الأربعاء، 19 ديسمبر 2012


"Oh my God, Al Hamdu Lillah! You are the star in the sky, you are the joined stars, you are star who god, you are star."

"Oh my God, Al Hamdu Lillah! They call it bashert, absh bash you, you are divine lover, You are the star in the sky, you are the joined stars, you are star who god, you are star."

I must explain myself, I must make her see.

"Oh my God, Al Hamdu Lillah! You are that bit in the sky who is mine, you are mine, I cannot understand, our stars have joined, crossed stars, the stars that cross, You are the star in the sky, you are the joined stars, you are star who god, you are star."

 I must make her stay only Me.

"Bits like us, (I put my forefingers together.) we are stars, we are joined, He says, this, this is Zivug. I must explain basherts, we must be the stars that cross because we say basherts. That is, zivug is an old word for bitch, they are not aware for this, because they see him, when I see God I know I am you, I am not lying."

"Can you want this ? It is preordained, you must obey, I have wanted this, and it is you."

I am pushing my fingers together, because we crashed. We crashed into the Eternal, and there was two white stars crashing into each other, through a window, just where I place my hands, where I saw the image of the flying stars. I hadn;t seen this before.

I must try to explain.

 "We cannot understand, our stars have joined, crossed stars, the stars that cross, You are the star in the sky, you are the joined stars, you are star who god, you are star."

I say:

"Please be a basheert. I hit you, they bash her. We see stars."

It's all silent, but no one is running away, so I look further. And I see so much more, I would shake if I wasn't nearly dead, I would praise God if I could leave. I can read, words on her glowing white skin. Then I do what people call; regression.

I am trying to speak. But; we both hear, in that little window, just above us;

"Mummy?Mummy? Mummy?"

A little kids voice over and over. She wails and laughs.

"Mummy, mummy, mummy,. Mummy.

"Wait a minute I am speaking."

And the skin says; "you are my Mummy."

"OH MY GOD!!! You are my Mummy!! I was calling you when I was young. You must understand this, you must see. I am gay. And you are Mummy. My beloved. The one."

"Listen to your skin. It wasn't ready. But you are lover."

Nanny and The Borg

Nan and I are bored. I just need a cup of tea, after delivering cards, I stand at the No Cold Calling covered automatic door, sighing, because she has to get up and open her door and press the button.

"You know you can get a free wheelchair" while holding the car door open, on way to pub,  "why don't you do that, then?" They get through a bottle of rose, while I sit there angrily stunned.

The thing is I've gone red angry kill the Infidel fire, all big shooting flames picked for a merry christmas.

Because I decide to call India, in the pub, and it was going well, we discovered Krishna, and I discovered I'm called a Rajah.

I made them stop the car before the pub to get some smokes, which meant i had to walk into town a little, back in the old home town. I walk across street in darkness and ask a man for alight. I get a bad look, and hear, you're a monkey. I am stunned, I leave the lit cigarette on the windowsill of the shop and go in, a fat white lady, I am stunned because in London only Polaks and Muslims have jobs in shops, and there's  actually a Nepalese influx in this town. I want to tell her woes. She is quite polite.

I have christmas welfare spending money, I order a bottle of rose and a small shandy, and the obese blonde white lady who was a little nasty when I asked for a light....

Farts, farts all over the bar, while I stare at glass of beer.

I am stunned, the other kids, and the way the girl who didn't even see me came across evil, before that beer, I had been getting more and more worried.

Then angry, so I try to sing India, then hear inside my head woman screaming and worrying. Then a big old lady at the next table says aggressively;

"Where is my lighter?" Cos I didn't have my own and had to go out for about 5 cigarettes in a few hours. I want someone in this town to be nice,a man comes from the at tome sitting at bench; "well, I've come from London to see my parents, and am not used to this place." He talks, but I go inside quickly, I don't want friendly.

I say;

"I gave it back to your daughter (the fat evil and you are cow) at the bar." She spins back round to face her cronies.

This morning I get worried about Nan.

I need a cup of tea, badly and I am hugely tired, and I don't know why. The thing is I try a cup and its dirty full of tea marks inside.

"Right, Nanny is going blind. She is going to get sick."

The next cup at the washing sink is dirty, so I use it. It's rude to start washing cups when they are there to be dirty. I start reading all the fridge magnets she collected on her travels, like you can get coaches full of pensioners, but she has been to cool places. A cottage one is upside down, no matter how many times I change it swings back round to its wonky position. I read,; I love Claire, Ireland, Ephesus, Benidorm. etc. and go to read the ones on the freezer.

There is one of the Virgin Mary. I hear something like a scream or something, cos I call red fire.

I say don't worry, I like you, and pick up the kettle to pour on the teabag.

"Well, I have a surprise for you, People of Mary in Heaven, I have made an Immaculate too."

"Yes last night, a baby appeared when we kissed just kissed and talked, there was a blue glitter (I see colours appear from when I mix colours to paint.) His first word: was;


"And I was so shocked I died, because I had to "go and take my meds" it made me cry because I was worried. Are we dead?"

I go to sit on sofa, while the cat does something new and nibbles at the back of my head.

الأحد، 2 ديسمبر 2012

The Creation of the World.

The country Issuran, is NUMBER-ONE Time Traveller, the Time of a tent, the Time I asked about where all the languages began, and all the red people walked out. Issuran is what Nanny Sarah calls China, or what I called China, in magical old language, that just, sings from the mind-voice...

"Well, well...Nanny!! If Abraham doesn't want, lets bed!!!"

(What I mean is, new reader, is I can time-travel, I want to sing to a wise woman who is weeping, a wise woman who an help me, pray for me, call God for me, take care of me all my life)

Some silly little woman in black, was sitting at her boyfriends house, silent at the table. Just left him but in the same room, in her youthful soul, quiet at the table...What the old woman was doing I don't know, cuddling the damn boyfriend, perhaps, in front of the TV...

I am hysterically dead that me and Jesus, FIGHT.

"Don't flirt with me, and I don't care...WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING???!!! You are going to fire..."

I really couldn't cope with what he was doing. So, I had to try and call God. I ended up in the cell, all coagulating my soul, until I turned dark blue, like pulling the soul further, rolling it around my body, feeling the softness of the blue, and then giggling!! ;

"Mummy God, help me, my soul is dying, they want to kill me, they want to throw my soul out of the window, the amaleks in the cars outside are taking my soul, they want to burn me...."

I kept patting slapping Nanny Sarah;

"Old lady, you are dead, you are dead, and he fled....Another little evil, evil Hagar...Where is he? Where has he gone??"

I slapped the wall;

"Nanny Ava!! Kiss me!!!"

Jus kind of a restless sleeping dead.

"Nanny Sarah,...when the bad people left, what did you think, are you a Noah? Was there a place where the goyim left you because they had to?"

All those millions leaving the tower of babel, to go walking all over the place to nowhere.

"To make Israel the white ball, like poo-snooker!!!! All those reds!!! All that little magnified light; (I hold my hands in a ball and stare down, at her little white old frame....giggles) in the centre, where all the reds in the whole world come to attack!!!"

I laugh, and have to move to the other side, flip over to the other part of the bed...that little woman has, eyes, biggest dark eyes, not the actual eyes, the eyebrows on top, thicker than any I've ever seen, little flickers like wings all over the black little eyes.

"I've never seen any eyes like that! Sarah!! That is amazing, she is amazing, take the eyes!!!!! No more people with never eyes...."

Grab her away from the table....

Grab her, then throw her upwards into the sky....and go quiet and call God for help again....all while you smelly sock feet are resting somewhere over Sarah's face, cos she is lying there giggling. SHe shows me her youth...

"Ohhhhh, not, another black......ohhhh, none of that, none of that..."

I want to back further...I mixed up the chronological bible stories, but I want to go back further, I want to see, when the languages began and why the languages were changing....why the reds got up and left.

Then, a giant hairy feet, in gold, slapped me in the face...that is a mans foot, why does he think he's great? .I roared; "Get offfff ME, you stupid man!!! That is NOT better than me!!"

Ignore him, that is stupid. we must sing, it is king. That man is a king.

I told Sarah why I had appeared, and changed sides again...I needed to pray, I sat up on the bed, and bowed forward, grabbing the steel frame, There I have prayed like a muslim!!

"Nanny, you are so old, you are him. We are old, Old is king...

I heard the oldest, oldest old lady;

"MUMMY YAHWEH!!!!!!!!! This isn't nice, I've gone back to the Ancients, and this Time you decide to reply!!! I am dead! Dead from the beginning of my own life, killed at birth!!!"


His, voice, is like a crackly old lady, and I throw myself onto Sarah...Chinese, I looked like a chinese baby, I had mono-brows, black eyes, you know what meant, what, meant, what meant, I had straight white hair, like a Chinese....

The black and white in my body crackles , and then I know...I fly fingers like a shadow over the parts of Sarah I see....I say;

"Thou shalt wear a velvet cord of gold around thy soul..."

This is your, soul, round here, this is your womb, the womb is the soul...SLAP BACK!!! A square of blue silk on your chest!!" A conception immaculate or not...

Oh, what, that is enough...Go away lady, go away....

The doors open to men...pink skin!!! pink breasts! Those, those, those are him, men near the bed,"LEAVE ME!!!!!!!!!

 I grab her hips, look at her above and wow, and say no,  and throw her away, up into the sky and away into portals, not ready, can't do that, back to the boyfriend and the TV....Cos, these bastards keep listening to me talk...Jesus, you Flid, you have sinned...

"I go to sleep..."

I fall asleep minutes later without remembering how.

الجمعة، 31 أغسطس 2012


Staying in Hashem is full of tears, literally, image-allerelly, I could not cope with the weeping. I had to make a face of him, so the face is like a martian, kinda whiter with no hair on his head, like the little brahim whose feet were washed by Krishna,

And so I leave Hashem well alone.

I'm not as bad. Just; not as clever.

I struggle to memorise simple arabic verbs.

I got it down! After being in and out, for a week. I've got a new head, it can go out walking and remember what it's read. Naktub, Yaktubuunna, Taktubuuunna Present tense plural, Yaktubna, Taktubna.

I repented the day after Eid Muburak, someone was having a party across the road, playing loud Indian music, and then repeating some European pop-hit with heathen words, obviously.;; obviously stupid heathen words.

I didn't come back to my own knowledge.

I just relaxed.

I didn't want to be seen praying, so when I prostrated in the dark I hummed, and crawled around looking for a pen on the floor.

I sat on stairs outside in the sun, and screwed up Fatihah and Ikhlas.

So I went and washed and got the Koran down from the top of the wardrobe, where it mixes with my notes and the other Korans.

I sat in front of laptop with book on knees. I stuck up an old list on the wall with a flyer of a camel going across the desert, covering a decade - old pencil drawing of a girl in a cloak, hair flying in wind, Exodus scribbled across.

I sat with the Koran on my knees, and spoke to Hashem.

In minutes, well, seconds are minutes to me. I asked for forgiveness. I didn't expect anything.

I swore when I got an answer.
The book became covered in a starry SILVER LIGHT. SO MANY WORDS.

I could see so many words in the parts of the little glitter stars. And without.

Any Black Magic, or Evocations,

From Myself.

I saw;

Two very, very, thin silver arms, with silver hands, grasp the book, opposite me, holding onto the book that I held.

"I don't want to hear you..."

"I can't hear you..."

What I thought was Koran was Death. I didn't understand the words. I didn't like myself. I was dead.

So, I made an effort to hear something;

I heard;


I went outside to smoke. Trying to make something tell me all the words, but refusing to listen.

الأحد، 19 أغسطس 2012


A hot day....

My "Hal-din, din..." was of over a month of writing a novel, it actually was my "bed in"...and i supplied/applied my mind, with Fyodor Dosteovskys PDF's, strawberry laces, Feminist Manifestos, (see Scum;/ Politics of Housework), gobstoppers, videos of the wrestler Black Jack Mulligan, extra v.cheap fruit and nut big bars, how to write by Hemingway, vitamins, a computer dictionary/thesaurus; autodidact/epistle/negro/olive-skinned/blue jays, multipack of crisps, cups of tea every half hour, Hippy Slang, an Electronic Cigarette, gave up; breakfast/lunch/dinner/ for fruit gums, pastilles, Foxes suckable sweets when I couldn't find anything cheaper, as the nearest shop has a new couple, that conned me FIVE!!! times for money, charged a mentally ill girl twice for one pack of cookies, the man and his crackling wood carrying wife, cashew nuts, roasted peanuts, kraut-rock, thinking the Beatniks this time, were just bad men and queers. Then I found a second hand video shop, and bought films, took films home. Watched at least two a day, bought more films.

Lotttttts of sugar. It was to crank me up for a week of writing. I was actually doing something fun and productive. I started to lie about how I was spending days, when I was doing more than I actually said I was doing. I trawled through this blog.

I started hiding my pills, by making tea, complete with heavy teabag to use 3 times, putting pill in mouth and spitting/dribbling into the tea, thus hiding the pills, and pretending to swallow. That was just mean't to be every now and again.

It's been over a month.

I started going sugar-shit-crazy. Weakness, and sweating (glow), body-shaking psychotic wailing.

I bought 3 strawberry lace packets, and 10 gobstoppers, yesterday. Daytime. I watched Only fools and horses for two hours.
A free banana, or an orange to stop the headaches, to keep healthy.

The room is messier than ever. There are squashed bananas somewhere under the old clothes I will throw out.

Wrote a Romantic Sci-fi Psychological Novella. I left it for a week when I found a new lover. All true Green.

I played the Violin in lover. I play violin like I forget how to hold it, but I only played one hour and another hour since I bought it. I rushed staccato. I learned how to tune, little round bubbles on the bridge, I discovered form the dummies book, Damn good cos I broke the G-string, and then in restringing feared it would snap again and dummies showed fine tuning, I played into it, and the sound was nice and rich, sometimes I'd slip or dis-concentrate and scratch across the strings, I gave up trying to play the first track, Dvorak, and got Irish, found out where the notes where, and played fast and tried some finger patterns, it's fun and I should

Love Fun.

Then there were the Wars.

The sugar amount, and the lack of medication gave me restless nights. I kept calling Jesus


But damn I've been great colours, purple, gold, and silver, and white pyjamas, and trying


for the first time.

Gold Chinese Dragons. Swords that burn red with flames, when they go through


Evil, Evil, Evil.

I tried to attack jesus.

I was at the end. he said:

"Peace be with Thee..."

I sat on the star is smoking, and he prayed, his eyes blinked

and were;


Slow/////Worried, don't know witch is witch.

I learnt how to make Magic, Paintings mostly made in Magic, but I needed real
And I got a lemon house. And I saw a boy fly out the water he was swimming in (because he was starting to struggle under the water, as I was making the water rise quickly, so I threw him out, and watched him land in white dust, and when he looked up, he

A huge closed white door, and on each side, men or armoured men, in gold armour, with spikes or spears or swords stuck in the ground.

And God was behind the door. Nad I

And called FightHate/Woe/Death all around. and;

went Evil.

I went to sit down on a chair in the dark, and kill, because I had to drop the

Men that Came Back. into Hell.

I had to try to win with Jesus or not with Jesus.

A man turned into a rat in his sleep, he went into Hell, he had a horrible dick that kept jumping on people,/ Demons.

Fire, and

Eye for Eye.

My eyes shone two red and black, pentagram five point stars in my eyes. I was in my paints, and see-ing that Light can make Black Magic. I was in scruffy ol' paints, and then;

A long Purple Hat, a priest hat appeared on my head.

Don't Listen.

What it meant was that; (and i quote) QUOTING is;

Asking God, in a  most heathen manner to tell me, repeat what was said as at the time I can't see, most of the time I don't listen, So;

Try a little;

"You have Soul. Arise King Cohen, and Burn Hell...." and?and?and???

The Purple Hat sang and;


"Loveeeeee Lord Jessssusss, Love My Kinnnnnng...."

Singing / song;




"Why didn't they die, why don't you help, why do you think I am bad. WHy couldn't I make better than this....why can't I write a cool little story about


and why I can't I sell rush rush rush....

Light. ?

Black Magic Hell-Making is

in Heaven?????????????

Lets go into this.


الأربعاء، 27 يونيو 2012

The Diatri




السبت، 2 يونيو 2012


temple of love.

she was witched, everything was looking great. Screams, helper=skelter down the stairs, tear my hair…rip up any I Hate Myself and Want to Die, Kurt Cobain the `poster Boy, is always spiralling down  the stairs. Abandon mascara, never use kohl, straighten hair, Hell straightens hair,

its all looking good.


Screeching, not screaming.

Tell a joke.

Love and Hope;

magical. everything was fine. 

One Echo;


Helter Skelter…

Don't want white, don't want flair.

Want my own clothes.

not flares. you didn't know. Flares are 2007-10.

Fascist is IN.

Bright colours are fairy.

Don't want them. No thanks.

Crying, weeping. Will not save. All your prayers (Temple of Love, Sisters of Mercy)


In souls, angels weep. Kurt is dead.

I am dead.

"There you go!"

That b***** reminded me of the Angel of Hope. 

A High Security ward; A classroom. One old Viking King, long red and gold beard, fast cigarettes, at the window.

"We have died, and this is All Heaven. Save US!"

I said to the King;

"You must have wonders, you must see. Heaven has sheltered us. We are Free."

I spin form the window to the cackling women, everyone is smoking. What an odd heave, white doors are all locked. But:

"We are all dead. !!"

All my hope was resting on freedom. I wrote her a farewell, or a an escape note;

"There you go Mannie!!" pen on the whiteboard next to a unicorn.

I had a paradise, the african women that sat outside my door, had a special perfume. A smell of Africa. Like some tiny princess.

They gave me an ecstasy pill. I awake in the sunshine the glorious sunshine. 

My nose ring had slipped out and spread up my nose into my brain in the night. 

Now I could pick up radio-signals.

They didn't care that i had cheap metal stuck inside my nose-brain.

The amount of the sunshine, equalled the amount of joy, there wasn't a garden, there was a walled small lawn surrounded by windows. Still, the sunshine. The Glorious High.

My little brother.

He would walk from one end of corridor, just to the stop-line of the girl's section. 

"My little muslim brother! I am muslim!!! How are you!! my little brother!!"

They wanted to kill me in the smoking room, still i let them kill. 

The smoke God turned blue. Wonder of spiralling magical blue smoke.

If she screamed Im happy. But;

She Glorious'ed.

"never die, never die, I am here."

I found the African perfume, in her new house. It was situated in the corridor.

"So I was mistaken. I thought they were Holy..."

Who cared?


The Soup;

Something in this is soul. I am God. I have become a higher Angel. God is Wise.

This vegetable soup; It has contained everything, it shows. If I spin this spoon, everything is destroyed. He says: everything.

Particles are soup. I have contain many years. There is in this soup, §1000



Sang a lot. Lift spoon, 

do not stir.

Important not to stir, or move, or stare. 

If we exact the soup, everything will die. Now that God is down here, we begin to die. 

"WE must See."

I can't eat the soup. I can't move.

"I suspect he knows."

A higher amount of time, stirred in the bowl, the water was weak. The particles were tiny, and coloured like weak. I couldn't eat. 

"What are you telling me?"

Something in the walls, collapsed. There was a darkness fitting movement. There was soup. There was only Soup. 

I created a softer. 

People were publicly speaking. There were walls. A bowl of light. Water sucking all parts of itself. I couldn't move. Breath covered a hate. Staring at a table. No spoon in hand, staring into bowl. 

"Wait." Wait, because there is so much in this.  

Little orange in water. Little soft bits. Going to disintegrate. 

I waited for God. He brought the bowl full of universe. I had an action-part in this. 

Don't move.

The walls flew into grey bricks, fell away, the table spinned, the dark of soul crept back…Soup….The Universe destroyed itself and fled into the soup, it hid in water.  There was all and only Magic. Only God.

Something in Time flew away, days were unaccounted. Everything fell away. 

I slept into the soup, i hit head down and into water. 

All gone. NO people. NO outside. 

The End of Time.

"I have no memory of anything actually happening after that. I don't know where i went."

الأربعاء، 23 مايو 2012

Home Studies.

أنا ....كيف ؟

شأن ، ذئاب، ، هبة،
 أنتم، ذلك ذلك ...لك دب، ذئاب، دالة و كاءلءموجمئينا 

 دقيقة، واحد، قمص، كا! أنا 

يوم جبارة، أنا في مساء أنا حامد لا غيب "ما عباب ...

عباب لا أبيب من ناموماه هيب.

ظفار! ظفار!

.Ω.  ظ  ن 

 لك في هي 

لا يوم!

"ظروف مشددة."
،طازة ، شؤبوب  

سائمة . يسقال يسأل 

علي سىإله سؤالا ؟؟واحد سائرة ...لك ذلك 

الأحد، 6 مايو 2012


His arms were lifted in beatific slumber, hair like curl waves, long and black, he sang one hundred and three songs. He was in dark blue, medium height and thin. Estactic sleep. Dance.

٧. إسمي الرابأ بحر ...أل بأرجل!من أل  صابه ، تجهد ما سلام ...علي خمسة يوم ...واليد خير !

!!.okay so no further in knowledge....2 years!!!.

The Chunk

When I escaped the building I ran to the next eon, eons (One), something as Eons, Forever, The End of Time, there was: a devotion to Allah. At 17; and kitchen tables.

"Sweetie? ``Who (;mix; How) are you?"

"Allah has told me it is the end of the world."

"Sweetie do you want a cigarette?"

"They are Hell and I will fight." normal teenage problems. 

I was convinced in a hashish smell-aura, that I would become muslim. At 17. I wore a green cardigan, made of real sufi-wool, and it had a hood, I wore the hood. I painted thick kohl around my eyes. I swore heathens would die. 

I rushed to the house in search of some shelter. For the soul. This was in the middle of my visions. 


The "gothic man",  known as a friend of uncles...for his marijuana sharing meetings. Where my cousin, lived in a dark brown room, with one wall, racked up in small and smaller cages of rats and mice. 

They were being used for breeding experiments, interests in genetics. One spectacular pie-bald was the mother of albinos. Pie-balds were special. Because they were dominant-recessive.

Well, the big goth was there. 

"And his like in his forties, with no job, and smokes losers."  In the kitchen, the huge goth, with long dyed black hair in a ponytail, and the build of a monster. Huge shoulders, and just;

"Wide, and F****ing Satan."

When I walked into them in the kitchen, I felt the highest murder, but I yearned for him, to explain to her, what was happening to the universe, why it was in my soup, why I was flying through a different time to everyone else. Why only these visions mattered, and that we were murdered, burned. That the whole Armageddon, was Now. High Love. HArd to Write down, in a spurious type of mood like this.

Writing like this is weak. I turn childish or devilish, when so and so is concerned. 

Mummy was dead, ..."because they hide behind those brown curtains and smoke. This amazing drawing of demons said Help. I am going to sing you to prayer..." 

 The damn giant, was short, but he took over the whole room.

And, she was having sex with someone too big!

What in HELL, is this bitch????!!! Are you shagging??? She is tiny!!! NO, no, my lover is in hater, too evil....


I was so high, I was inside the End of the World. I stared at the Chunk, at my kitchen table chair. At turned to the kettle. 

I looked at, two ;

Pot Nooodles:

"Sweet and Sour, Sweetie, or Chow Mein."

I sensed evil in that sentence. (Look this was more serious, than my writing.)

"He is Sweet and Sour. You see Hell, I fight It. I want no more Hate." 

"Have some soup."

I sat in my chair. For Hours. I stared and stirred the vegetable soup.

Arthur Dent. The Universe. 

I told the Chunk:

"God is in this soup. This is the Holiest, The entire World killed, and we have left nothing. This soup. "

We can Save. We can Save.

Being in this vision, is like, The Entire.

I can't explain, the complete immersion into God. Air is different, Sky is dead. Love is High.

Everything has meaning. Every single tiny word or action, is in God, or in Hell.

"You've taken her! You've taken, My White Queen! Black MAN!!!  Why is this HIM??? Why??? Where is Love???!!! Never Never!!

Never! Never! We will ALL HAVE HELL!!!!

We are DYING. Queen!! Queen!! A Foul Demon!!! Black THING!!!

"The End of the World is Lord. We have Falling-Heathen. We will Fell. we will all go, we are fate, we are low, we have heaven, we have to fight hell, ...

Father Muhammed, 
I will Join. I love Islam, I have a wife, she is a nice woman, she listens and laughs. She kisses. I am happy to Love. Islam is Wisest.


He chanted, eyes closed, thin arms, and round hands lifted above his face, dancing on solid ground. He sang a hundred songs to Lord. He made magical music. Long curling black waves. His Inglaterra was fire stars!! He sang THANKS!!! He joyed in dancing. He was letter after letter.


All that staring into the make-up of the Universe, suddenly i have you in my hands, I am giant, I hold the atoms, and the stars, I can't eat, I can't touch. But I'm carrying the Beginning.

Dear Father. 

We need to fight. I think the Devils win. I seek Light. I am Happier in Him.


Someone, some giant man, touched her!! Too big for her body!!! All is black, you both wear black to hate. 


Dear Nanny, I know You are Mother. I am hoping to fast, I like it. I do it, because I am poor, but I buy vodka. I think Holy. Cheese and Bread is my Portion. I will light girls, and sing Heaven.


There was a bad time flying on a train from Inner London to the Suburbs. FATHER!!! FATHER!! FIGHT!!!! THE RAPE MEN HELLLLPPPPP!!!.

His long curled waves of black hair, had been cut a little, he was on the seat next to me. Gazing into a girl's face. He face was beautiful, she lowed like a shy horse, he stroked her hair. Nanny Khadijah, has a face with a scar. It is an old and deep scar, that goes across her jaw, down her cheek. They didn't hear me. I didn't sigh, I was insane. I took to a war. But left them happy.

الأحد، 22 أبريل 2012

السبت، 21 أبريل 2012

The First

Strange new games with computer-drawing, this first one is part of a dream-story written here, in the dregs, about world war two...

I like the colours of 1940's inside houses, visited one nice room today, with a very pretty rug made from  pieces of rag, and a great creamy green everywhere, wooden radios. etc.



happy yellow, and light blue.

السبت، 31 مارس 2012

A man I saw from Heaven, 

الجمعة، 23 مارس 2012

The Heater

the cat eyes me like a china-man, through kitchen clouds of hashish.

There are leafs in the tea, then Grandmother feeds the cat polo-mints.

Someone had vomited into the bong.

A brick went through the window, because the room was filling up with smoke.

We bought brown squashed herbs at a market-stall.

A famous plane crashed and a few minutes later the tin of weed is washed down the sink.

The girls are young tarts, they line the walls of a tiny bedroom, smoking cannabis, I'm too frightened.

I hold my head out of a fast car, like a doggie, passing fields of yellow.

A cube is found in the gaps of the ' settee. '

I hide my block under the fridge when the cops come knocking. I lock myself out, they drive me to my uncles, I look out of the little barred window, and I arrive in a riot van.

Leaf after leaf.

I bump into boys in the dark night, on the bridge over the railway, and they sell me a block. 

I decline a joint, inside the smoking room hospital, bumping into the woman-smoker late into the night. ---

Some-ones put buds in a sparkly white-silver dust. So, I know it's time to climb through the hallucination, begin the nuclear war. More buds in dust, a regular free supply.


The heaters too hot, and the television is screaming. Ash trays, offered ashtrays. Disappointment. ...Love. The Angel of Hope stares, twists a leather foot round and round.

The rise;

"We the People; ...."

"KILL THE CATS! KILL THE CATS!!!!!!!!!!" I'm standing naked in an empty bath. Splat! Goes the cat, found covered in petrol and thrown over the alley wall...


The hand movements are like an effeminate king.

Peach is the colour of a good mother. There are mixes that fly around sometimes, and I reject them, like cobalt blue mixed grey with white.


A significant event:

The beginning of Hippie;

A nuclear showdown, the aftermath inside a terraced house' kitchen. 5 people known to have survived. Drives into petrol-garages, lost in a silk cover of lemon-white glowing light. Unhappy. Fought. Disgusted. Pass Anne Bolyn highway, roudn a same roundabout, because Im high and the driver is screaming...

So all the country roads of England are singing, mass of dark green highways, round and round, never stop driving,

I see; The Crown of England.

"I am the Queen of England. Why?? Do you know what I see? Why are you killing, me, why are you killing me? Look at the colour, the colour of England is Lord...."

The driver screams, he has every opportunity to kill. He slams the car, and it goes round and round, he'll force me down drive me to Satan. He spin my head til I'm weeping in the passenger seat.

I can feel that Evil is rising.

I'm happy in the glow of Lord.

I have to drive away, the house is full of smoke, the walls are black, the man are sick.

"I can't breathe, I can't breathe."

I vomit at the backdoor, and cry for Queen Brigid...She's hunted in a song, she is the Fertility, the Arts...she is the feminine screaming in traffic of heavy metal tools, metal boxes...

There are work-mens tools all over the house.

"I'm allergic to metal."

The fungus grew all over the spare room, mould, in tins and jars, and fungus up the walls, spilling over the table, all over the bed.

I painted the window sill, with flowers and colourful figures.

I brought a growth of flowers/ "fungus" here. I took the power of Mother Earth. And I am here.

She gave the feminine ... the ultra feminine.

She sent a sign, And I'm ready to fight. I wont go. I will fight.


I'm seated in faint guitar instrumentals, holding a rolled cigarette, the sparkly white dust on the beds. Is driving em in silver horses to The Angels of Hope's house, a pageant of towns-people lining the pavements down my route, down my road. My town.

It's a prettier high that I want again and again.

I must have died.

I was in shock, so she sat me down, the sunlight darkened by the closed curtains, and sat on the other end of the settee.

It was the shock of the kissing...

It was the most, closest moment to Death.

It was a sleepy lover, instrumental music, gold and orange sun in curtains of black. No-one outside, no one ever. Just one.

السبت، 10 مارس 2012

Repay Revenge

I read over the phonetics of Al Kawthur, mindlessly drawing circles connected by lines on the paper.

The point was to tell Allah, my thoughts as I read slowly overe each line. A report, what happened, what the shishka man, that's 8 years of saying, crying, reaching. I read the first line, and said:

It's me.

This is him.

The third line, I stared at the lines and circles. I rolled up every single, word or action he had made, into the ayah.

I see this is silly to you. Or, what a shiska man is.

Or why I tell you.

Or why in this third ever post, he got killed,

Black magic against Black.

I heard he would get Hell.

A vendetta that seems to you;

Heathen? perhaps?

A longtime of War. A never-ending battle. And Unwanted...

I believed what I heard over the Surah.

I wiggled my ears, and listened to where-ever the shiska man could be. I heard a scream, and saw a man fall to his knees.

I believed, that. But I repeated again and again what had happened to Heaven.

And women cried, and I screamed, and I leapt, and I knifed, and I ran, and I stopped.

And the Fear was:

That every death is soul, most men lie, he twists into your mind, dirt and hisses. his dead-soul cackles, he gets freedom when they're worse, he has killed freedom. He laughs at Haloes, with spits and curses. He blues a witch, but burns her pretty hair, twists in fell, and claps back to me, when he is at the most of his hate. He wears the dirt. He bleeds fairer. He licks ugly. Tastes Satan. He burns happy. He drives...he spat. He cursed. He blacks your wife like he is special. He winks, he fights her. He gets through to her in her mind, and he makes her weep. She prays for help. I curse. I curse Heaven, and I'm mindless, I'm blanker, I'm no lover. I'm weaker. There is no protect her.

I burn red through skin and veins and blood. I don't pity.

I learn the worse.

I go to sleep.

I never pity.

I lack Love, and weep.

I can see now.

Never, never, never. She is weeping to Allah.

I am force hatred.

Her soul is weeping. I burn knife. I burn like dagger. I fight...

I call and call and fight and fight.

And I want no more of him. I want him to flame, and vanish.

"I will Kill."

"I have Never Love."

I blame force men and holy men.

I fight like I am Damnation.

I carry the curse.

I don't kiss.
It lives it lives.

I get superstitious. Place that there, or here, and he will appear.
I never care.


الأحد، 26 فبراير 2012

Tajweed and the Best Day

I sang Tarteel. Soft and slowly...

I was fresh and new. We took turns in class reading Surahs, in the summer I had begun by doing a  small course in arabic language, learning how to write the letters, pronounce etc.

I got wonder-star.

Polly the musician listened in:

"You are singing in the Key of A!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lars Shalom!!!!!!!! You can SINGGGGGGGGGG!"

I could hit a C.

Mum cried when she thought we were last.

Pj Harvey- Good Fortune

Give up what you love. Falling away from Green.

Soul Colours: search through....

السبت، 25 فبراير 2012

The 90 Yegs

"Can you help me? I can't be bothered. I think I've done it. 'It's' dead!"

I didn't reply to Emelbert, until I decided to listen to voices. They were being invaded by Satan. I had to Help. I grabbed my head, without moving, sat on the edge of the bed, and willed a nano-second prayer. Black woe, flowed around my head, I willed Satan away by feeling. I have done it before, it's easy, cry out a Love, and it screams, I pushed all the demons back into the Fire.

"We were in It, for 90 Yegs!!"

He couldn't press the fingers against the piano. He sighed and turned from it.

The Russian Jewish Painter

This morning I did two more, while waiting for a car to pick me up. Both of the window sill, and the view outside, one turned out to look like the blood-test centre, burnt sienna mixed with cobalt blue, which wandered into the palette, far too much like an NHS building, that I covered over it, with white and cadmium egg blue, an "easter-egg" centre, blue window sills with a catch of that yellow. Some grey too. The production line was cracking and I kept going.

I was painting under twenty minutes, including going to the bath to wash the cup and brushes...

Some were painted in my room at night-time.

They were meant to be an obvious mess.

I sought a Russian Jewish painter I couldn't remember, but which the phantom influenced every single piece.

He told me, to find, yellow tones in the window sills under the bad room light, or to water a ultramarine over the windows of the houses opposite which was also standing by an orange street-light, I missed it and mixed a green-blue.

I ran messy brushstrokes in seconds, over the outlines.
The detailed ones were thrown forward by Matisse, but I kept the Naive, prime, going. The Russian _Jewish painter had never had a bad day, the window's plastic outline had to be bold orange.There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Some, like the edge of the bed, needed, an impressionist contrast and LOTS of detail (like the future 60's model-sister in the Nerina Pallot, Put Your Hands Up, skirt) , so Matisse savoured the prospects, and the primeval kept going.

The boobs have to be shortened.

The straight outlines, in black, that mask and curve and complete each picture, dipped and swerved, and likely "Swore!" The f*** up the whole picture so the Russian, said:

"Leave that for them to ponder, let them hate the missing curves, SPIT! on the only thing that labels this...say, why? why? Why? over and over again, Laugh!!! Mock, the black line, shoving the rest of the art out of the way. I see the black outline 'Should' Be there...that is why I said; No. I didn't want them to win. I wanted you in a little-death. I laughed, when you forgot to complete them....don't worry!!! You can't help it!!"

I ran to the art cinema, near Brick Lane, to sit alone, on mondays, on red velvet chairs, and small old screens...the hope gave two pictures in one afternoon.

"All possible skies...drop it...all distinct mixes and no clouds..."

All the different times.
The RJ painter, grabbed the canvas in his thick hairy hands and shook it. I made tea and half a cup of milk, over and over.

Children kissed the easter-egg building.

The light came on.

It was over.

My eye-sight had become worse than I ever realised.

I sold them clutching a knife and a swagger.

I dropped the french prostitute, and said loneliness can wait. I didn't want to, see, the film. There was too much time. The rj Painter and the kid next me to me, with the kid....he thought the show was wonderful, the cinema was a jewel, there was a drinks bar included. I wanted to skip down Brick Lane, all the cool.

A short back and sides. A little of the hair on top, long and greased over and down. leather lace-up shoes, no socks, very tight jeans, dark blue, wine red. jumpers over cord shirts. Top button clasped.

The boy's fashion.

I bashed against girls over hookah bars, soaked a kingsize under the rain washing through the noodle bar tent...took him into the jewellery shop, where odd old chairs fitted around vintage dirty tables, and got a con coffee, full of foam, only half a cup of milk to drink. Walked past a barber, at the edge of a vinyl shop, cutting a dark boys short back and sides. All in the same house.

"Friggin in the Riggin/Sex Pistols" 5.99 vinyl 45 rpm.
 Swastika on the shirt cover.

I prized the art-cinema...I thought of Joy. Throne of Blood, Citizen Kane...

I wanted to bite that I couldn't even level this experiment.

The eyes had faltered so badly.

The RJ

Why do we hate?

I went for detail in the chair. I wanted to keep the Matisse to a side, save it all for the model, scale down the size of the breasts, when she walked in like that I hummed. Pink cushions, chihuahuas in outfits. Big boobs??

The painter just left me.

He was sitting right here, and I only wanted to know how to spell boobs...She will be like the prettier 1960's version of an Elizabethan Royal, standing proud and tall in pinks and turquoise details for cushions...

The german girl twirled ink pens around outlines, swiggling over outlines, all in a masculine, schizophrenic boys manner, and I stood close to the table, in glasses, and still couldnt see closer, until I got a foot away.

"Perhaps normal people see that way too...."

The German Way:

Their fashion. I've seen it in two girls and a couple. Is; Blazers, school blazers, dark blue and green tartan. Naked legs with boots at the end. 

Grunge, is: Pas-Toi...

There are rare, dreadlocked people, in neon bracelets, things hanging off their hemp-made clothing.

Because: It is winter, now.

The RJ Painter, flew out of my stomach here, moments ago, vomiting, he has just disappeared into the floor....

Why do we hate?

Rasta's...showy crusties...there are matted long-haired men...the homeless ones, one-armed Jim, gets on the train, jumping off the stops where there are no workers or ticket tolls, just those computer touchers for magic cards, I have a free rail pass, and a free-house.

"20p please, folks..."

I give him one pound.


I want to give up, this art now.


No-one but me, thought it was wise. I look like a strange loser. It was too naive. Do I have sight a manifesto??

The russian has grown black legs. There's not an ache of religion in him.

I vont get, get, get!


chew on a piece of cold pasta. Ask. Touch a mix of freezing salmon.

Oh, kiss. Kiss, then.

Naive Art

 The 'primary incentive' for creating these pictures was to be a mess, was to paint the window and the windows view of the sky and the houses outside...in a half-light, half-darkness, and to paint quickly, see-ing what colours I could find if i randomly mixed buff titanium with cobalt blue and cadmium yellow.

The one with pretty colours with which i haven't finished, is of part of my bed and the window, this one had more detail, more hhhhhm, and will take alot longer to do, the colours were found to have purple-pink, and a nice turquoise for the shape of the mattress, which i found by accident, which weren't what could obviously be seen, then zoom this up, and stick a female model, standing beside a chair, dressed in floaty vintage beige skirt and pink top, to match the walls, scale her thinner, added a 1960's 'pop Look.' A big canvas...

الجمعة، 17 فبراير 2012

The Hasid Problem

I've started being dressed mad. Like, they need help.

I've got about enough weddings planned for me, to last week, cutting off the weekend.

I only came , to,  help.

Now, I'm being dressed madly, when I look down at my feet, the "beautiful jewish" white socks appear on my feet, black...shoes.

I'm wondering through the train stations,

and I'm donned,

a big square furry hat on my head.

I only wanted to help, I didn't reaslise the whole Hassidim (jewish) check, would stop me.

And give me five girl-brides.

I tap-dance through the room; pretend:

hopping; "I'm King rabbi!!"

I had work for Emelbert, and I had work, with

Rav Abraham.

"Like...the BIG rabbi....the first one, yeah!"

الأحد، 12 فبراير 2012

Mellow Yellow

new colour scenes:

Orange; Good Intellect (all God colours have little sparkly stars inside them, the colour of soul and emotion is spoken it fills rooms like waves....)

There are new colours. Now. Some colours are Evil, they have a distinct Matt colouring, dull and flat...

There are about three Black colours, one is Justified (or not) Hate...one is absolute Sorrow. these colours must be hard to distinguish for some eyes. Then there are the liar colours. The flat, dull jungle greens...(Jungle Green = War-like)

Then there is the most amazing magic.

Church for Kids. My friend teaches...we sit at a table with dr. peppers and crayons, and create. We have to write a specific message to God. Or, not. Some black guy starts talking about King David. I'm reading the local paper, while my friend, works the projector. They are all on computers now.

"He was known as a rough and ready man."

"Yet....he played the harp..."

Because, I'm nodding and groaning and reading the paper, "Lyre...." there is a column about the holocaust visits, I can read it without worrying, I see a list of people, no one I know...The Baptist's painting is on the floor, it's like an ugly moth in muddy red and blue and green, with the word H.E.L.P in red....My picture is an invention of a type of turtle, with a beak, and big round scales, and little legs...my kid sister frowns. I say:

"I want something Happy. Let's make a colour..."

Suddenly a long wave of the brightest Cadmium Yellow, flows up over the table and spins...


Kid sister, says:

"Lou, this is smax, you said, the holocaust is shit...(because I'm reading trouble/ hence 'in shit') .and he ain't rough and ready, they're ready for bed...(because I have many women...and he is supposed to have too) and. "Yellow is amazing...you know this!""

"If he is an hermaphrodite he will have angels, like a jewish, I like jewish, he will King women, not the 'losest' /loser, he will fly a light like Gentle. He will let them weep, he played the harp like gentle...he is small like a girl, he is fair, he says: Mariam hath....Scorn!...they are no men in light, Angels are Divine, we are Holy Light....I will fly "light" Divine, like a little boy in light....the essence of David was slow. The slap he held was stink...the seat!! Not a rough 'n ready! A seat!!....

He sat on walls and played Harp!! ..(.lyre....lyre...)..his small is angel, he is ghoul, he's sure you're wrong. You take a 'bit' and bring peace. Cool. Let's love another...let's cruel...no more ready...I'm fool...David was a girl-boy and you're fool..."

The black guy is on video rapping, or...."massing" (messiah talk/mass)

"My bones are crushed...."

"Oh. God. look at the fool. Quite good. Kid? Do you see that Yellow colour?? That colour was Satan!!!! And now we have a mirror!!! Bright Yellow is Happiness!! I'm so Happy!!!

New Colours:

Turquoise: Blessed at Birth/Re-Born

Yellow: Delight, High happy

Red; Anger, Dull Red ( a tendency to swear and curse) Strawberry red: Cool and liberal. Blood-red: Wise/lived and learned and felt and fell. .

Dark Blue: Holy.

Purple: Even Holier, and mixed with Blue. Purpley-Pink: Gay-Girl.

Bright Blue: Funny

Light, sky blue: nice. happy.

Light pink; nice, happy.

Bright Pink: High, at a Party.

Orange: Extremely Clever.

Light Grey (with stars) Reasonable, yet liberal, sensible, sees ways out.

Dark Green: True Love.

Vanilla, the feeling of touch, plus Mocha Chocolate...

Lime Green: sex.

Lemon Yellow; Full of Worship.

White: (just white) Good.

a weird green white: "Divine."

Neon monsters, in green, blue and pink...high emotion.

Soul Colours

New Colours:

Turquoise: Blessed at Birth/Re-Born

Yellow: Delight, High happy

Red; Anger, Dull Red ( a tendency to swear and curse) Strawberry red: Cool and liberal. Blood-red: Wise/lived and learned and felt and fell. .

Dark Blue: Holy.

Purple: Even Holier, and mixed with Blue. Purpley-Pink: Gay-Girl.

Bright Blue: Funny

Light, sky blue: nice. happy.

Light pink; nice, happy.

Bright Pink: High, at a Party.

Orange: Extremely Clever.

Light Grey (with stars) Reasonable, yet liberal, sensible, sees ways out.

Dark Green: True Love.

Vanilla, the feeling of touch, plus Mocha Chocolate...

Lime Green: sex.

Lemon Yellow; Full of Worship.

White: (just white) Good.

a weird green white: "Divine."

Neon monsters, in green, blue and pink...high emotion.

الثلاثاء، 17 يناير 2012

The Man

There was a man in the floor of my rehab house, screaming. He was handsome, muscley with black hair and a tanned body...2007 Summer

He was screaming...


"I'm a penguin, I'm a penguin!" ...

He screamed ; "Get out!!!" he looked like he was struggling with something, I imagined he'd fallen on the floor of a cave...

"I'm a penguin! I'm a penguin!"

"Get me out!! Get me Out!" 

"Look!!" I shouted!! "I'm not doing this....get up!!!"  I'm a penguin, I'm a penguin...

"Wow! This obviously means I am crying I am a Nun!"

"Get me outTTTTTTT!!!"

I was going round in circles, the new red capsules I was taking with other things were making me restless...I didn't want him there in the floor...It wasnt even funny..

"You are Muhammed! And I am not a penguin..."


What is a Mummy God? What do I believe?

I have a lot of belief, even in magic, in lies...especially if it's nice...it's mostly worse...

"the Devil sucks teats."

In the Summer of 07. I was writing hundreds of pages of a special book. The trick was to write the first thing to mind, it was easier than ever before. When I translated the first line of the book, I looked at languages, if I picked Aramaic, for example, white words would appear above each word in the line. So I copied them down, in Arabic, Chinese, Gaelic, Elf, Modern Hebrew. When I copied out Modern Hebrew, every sentence began and ended with:

"The Bitch is Dead."

"Okay! This means they are too War. Stop!"

I didnt want to delve into Chinese, It was about lesbian lovers. Or; Love.

Arabic was fantastic, it was a song of a thief with a dagger...

--- In Summer 07, I was trying to woo someone, I was trying to also,  pick a fight, with, Saul, the King Saul...

What I 'worked out' was that he was the husband of this woman, the woman had arrived in my little sister's room, her profile silohuetted against a lamp, with thick black hair, a nose that was tiny and hooked, and she said:

"Who am I hearing?"

--- Summer 06, I was in terrifying, but the Devil Itself had been painted like a cartoon, even the sight of things, they all looked cartoonish, in waves of dead colour the yellows the dead red, the scaly grey black, the Whore of Babylon:

The Whore of Babylon appeared inside a TV screen, on a music channel: "perhaps the music is particularily babylonian...."

I saw it:

It screamed. it said things like "Rape Them..." It had a womans head, with thick long black hair, a womans head of a creamy sickly white, it body was an obese, it had no legs they must been stuck underneath teh huge rolls of fat, it's skin was yellow ochre, it had tentacles, yellow and black, long thin hands on each one, with long sharp talons in black...

When Lars heard it...I had to sing; "be strong I can kill it!!! You! Are strong!""  Because Lars was just a kid, his mum had called me, everything had been light, conversations with Heaven, until I wandered in from the sunny green garden, to see and hear that thing on TV...

There were zombies in my garden,

The Frags.

These were witch women, with my DNA< a fragment of my genes had been taken when I was dragged i Hell, to create zombies...

I only said:

"Can you see the witches?" Because Michal was standing there, with two girls, beside the garden table and chairs. And everytime, I would skulk off quietly;

"I betta go..." Again she appeared:

"I betta go!"

--- She was also, 'mature'. older than me by far; which was perfect... everytime I mumbled:

"I'm looking for dog-ends, " she would talk, like happy....I tried to say the Frags were behind me, that I needed a little help;

"...you are dog ends, I betta go."

OK, I betta go!