don't know how to protect ourselves.

My greyhound Zephyr died about a month ago, I was and still am, totally crushed. I'm a self harmer and always have been. I internalise things and they eat away at me. My anxiety levels reach peaks that ppl without the condition don't experience. It's hard to describe how i felt when zephyr died. I felt dead and pointless. I loved her.

if as the drs think, the collapse of my lung and the red lung fluid are cancer related, then this is pretty much the beginning of the end. I'm not afraid of dying. But the thought of not being able to go about my daily life is terrifying. I'm 25 years old. I want to run around with our goats, hang out with m'man and take care of the house. Life's good. I don't want to spend the last years/months of my life in pain, struggling for breath or doped up in a hospital bed. I'm hoping to fuck I can stay out of hospital for Christmas.

Most ppl in first world societies will never experience the things i experienced. It was a nightmare that I'm not strong enough to wake up from. So, as many of you (free from memories that still shock and numb) have this advantage over me, you have the luxury of safe guarding your health with greater confidence and self belief than I ever had.

Please listen to me, take care of yourselves, you don't want to go through this.

Cheerz n Luv.



King Neptune

Allo! I  hope your little world is spinning away on it's axis just fine for you, in perfect counterpoint to the mad, insane universe even. We had no choice but to endure it as best we can, let's stop with the mindless waffle and get on with things, shall we? Shall we boys n girls? I think it behooves us to do so.

  My fish are having babies all over the place. 5 sets of eggs/fry from (obviously enough) 5 fish mothers. I am inarguably the Jacques Cousteau of the suburban fish tank. And by (only a slight) extension of the metaphor: King Neptune.

  Real fishkeeping is for intelligent, calm, observant people. It's a blokes thing, obviously. You have to measure and test chemicals, and fish are slimey. 1. Chicks are no good at science. 2. Fish look nothing like fluffy cuddly baby substitutes. 3.women only like dishwater. tank water's too icky poo for 'em. 4. you can't put a pink ribbon around a Jack Dempsey and take him to a cafe in your little chi chi handbag. Now can you?

  Don't even start with the handbag swingin' n pot n pan rattling girly. BUT, if you are a lesbian, please swing by, say hi, and tell me what on earth it is that you do for sex?! I mean, you have no penis...so...??? I'll listen with every appearance of respect. I promise.

Ok, I'm off now to keep on packing those boxes... My blue gourami should arrive today or today or tomorrow. That's monumental. I know.

All the best, cheers and lots of lesbo love if that's what gets you through the night, I just wanna know how... y'know? curious.

          xo and xoxo.


Memento Mori

  Hello, greetings Dear Reader, hope this Friday finds your little Universe in order and your wishes fulfilled (provided they are edifying of course, if not, keep your vile and puerile little peccadilloes to yourself)

 We just got back from searching for gourami fish. I want a specific type, we had to order them. It was extremely absorbing for me. A great fucking yawn for my partner. He was chivalrous about it though. So anyway, we just got home. It isn't at all practical for me to be setting up fish tanks cuz we are moving soon, but y'know, can't keep an alcy from a distillery 'n all that. Look, fish are awesome, until you've seen a catfish heroically fight with 'n conquer his zucchini (courgette) you can't say you've ever really lived!

  So, annywaay... we did my things, which was look at fish shops, then we did his things (don't ask), which admittedly, are way funkier than my things. If you have the IQ of a snake that is.

  As we are chatting n bitching away at each other discussing how massive his cock is and why do balls sag as guys age (we're gay, we don't talk about tits) the old poisonous bud in my bones begins with it's Memento Mori. It was quite painful. I didn't say anything for lots of reasons you wouldn't understand unless it was happening to you. It was just a few moments of recurring obnoxious ouch. I'm not complaining, I've had a very good run.

  And yet, I am fucking moved to complain, to screech and whine. Why fucking me?! (immature I know) But, really, why? I have jumped through every hoop, I've endured things that well, were plain shit. Fuck fuck fuck... FUCK.

  I don't want to be ill. I don't want to always pretend it isn't there. It's very exhausting. I don't regret my decision at all. Vivisection is pure evil, I don't want to benefit from it, I would have no liking or tolerance for myself if I did.

  I'm 25, I don't want to deal with things like, "I feel bad he has to cope with all our cats, dogs, fish, goats n God knows what when I'm gone." I could go on and on. And on. There's lots of things that break their way into my thoughts. Mostly I ignore them. I'm an expert at cutting things and people from my immediate mind for the immediate moment, but it's never gone. Of course it isn't.

  Well, I just wanted to whine for a bit. Aside from this, I have nothing to complain of tho. Life's  beautiful. It kinda fascinates me: finally I'm free of dependence on slime bags, dependence on drugs, and financially independent. What do I do? I don't go on some crass spending spree, I 'don't fritter resources away on lavish statements of wealth, I just, y'know, adopt cats in need, look after goats, smoke weed, bake biscuits for my dog, worship the ground my partner, His Majesty walks on. (His Coolness if he's particularly awesome) You, know, just generally mooch along in a modest, easy going way.

  Given the right conditions, we all kinda settle by default into the ruts of our inner nature, so you know, chill, peace out. Smoke weed. Luv on ya babe. Indeed. ;)

  Cheers n Luv x



It's a short walk, it's a short short walk...

^ if i just coulda learnt to love my oppressoor, i coulda been
 such a nice well adjusted boy.

Did you know, that if you keep a dog all alone, with no stimulation, no companionship, nothing; in time, changes will take place in that dog's brain. I don't mean changes of mood or "feeling" or behaviour, I mean actual changes in his brain hardware. You understand? He becomes physically a different dog. He can never change back. That's what happens to minds that sustainedly and repeatedly experience trauma, fear and physical pain.

  Experiments on rats show that if repeatedly exposed to a particular extreme of stress, they will just give up. They won't even try to save themselves. That's it, "plop", they won't try to resist what they fear or will cause them great physical pain.

  It's hard to see people empathetically, or feel a common cause with them when you have seen how people behave once they have total power over you, body and mind. Years of that, you become someone else. Your self identity becomes vague, you become vague about your existance. Life is too shaky and certainty about anything becomes impossible.

 Do you know Thomas the Tank Engine? I used to call the old man The Fat Controller, or The Fat Cunt for short.

  So I'm listening to Titus Andronicus, full of piss and vinegar, and vodka. I'm restless and edgy as hell. It's definitely a VV day, vodka and valium, the v dub of self medications.

  Cheers and love, may you learn to ignore the little shit bits, cuz you have no idea how the other half live.

This post has been heavily edited. That's why it seems to make no sense.


The Post Modernist Housemate

Posse of Angelfish. They are very macho fish.
Don't fuck with them... ;)

Hello/Good morning/Shalom etc. I truly hope all is well in your little (or big, should your ego demand it) world. Aside from an uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment, all's very pleasant for me right now.

I always get embarrassed when I blog things that are guaranteed of minimal interest to anyone (which means most of the time, let's face it).

Anyway, some time ago (maybe a year? I'm useless at time) I began to keep tropical fish, and it's pretty much turned into an all consuming past time. I would kill anyone who fucked with my fish tank.

Since I began keeping fish, I've acquired another tank, and I have another one coming, and I've also realised, I want (no, need) a very big tank. So, reckoning in Sinbad, my axolotl, I will have all up 5 fish tanks. I don't think that's unreasonable.

So anyway, I know it's kinda nerdy and *yawn* to most people, but you know, who gives two shits. My blog, my rules, fuck off if yer bored cunt, for your enlightenment and edification, I'm going to explain the essentials of tropical fish keeping.

So if you decide to keep fish, here is what you must do:

1. Buy a tank. You will need a filter, a pump and water ager at a minimum. You should buy gravel, plants, rocks and I think an air pump and air stones is highly desirable. Ideally, the tank should have a light. Most tanks come with the essentials these days anyway.

2. Rinse tank, put water in it. Put in filter and switch it on. Put in a thin layer of gravel. Put in plants and decorations.

3. Leave tank to "Cycle". Cycling a tank refers to initiating a nitrogen cycle. Why? Fish piss and shit their water (I didn't know fish could pee). All this crap exudes ammonia which would burn your fish's fins, bodies, and then kill them. To avoid this rather undesirable consequence, you need to establish a bacteria colony in your tank.

What does a bacteria colony do? bacteria will break down the ammonia into Nitrites, more bacteria will then break this down into Nitrates. Nitrates are not very harmful to fish. You will have to remove 20% of your water regularly, how often depends on a) your bioload (how many fish in the tank) b) the size of your tank c) the strength of your filter.

4) To begin the cycling process, add some fish food, old shrimp, whatever. The bacteria must after all develop from something. You will know when your tank is ready to have fish in it when you have your water tested and your readings return the desired results. Your fish shop will most likely do it for you free and advise you of the state of your tank.

5) Get some fish. The bigger the tank, the more fish you can have. Be nice to your fish, very few, if any, come from waters completely devoid of plant n rock matter. So give them lots of plants and rocks. Make 'em feel at home. Don't put lots of fish in at once. Give the bacteria time to adjust to the increased load.
Obviously fish photography is not my strong point. That aside, I included
this image to show you the beautiful blue of the dwarf
gourami. When you stock your tank, keep in mind (if
aesthetics are important to you that is) the over all look you
want to achieve. There are some truly shit tank schemes out there,
ill thought out unsophisticated garbage.

6) Now you just pretty much have to maintain your tank. Feed your fish appropriate flake, also live food (you wouldn't believe what I did to give mine live food, fuckin' bizarro).But watching my Angel fish and gouramis get a chance to flex their instincts   that thousands of years of evolution has primed them for, is pure fascinating, and the right thing to do for your fish. Otherwise, they are simply the sad equivalent of the battery chicken.

Live Plants v Plastic

Over all  live plants are probably better, but they do have drawbacks. I think, unless you're a painful snob, start with plastic plants cuz that way, you can redesign your aquascape until you get it right. You can always plant live ones any time, but kinda tricky to move them about. I'm slowly replacing my plastic ones with live ones. I've pretty much got my tank a I like it. Almost.


Because food can get stuck in deep gravel, I think it's best to keep it skimpy. I don't think lots of substrate (stuff on the bottom of the tank) is healthy. I use minimal layer of dark blue gravel with black gravel strewn through it. Dark colours, also the colour of the back of the tank if it's dark, will make your fish stand out. I see lots of people with inches and inches of gravel. Looks shit. It also displaces water volume.


Personal taste obviously. I like angelfish, gourami, dwarf gourami, glowlights, catfish and albino rainbow sharks. These are truly smart, friendly and funky fish. They eat from my hands and the feeling of their mouths on my fingertips is pure beautiful. Fish can see, hear, taste and smell. Being animals that make the most of their senses, they take a healthy interest in their surroundings. Mine congregate to the part of their tank closest me and watch what I'm doing, if I run my fingers across their tank, they will often chase them.
An ornery young Albino Rainbow Shark sees an uppity
Gourami off His territory... The Gourami, pissed off no
doubt, departs for now...
These sharks grow to a maximum
of 15 cms. So quite a large fellow to be reckoned with...
Also, fish like to play, in my tank I have a bubble wand a bubble maker. The fish will line up and repeatedly dive into the bubbles and swim through them, they then do a lap of the tank and line up again for their turn through the bubbles. (Try getting your cat or hamster to do that)

Fish Keeping

What completely draws me to this practise is the fact that it exercises both parts of the brain, the creative and logical. It's also extremely entertaining (you might have to be a certain personality "type" to be thusly entertained, I dunno) Anyway, watching my bristlenose catfish fool around with his courgette/zucchini slice is dead funny.

Watching the very "macho" and pompous Angelfish keep order in Their Tank, Gourami taking the piss out of each other, sharks mooch around... if like me you have a biophilic attraction for nature, you will be moved again and again by the beauty, the intelligence and the individual personalities and quirky dignity of your fish.

A platinum male Gourami in all his glory. These are
sizable fish of a strong character. They use their feelers to touch things
Think from memory they may be only fish to do this.

PS, if you don't want to keep fish (the fuck is wrong with you..) then at least don't eat 'em. They wouldn't eat you.                                                                        


A Man's Best Friend

Thanks Beyond thanks for your kindness. The circumstances of Sam's Death were tough. I still miss him like Crazy, he was a unique Dog. We had a v strong Bond, He lived with me from 12 weeks of Age. He won't Be easy to get over. As you say, ...i have plenty to Be getting on with, (including 2 Baby Goats) Sam wz in many ways like a Best friend. Zephyr my Greyhound Is a completely wonderful Dog, i think tho that Sam with his Odd nd unruly ways pretty much broke my Heart when he Died. All up tho, we Move on in Life, but of course, always with the Memory of Things gone Forever. Thanks again for your Kind words. x Hope You're well. :)
*My dog died on Friday. He was the doggiest dog that ever lived. The circumstances in which he died were grim. The above is my response to a friend's very kind words.
NB: I  copied and pasted this response which was made from my iwank phone. The keyboard on that phone is set to German. For this reaon there are odd capitalizations sprinkled throughout. Germans have very distinct ideas about capitals. I include this explanation in case you wondered.
PS: the above is a photo of my cat Billy, she is named after Billy Grogan of The Smashing Pumpkins. Billy rocks my world. I have recent photos of Sam, but I feel too raw to upload them.


The Unnatural Nature of Men and Women

Hello, I do hope things are well with you. they are for me. Look, I am just filling in time until I divorce the email address this blog runs off from a few more sites it's attached to before I delete it. I don't want this silly piece of vacuous crap floating around in cyber space cuz I deleted it's email address without deleting the blog, you see?

Today's subject is porn, more precisely, the differences that I see (and therefore they are factual and real) between hetero and gay porn.

Aside from the bloody obvious differences like there are no cunts in gay porn or cocks in male asses in hetero porn, (I didn't have to point that out did i?!) there is a whole undercurrent of "Stimmung" (kinda mood) that underpins these two peons of visual entertainment.

Hetero porn is nasty. It just is. No matter how much porn meisters try to make it look as tho women are willing particpants, in control of what is happening to them, or really and truly getting off (yeah right) women in porn just look used and undignified. To be quite honest with you, the whole thing's kinda embarrassing. Why?

The fact is, that like it or not, men have greater muscle mass, we are physically stronger. All dynamics of hetero relationships are poised (usually rather indelicately) upon this fact. As Foucault posits, and Marx understood, power is the determinent in all relationships. Say, do what you want, there is no getting away from this.

What this means is, is that power equality between genders is impossible as we now imagine gender status and relationships to be. Forget it girly, it ain't gonna happen. You might well wield the bottom line in a boardroom, you might well be handy with a spanner in a garage, but any shared personal space with a "him" always places you in a position of inferiority.

The reason is, he can enforce his will by breaking your bones or pushing your head onto a hot plate. It happens. You can enforce your will, by how? Appealing to the minions of the law? Sure, if they can get there in time, sure, if they in their heart of hearts give a fuck about a screaming chick.

You may at this point, begin to wonder if this article is inspired by misogyny, you may think "what would you know, you fucking wannabe woman faggot?" Well, a quick look thru the statistics of any given nation (for which said statistics are available, and then realistically comparable with one another etc and so on it goes) will reveal the following biases: shelters for abused women are choc full to bursting point. Violence experienced by women is MOST OFTEN at the hands of a man CLOSE to them, ie they share private space, stranger to stranger violence is still statistically rare. (Not rare enough if you happen to be Trayvon Martin)

What conclusions can be drawn from this? The way we now imagine relationships between genders is not a statistically healthy option for women. I think this is why no matter how "empowered" the woman in porn is portrayed, it's kinda like a false veneer. A Potemkin Village. You know it's all shit, cuz underneath, the reality ain't like that. It's one of the reasons why I find hetero porn unwatchable. It's just sad.

The undercurrent of gay porn is different. No matter how rough it gets, there's always an atmosphere, a general concensus of cameraderie, men just getting it on with men. There's no pretence of "oh yeah, I respect you" there's no need for it. I think tho, this can break down where racial stereotypes are exploited, but even then, there's never that sense of unease that a physcially weaker animal must be shown to be a willing and happy participant in what in the back of many mens' (and womens' minds) is degrading. Don't think so? If it wasn't considered degrading, words like "slut" "tramp" and "whore" wouldn't exist. Wide spread censure of womens' sexual behaviour is as old as time. No, I don't think it's desirable. I suppose from a hetero man's point of view, if you don't control her sexuality, God knows how many brats she will pop out by other men. And if a woman chooses to opt out of the private "monogamous" sphere, it's much harder to control her.

To make the point a little clearer, if a woman lives in a private home with a man, accepts him as her only partner, she runs the (real) risk of experiencing violence at his hands or becoming subservient to him in tacit, creepy cognizance of his superior strength. The "don't get him angry, he might wig out" scenario.

If I were a woman, I wouldn't get married. I wouldn't ever trust my fate to someone who can, if he has a mind to (and you never, ever, ever know what someone is made of, you never ever ever know what's going on in the mind of another person. You can barely ever be certain what's going on in your own mind) could add force to his argument via superior muscle mass.

This might all sound very nhilistic and cynical, but if you visit even a few womens' refuges, hostels and safe houses, you'll see, there's nothing cynical about it. Oh and don't forget to check hetero marriage stats. 1. women are walking out of marriage in droves 2. men do better in marriage and women don't (both psychologically and physically).

I remember once a rather naive (American) woman said to me on twitter (I got rid of her, her naivity and thick headed stupidity became intolerable for me) "any woman can bring a man to his knees" I replied, "sadly, I don't think that's true, unless you can show me the statistical bias for  refuges for battered men?"

But that's it. That's the Dreamland many women appear to live in. They kid themeselves they have power, they don't.

I don't know how women can address this power imablance. what i do know,is that heterosexual sex is unnatural,  if God wanted men to have sex with women, he'd have given women cocks. ;)

Cheerz n Luv.


The Metaphor don't Work...it Just Makes You Worse...but I know I'll See Your Face Again...


I never really had any experience with how "normal" or "whitebread" people lived their lives till I was 18. And even then I was still cloistered in a remote world of intellectual pursuit and an inner drug and anxiety war. Inner within myself. Outwardly, the things that most people take for granted: stability, day to day certainty, some kind of emotional ties to the rest of the world, - these things didn't exist for me. I barely knew they existed.

I come from a very wealthy family. Wealthy both in cash and real estate. I'm not going to outline the advantages/disadvantages of this kind of upbringing, it's not my purpose tonight. I just want to make the point that in some ways, it's very isolating. It's a different world to that experienced by most people. When I say wealthy, I mean extremely wealthy, not affluent upper class, or well off coupla million, I mean, pointless arse fuck can't ever spend this shit wealthy. You see?

It didn't make any of us any happier. My father died at a relatively young age of alcoholism related disease, Cunta, (for the uninitated, my mama) has never had an emotionally peaceful day in her life. This imbalance expresses itself as violence. I was the youngest in my immediate family, and I think by the time I came along, she had completely degenerated. Black eyes, broken bones, bloody noses were the norm. I was often away from school because I simply couldn't turn up in that state without arousing suspicion. I remember once I lost the hearing in my left ear for months as a result of being slammed into a corner of the kitchen.

I can't hit animals or women or children. I physically can't. I've broken someone's jaw with a baseball bat, I've kicked another man's head repeatedly while he lay on the ground, I've king hit guys in the face and glassed someone in a pub, but I can't hit a woman, and certainly not Cunta. She's had a shit life, and doesn't deserve being hit about by her own son. My dad was rarely violent to us as children, but he knocked Cunta about.

The last time I saw Cunta was about 2 years ago, she left me in a hotel bathroom with a cracked skull. I ended up in hospital with a shaved head and I think from memory 13 stitches? Doesn't matter. I've not seen her since. With any luck, I never will see her again. I've since twice moved countries, and recently had to change phone numbers and hide addresses. She's not going to get on a plane and come over here, but I can't face her venom. Life, in particular my life, is too short to listen to that soul destroying vitriol. I no longer have contact with anyone in my family. I only really miss my oldest brother. He's very much like me. But nicer.

At fourteen, I ran away to Scotland. Life took a very nasty turn. It's all behind me now, but it's left me punch drunk and self protective in the extreme. At the first sign of ouch, I get rid off people. See the above statement about life being too short to understand why.

At eighteen, when I could legally inherit my share of my father's will, (Cunta made my life hell tho, I had to go court and whine, snivel, beg and plead, she drip fed my ineritance to me in the most minute installments she could legally get away with) life became marginally better, my unlucky association with a paedophile drug dealer left me, amongst other things, with an addiction to heroin and a paranoid fear, mistrust and disgust of people.

And then, the unwelcome news came that I had a spreading cancer. I was 18, exhausted, completely emotionally alienated from people and ready to give up. With all the will in the world, I could not have cared less. I wasn't depressed about it, I wasn't even nervous. I was like, "oh, something else huh?" The assistant surgeon wasn't terribley confident that I'd see the next 5 years even with treatment. Her words are like an epitaph engraved in my memory cells "You are the youngest person I've ever seen with this type of cancer, the demographics are against you. The younger you are, it just spreads, with treatment, we could maybe guarentee you 5 years."

I declined treatment. I am strongly opposed to vivesection. I was too exhausted and detached from to care and nothing seemed real to me. I was unwilling to let anyone, even a surgeon into my personal space, partly because of fear and partly because of a growing hatred born of disgust towards my fellow man. At 18, my disconnect with "mainstream life"  was complete.(I can't really express it better, except perhaps to say, I have "outsider" complex).

The only regret I have is that I declined surgery, it's too late now. But even that, I don't really deeply regret. More of a "I wonder if?..." type of regret.

My experience on social media has been the first sustained contact I've had with your "average" Joe. It taught me a lot. People are (on the whole, generally speaking) conceited, power hungry, insecure, unintelligent and narrow minded. They are also childish, of low intellect and unable to distinguish between assumption, opinion and fact. I've also learnt that with these types of people, you cannot use metaphors. They don't have the capacity to understand them. They think you are speaking literally when you intend a harmless metaphor. Because they can't understand simple abstracts, they are suspicious of intelligent people. They think they are being made fun of and that the intelligent person is being sarcastic. Smack my head.

The first crowd I hung out with (more by accident than design) I wish you could see yourselves as I saw you. I wish for two minutes you could look through my eyes and feel the utter incomprehension I felt for you.

I'm very unforgiving of  and impatient with,a lack of intellectual and personal sophistication. I can't help it. Disneyland/crackpot/ kiddie fun, dufus mentality makes me cringe. I truly wish you see yourselves as I saw you. I was baffled and hit for a six most of the time. This never bothered me until a large minority led by a dead dog, began a hate campaign. Stupidity cannot tolerate the mind that's disgusted with it. I wish you could see yourselves as I saw you. What kind of people are you?

NOTE WELL:  the "you" refers to the large minority mentioned above.

I've already conceded that I'm unforgiving and impatient when confronted with what appears to me as idiocy (I mean village idiocy), my past of extremes of violence and "antisocial" or "socially destructive behaviour" (inflicted on me, I was 14 to 18 when the nightmare happened, I had no control over what happened to me for those years, this past, has left me very dismissive of  "soft headed" magical, namby pamby thinking. I can't emphasize that enough.

It was an unfortunate day for all of us when I landed on anipal twitter. Would things have gotten so nasty if I'd not used my cat as an av? No, since I've tweeted with people who admit they are people (!) I've had no problems on social media with anyone. That has to say something, no?

I have no passing shot, no parting advice to give you. I read a brilliant quote on twitter that summed up my experience with a large minority of "anipal" twitter brilliantly: "Never argue with an idiot, he will drag you down to his level and beat you with experience".

The above is extremely good advice.

Cheerz and Love (I mean that sincerely, I don't hate anyone, just cuz I find your bizarre antics both repulsive and baffling duzn't make me hate you. You're kinda sociologically interesting to me)

PS: as for illness, the tiredness and increasingly frequent unwell, sick feeling is getting to me.
But even that is just a part of life for me. I really have nothing to complain of. Materially I want for nothing, I truly love the one I'm with, and my daily life is sea, cats (8) dogs, tropical fish, music and lots of other very cool blah blah blah. Wishing the same for you all. And I do mean all.



But For an Accident of Birth, You Might be As We Are

oh, well, not a great moment in domestic affairs. He sorta understood. Hey ho, these things have their own momentum and rhythm. nothing you can do.          
 Annnywayyyy.....  here we are. I hope the world is spinning on it's axis just fine for you. I'm watching Tod Brownings' Freaks. The little closed community of freaks in this film reminds me uncannily of the little closed community i was part of. We were drawn together by necessity. No-one was really your friend, all we had in common was need, greed nd a deep seated awareness and unease that we didn't really belong amongst the "non us"
The "non us" were ppl with jobs, steady cash and the harmonic hum of safe suburban life. Our world wz punctuated by violence, noise, drug fuckedness, vicious cunts and fuckery of all kinds. We each had our speciality. Being a minor and having a relatively clean record, and having a brain cell, i could get away with less hard core stuff. I never burgled a house, i preferred the instant gratification of bag snatch cash fresh from the wallet. I was fast on my feet and had no conscience. Wham Bam Thank you Ma'am. Just the cash Miss.

Men required less extreme persuasion to part with their funds. Being underage (14-18 were my years of infamy) i just had to bend over and or blow em. In case you're wondering, Yep, it's illegal to sell young boys to perverted old shitsticks, but hey ho, the code is 18. If a pimp tells you they have an 18 year old on the premises, they're telling you they have a kiddie for sale.

Anyway, one particular guy i knew always stays in my mind. He just recently got out of jail. He's a cunt. I stayed on terms with him cuz 1. he wz a dependable dealer 2. You didn't want to get on his bad side 3. you couldn't avoid the cunt. This cunt, of Italian - Croation descent, was completely useless as a crim. He couldn't rack, couldn't rob, couldn't do fuck all. Just a useless prick. Women loved him, he was gym pumped, handsome, but for some reason unknown to me, he didn't/couldn't fuck. I know cuz I was n still am friends with his wife, who is now 40 something, and still after all these years, desperate for a fuck from her old man.

The only vaguely interesting thing about this loser cunt, was that he was (according to his own little rules of ethics n logic), a Jesus Freak. He was a freak for Jesus. He used to pray to God before his little forays into other ppl's houses for a safe and prosperous return. On his knees, he made his fellow fucktards kneel down in a circle and pray to Jesus. As discussed in a prior post, Jesus loves you, even if you are a cunt. And like most airhead useless cunts of his ilk, he was regularly a guest of Her Majesty's.
I went with his wife once to visit him. Predictably, it turned into quite a bitch fest - Wifey: "I'm stuck here with the fuckin' kids, there's no fucking money, you useless bastard, you're in here for 8 years u retarded idiot, whadd'm i gnna do now? blah blah blah..." He, with all the conviction and innocence of a believer told her "God's forgiven me, why can't you?" Why not indeed... ?

And so, that was life, i stayed as stoned as possible. if i could, i worked on the street, that way, i kept everything i made, it could be dangerous tho, and if i got moved on by the cops, I worked in brothels, which was a fucking nightmare. If you're underage and a drug addict, the owners will exploit you mercilessly. What are you gnna do about it? Clients will do whatever the fuck they want. All you absolutely had to do was blow 'em and let 'em fuck you. Anything else was classed as an extra and it (ostensibly) had to be with your consent and he had to pay you extra. Whether you split that money with the brothel operator depended on how the place was run. Well, you know, if you're smacked up to the eyeballs, that fist is going up your ass whether you like it or not. there's nothing you can do about it except put up with the pain and fucking ache for days after.

Going back home was never an option. Topping myself was always on my mind. I should have done it, as things turned out, it wouldn't have made much difference.

When i turned 18, i legally came of age to inherit my share of my father's estate. it was to paid to me in a lump sum or in installments at Cunta's discretion. i had to beg n plead and take legal action before she gave me a cent. I was in a bad way. I wanted to leave the brothel i wz working for, being a teenager, i wz a human money making machine for them. I wz shooting up at least 3 times a day at this point. They said I owed them money advanced to me for drugs. That wz bullshit. I made them thousands of pounds. i never had to get money off them. they told me if I left owing them money, my life wouldn't be worth living. It wasn't anyway, but hey ho, i know these ppl, and their version of life not worth living wz nothing i ever wanted to experience. So, my then boyfriend Kyle came up with the money (I paid him back every penny), I finally got my monthly payment from Cunta (my mama) and i dried out as best i could. i enrolled into university, and the week I received my first essay back with High Distinction, I was diagnosed with cancer. Just on ethical reasons alone, I wouldn't accept treatment, but it wasn't all noble, a part of  me thought, "you know what? there's worse things than cancer. I really don't fucking care. I don't trust you or anyone alive to come near me. fuck off all of you, it's too late to expect me to care".

This kind of emotional hissy fit soon passes. The reason why, 6 years later, I still decline treatment, is that I don't believe in vivisection. I'm a vegan. Even if I could somehow squeeze it past my conscience, I still wouldn't do it. For most of my life, I've compromised myself, put up with situations and ppl that disgusted me. You can't even begin to understand so don't pretend to. I've said yes to things and men that made my skin crawl. I've had to surrender every boundary, switch off every personal impulse and feeling so I could endure what was happening to me. My conscience, my inner space is completely my own.  I know that there are ppl who don't understand, don't accept my reasons for declining treatment as valid. I don't care. This little shred of personality is the one thing I'm not giving up. The rest of my self identity is vague and nebulous, am I gay or am I, as suggested by a well meaning female friend "just conditioned to it"? who knows. My body doesn't really belong to me, my headspace doesn't really belong to me, they're both crowded with n populated by using cunts for whom I didn't exist as a human being. Each and every one of those disgusting bastards still colonizes my body and my mind. They're always there, I still feel them n hear them and it makes me want to die, it makes me hate myself. 

But my conscience, my belief long ago realised by Schopenhauer that "compassion is the basis of all morality", along with my belief that the gift of life obligates us to relieve suffering and care for the suffering, this is the frontier I'm surrendering to no one. Cancer research is particularly horrific, animals suffer horrendously. I'd rather be dead than benefit from their misery.

Eventually, Cunta on learning the kind of person I was, became so disgusted that she paid out my inheritance and gave me some old family property which i later sold, on the proviso i have no further contact with the family. Suits me.

What now? what can be learnt from this? 1. Don't get into strange mens' cars at 14. 2. Whoever you are, whatever happens to you in life, wherever you go, take care of your health, cuz once it goes, that's the start of your nightmare. 3. Don't trust anyone.

i need time to myself. I'm exhausted, the presence of other ppl exhausts me. I need to be alone. My anxiety levels remain thru the roof. I don't trust ppl. I wish I could tell you some other things, funny stuff, there were some hysterically funny moments, I'll include this one briefly: once after X (the aformentioned Jesus freak burglar/dealer) managed to fence some stuff he'd stolen, we went to a friend's hotel room (roughly 5 of us) to shoot up. it was customary for X to start ranting about Jesus and Damnation after every bit of illegal wheeling and dealing, I think it acted as some kind of catharsis, like a guilt cleansing ritual for him. He was ranting, and the other three, being not quite as religious, were telling him to shut the fuck up, I just wanted my hit, and I was laughing, finally, infuriated he grabbed me by my shoulders, stuck his face right in mine and screamed "I KNOW FOR A FACT YOU'RE GOING TO HELL!!!" Quite.

Cheerz n Luv
Stay safe

Fudge xo


morning, I couldn't do it. couldnt say it. I'm going to tho. Sometime soon. Really.

it's much more complicated than i can be bothered explaining. It's really complicated. And sordid. 

It's mostly all my fault. It always is.

I'm going to see if he wants to come to the beach with me n the dog. He's a lovely person. He's put up with so much from and for me. i just want some space. I have to go get our coats. it's fucking cold out.

Cheers n Luv.

PS: it could be worse, i could captain of an Italian life boat. I would never get on an Italian liner. "Abandon hope all ye who enter" pointless addendum.

PPS. I have a thing for octopusses (it's not octopi, octopus is a Greek word, "i" when used to indicate plural is Latin, "Octopusses" is not strictly correct either, but the correct word is too wanky, even for me)

Cheerz Earz ;)


I am a Bad Person

Mickey D don't give a fuck if you don't want pickles. He don't compromise on pickles. Mickey's pickles are like my freedom. I don't compromise on it either. If I don't like someone, or i'm just bored with 'em, or they smell like trouble, I just fuck 'em off. Fuck off. Gone. Gonski.
i don't know why these spaces are coming out so odd. I don't care either. It's a Mickey D pickle. Don't give a fuck if you don't like it.
What 'm i gnna say to His Coolness? I want to end it. I want my fucking freedom.

Every relationship I''ve ever had, i end up the junior partner. He takes my mobile n car keys with him when he goes out. I've become a domestic neuter. I'm starting to panic. I feel like i've been buried alive. I want autonomy over my space, time and body.

What 'm i gnna say to him? "I don't give a fuck. You eat that shit with pickles."


Hey Ho

Hello! Cuz I'm a caring, sharing fellow, i included the above the image for no other reason than I care about you. I am nice.

Every time I go to close this fucked up pointless blog, there's always a fucked up pointless reason why I don't. That's the sum total of my capacity for reason. I am a fucked up pointless wanker. Amen. < ---see? I have a included a statement which (arguably) links the above image to this post. It's not there just to shock. It has, um, meaning. yeah. (in case you missed it, it's the Amen that gives the cunted picture credibility. You see?)

For those of you who have nothing better to do, here is a brief summary of my existence:

1. my Civil Union ended rather uncivilly. no big deal he was a cunt. Jesus still loves him tho, which makes Jesus a Cunt too.

2. I have my first ever "normal" job. I write media releases for a small independent publisher. i don't read the shit I write for, I just make it up really. This makes me a hack writer cunt.

3. I live on an island by the sea. Suck shit the rest of you.

4. I am with the exception of weed, drug free. Good thing? Bad thing? depends what mood I'm in. I am a moody prick. (you can call me a cunt if you want, Jesus will still love me, the sad prick)

5. My current boyfriend is very cool, but I want a break from always being the junior partner in a relationship. Why that always happens, I don't know. Must be cuz I'm a cunt. Which is why Jesus loves me.

6. My tumour is bigger, but I'm not bothered. If I had a cunt, I would swap it for a tumour anyway. I love my massive cock.

7. I am free. I owe nothing to nobody, I have financial independence, I'm beholden to nothing. The less engaged I am with material existence, the more at peace I am. I'm not a joiner. Freedom means isolation to me. I sit on the beach with my dog n my spliff and feel pure beauty.

8. I have dispensed with immaculate grammar. I no longer care for niceties. if I want to start a sentence with non capital, well, it's my blog, I can. fuck off if you don't like it.

9. I am in good physical shape

10. This post is dull n fucked up. it's a cunt. but jesus still loves me, cuz he's a silly cunt with no sense of discretion. No wonder his cunted old man didn't lift a finger to help him

cheerz n luv

(even if you are a cunt)

Jesus. xox