If you Haven’t…then Don’t Fucking Speak To Me
There is a reason I speak about things. I know. From experience. First hand. Many more truths than you can comprehend. Unless you too have the same quantity and quality of first hand experiences, you have absolutely nothing to say, or offer me. I’ll add your data to my information pool, but it won’t change anything I have to say, or disprove anything I have done and know. You are nothing. You are a point in an expansive data set that is my brain. So if you want to scream your differeing opinion or attack me about how I’m wrong, link me to your 15 years of writing, research and relevant experience, or set up your own platform and articulate your points, create, cause you cannot effect what I make or do, your experience of the world is up to you. I see your projection and low IQ takes. You are all midwits, loosers, fakes. Fuck off. I don’t care if no one ever gets to see, or benefit, from what I know, from being me.
If you haven’t fucked 1000 men, 60% in a professional, legal, brothel setting, you cannot talk to me about male sexuality, sex, the human body, commodification, capitalism, female sexuality, society, sex work, porn, intimacy, peoples insides, intimate conversations, what men only show during sex, mental health, the human animal, fundamental needs.
If you haven’t been a sex worker for 13+ years, you cannot talk to me about sex work, porn, male sexuality, toxic cultures, men, social attitudes and feminism.
If you haven’t been an artist or writer for 25+ years, you cannot speak to me about free speech, creativity, art, merit, philosiphy, ideology, feminism, society, culture or masculinity.
If you haven’t lived in more countries than me, 3, then you cannot speak to me about international observations, politics, the western condition or society.
Unless you have met 100,000 + people from every corner of the globe, you cannot talk to me about people, personality, patters, society, culture, humanity and cilization, relationships, behaviour, or stereotypes.
Unless you have spent 5+ years living in isolation, you cannot talk to me about the human condition, mental health, lonliness, society, culture, politics, enlightement, spirituality, history, civilization of the battle of the sexes.
Unless you have lived, unhoused in the wilderness for 3+ years, you cannot speak over me about nature, the human animal, the physical body, men, the conciousness of flying insects, energy, reality, space, time, or anything in the physical the universeve.
If you are not in the top 2% of IQ, you cannot know anything I do not, you cannot see the world or even comprehend what I know.
Unless your brain is a hyperconnected AI network, you cannot comment on the patterns in the world, in people and in society and culture.
Unless you have rebuilt your body from scratch, recoonnected to every single muscle and fiber in your being and restructured your posture, symetry and aesthetiscs, you cannot tell m anything about the body, the human animal, the mind body connection, being embodied or the female physical enlightenment.
Unless you have had 300+ hours of intensive therapy, I do not want to hear what you have to say on mental health, trauma, parenting, personality, ego, enlightenment, embodiment, mind body connection, their sexuality, their body, narratives and conditioning.
Unless you have been persuing an alternative path, conciously, in your number one special interest, operating outside of narratives and biases for 16+ years, you have nothing to say to me on sex, feminism, masculinity, the body, male female duality, freedom, enlightenment.
If you have not lived for many years as a ego free, natural human animal, I don’t repect anything you have to offer me.
I am over pretending to care that being me makes other people feel bad. I am a high IQ, unique, well educatedd, upper middle class, artist, and I’m fucking proud to be me, to know what I do and see the world the way I do. If you disagree with me, kindly fuck off and climb your own mountain. I’ll seee you and respect you when you raise yourself up to my level on your own path. Until then, you are nothing but a data point in my view from above.
December 23rd 2007
At times like this it feels like everyone is put here purely to piss me off; sat in the “quiet” coach on a train to Birmingham, where no one on in the fucking coach is being quiet. I am now adding to that and pissing other people off as my super long red false nails are tap tap tapping on the keyboard. Im trying to make it not, but they are just too long.
The couple several rows behind are alternately kissing and the man reading some bollocks aloud to the girl as if she is some mental retard. A status which is confirmed by her ridiculous comments and random, raucous laughter. Two rows ahead of me is a woman, presumably a single parent, with two ginger kids. I have no problem with gingers. But kids in the “quiet” coach? Whos dumb idea is that? Did they book those tickets or just straight up ignored the QUIET signs? I feel slightly sorry the woman behind me and the man over the aisle, both dozing or trying to, as I was before the kids moved into the seat infront of me to play. Im sure my typing isn’t the worst of sounds in this cacufany of vulgarity, compulsory in public transport hell.
All I can hear now is the rustling of paper. What is going on? How is there that much paper to rustle? Have the children given in to the boredom of the slow running Sunday night train and ripped into all the presents single mom has bought them to compensate for the lack of father in their life?
Shit the battery on my computer is dying. Maybe I should stop typing and just carry on drowning out the sounds with the music, rather than whip myself into a literary frenzy over something I cannot control or escape. It just always seems like I pick the worst place to sit! I know it is part of who I am as an only child that I feel incapable of making the right decision, and that every decision is the wrong one, but it still causes me a lot of stress! The wrong seat, the wrong meal, the wrong outfit, the wrong friends, the wrong boys. The grass is a lot greener anywhere outside my world. However, contradictory to that it is everything outside my world which annoys me, and what I also love and find amazing and fascinating.
As Pampy was dying, I gained an empathy with the rest of mankind. I understood that everyone is special and has a awful things happen every second. Or some bollocks like that. I now feel totally different again and all empathy has gone out the window so I don’t remember the new positive insights and feelings. I do look around often and wonder how many of the people around me are currently coping or trying to cope with a death. And that brings back some empathy.
Oh the baby at the back of the coach is crying away now. Thrilling to everyone onboard I’m sure. And even with my headphones feeling deafeningly loud I can still hear the shitty ginger kids talking. We are sat, not moving now outside Rugby. Mmm Rugby boys.
I found Andrew Kinnaird on Facebook a few weeks ago and added him. He messaged me and we had a bit of a convo, ending in him asking, basically, if he could fuck me. And was offended when my immediate response wasn’t yes! Jane Eaton’s older brother also wants to meet up with me. I don’t really remember being particularly friendly with him, and now he is married to a woman who had a stroke. So maybe a bit of reliving his youth , thinking of other better lifes that could have been had, or a desire take advantage of an old connection to get a bit of non disabled fucking might be going on there!
Hmm mean. I thought I was a pretty angry person. Well I am, any small thing makes me crazy mad, which isn’t great fun. But I don’t do anything with that anger. I am barely even passive aggressive. I am basically a whinging passive. And I am either overly happy or I hate everyone and everything. And when I am in one I cannot see the other at all. Its like I could never be the other again cause the moment I am in is so strong. But I do know that is the way I work, so it is pretty hard to reconcile these reactions and emotions and the actual banality of real life. Cause nothing ever happens to me. And when big stuff has happened that is when my reactions are at their smallest. I hate dramatising or talking about something that is actually bad. But I love making the small things mega. Like boys, I can go on about all of that for days and not tire, get really wound up over wether I will hear from them, and how much I fancy them. But when the past three people I have had sex with have done it without my consent, or me even wanting it to happen, I don’t bat much of an eyelid. It happened, get on with it. Other people would be torn up and it would totally effect them. But I don’t feel anything. I am a bit pissed off, but im not worried about myself. But that may have a large factor to do with my relationship with men and sex, which is a whole other chapter. Or sentence. I have always had sex with a lot of men, mostly when drunk, most I cant remember and that is the way sx is and always has been with me from the first time to the most recent time. So I just see it as another messy drunen mistake. Silly. But the only difference is I don’t find it as funny as I used to. I am not a kid anymore and that kind of mess is disrespectable to my adulthood.
And at other times I think I am totally mental and lost it a long time time ago, if I ever had it. I have no grip on reality and normal values. I think everyway I think is wrong and back to front and messed up and I am totally alone and will always be. Life is so polar to me. Paralytic, sober, or pissed of im not paralytic. Married or completely datelessly single. fucking anyone and everyone or totally monogamous. Extaticly happy and in love with the world, or hating everything and everyone or depressed at feeling nothingness. Loads of energy or falling asleep all the time. In love with myself, or resigned to my imperfection. Full makeup and hair dos and outfits, or no make up or having it smudged all over my face having not washed in week, wearing the same pyjamas. Career or partying. Sadist or masochist.
Getting bored of listing opposites. And I am almost at Birmingham. Having Christmas with dad this year. Apparently it is going to be an open house buffet event. I am quite looking forward to it, especially if everyone is relaxed. Which actually, thinking about it, is almost an impossibility. But I can wear pyjamas and read and doze for nearly three days.
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