Wednesday, 30 April 2008

builders and beltane

supposed to be having a party on Friday ...supposed to be having an Aga installed... supposed to have a floor down in the dining room... supposed to have some clean clothes...a clean flat... sunny May weather so we can enjoy the garden... a good time...optimism and happiness and Jupiterian expansive good feelings...
Aga men arrived a day early and a bit of it was broken...floor not arrived...can't unpack...cannot use the washing machine...can't find any clean knickers...whole flat covered in layer of dust...it's raining cats and dogs...got palpitations...hate everybody anyway...feel on verge of tears all the time...wtf!
Why do I do this to myself? Pile the pressure on...

A day later, Aga up and running, most of the dust cleaned up, still raining, but found knickers...but have twisted my ankle falling down the stairs while bossing builders about! 
Damn, high heels will be agony.

Tuesday, 29 April 2008

Venus and copper

I am completely freaked. I mentioned previously in this blog that I had an important dream about copper in 2005, I also mentioned that I had a miscarriage at that time. In fact the dream happened the day after I discovered that the baby was dead. It was probably one of the most intense dreams I have ever had. I dreamt that myself and my partner of the time lived in France and that we had a business in which we smelted copper. 
Just now looking through a fantastic astrology site called skyscript I read about the links between the planet Venus (my ruling planet) and copper. I also read about how copper levels in a woman's blood soar during pregnancy. Now to have a dream about this metal at that particular juncture suggests a kind of channelled or subconscious information stream. Or do your hormones send messages to your dream life? To be sure, I had no conscious knowledge of the connections between copper, pregnancy and venus
Anyway this miserable episode is now subject to an ongoing medical negligence lawsuit. In a few years time, hopefully I'll get some money from the hospital cock-up.

Sunday, 27 April 2008

Looking fantastic after 40...


Today was the 30th anniversary of Rock Against Racism, a festival in Victoria Park, Hackney. The weather was cold and rainy so I couldn't be bothered to make the effort to queue to get into the park to see Paul Simonon of The Clash play with Damon Albarns' group, The Good, The Bad and The Queen. 
But I did see Carole of Big Brother 8, the reality show, handing out leaflets, going back to her activist roots. People constantly went up to her and asked for their photo to be taken. She was friendly and gracious to each one and was prettier and tinier in real life. Basically if she had more money, she'd look better. As my mother quipped on seeing Liz Hurley on a magazine cover with the strap line: How to look fantastic after 40!...
"Lots of money!"
Carole and I had a chat...
"has your life changed since Big Brother?"
"No", she said, "not for me, I'm still skint, almost lost my house several times. It has for the others, the twins who are buying a house in Kensal Rise, very near to Ziggy."
"Don't you have an agent?"
"Yes, I did, but he ripped me off, now I've got another one. But I did think I would get all kinds of work from Big Brother, say being an agony aunt or whatever. Last night I was invited to Kerry Katona's birthday at a night club. But I didn't want to go,  because I've got no money and nothing to wear".
Poor Carole!
I said to her:  "I'm surprised no one has wanted to do a make-over on you, like 10 Years Younger"
"No, they haven't yet", she replied, so she's obviously up for it
Clearly being on a reality show isn't quite the route to fame and fortune that it's cracked up to be. Personally I'd rather be boiled in oil than undergo something like that...

Cock tavern conspiracy quiz


Friday night a comedy quiz night about conspiracy theories... sounds like a great idea on paper doesn't it? Especially when your team captains are David Shayler (ex MI5 or merely "five" to those in the know) and Nick Pope, ex MoD now expert in UFO's. The quiz master was Ben Norris, who, dressed as a Jedi, carried the evening with his witticisms and quick repartee. There were several rounds: UFO's, Diana, aliens, the 'alleged' moon landings,O.J., and, hardest of all, the music round...theme tunes from various sci-fi movies, all of which sounded the same and nobody could guess the answers. 
I have to admit, the mix of comedy and conspiracy was a slightly uncomfortable one, in that many of the audience seemed to have come in all seriousness to hear the conspiracy side of things. Sometimes David Shayler, head to toe in messiah white with bare feet, would make statements about say, 9/11 and the audience would clap loudly. 
I got an opportunity to talk to both Nick Pope and David Shayler, both of whom were very approachable. Nick Pope started out as a skeptic working for the Ministry of Defence but grew to take UFO sightings seriously. He told me "even the MoD admit that some sightings are inexplicable". He said that on the Vatican website, the Catholic church have now taken a position on aliens, acknowledging that a visitation is imminent, but that aliens too were created by the Catholic god. 
Recently Nick Pope was in Nevada for a UFO conference and he got an email asking to go for a drink signed Robbie Williams, the pop star. Nick wasn't sure whether to take it seriously but when walking along the street, Robbie Williams came running out of a bar saying "Nick! I want to talk to you". Robbie had also approached Jon Ronson to make a documentary of this conference. 
After the quiz I met David Shayler who takes himself very seriously. He stated baldly:
"I am the messiah. Last year I meditated and stopped those car bombs in London from going off. It is said in the bible that the last messiah will be called shyler or shayler."
I noticed his pendant made of turquoise. I mentioned David Icke's affinity with turquoise. Shayler retorted:
"Well I think David got it wrong. God said wear turquoise stone not a turquoise shell suit!"
He didn't agree with Icke that the Royal family are shape-shifters or lizards but was grateful for the market opportunities (for messiahs?) that Icke had opened up. He was scathing about his research however:
"Icke gets it all off the Internet. He doesn't even do his own research."
(Bit of inter-messiah competition there, I reckon.) Anyway I got his birth details and it will be interesting to see what his chart reveals. 
Some examples of the questions: 

Who of the following people have never seen a UFO?
a)Robbie Williams
b)Ronald Reagan
c)Dick Cheney
d)Ronald Reagan.

Answer c).

Which is the UK's most famous UFO sighting?
Answer: Rendlesham forest (Nick Pope spoke up at this point and said "until 3 weeks ago it was up on the MoD website that radiation readings around the area at the time were significantly higher than background").

What did Margaret Thatcher say about this sighting to a journalist at a no 10 cocktail party?
Answer: "You can't tell the people".

What brand of drink was Henri Paul seen drinking prior to his fatal car crash with Diana, Princess of Wales?
Answer: Ricard.

Wednesday, 23 April 2008

monogenerian


One of the things that I find most disturbing about today's world is the lack of contact between the generations. As people are leaving having children till later in life, you find whole swathes of adults that do not know any children. For many of my friends, my daughter is the only child that they know, and as she's now 14, this status will soon change. A life without children is an empty life in my opinion, sterile and narcissistic. You don't actually need to procreate but you need contact across the generations. 
I left having a child till quite late admittedly. I'm not sure why. I guess I thought it would clamp down on my freedom (which it did) but endless freedom is a drag. When my daughter was a baby, I was amazed at how much time I wasted before (what did I actually do with all that free time?) and the sheer bloody interestingness of having a child.(Lone parenthood on the other hand, once the kid is in bed, is about as dull as it gets, and I had to shut down whole sections of myself in order to cope). 
Watching a child grow is like a show, a continually evolving entertainment. Especially when it's your own. Who need TV
My other thought this morning is the parallel fear of commitment. This is pandemic in modern western urban society. Fear of committing to a relationship, a job, a set of values, a religion, a country, a community. But without commitment there is no achievement. It's impossible. It seems the only fashionable commitment is to oneself, ones' own development, one's own needs. The idea of self-sacrifice and service is anathema. Kindness is not valued, it's for losers. One of the strangest things in the American Constitution is "The right to happiness". Unfortunately I think we have taken the constitution at its word. 

Monday, 21 April 2008

Dreams and dirty laundry

Yesterday I went to see the Korean film 'I'm a cyborg but that's ok' at the ICA. By the same director, Chan-wook Park, that directed 'Old Boy'. A young woman believes she is a cyborg and is admitted to a mental hospital where she develops a relationship with a young man who can steal souls. The film is aesthetically pleasing, with subtle pastel colours, but has little plot. It's as if someone is transcribing a dream to film. The time line is confusing to Western minds, with flashbacks and forwards unclearly delineated. But some Asian languages do not have tenses for their verbs and I mused upon whether this is a factor that influences Asian film editing, in that it is not linear.
Jean-luc Godard was the first director, I believe, as part of the 'Nouvelle Vague' to employ jumpy editing in 'Au bout de souffle'. Studying for my degree in cinema at the Sorbonne-Pantheon, we spent hours studying Godard's films and I hate his wanky self-referential stuff. (Madonna is citing him as an influence for her recent film, probably why it's got such terrible reviews).
Dreams, glamour, drugs, water, diving, film and photography are all ruled by the planet Neptune in astrology. Christian Metz talks about film being a popular and seductive art form, the essence of glamour, due to films ability to capture the transitory and fragmentary nature of dreams and the unconscious. One of my favourite films is by Wim Wenders 'Until the end of the world' in which a machine is invented that can record your dreams. The protagonists in the film become obsessed and trapped in this circular reality in which they dream, record their dreams, watch their dream recording which in turn influences their future dreams. The manga film 'Paprika' also has a dream 'catching' machine.
I found 'I'm a cyborg' hard to relate to emotionally, hard to care about what happened to the main characters, but was interested that the two people in our discussion group that did connect to the film were, in fact, from Asian backgrounds. I ventured that perhaps there is a code or allusions within this film that us as Westerners cannot understand. When today we look at medieval paintings, we cannot interpret them as people did at the time, for the symbols and meanings, apart from the obvious ones, are largely lost to us. Seeing Mike Leigh and Ken Loach films in Paris, I realised that there were a whole host of references that the French could not pick up upon, despite their admiration for these directors.
That day the full moon was in Scorpio. Leaving the cinema, I got the urge for a 'truth and reconciliation' style confrontation. A few years ago, while undergoing a stimulating but devastingly abusive relationship, in my efforts to extricate myself, I slept with this man's best friend, J. Bad idea. Especially when the next morning he said he'd rather fuck my 10 year-old daughter. Stunned and hurt, I gasped, winded from shock "You can't say that to me". We were in Norfolk so in tears, as you can well imagine, I jumped into my car and drove back to London.
In London I spoke to mutual friends who said they also had seen this guy, J, behave inappropriately around children. J was a larger than life and charismatic character, like Henry VIII on crack, constantly causing trouble in his street.
Once he decided it would be a good idea to be able to visit his neighbour more easily and drilled a large hole through the fireplace straight into his neighbours living room. The neighbours' wife was particularly vexed. He also took the roof off his kitchen so that he could cook under the stars (a lovely idea but rather impractical in Britain). There were nightly projections of his films on to neighbouring blocks of flats. The front door was never locked, and J often wandered around partially nude, laughing loudly and booming outrageous comments. Eventually he burnt his own house down.
He also had a quite sensitive and creative side but this was gradually subsumed by 'water on the brain' in his words or more prosaically, mental illness.
I avoided him after that but heard sad stories of his breakdown, and subsequent stays, sometimes voluntary, often compulsory, in hospital. After the 7/7 bombings he left me a message to ask if I was alright, which touched me.
Hearing from mutual friends last night that he was very depressed and lonely, I went to see him for the first time in 4 years.
"I need to talk to you" I said.
We sat down. I was struck by how he had aged and his Guantanamo Bay orange pyjamas, apparently a memento from a local mental ward.
"You hurt me. Your remark about me and my child really hurt me. I've not come here to fight or criticize or judge, I just want to discuss this with you".
He looked shocked and said that I was making this incident up. I persisted, calmly, standing my ground
"No J you did say that, and you hurt me. I'd like you to apologize. I don't believe that you really wanted to have sex with my daughter (that big scarey word paedophile) but you need to be aware that your consciously outrageous behaviour and your lack of boundaries can hurt other people".
He made hot chocolate in a chipped cup. We sat while he talked about his time in mental hospitals, how sex meant nothing to him, how he'd been abused as a child by his parents' friends. He said he had sex with women whilst in mental hospital; wards are not separate for men and women. I have female friends who have been sectioned and who have had sex with male patients whom under normal circumstances they wouldn't have anything to do with. It's part of their illness and they are vulnerable.
He said he couldn't remember having sex with me, or being in Norfolk or making those remarks about my child. He also could not remember that I knew his brother, who I had met whilst travelling through Peru some time ago. He said the drugs they gave him, anti-psychotic drugs, wiped clean his memory. But he did remember, and we laughed together, how the erstwhile boyfriend (who styled himself as a fan of 'Free Love'), tried to prevent us from leaving for Norfolk by letting down the tyres of my van and calling the police in Hackney and Norfolk to say that I had been kidnapped by J. (I guess the free love stuff only applied to him not me.)
It seemed J's memory loss was rather selective.
At the end of this, however, it felt to me that we had come to some kind of peace and I shook his hand and took my leave.

Saturday, 19 April 2008

Glastonbury fetish



Glastonbury Fetish night, as another friend said ...it just sounds wrong doesn't it? The first such event in the area, there were several complaints about it in the local newspaper.
Drove down with Naked John to help him sell his eco-whips, made out of recycled bicycle inner tubes. It was held at the Assembly rooms. My experience of this 'scene' extends to a few nights at Torture Garden, some reading, a bit of role play, lively accounts from friends...and a desire to explore what makes me tick. Torture Garden in London is visually beautiful, girls that look straight out of Allen Jones sculptures and paintings (the guy that made the coffee table for Clockwork Orange). Fetish Glastonbury-style is a whole other world. You cannot, however, fault their enthusiasm and a kind of charming naiveté. Now to be brutally honest, provincial perversion just ain't what you get in the big smoke. Grandmothers in PVC, boys in eyeliner on leads, hippies who have thrown off their scarves and gypsy skirts for the night and dug out a Dorothy Perkins bustier in red satin, a pill box hat and a gold clutch and heels.
Snatches of conversation overheard: a plaintive " I just want my missus back"; "Have you got any talc so I can squeeze into my rubber?"; "She's my slave/partner" (said by a man of 40ish about a woman who had to be 70). Glimpses of naked male bottoms in the changing rooms, struggling into leather chaps. A buxom trio in the ladies toilets... put it this way I was one of the thinner people at this soirée, country aesthetics being a little more generous than in the city. The camp classic film " Faster pussycat, go, go" flickered on the walls. The security guard wore his own hand-woven hairy green camouflage outfit, a combination of Rambo and King Kong.
I met a couple from Plymouth (how appropriate) called The Heretics. "We play dark seductive music". Also on stage was a large dominatrix of indeterminable age leading around a pussy-whipped fellow, intoning:
"Beltane, Beltane, release us from our chains
We fuck on fields of corn and grain
Come worship the tangle of the goddess"
(Did I hear that right?)
One lady in red rubber kept asking for my email and saying she wanted a young slave: a) I'm not particularly young and b) I'm not gay.I felt a kind of cruel contempt towards her arising within me (what's that about? answers please). Some other trussed up women kept trying to drag me on stage. At that point my evil dom side came out and threw the more insistent one on the floor. I think she enjoyed it though! Great thing about people in very high heels, they are so easy to topple over.
I did try and help John sell the whips...one bloke (a local politician?) bent over a hastily erected whipping post and asked to be whipped. So in the interests of salesmanship, I thought I'd have a crack at it. Well, several loud yelps later I realised that, as I play surdo drum, I have a strong right hand. I felt like charging him a quid a stroke. Then he did his wife, who was a game girl with a pink bottom. They didn't mind pictures being taken at this event, part of the innocence, I suppose. The things I will do for my Puckish friend! John, fey lad that he is, spent most of his time prancing about in his rubber posing pouch and a green feather boa (hints of the Green Man, so Glasto-appropriate), culminating in a stage performance in which he was on all fours whilst the lady in red tickled and teased him with his own eco-whip. John got annoyed when the large dominatrix joined in, uninvited.
By the end of the evening, several of John's whips had been stolen, he made a net loss, but he had a wodge of phone numbers and private "appointments".
I was so tired after the drive I fell asleep like a rag doll on the nearest surface which happened to be the whipping stool..
The next day we wandered around Glastonbury, visiting the "Glastonbury Experience", a kind of hippy Disneyland with shops: 'Starchild' selling herbs, 'Venus' selling goddess clothes, a fortune teller, a notice board advertising full moon rituals. A man played flute next to the cashpoint, a beggar sold sage and juniper bundles on some steps, tourists wandered by, having discarded their usual jeans and fleeces, wearing long skirts and ethnic clothing for this trip. Late afternoon, the professional hippies woke up and were to be seen sweeping along the cobbled streets in long black cloaks, purple gowns, Merlin-style head wear. 
We visited the Magdalene chapel but it was closed as usual, although Sunday nights at 6pm they have a sufi whirling. 

Thursday, 17 April 2008

Lost boys of the lido

Once upon a time, there was a park called London Fields. This park was very special. Ley lines criss-crossed it. A plague pit lay underneath it. A dwelling known as the 'murder house' faced the park. Two streets of narrow houses, leaning against each other in higgledy piggledy fashion were occupied by squatters; all day people were in and out of each others houses like a punk episode of Coronation Street. The park had everything you could want. A playground. A pub. Trees. Cricket. Tennis. Cycle lanes. And adjacent, Broadway Market, now a fashionable organic farmers market. So far, so normal. But magical happenings occurred in this park. Picnics were extraordinary. Days were longer. Sometimes samba was played. Another day there was an open air cinema where we ate popcorn and watched Italian movies powered by the sun.
To one side of this park stood a lido, an open air swimming pool. Within the walls of the lido, lived the lost boys, each in his little converted changing room, circumventing the empty pool. Within the pool there was a garden, the earth having been painstakingly transported from the park, where grew tomatoes and potatoes and all sorts of vegetables. These were the best tasting vegetables you could possibly eat. They were fertilised with human manure, for nothing, but nothing, was ever wasted in the lido. Also in the pool were two bath tubs lined up next to each other, to enable the occupants to chat. These would be filled with cold water and then a fire lit underneath. The water would gradually heat up, and you could bathe, in company, under the starlight of Eastern London.
Some of the lost boys were from other countries, having travelled from afar to alight in this mysterious part of the metropolis. There was Daniel, from Germany, who was tall, thin and bony with staring mad blue eyes and popping bad skin. He took alot of drugs and sometimes fucked boys and sometimes fucked girls. Daniel was part of the Black Block. Wearing a black balaclava, he loved a riot.
Then there was Daft, a tall thin Jewish boy from Western London. He was very very funny and cracked jokes all day, while smoking a similar substance through a hole in a beer can. He never did anything at all around the lido. He explained
"Not everybody CAN buy toilet paper- it's a known fact"
"Cleanliness is next to impossible"
"Money is a mid-week thing, nobody has it!"
It was very unfair that others expected him to do tawdry chores and the like. Sometimes he stole. He was a dedicated vegan and occasionally waitressed in a local vegan café. From time to time, Daniel would allow Daft to sleep with him. Daft preferred to sleep with Germans if at all possible.
Naked John had the messiest cubicle: he wandered around in his blond beauty, dripping with scarves and riding his unicycle. John used to be a famous child actor on TV. He would amuse everybody, an acutely accurate impersonator. He talked to anybody who passed by in the park, when the door of the Lido was left open. So he was well known in the community and could barter with local Turkish shops, exchanging say, a few first class stamps for a loaf of bread. John got arrested for being naked up a tree. Boys aren't allowed to be naked in public but girls can.
Jacko, a frizzy haired wild man who knew everything, slept under a desk in the 'computer cubicle'. It had no light, all the windows entirely blacked out. You could ask Jacko anything and he would know the answer, sucking on a pipe and nodding sagely. He was a walking dictionary/encyclopedia/Google-search engine/interwebber. Jacko was in the process of creating a new computer language which he hoped to sell for millions.
Another German, Jurg, ensured his cubicle was spotlessly clean, kept himself to himself, and washed everyday. His girlfriends were blonde and blue-eyed and lived in houses where he could go and have a hot bath.
Donach from Ireland lived in the dankest mouldiest changing room, so unhealthy he developed eczema on the inside of his body, not the outside skin.
In the largest cubicle (for he was nothing if not territorial), we must introduce Emmanuel, the little French satyr from Les Vosges. Strangely Emmanuel and Daniel lived about 50 miles from each other originally but in different countries, France and Germany. They detested each other. Outside of Emmanuel's room, neatly cut wood was stacked, a natural sculpture, each log fitting perfectly with the next, his stores for the winter. Having been brought up in the forests of the Lorraine, Emmanuel was the only one of the lost boys to be prepared for the cold Lido winters which had no hot water or heating. All year he prepared his wood stacks. Emmanuel had a wood burner made from a milk churn which heated his room in no time. The wood beside was filed in order of size: twists of paper, kindling, twigs, small sticks, split logs. Emmanuel's father was a lumberjack; in fact every member of his family could handle an axe efficiently, including his 70 year old mother.
Emmanuel was short, blond and compact, with muscly arms and shoulders. He'd been in the army, and it showed, the Foreign Legion, reputation had it. He had long hair and bright blue eyes, one of which strayed to the side when he was tired. A survivalist, he loathed depending on anyone else. He was probably the only squatter there from the working classes, the others being on leave of absence from nice homes and normality.
Nobody had any money in the lido. The food was "skipped" (dumpster diving) from Lidl bins and sometimes other supermarkets. Once Emmanuel found 4 bottles of perfect champagne next to a bin. There was always plenty to eat. Finding 40 litres of out of date milk, he made moulds out of tin cans, and lo! fresh cheese. He also used fruit from the apple trees that line Mare Street to make juice in his home-made fruit press. Emmanuel was Pink Block, wearing a pink tutu and flowers in his hair, he loved a party.
One child who visited often with her mother, spent all day riding around and around the pool on a little red tricycle, like a scene from the Shining.
Not so far from the lido, there is an almond tree, a candle factory and a hummus factory (although the 'skipped' hummus was a little fizzy). Barbeques were lit inside wheel hubs. Chandeliers were made from bicycle parts. Almost everything you could possibly need can be found within London Fields and everything in the lido was 'tatted' (finding things on the street). This was a freegan society. If money was needed, metal would be sold, wire would be stripped, particularly copper (a copper heating tank would fetch about £15), at one of the numerous local scrap metal dealers.

Tuesday, 15 April 2008

Wings and bees

This is the 3rd time I've attended the Organic food fair, courtesy of my friend U. Dolphin (her name was channelled). At the end of this fair, they normally give away tons of goodies, but not this time. 
You get the opportunity to taste different food and learn about new products. I felt sorry for the lone guy selling organic sanitary towels and tampons. Strangely nobody was coming up to him to speak about his product. I decided to approach... "what do you think about wings then? Wings are one of my pet hates. It's painful when they come unstuck from the sides of your panties and attach themselves either to your pubic hair or your thigh." (At this point my teenager who is on Spring break, fled).
The man rallied brilliantly:"er, well, I haven't had that experience myself, but I bow to your greater knowledge. "
"Ok, why don't you wear one under your armpit then and walk around, swinging your arms. You'll soon see what it feels like." 
Laughing he admitted he'd drawn the short straw and that normally his wife does this stall...he gave me a free sample which I shall try out. In the past I have found that organic sanitary towels often disintegrate and you end up with some horrible saggy crumbly mess in your knickers, loosely held together with a bit of natural fibre. Non-organic ones use absorbent gels (like stuff you put in plants to retain water) so that the liquid just expands the towel. 
Once at Glastonbury festival, I attended a tampon making workshop. Led by a long haired hippy lady, she showed us how to make fabric tampons and sanitary towels in a selection of pretty fabrics... "To match your outfit?" I asked. How is anyone going to see the effort that you've made to match your pink gingham tampon with your blouse for instance? Apart from the mess, it's not like you are going to whip it out at any point and wave it in public... 
Cute bee keeper guy on the honey stall... I've been thinking about keeping bees. I love the idea that you talk to them daily about all your problems and in return, they produce more honey.

Sunday, 13 April 2008

Arabian nights


Sometimes I feel like Scheherazade, spinning my stories to entertain the Sultan... My weekend: The tapas 7 are being interviewed, wonder what will transpire from that. Saw the film Atonement on Friday night, nice colours, wierd clipped speeded up "Brief encounter" type dialogue. Attended a deaf people's march Saturday morning, supposedly with my band but unbeknownst to me they had cancelled. One of the reasons I wanted to play this protest is because of this rhythms of resistance account. Samba is directed by the maestre using hand signals and of course deaf people pick up on this language very quickly. This march was against Eugenics, in this case, removing the deaf gene. Animated hand talk all around me. Not even sure that I agree with the cause. What's so great about being deaf? Preserve the culture but still...
Saturday, Hackney Social Centre once more: first it was crap, dog on a string, brew-crew punks. Then dragged my teenager into a Clapton pub (great thing about going late they are all so pissed they don't notice when someone under-age is there). Met Dee, an old Kentwellian, from the Tudor recreation. She's now into the fetish scene and will be on the door at the Torture Garden birthday bash. Basically she likes any scene where she can wear an amazing costume, I've worked out. 
Returned to HSC, where a mind-blowing band called the Pinstickers were playing. They are a mix of early Slits and Prodigy. Two women caterwauling, one in green, the other in red, a rasta on bass, and a techno nerd on synth. The audience went wild, throwing themselves around with abandon, one couple practically having sex on stage. Fantastic stuff! Next to the speakers, I had tinnitus all the next day. 
Sunday: London Fetish Fair off Caledonian road where Dee has a stall. They were supposed to have this 'pony club' which I first heard about last summer in Miami. People pretend to be horses, get harnessed, drag around little carriages and wear horse tails! How very Pluto in Sagittarius, even though Pluto is now chugging back and forth at the beginning of Capricorn (hence Northern Rock bank run!)
I bought a black satin corset: I want to wear it all the time. You stand up straight and you are constricted and supported. Some lovely clothes there, beautifully cut little jackets with leg o' mutton sleeves and nipped in shoulders. Best scene was in the ladies; one beautiful girl trying on a leather corset, aided by boyfriend and some girls. The wizard bought a blue suede mini skirt with interesting ribbon effect on one side. It's gonna look good with his dreadlocks and his movie star face. Tea in Primrose Hill, whispering about my favourite subject into his ear whilst surrounded by pink and sedate couples.

Thursday, 10 April 2008

Macdo and music

Today I committed a political crime: I went to McDonalds for a fish burger. I'm sorry, but I like them so ha! This particular branch of McDonalds is in Brent X shopping centre and they've recently updated it, with pop art orange chairs, wifi and a baby grand. Some teenagers started to play the piano and they were bloody good. People smiled. The dead atmosphere felt different, sweeter and softer. After a few bars of Alicia Keys and some classical, a Mcjobber came up and told them to stop.
Your roving reporter, ever the trouble-maker, insisted on seeing the manageress: I said: "McDonalds adverts are forever trying to give the impression that you have a sense of community, well this is community, let them play". People got up and agreed with me. Tables of people nodded and clapped. The manageress smiled and said " Of course you can play, go ahead, we just get sick of it when people play Chopsticks for 20 minutes". I pointed out that it was clear that these kids knew their stuff, she replied that a 10 year old boy often comes in to play jazz. "Now we've given him a Saturday job. He comes in every Saturday between 12 and 2 and plays for McDonalds meals for himself and his family." Gotta check that out.
The teenagers got up and played again, but this time it was Linkin Park and Nirvana...

An evening with the Spacehijackers

Spacehijackers are a group of activists and artists who seek to protest in a playful, original and creative way. They run the anarchic Circle line parties (with the notorious nude pole-dancing male, who I must admit, was my boyfriend at the time and I did love him all the more for it) of which I have attended one. The next is planned for 2009.
This year they intend to celebrate Mayday by reviving the infamous May Fayre in Mayfair, last seen in 1708, it being the 300th anniversary. Last night we held a meeting to discuss tactics and do a reconnaissance around Mayfair itself. Now I'm a Londoner, if not born then bred, but I never go to Mayfair, which is, along with Park Lane, the most expensive property on the Monopoly board. What a delight it is! It reminds me of Brassai photographs of old Paris night-life in the 1930's: doorways glowing orange and pink with prostitutes signs on them, upstairs windows with red and violet lights, intimate candle-lit neighbourhood restaurants, Eastern men standing on street corners glinting gold, tiny unusual shops, a Mexican-Polish bistro (what is that food like then? beetroot nachos?), a hairdressers by appointment, a shop front advertising "champagne exercises' by a woman in a leotard with a champagne bottle, (the mind boggles). It's reminiscent also of Soho in the '50's.
On our way to Mayfair, we saw a man being grabbed by two other men, who slammed his head hard against a tile wall and put handcuffs on him. The man was shouting "help, call the police". I called the police as the two men wouldn't show us ID to prove that they were policemen. Anyway we stood about waiting for the police to turn up. I'd lent Secret Agent Arcoiris my book on SM (SM101 by Jay Wiseman) as she needs it at the moment. Secret Agent Bristly started reading passages from this book aloud to the man and his captors, about dominance and submission. It did turn out that the 'captors' were genuine undercover policemen.
I'm not going to say too much about the planned event on May 1st but it involves lots of bawdy behaviour, cattle, Hanoverian clothing, music and snacks. Wear red underwear or become a Spacehijacker secret agent.

Tuesday, 8 April 2008

non-orientable

Klein bottles at The Science Museum, London


Dinner with S and R. They built their house, while home-educating their kids and working. Superheroes. We played with bits of paper after dinner and experimented with Mobius strips...you twist a piece of paper once and then fix the ends together. If you trace your finger along the side, you always end up in the same place (despite the twist). I then cut the paper in half, lengthways and you get two linked paper chains and so on...Klein bottles same thing really...
S is doing a course in brain imageing, investigating dyslexia. Today news emerged that dyslexics can read the Chinese alphabet which is pictorial better than the Roman alphabet. S says that she has been shocked how researchers distort data analysis in order to get funding. In fact there has been no clear data so far to show that the dyslexic brain works differently from others. Phonological languages such as Italian are easier for dyslexics and English with its' illogical spelling poses particular problems.

Sunday, 6 April 2008

Last night in Crackney


Woah another brilliant night at the Hackney Social Centre, loving that place...Naked John, Ms Puddleduck and I spent 3 hours talking about sex in Viet Hoa restaurant, Dalston over hot and sour soup then swept up to darkest Clapton in my little French farmers van. Subjects explored include bits we don't like lovers to touch... Ms Puddleduck hates her feet being licked and threatens to kick any man attempting to worship her hobbit-like (according to her description) extremities in the face. Foot fetishists have my vote, but I squirm when my ears are touched. John doesn't like penetrative sex...but then again, he's basically gay. When he does go with girls, they are the skinny oriental types, boyish bar a fanny and fried egg tits.
Speaking of which I wore again my pink Topshop dress last seen in the drenched fish'n'chips incident. It looked fine in the dressing room, but when worn in a real time/space continuum, it's obscene. The peek-a-boo slit subtly showing off cleavage developed into a straining in-ya-face Amsterdam red light district peep show. Keep that dress for saucier evenings, note to self.
Dvd was there in fine form. He's a "Jew not Jewish", he informs me. Baffled, I ask for clarification... "I'm not Jewish, I'm not gay-ish, I'm not vegan-ish, I'm not green-ish. I'm a Jewfuckyou!" Aaah. I see. His sister writes Harry Potter porn, a huge industry, I hear. He is so inventive verbally. He's coined a new term for fag hags...fag whisperers. These are women who try to coax you out of your homosexuality.
The Hackney social centre used to be Chimes bar, the location at the origin of why Clapton High Road is known as "murder mile". Lots of girls from the self-assessing (you are the gender you decide) 'womyns space'. One beautiful girl with stubble and large hands, didn't like to ask, probably trans.
Other terms for Hackney: Crackney, Smackney, Gackney, Lackney (poverty). It's an island in the East of London, a tube-less enclave where some fear to tread. I feel more comfortable, as an inveterate 'Outsider', with the crack-heads of London Fields than I do with most other people.
In the morning it snowed in London. Snow in April. Huddled under blankets, John introduced me to the manga film 'Paprika' which is pretty trippy and good preparation for my proposed trip to the anti-G8 in Japan this summer. I then drove across the river to pick up my teenager in Wimbledon. She has been staying with a Syrian-French family, the mum all Delacroix Eastern curves and a sweet face hewn out of marble. My teenager is loving being with a proper French mum and lots of sisters. As it's still bordelique chez moi, I have no kitchen, no floor, and the rest of the flat is in boxes, my teenager can stay for a few more days. This is probably the most freedom I've had in years, and I'm making the most of it. Nursing a sore throat, partly due to a Crowley spell invoked by another (ojo, I know what you are up to) I'm determined to burn the candle at both ends. You can sleep when you are dead.

Friday, 4 April 2008

Womyn


Tonight saw a single mum mate, Y, at the Hayward Gallery where there was a 'happening' by the artist Marc Horowitz. I didn't get the point of the 'happening', it seemed scattered and reeked of end-of-pier desperation. Jodie Harsh participated. Another female-mocking male, in her tangled beehive and glittery rags, methinks.

Y and I ended up getting into a big discussion about anger over the dear departed dad. Ha! Trouble is they aren't even dead. Her daughter, a beauty at 16, is now getting curious about what dad is like. Y, like me, has never had child support or visits or anything. Twice a year my daughter's father sends a couple of dvd's suitable for an 8 year old and that is the sum total of his contribution.
Y has managed to repress the anger up till now she says (coulda fooled me, she was one of the few women to upfront hate men in this world of approval-seeking women). "I could never understand why you were so angry", she said to me, "and now I do". Personally I'm past all that, amazingly. I don't even think about him. I suppose the last straw, and the 'There is no god' moment for me with him was when I had a miscarriage in 2005 and received a slimy self-congratulatory letter from him announcing the birth of his new child who was born the same month my child would have been born, had it lived. I almost fainted.
Most of us single parents start to wear out when the kid turns about 11, Y and I have worked out. A friend of mine, Sylvia, who had a child with a certain Irish rock star, sent her daughter to boarding school at that age, needing a break. She paid for the first year and then asked very rich dad (who'd never paid maintenance) if he could pay the fees after that. He defended himself in court, spending more on top barristers than he ever would have on school fees. Sylvia lost. The girl had to leave the school.
Years later, he decided, prompted by compassionate new wifey, to get in touch with said daughter when she was about 30. Daughter thrilled, nervous like with a new lover, on best behaviour, unnatural. He was a stranger. Sylvia traumatised, an open wound bleeding once more. Sylvia also had money problems, like you tend to when you have spent the most productive years of your life bringing up children on a shoe-string. To see this born-again dad lavishing money on a 30 year old, buying her affection and admiration, was painful. Of course, this honeymoon didn't last long. He lost interest, they argued, Sylvia went back to being the rock-solid mum she'd always been.
Its all about control. They won't give the child money because they don't want the mothers life to be easier. Germaine Greer says the rise in single parenthood (99% are women) is male revenge for feminism. She says a woman on her own with a child is a woman in trouble. She also has some very interesting points to make about transsexuals.
(I tip my hat in solidarity to male single parents, of which I know a couple, who are suddenly projected, with all the attendant problems, into the unremunerated world of mothers).

Thursday, 3 April 2008

Magic numbers



The Wizard ;) tells me that it's no coincidence that complex crop circles based on designs such as the Julia Set tend to occur near universities where there reside, naturally, lots of mathematicians. He has a point there. He is entranced by the idea of a world without personalities, the world of mathematics. This concept is so entirely alien to me that I marvel at the idea. Do numbers have personalities? In numerology they do: 5 is sex, 2 is female, 1 is male, etc
The autist Daniel Tammet sees numbers as having colours and qualities, a condition known as synesthia.
Fibonnacci stair?

Wednesday, 2 April 2008

Perfume and ochre


Smell is what attracts me to a man more than anything else. Especially the smell of wood smoke. Even if I don't physically fancy someone, that smell draws me in. I recently heard that 'muguet' or lily of the valley is the nearest smell to a woman's ovaries, it attracts sperm and you should spray it on your knickers. The French buy their women sprigs of muguet on the 1st of May. Both Napoleon and Cleopatra wore Lily of the Valley. I wear Yardleys but would like to try Diorissimo (Mick Jagger's favourite scent) and Guerlain's vintage Muguet. I like a man that notices your perfume, that you've made an effort. Underlying smell is the key however for true sexual chemistry.
When women ovulate, they show more flesh, and wear more red. Red lips and nails are an ancient come-on. Hunter/gatherer societies used ochre to emit the same signals.

Last speaker


Just prior to him speaking, I met this man at his stall. He pointed to my uterus and told me that it is a portal, a stargate. He then pointed to two old ladies and said their uteri were stargates too (er, with rusty hinges?).
David Boyle is the creator of a conspiracy exhibition in Blackpool. He is a small punchy man. He begins:
'The children of the stars, angels, gods and sons of gods are all aliens to earth. Our history is a lie. The temple at Abydos, Egypt. Why is there a helicopter and a submarine described in hieroglyphs? We evolved in Sumaria. Marduk the son of Enki. Heaven is the name of Niburu, the planet of the Annunaki."
(All this information is delivered in a strong northern accent by a bloke with a beer gut and trainers. Imagine Les Dawson expounding on the mysteries of life, it's quite surreal).
"The queen is the same family tracing all the way back to Sumeria. 43 US presidents. In exchange for giving them a charter of their own, George III, in a naval court...(didn't catch the rest) America is a private limited company owned by the royal families of Europe."
Then I'm afraid my notes get very bitty... I start to drop off "doctor who is psychically guided...the worst crime is murder.Where are all the daleks right now? Iraq and Afghanistan. The queen has all of your original birth certificates, and she has lent them out to the IMF, your birth certificates have been mortgaged. The queen tells us to share but when is she going to start sharing? I'm sure you are all here because we want a better world. Divide and conquer, split the world into different countries. Stop believing what other people tell us. Don't believe in tradition. I had a fantastic childhood. "
Basically, it's all pale imitation David Icke. I look around to see all these old people (traditionally her biggest fans?) nodding away to the Queen's a shape-shifter type sentiments.
"Everything that exists is energy."...really tired."Sub-atomic particles. There are no straight lines. There are only spheres. Purest form of energy known to man is light but actually it's love...The key to unlock light is 19 47 which is the latitude of a tetrahedron. 666 is the key to sound." Shows slide of "crop circle which formed beneath Silbury hill. 16/1/1991...mathematical crop circle. 66 foot one way 67 the other...folding things over gives 19.47...We are being told to work in Pythagorean mathematics. It represents Avebury and Silbury hill. What's a pyramid? It's a book in stone. Universal constant is pi. 'Bury' means star...as above so below...kabala...Avebury is the flow of life encoded on the ground."
Sorry but just couldn't stay awake, Maths at the end of a 2 day conference is not a good idea, he should have been on early morning (The Literacy Hour).
Long drive home ahead of me, so I slip out and make it back to London in 4 hours (does England run downhill from the North?). I meet Ms Puddleduck in Brick Lane for a quick drink before returning to take up my maternal duties.
Photos of the conference will be posted up, when I find the fucking lead to my camera in amongst the chaos...

Tuesday, 1 April 2008

Jesus was an ET




Have a wander around the stalls, get chatting to a stall holder with plastic pointy ears. She says that when she gets some money, she will have them surgically changed. Her stall sells interesting Copper 'splashes'. I have a bit of an obsession with Copper after an important dream about it in 2005. As a result I visited 'copper valley' in France near Carcassonne. We have a little bitch about positive thinkers, how tiresome they are. Jean comes up and says positive thinking has really worked for her. She also mentions the recent UFO conference in Nevada, which Robbie Williams, the pop star attended with Jon Ronson, the journalist. Unfortunately she missed Robbie, who had a beard and sunglasses but was recognised by everybody anyway. She talks about her friend who can read auras and how this friends' children always tried to hide the area around their head when they were telling fibs because their mother always knew who was lying.
The next speaker is Richard Lawrence, who looks like a born-again Christian and is a confident speaker. Unfortunately he is in the after lunch spot when people's energies are flagging. At one point I looked around and noticed that most of the front two rows were asleep, which must have been difficult for him.
Richard Lawrence.
" A recent Mori poll said that 31% of public believe government is covering up alien sightings.
Nick Pope I remember talking to him on his first day at the Ministry of Defence. He didn't believe in UFO files. I said to him shortly you will believe in them because you will see them. Now he is one of the main speakers on them.
I'm going to talk about contact with a being from another world which took place 50 years ago with Dr King.
This ET said "I would warn you that when government are forced to admit our existence, the government will try to convince you that we are unfriendly. So forewarned is forearmed.
Now nobody believes in the government...spin... everybody knows about 'spin' but 20 years ago people were less sophisticated.
Nick Pope says we should prepare for hostile invasion. But this being told Dr King:" We could conquer you quite easily in 50 seconds if that was our intention."
How many people here have seen UFO's? " Several hands go up, and about 40% of the audience have seen a UFO.
" I know there was a talk about alien animal mutilations yesterday but if they want to perform medical operations on this planet they could easily take over a hospital. Our message is that extra terrestials are friendly. Jesus was an ET, Buddha, Sri Krishna, Confuscius, were all aliens.
The Star of Bethlehem wasn't a star, a star can't hover over anything. This was an extra-terrestrial craft which was sighted as moving, it was bringing to Earth a very great being. Jesus was brought here for karma.
Most people believe in UFO's, and believe in UFO cover-up by governments. I have brought CIA documents over to this country, regarding active aliens which are friendly, also there are documents from the Soviet Union. What this world needs are seekers after the truth."
(lots of murmurs of yes)
"Now I'm going to talk about the work of Dr George King, the man with whom I was honoured to co-author a book, I don't keep royalties from books, I put it back into the work.
This book is wonderful; Dr George King,  a master of yoga, born in 1919, spent his childhood in Blackpool, he was a practical man, and he was already psychic when he decided to take up yoga.
For him the finest use of psychic powers is healing.
After World War 2 he took up yoga. 18 million Americans practice yoga. But true yoga is not keeping fit. The ancient practice of yoga is Kundalini, Mantra, or Raja yoga.
Dr King took this up 8 hours a day. You need to look up the credentials of people claim to have contact from ET's.
So in 1945 Dr King was doing yoga, for 8 hours a day for 10 years as well as doing a job, he was a very single minded individual. That is why he was contacted. It's not because they like him.
I recommend karma yoga.
I've done a bit of mediumship, and had messages from people who have died from this Earth. I couldn't remotely channel an ET. That is way above my station.
We have to know what we don't know. Dr King was contacted in 1954, the same year Sir Peter Horsley,  number 2 in the air industry, was also contacted by an ET. But he didn't do anything about it. 
The name of our society is based on Aetherius, the name of a being, one who travels through ethers of space.
Dr King entered a state of trance named Somali (?) and because he could achieve that, he could be used as a medium by ET's. Dr King was in touch with them especially the last week of his life.
For 43 years he dedicated himself to this. In 1958 he received a communication from a something called Cosmic Voice. An accident had taken place in the Soviet Union in a nuclear power plant. Dr King was told how many were injured and killed by it. But this was kept secret.
18 years later, when I was working as press officer for the Aetherean society, the New Scientist revealed details of this accident 18 years earlier."
Then this attractive middle-aged woman comes and sits next to me, she gazes adoringly up at Richard Lewis. I guess that she is his wife. Yup, this is the extent of female leadership at this conference. (Yeah I'm just jealous, dying to experience the soothing limitations of being a surrendered wife but fear my anarchistic tendancies may crackle through) 
"First of all I went along to the BBC, and said this is in the news, but Dr King said that he heard about it from a Martian and I spoke to someone at the Home Service, a Dr Medvehjah(?sp). I went to the BBC with the proof but  when I returned to the BBC they told me the interviewer didn't exist. 'No, we aren't interested anymore' they said.
In Leicester recently there was  a sighting by many witnesses. This idea that ufology is dead is utter nonsense. The Fortean times published this and it's rubbish. When you start campaigning for the truth about UFO's, more evidence is required.
Many types of evidence in the past such as: "Dimanas", a Sanskrit word for flying beings...Buddhism concept of 'locas', heavenly spheres. The bible is jam-packed full of UFO's. Moses was followed through the desert by Pillars of Fire. There are many cases of Elijah travelling in a cloud. In the Greek legends, there are examples, the Roman poets,  the sky dwellers in person.
Then we listen to a recording of Dr King channelling, with stilted Dalek-style delivery as if he is forcing through with difficulty the message of an alien. "Serve and you will become enlightened. Serve and you will be practicising true selfless love. Serve and the almighty power of Kundalini will rise. The chakra jewels in your higher bodies will inspire. There are no words great enough to describe the wonder of service." 
Back to Richard Lewis: "Prayer. It's very misunderstood." He shows that hands should be raised when one prays. "There are many healers here. Everybody can heal. We experience heat in the palms of hands when giving healing. Prayer is when you send out this spiritual energy from a distance. You shouldn't pray with your hands closed. That is an asian greeting, where you protect your own heart energy." 
The Aetherian society practice the 12 blessings which is an extension of the Sermont on the Mount.
"You don't have to come to one of our groups, you can do it at home. Prayers are healing at a distance. Animals can heal too. Gardeners know, if you say the right things to the plants it will help them. "

There are some questions:
What is the Great White brotherhood?" It's a body of ascended masters who have been with us for thousands of years. They are not necessarily white or men, this is not racist. Ascended masters like the Count St Germain. They stay in retreats in Scotland and Mount Kilimanjaro. They help us behind the scenes, but do not interfere. Madame Blavatsky was in touch with a number of them.
The crucifix is a very negative symbol. The cross is a wonderful symbol.
I want to encourage people to do healing.
When certain satellites and craft (April 18th next one) come close to earth, your healing ability increases.
To cross yourself is to cut off oneness."
Lewis believes that the Earth is protected, from mass hypnosis, destruction.
How do you guard yourself against negative forces?...
"For general protection: you visualise a violet flame coming up through the feet through the head, it's a female preservative force from Mother Earth. It can immediately cleanse you."
The organiser gets up and states: "Richard, several people have seen figures behind you on the stage."
People go up and shake his hand, wife moves over silently and captures all this on pixels.

Drugs


Next speaker is Frank Willis, who is a northern bloke with long heavy-metal hair and bright blue eyes peeping out of a kindly bashed-in face. He speaks quietly, humbly, no motivational pyro-technics for him.
"I would just like to say straight away that I believe that that Dean Warwick was killed by a sonic weapon.. you can buy these weapons for 10 grand." (Claps and approval).
"Can you imagine a scenario where a group of people make drugs and then within 4 months, 3,500 thousand people die.
This happened 2 years ago with Glaxo-Kline. But then you get Leah Betts who allegedly died of ecstacy and people are still going on about it.
Everybody takes drugs" he pauses. "Everybody here takes drugs" he states controversially to this audience of old age pensioners. Then qualifies his statement:"Look there are people here with coffee.That's a drug. I got stopped for possessing cannabis. I asked the police who is the victim of this crime? and he said, and I kid you not, Gordon Brown. Who was then the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
I tried cannabis then got addicted to nicotine. Nicotine is poisonous but it's a legal drug.
At the age of 20 I went to Rhodesia and joined the army. Then I was in the Pathfinders in South Africa. The army encourages you to smoke dope on sentry duty, you have more sensitive hearing. The Americans developed this in Vietnam.
After South Africa I went to South America where I became a full mercenary working for Pablo Escobar. I personally killed 2 American marines who were spying on him.
Later on I met the marines who were in Colombia. I met Escobar on a personal level. I was in my room playing Deep Purple who turned out to be Escobar's favourite band. Even though Escobar was a big coke dealer he never touched it, only smoked cannabis. I joined his intimate circle. Mossad bought from him, South African bosses, MI6, the CIA, and I'm thinking why?
This country went to war with China over opium. Prior to World War Two alot of drugs were legal. Coke was in coca cola.
After the war the biggest producer was Germany, then Japan. All the kamikaze pilots were off their face on cocaine.
Man has always taken drugs, the evidence is there in archeology.
I wonder why 147 mummies contain cocaine and cannabis, which is indigenous to South America.
The government is control of the drug trade. In Afghanistan now, the opium trade has gone up since we are in there.
How did they get cocaine into US? Via Panama, then Amoco which is owned by the Bush family, from the oil rigs it is transported to US air force bases in the states.
Howard Marks, later on, he freely admitted he worked for MI6.
The Americans discovered crack. The government was giving it to the people. To back this up, the cocaine came out of Panama via Noriega. But Noriega got greedy, and the CIA decided he was a problem, then the US invaded Panama, against international law, kidnapped Noriega and put him in jail in the US. Where was Noriega's diplomatic immunity? That broke all international law. Nobody said a word.
That laid the foundations for America invading Iraq. Where are the weapons of Mass destruction?
I left Colombia and returned to this country. My passport was taken from me, I thought it was because I wouldn't work for MI6.
Earlier my dad died,and going through his papers, I find his service record. He was in the Malayan special forces. In his will, he apologized for making sure my passport got taken off me. It just goes to show, that people who are in the know, do have a hell of alot of control.
The government are manipulating us all through drugs.
Shipping it from Colombia to Rome, from Rome, the British ship it into London and then the rest of the country.
Every weekend 20 million people take drugs in this country. A ton of cocaine won't last a city a weekend. And the kind of amount that gets found by customs, it's nothing. It's in the governments interest to be involved with the drugs trade, they are making alot of money.
Why is America so powerful? The American public pay the taxes, it goes on record, places like area 51 which cost millions to run, where is the money coming from? From the drugs trade.
The money from drugs buys arms from Israel then going to South Africa.
The Bush family still carried on dealing drugs. the Americans are making millions from cocaine each day.
There was a Mel Gibson film, Air America.
You'd think people would come forward, but they are ridiculed, and sometimes commit suicide,
For years I kept my mouth shut cos of Escobar, I saw a man shot for not saying good morning to Escobar, but it turned out the man was deaf.
Escobar helped the community, football stuff, houses built. He did more than the Colombian government. Then America under Reagan started the war on drugs. There was all this stuff about crack addicts are all crazy, but the CIA produced the crack. Nobody stands up against the American government but I will speak out. I don't care.
Pharmaceutical companies are producing drugs like Mogodon. Doctors are the biggest drug pushers. Every drug has a side effect. The doctors don't know what the drugs do really. Last year 114 people died in this country from illegal drugs.
There are more road accidents.
We are being manipulated here by our government. Labour reduced ecstacy from class A to Class B. The police know that cannabis doesn't kill people and want to legalise it. St johns wort is legal though and also is mind altering.
Cannabis makes you high, it doesn't make you feel invincible, you just want to chill out. But they tell you it's bad for you but you are allowed alcohol and ciggs.
PCP angel dust, was made by Hells Angels in California. The American government set about persecuting people who used it. Demonise the users. Eventually the Hells Angels dropped it. Dropped producing it. Then the US government produced it.
Wherever there are drugs there is money to be made.
I recently got a phone call off of MI6. In this underground base they are making LSD. LSD isn't as popular as before but is becoming popular again. It's easy to make, cheap.
LSD was a drug produced by the American government themselves to improve the soldiers performance. Trouble was it was so hallucinogenic that the sodliers were off their faces.
In the 60's aircraft sprinkled liquid LSD onto New York. The Americans are using drugs to gain control over people.
South Africans put a drug into the water that only kills black people.
Genetics, most heroin addicts have this chromosome in their genes which makes them addicted.
Alot of scientists have figured this out, but government are still trying to blame the individuals.
The majority of so called drugs pushers are friends of the people buying it.
People on street level aren't really making any money out of it.
Most pushers don't make much money, it's the government that does.
About 6 years ago, I was in prison in Leyland, and I met this guy called Steve who got jailed for 23 years for smuggling cannabis into this country. Guy next to him said "I only got 9 years for murdering my wife!".
Everyone of us breaks the law, every day, parking offences etc. The system spend thousands to pursue it. Yet we are the ones paying the taxes to pursue this.
The pharmaceutical companies make more money out of drugs that don't work. They have drugs that can cure cancer and they don't release them. People who get happy pills at the doctors, don't know whats in the drugs. but people who take ecstacy etc know exactly what they are taking and its effect.
Many cannabis users won't take any other drugs. Some heroin users can take it and leave it. It's the genetics that make heroin addicts or alcoholics and they pass these genes onto their children.
I personally have taken drugs such as mandrake root, cannabis, ecstacy, magic mushrooms, fly agaric, LSD, then the doctor gave me Prozac which turned me into a raving mutter. I believe that making these drugs illegal is a way of suppressing individuality.
In an interview with David Icke and Credo Mutwa, Credo is a Zulu, they talked about innoculations. These innoculations are suppressing psychic ability. I'm a medium and a healer. Is it a coincidence that because of my childhood that I missed out on these innoculations...?
The US government are putting enzymes into Macdonalds but at any given moment they can switch on a sonic beam and these enzymes make you ill.
Sonic weapons brought the twins towers down, the actual aeroplanes were holograms.The technology the US have is incredible. Sonic weaponry been around since the 50s.They can certainly can bring buildings down with it. Sound is a vibration, it can alter the physical vibration.
My mum had Alzheimers, cost alot in drugs, 300 quid a week. then funding ran out, and she died.
I don't advocate the use of drugs but I do drink alot of coffee."

Ufo conference continued...Nathan Sarea

Well Saturday night was a bit disastrous. Pleasant drink in the pub with Matthew Delooze and his pixie-pretty wife Suzy... she has stuck by him throughout his experiences which can't have been easy at the beginning, it seems like a marriage in the truest sense of the word, in which you grow together, whatever happens... and Ben Emlyn-Jones. We had a bit of a giggle about Mr Anal Dipstick. I remarked on the lack of female speakers, in fact female input at all... David Icke has definately forged a new career path for menopausal men. Feeling down in the dumps, conflicted, alienated? Become a messiah! What do women do in the same situation? Join the National Trust? Develop psychic powers and wear flowing gowns?
Then, starving, not having eaten much since 4am, I got some fish and chips... can I just digress here from UFO's to fish and chips? London fish and chips is simply not worth eating. Near me, in West Hampstead, there is quite a famous fish and chip shop, you can have matzo fried fish too, but its crap and expensive (like 6 quid) for soggy battered unfresh fish and limp chips. Up north, now we are talking... for £2.80p I got divinely crispy golden battered fresh haddock and perfect(crispy on outside, soft on inside) chips. You have to wait. Why? Cos they make it on the spot! Brilliant. The weather was awful, freezing large drops of rain. Outside, in anthropological mode, I spotted a member of a local tribe; a girl with orange fake tan legs wearing the tiniest white toga style mini dress, no tights, high heels and no coat, struggling through the wind with her boyfriend. Northern lasses eh... made of sterner stuff than us southern chicks. 
We then went to the Carlton hotel where all the conference people were staying, to have a drink. An unprepossessing place, we politely asked the gigantic landlady if it would be all right if I ate my fish and chips there (for they did no food). She assented. Then five minutes later came marching up to me and told me to get out! I was forced to stand in the freezing rain outside. My new shiny black patent high heels were soaked, my pink Topshop dress too! I looked and felt like a drowned rat. So much for Northern hospitality. At this point I gave up and returned to my bed and breakfast, the decor and location of which launched me into a mini-crisis involving my dead grandmother and the probability of dying alone in seaside nursing homes. 
The next morning, as a result, I spent crying by the pier and taking photos. So I missed a couple of the lectures, Neil Hague and someone else.. damn. 
I came in and an energetic man named Nathan Sarea was exhorting people to participate in various exercises. I couldn't be arsed. He was more professional than the other speakers and a bit too American-style slick for my liking. 
Here's my notes anyway:
...came in and there was a bloke laughing about al qaeda. Talk called 'The truth will out" by Nathan Sarea.
"In August 2005 David Shayler says there is an agreement between Muslims and MI6.
The film 'flight 93' who has seen it? What's the message of that film? If your plane is hijacked they will shoot you out of the sky, you are just a number.
What is fear?
False
Expectations
Appearing
Real.
Fear is killing the human spirit. Fear is the anticipation of pain. It is not real. It is a fake emotion. Is it time to let fear go?
Stand up . Let fear go...We are gonna let go of fear and put some positive words in.
It's been such a good talk, I've really been on form and I'm going to have to give each of you an invoice. Invoicing, get the voice inside yourself.
The idea is you are going to hear your voice inside you saying these words.
I have now let go of the energy of fear forever from all levels of my being throughout all times, past, present and future." (I look around and there are lots of old people saying this) "Repeat! Louder and higher!
You are healed. (giggles)
Next slide please.
I can I am I will I choose I have I love I create I enjoy.
Positive language. Water crystal. Body made up of 70 % of water.
I'm going to make a sound a tone, if you'd like to close your eyes, be my guest. This is toning. Take a deep breath in."
You can hear a pin drop while he makes a strange nasally high-pitched sound. Then he does it again without the mike.
"Feel the energy in the room change! One sound. That's the resonant vibration of me. Here's our last little finisher."(He almost falls off stage). He laughs and says "the message if you get too cocky, God will slap you. The message of water (shows slide)"
(I looked around at the hope in the faces of the old and infirm. You've got to admire them. They are trying, questing.) 
He turns the positive chant into a song, people start clapping along. It's really funny. People cheer and clap at the end.
"Those of you that participated, how do you feel now?"
Good! (The calls ring out.) People stand up for him and clap. People are cheerful afterwards.
Then the old lady, Jean, who runs the thing, comes up and accuses me of not paying. I gape at her. We've spoken at length on the phone, exchanged emails and I paid for the whole weekend yesterday. Eventually I manage to stutter:"Don't you remember me? I paid you yesterday". She still insists on seeing my ticket, muttering something about 'them'. "Who is 'them'?" I ask. I don't get a clear answer. (Don't dump your Alzheimers on me, I think, uncharitably.)
Then my daughter calls up crying. I tell her the truth, as always. There is no God, no Santa, no tooth fairy. Life isn't worth living but lets carry on anyway. My daughter feels much better after that.