The cosmic song of trauma for Al Nakba II
Perfection is a flitting light. Join us for shows listed at the bottom of this email…
I’m showing you inside my head when I’m writing. It’s not always pretty, organised or clear until I start scooping out the pictures from the flesh in my mind, and start arranging it for your eyes, sculpting in black and white.
Contains sensitive content.
Bang bang bang, goes the typewriter, an assault of words. My fingers run over the phone.
Merciless drones exploit the psyches of the diaspora of survivors of one of the worst human atrosities in the past 80 years. I’m sharing this with all subscribers, not only paid. I hope you have time to read.
Is “anxiety” something I want to share? Am I triggering inter-generational PTSD through the greyzones of the horrors of the Holocaust and Al Nakba for everyone IF I use the word “genocide” or “ceasefire”?
My Whatsapp pings. We try to find facts. Beyond “keep your kids off Tik-Tok cos the Arabs gonna do live beheadings”. I track people I’ve worked with, friends from all Gulf States, Israelis who are signed up like strippers in a Soho salon to dance to the tune of annihilation. Those who protest. Those who want to leave. Jews from around the world. My colleague in Lebanon shares a post about this happening to her grandmother, her mother, herself and now her daughter. I think of the people I’ve known who have feared using their parents’ religion to culturally define them. I wonder what life is like for the 50 000 pregnant women in Gaza, 5522 due to give birth this month. The capacity of their wombs in this struggle to remain on home soil, as their parents did, and those before them. Many murdered along the way. I think of the cultural struggles of first generation immigrants I’ve known, the second, the third. Asylum seekers having to retrace their stories of abuse in wars everywhere. Those Jews that never left Jerusalem. The interfaith and cross-cultural relationships. The need for money to transit anywhere. My fascist government. The dinghies reaching the shores of refugee islands in Greece, escaping other wars, largely backed by America. I think of the First Minister of Scotland and his family in Gaza, and the British Foreign Secretary not taking his call.
A child’s lung explodes from its chest. A brother and sister lie dead, their names written in Arabic script down their legs because they knew they may not make it through the night and wanted their lives to be more than a mass grave scorecard. The rubble screams. Hospitals, schools, ambulances, journalists, no one is safe in Gaza.
Palestine is under attack by Israel with unprecedented force, claiming to be after Hamas, but taking out civilians like it’s a video game. These were inhumane conditions before this “second Nakba” of 7 October. This deathcount did not begin then, or when Palestine was larger and occupied by Israel after the Six Day War of 1967, it goes back and back and back into histories we do not know.
Am I interfering in your resonance by writing?
Am I causing pain to discuss any of these issues, do you want to see my studio in Spain instead, change the vibe from horrors of displacement with all the migrants of the world, to a prettier kind of migrancy?
I don’t want to offend but here, in paradise, I am offended by how the Holocaust is used and abused to trigger further insecurity to a culture and faith’s trauma. Since before Christ, there were pogroms. There has been a war against the Jewish, chased from cities and many places on earth. The Jewish faith was birthed in the Caananite land, where the old Philistines lived, Philistia, is what became Palestine. Language has been used alongside murder to assail all. When travelling in Lebanon before Covid, it was clear to me that I was where “Jesus” would have walked, in this land of Cathars and invasions of Babylonians, Assyrians, and frequent rule by others. Currently, faith is being manipulated as a shield for the military industrial complex and careless capitalism. Most religious people don’t practice harm. Don’t tell me I can’t empathise or represent all sides, I am a fiction writer, I get into the minds of other people. When we hear screams, do we ask what’s wrong, or run away?
The act of communicating is to understand what is going on, expunge it, vivid and alive. Sharing is to lift it out of oneself, and in our evolution of humanity - we’re in unprecedented times to be able to share, and control. It is a human right.
Fearful to become part of any divisionary tactic, funded by western profiteers of modern times, I know any problem contains the letters ME. What have I contributed to this situation. How am I improving it? Why am I choosing to be like a missile-swinging dickhead touting opinions in this fight? This war is close to all affected by WWII, it’s an easier one to relate to, where we can see the ironies of the world unfold.
This cannot be as simple as a narrative of skin colour, can it? The decimation of two million unarmed brown people of Palestinian descent (half of which are children)? It is an MO to landgrab the North of sunny, seaside, $524bn oil & natural gas-rich Gaza for an extended Greater Israel, isn’t it? Even Hezbollah have declined to get involved, as the end game is written, and seen in Wikileaks, and so many more will die if the wider Middle East attacks this plan. Instead, these wars can continue forever, and keep the dollars rolling through the arms companies.
When are the aliens going to land?
We need a humanity intervention!
I have ummed and ahhed about whether it’s my right to write. Why I care so much for these strips of land in the Middle East? Is it any of my business that women are sent to the deserts of East Africa to learn to fight and have their clitorises removed. Libya’s still in the midst of never recovering a) from Italy, b) Gaddafi being British-trained, c) and a hurricane. Morocco’s fucked with earthquakes, I haven’t even checked in on Tunisia, but it wasn’t sounding good a while ago.
As I sit on the privilege of my mountain, trying to tame a pair of cats, a mother and a kittykin, they run away in absolute fear that I’ll steal them, or worse. I spend time blackmailing them with the old tins of tuna that are stacked in the corner of this cave in the Spanish mountains I thought I was retreating to, but actually find myself expanding from. I have time to nurture, to think, to have a kitten which now accepts strokes and the mother playing games, patting my paw with hers. Behaviour creates our culture.
I could be writing in those 20 minutes, but instead, I make names up for the Chilli Cheese Mountain Cat Cult Sanctuary, and wonder if I’ll ever get a hug from these creatures who are scared of humans because I’m so desperate to be loved. And the cats start to take the piss, hurling themselves over the barn door, not really aware that I don’t want their little catshit feet padding about in the house I’ve sterilised against them and their weird cat diseases.
Do I need to just accept that Extn Rebellion really would glue themselves to the road, and that Brexit was won illegally by Cambridge Analytica, the same utter bastards who meet at Davos World Economic Forum (happening in January) and decide how they will maintain their vision. It’s not a conspiracy to understand that business is done through relationships, and finding mutually beneficial diplomacy. Yet the British government refuse to investigate the Electoral Commission’s findings, and we have have to accept these terrorist-supporting, hate-crime inciting, racist, bigotted, war-crime abetting politicians who are profiting from their positions. We never voted for them. And the opposition is little different. I need to chill. Be happy that I am able to leave. I accept a lot as a woman. The coercive expectation to behave as a good girl, and wanting to please, the exploitation that leads to. Maybe those little Hitler youthy, preppy Proud Boys are really nice people. Just be cool with the rising Nazi tactics that led to the Ukraine divide, or the increasing reports of the IDF using open fire on ravers at the psych-dance party when Mossad, for the first time in their lives, “somehow” missed the “intelligence” of Hamas getting out of a trap door from Gaza into the fields of Elysium.
Dear Kirsty, and publishers of everything, updates, media, whatever,
There is no justification to make content for content’s sake. Please take up space without incendiary divisive language or manipulative tactics and never be lazy when publishing anything. SHARE FACTS. THAT IS DEFENSE.
When commenting, or carrying a notion, have analysis or comprehension for why you’re doing so - be conscious of what, on a doctor’s couch, would be called “transference” when the godly mirror reflects positively, negatively (or erotically), on what is being said.
Avoid causing pain. When there is so much of that.
I want all of us to live our best lives. The 120+ million displaced too, and the developing countries crippled by debt imperialism.
The act of communicating is to understand what is going on, expunge it, vivid and alive. Sharing is to lift it out of oneself, and in our evolution of humanity - we’re in unprecedented times to be able to share, and control.
Guard and defend.
Fighting talk on platforms like X, taking up space with entitlement, or style or beauty, it can be striking to break from the norm - like a country exercising control. Wes Anderson posing in Roald Dahl’s shed in the current Netflix series, a content war, grabbing attention, to hold space, leads for my heart to beat too fast, getting loaded on language. Find your beat. Your own house style. No-one may read this.
In media we are told to write for our audience.
In branding we’re writing for whoever’s paying - and really, it’s not much different working for the BBC or getting your information from layered bureaucracy of PRed/propaganda angles where we’re refracting adverts for arms sellers, supported by the financial trading system and the oil industry, which are complicit with mortgage rates. The dominant media supports the dominant system, like half the 65% of home-owners in the UK are outright owners. Why is there little rebellion in the UK? Because our own castles are at risk.
In art, I can do what I want. It’s why I started writing poetry, to break up the house styles of my day jobs, and find the voice I’d lost through being commandeered in media.
We are in times of diversity. Me Too occurred because of Laura Bates’ Everyday Sexism, and the Vagenda book. They built feminism out to allow calling out. The British government plan to brand anyone undermining them as extremist. I am. They are the poison, they have undermined the NHS, the BBC, democracy and the electoral process. Local councils suffer from the privatisation of services, and we pay for it. They’ve fucked the rivers by allowing sewage to fall through it, the entire music industry allows Spotify to pay no royalties to “indie” artists, the courts, the legal system, public transport, cultural institutions, science funding — fucked. There are more food banks than MacDonalds. They fight me and you for taking our right of free speech as they steal and leave the nation in decay.
Since first practicing transcendental meditation from my mother’s tapes as a child, and hearing the records of John Lennon, George Harrison and Yoko Ono, I have believed in the yogic pillar of ahimsa (peace), but I started boxing earlier this year. In the quest to find balance, in the form of light and shade, I achieved ultimate zen by getting smashed in the face in a Shoreditch basement by someone on a comedown on a Monday. I returned to my yoga mat, with a wider comprehension of warrior positions, ever increasing my ability to defend myself. As with all the poetic mirrors of our lives, I feel the same support by writing here on Substack, allowing me to be less and less coopted and more independent. To gain a voice that has been silenced, squished until it exploded.
I always knew I was lucky to say something, I was brought up in garrulous magazine offices, aware I was privileged to be around minds that had had far more time to consider anything than my youth allowed. So I listened. To the experience. Internalised my own judgements - and knew that one day, I’d have time to digest it and share it in books. Or very long Substacks.
I wonder if I should get one of those punchbags, and get back in that ring, to fight my own shadow.
In my house, no child should be forced into religion, any more than other belief systems. We should all have the right to choice.
I was brought up to expect equality. I was given the option to decide if I wanted to take a religion. My education involved a lot of stories about wise men and not many witches, and I wonder whether I can trust the Internet and Disney to deliver moral guidance to my dear niece and nephew. But I am no infidel. My liberal (but strict) upbringing did not prevent me from going to CofE services, dating Jews, going to Catholic youth clubs, rocking up to Qatar wearing a scarf around my head, feeling like a movie star. By lunchtime, people were asking me why I was doing it. Out of respect, I said. And promptly realised it was not expected. Culture and religion intertwine, and I am lucky to be pretty well travelled. I veer towards sleeves in church and being relatively modest in Muslim strongholds. In India I will cover my head, or it can be a lot of hassle looking different. In all places I have visited where wars and revolution are active, life continues b’neath it.
People gotta eat, drink, pray, exercise, stay as well as possible. And mourn. In all situations. Lockdowns. Possessions and homes ripped. War sounds so absolute, so binary, but it’s got all shades of survival to it. Scarcity economics of rations amid famine and starvation, when needs are not shared.
Invasion doesn’t just come along and make you give up hope. War becomes a metaphor for all the lives we exist in. So why is there not more empathy?
Today I am channelling Devil Wears Prada, tomorrow Joan of Arc. aybe that’s what IDF need, better looks. Then they’ll win. Who will design it?
Ocean-polluting rags for everyone else.
The drag we put on as proto-ideas of people?
The armies we represent? Our tribes. We all speak.
The assured stance of the journalism I began in, assuming the voice of a larger publisher, guided. Returning to university, reading The Frankfurt School’s Marxist opposition to the propaganda of the rising reich across Europe, I learnt how propaganda wins from ugly buildings. I went on to build communication strategies as architecture for branding within fashion and luxury houses. I was left with only poetry for freedom.
Gaza shrinks to the size of Ibiza. The party stopped over 70 years ago but still music is made.
The most basic of healthcare cannot be delivered to people in Gaza right now. There are sanitation wipeouts, more “refugee camps” (120m+ people in the world that we know of). Rounding people up. It’s despicable. And many Israelis can’t escape either. It is a puerile comparision for this to be a cramped aftershow with no way out, but it is the last days of disco. Tel Aviv may be expanding as a party capital, but Gaza is not a “war”. I don’t want to “Arm Palestine”. I just want equity, as a feminist, it’s all I’ve ever hoped I can earn, and for all my LGBTQI+ brothers, sisters, whatevers, wherevers too.
The Internet dawned as the ultimate rave - where people of all backgrounds could dance together in MySpace, instead, it has become a place of pay-to-be-on-playlists, of atomised culture, where there is little dialogue as we are castigated into behavioural expectations refracted through a consumer mirror ball in a hall of mirrors. Yet the marches grow. The need to change the effect of the brutalities of post-Thatcherite, post-society individualisation, where Cambridge Analytica-style groups take information and change opinion. Demographics have caused havoc with how we consider ourselves, diversity is the landscape of now, it fights with the chaos of capitalism and the ideas of a dominant power. A soundtrack of accusations, of gaslighting, dances in the disco of distraction politics, when we feel we’re being victimised, not heard, not seen, so have to shout louder. A civil war of opinion. “Opinion” all we have to hold onto, we’re left bouncing in and out from each other’s sensitivities. Of fear of offence.
The Internet has become a self-policing behavioural system, where we are working it out as we go along, hopelessly hoping that some kind of technobot redistributes blockchain love, as AI programmes minds with SEO-boosted malfacts, I’m left gasping for the quantum lifespans that it’ll take to clean up all the grotesque greed, and attribute fatwahs for those responsible for all the pain of the world. It’s not true to say the Internet doesn’t exist and you can turn it off. It is where the world is now created. It is our responsibility to share well.
As a journalist, my email knows nothing of privacy. There’s a poem I have about “3000 emails I get a day, and bills I cannot pay…” I ignore the rat-a-tat-tat of most PR, which is basically a beg for endorsed advertising. I ignore the offers of free things like I can afford to be The Economist.
Access to information has always existed as a hierarchical structure. The estates of God/Monarch/Gov/Publishing/Minds. We have to see the horse speak to know it’s true. Own the dialogue and you own minds. Own your own dialogue, own your own mind.
And the glorious influencers respond. Bleating on the offers of £5K for political content. Ready made reels? No! We are the content-producers! Misfire. Free Palestine! Without the evocative violent cliches of high-colour ammunition imagery to create the real experiential event of War. It is so offensive to be asked to spread messages into simplistic “sides” from screen to soul, without understanding our supporters. I respect the entitlement of knowing one’s own boundaries, of being emotionally intelligent enough to understand and respond to our shields of trauma, although I may not be that advanced. I agree with the Influencers, leak the abuse.
O no, it’s too late.
The culture circuit is infested with division. I begin to witness language like cockroaches to describe a whole mass of people, animals for another. The guy with the white supremacy sign in New York, the death of a Palestinian child, stabbed in America. At pro-Palestinian rallys people are throwing religious symbols in bins, and being insensitive. Not all Jews are into this war. How could anyone support this?
The racism we raved hard to abolish has begun. Stars of oppression are whipped out as defence by the UN.
An Israeli army chief describes a game of zapping innocent residents, of killing all, emerging from tunnels like they are rats, UNDER UNDER UNDER. Giving the impression that they are above. And he is. DRONES. The constant sound. I remember the drones flying over Beirut. The sound of one is enough to drive a person mad, but without sleep, water, but now these drones are armed and taking people out, one by one. A people is called a mass of terrorists. Their flag becomes the enemy. UEFA waved Ukraine flags when that farcical proxy war began, now UEFA ban Palestinian flags. Outlying, untouchable, criminal Suella Braverman MP calls Palestinian solidarity gatherings “hate marches”. How is the opinion of the few determined as the dominant ideology? Macron bans anti-Zionism. Last week anti-Zionism and anti-semitism were not the same thing. Whats up, lads? Scared of a caliphate that will create a New World Order? That old eye on the pyramid questioning your Hawksmoor-esque money machine?
This has gone too far.
Propaganda curates a culture of cheers when bombs land on unarmed neighbours with nowhere to go. Behold the rounding up of the ENEMY. Spend no time of them, focus on your FANS!
What we do not need is more dead people, more injured. Hezbollah agree. We need to unite in peace, not divide in wars. The Middle East know this. And Saudi’s 2030 vision is coming. And they are in a much better position than America.
We witness an entitled takeover of land and cultural wipeout of a people using the defence shield of the trauma of the Holocaust, 80 years on. The trauma of the Palestinians is not considered as worthy or equal as Israelis. Palestinians, and Hamas, are not allowed to claim suffering any abuse to the taking of their land by settlers or bombs thrown over the wall shaped as toys for children to play with. Around 65,000 Palestinians have died due to conflict between 1948-2021. 6 million Jews were murdered by Nazis in extermination camps. Modern Israeli exists because of the 70 million deaths caused around the world in the Second World War. 3% of the world’s population was depleted. This stains all our families and cultures. Naturally one reference point becomes another and leads to comparisons. Third Reich tropes abound. Sensitivities. More fear. This is why, because of Balfour creating contemporary Israel, that no other international conflict can be compared to WWII so deeply, and why so many of us get involved, because it stands for everything which is wrong.
You know there are 5.6 million Palestinians in “refugee camps” already? Many from the Al Nakba of 1948, when 750K were displaced. Camps in Jordan, Lebanon and the surrounds, placed on borders. Alongside millions for the decimation of Syria. Camps. Why would any person anywhere want to inflict pain on another? Put another behind barbed wire? Because they have been hurt. And this is where we find ourselves. In a traumatised land, bombing each other.
The director of the UN High Commissioner for human rights in New York resigns, calling the landgrab of Gaza a “text book case of genocide”.
Repulsed by the use of “open prison” and “concentration camp” to describe land and what people can impose on each other, since first getting on stage to support Gaza in 2017, and subsequently writing my paper, Spectrums of Identity, I have wondered if we need a new language to distinguish new eras with new levels of trauma-related violence. I am not against the state of Israel, but why can’t people share? Every city has quarters. Every morning since beginning to write this nearly a month ago, I wake to the smell of new death. More schools. More massacres of innocent civilians.
It doesn’t matter what I think, I am sceptical of universal “truths” but romantic that love can conquer all. I am just a writer, trying to share my thoughts to clear my head of this. I am not trying to tip any balance, just discuss rationally what I am seeing after years of working as a journalist because I wanted a better world.
Haaretz newspaper in Tel Aviv investigate Israeli facts: 900 dead not 2000, 50% Israeli soldiers. Most from a tank shelling. No evidence Hamas burnt Israelis, likely caused by the heat of tank shelling. No beheaded babies. Hamas fighters bodies were defiled by Israeli army, whilst Israeli soldiers were taken with respect to morgues by Hamas. Hamas shot less than 100, most were armed settlers who are thrown AK47s, by Israel. The settlers are fanatics who really will do anything to get that seat in the life they’re not living now… strategically placed, claiming land, as per Golan Heights, which Trump started building apartments on after the clearances. The West Bank has a lot of settlers, using an entitled faith, in the same way that jihadist martyrs fall for Islam.
As a disclaimer I do not condone the actions of Hamas (nor the actions of the IDF). But Hamas are also the council of Palestine, as instructed by America as a softer option to the Jihadist group. Hamas have governed Gaza since they did an armed takeover from Nobel Prize Winning Yasser Arafat’s Palestinian Liberation Organisation in 2007 which led to the Israeli blockade. Despite going down much like British-trained Gadaffi (with millions stashed in various shares and Cayman accounts), the Israeli government attempted to assassinate Arafat on multiple occasions, hence the head of Hamas being sheltered in Doha, Qatar now. Hamas run the hospitals, the distribution of anything they can get in their shrunken state of Palestine. Hamas request release of Palestinian prisoners in exchange for the hostages. Instead Israel suggest all Palestinians are Hamas. Palestinians are not Hamas, in the same way that I am not a racist Tory c*****, despite them being my government. The government of Gaza want an independent state of Palestine in the same way as the government of Israel want an independent state of Israel.
There are stupid people everywhere, regardless of faith, and this is not a religious fight. We have to see what is happening NOW.
We don’t need to remind one another that Palestine didn’t kick off on 7 October, do we? Do you need a timeline? Do we need to go back there, to the same old Balfour Declaration which imposed this? Al Nakbha? The Brits, the bible, the torah, what about now? PLEASE BE IN THE NOW.
The entire globe is fucked and needs to be reorganised. We need to follow the Maslow Hierarchy of Needs to assess who requires what, where, and share our wealths through blockchain. Now.
Have an independent agency with no conflicts of interest to assess the needs of everyone in the ENTIRE WORLD. Make the corporations provide those requirements, rather than this shitshow of boardroom greed and dependence on the freemarket. The world is ours, all of ours, a rock doesn’t belong to one person, the ocean to another, the sky to someone in a room we’ll never know. Share our equity.
Make governments provide local syndicates of energy, offload fossil fuels to where they are needed. Peace now!
Show me the cultures and corporations that consider this and whose foundations are set to achieve this for ALL COMMUNITIES
Self-esteem and self-realisation are the classier aspects of human needs. We all deserve these rights.
The laggards’ll eat and drink anything!
I DON’T WANT A HOLIDAY IN THE METAVERSE.
Since Covid, the world has split in two. I blamed the Internet, the need to make code binary. The simplicities of O/I programming reflecting primitive culture circuits. Dodgy abuse of SEO, programming AI, but it’s basically us vs them, and we need to decide which side of the future we want to sit on.
Divided we fall.
Divided we fall.
D
I. V I D
E D
A fracture chasms between East and West, the World Bank (thanks Bank of England for starting all of this) imposes world debt of $307 trillion. In raw dollars, the US is twice as much in debt than anywhere else. (Japan’s per capita is mega, and the UK are also ridiculous).
Without America and Britain there would be no modern Israel. The Balfour Declaration (first shared publicly in 1917, outted the Ottomans [Turks] from the Palestinian region, suggesting a Jewish State, with Theodor Herzl publishing Der Judenstaat in 1896. The first Prime Minister of Israel was President of the World Zionist Organisation, and with support of some of the rich Rothchild family) provided a Western-allianced outpost in the Middle East. Fair enough. Strategy, makes sense. If your people have been extinguished and moved on from so many settlements, so many times, in the history of “humanity”, you’re going to want to feel safe eventually. Israel, the land is yours, you’re a few generations in. But the deal dudes, it was to treat the land with respect and share with the Palestinians.
A wider question emerges: do we separate debt abuse from Zionism? Can you share what you have rather than wanting more? America can put repayment on hold in times of “war”. You need cash and good financial performance going into an election, despite short-term political tenures taking little responsibility to pay their country’s debt off, just get more money printed, and pass the costs to the next ones in, or households and private companies and the developing countries who have not benefited from colonialism and can’t write the rules, nor have they been able to borrow as much, yet are slung with results of 80% of world debt coming from those who became industrialised before them, and impose “war” and “reason”.
What is money if it creates so little harmony? That is not rich! That is not luxurious! It is ugly. It is cheap. It is nasty. It is buying a Bentley and not being able to afford a driver. Trash heads.
You’ve either got the dinero, or ya haven’t. If we’re very fortunate, we have some time. This is my privilege. How I can write. If we have nothing, maybe we at least have an opinion to fight for, or perhaps that entitlement has also been taken from us.
One person expecting more than another is the very meaning of entitlement. Do you give up your shoes for someone else to walk in? Walk around with smugness of aspirations strapped across chests as designer labels - or as religious symbols? Does the shit job lead to a large house, and fire leads to the wheel, and aquaducts influenced the sharing of electricity. Is this what progress looks like? Or is the American dream impossible and the cycle of exploitation will be with us forever, so long as the system is full of hate and war there will be war and hate. We must admit and accept this eternal colonisation and control to expand the narrative and destroy it. Maybe not everyone sees it this way.
I fought in the acid-house fields, for peace, love, and UNITY. Until my government stopped us from doing that, took away our rights to gather and dance in our open-skied churches which merely wanted to see the sun come up a few nights a year, before rounding us up in tax-paying, skyless nightclubs. What I am concerned about now, is words like CEASEFIRE and
GENOCIDE being used to create a THEM and US McCarthyism again. Will I have HMRC (our tax people) on my case for publishing these words here? (I’m clean!)
In a similar system to the feudal times of yore, when land was divided by the royals, and managed by lords, we were serfs and vassals, farming the land for rent. We were cleared. We rarely belonged. O, Maaam, we are grateful, yes. To serve. O yes, take me Duke. Give me shelter! This purgatory cannot continue forever.
Guilt of imposition on a land which was gifted? Nope. Take the common land and common rights.
The world could be argued to currently exist in varying levels of concentration camps. Of territories. To sell things to. To control. Putting one human’s rights over another’s. Only the rich are free, the failure is to believe all of us will join the rich. Faceless profit is happening everywhere, but it is only offered to shareholders, many of whom are inside-trading members of government.
I watch a guy on the news in Sudan, move from North, to South, to Ethiopia, back down to the south again. On the human camp he’s staying on, all he is offered to eat is cereal and oil. That’s not a very dignified outcome of humanity. Someone who can speak multiple languages, educated. Same in Syria, Calais, the Kurds (and there is a chased tribe). This guy in Sudan wants a tomato, an onion. Not a fucking chance. Be poorly nutritioned as the times demand! I think of those from the Congo, from everywhere, that I have done zine workshops with, re-living stories of oppression. Refugee camps are little different to prisons. What have any of us done wrong to end up here?
The difference between victim/survivor, strong/weak.
There is none.
Struck
in a strike
that has no union
War/attack
Zionist/Jew
Conflict/no resolution
Evacuation/ethnic-cleansing
Work/labour
I cry at the news.
Biden - lying.
Sunak and Kamala Harris - lying.
Hitler lied too.
EQUITY NOW!
Racism/the new Covid -
the common park to play in,
algorithm sneezes hating
mass media dominates with division
peace means nothing at all
against arm sales, bombs, murder and oil wars
Jew, Canaanite, Arabs, fall
Palestinian, Semite, Israeli soil
Assyrian, Babylonian, Ottoman walls
Old Europa shrinks,
New world winks
We’re all part of this sink-ing single estate
Split into territories of hate
Gassed air, orientalising, glamourising, fetishising
Carpet bombing
innocents in a fairytale of magic carpets, Disney genies
Pixies, protestors, believers, haters or sign wavers
Assigning labels, to help us find the product
When we buy none of this, it’s so fucked up
Beyond repair
Enshallah
Refugee/forcibly displaced, made to leave, unable to stay
Punished/suffering
Cults and Culture
Created by behaviour
Brand architecture
Hostaged or murdered
Raped in a camp, on a kibbutz, in a human trafficked strip club, drugged
The fete of friendly fire, in the night, in the day, defenceless in the call for defence
I am not giving up my fight for Lent.
Shades of repetition, of pogroms and WWII, Israel invented, Palestine deleted,
Fear of A Black Planet,
Fear of Muslims,
Fear of Jews.
Who’s entitled to land on which we’re born?
We all are
Share the oil, that ancient satanic mill, that poor excuse of power,
The kickdrum of the City banking system smashing to the high hats of Federal reserves,
the last days of disco, make ya money NOW, war is always a racket…the new wellness, talcum powder J&J murder,
Debt and homelessness, Sackler-drugs, Teflon,
We’re either consumer or createur.
Welcome to the sound of the fall of America, committed in the smokescreen of corruption of Netanyahu.
The last days of disco. Watch the Xanax zombies crawl from tents for flesh. Jack up cars to get healthcare in a world where life means nothing at all. Shelter taken over night. Urghur camps of China.
Israel becomes Zion, like all Arabs become Muslim
O the ultimate mafia of desire
Supporter/enemy.
Victims/Survivors.
Terrorist/traumatised.
A psychic oppression of climate change.
VIPs airline shareprices roar
From the Cartharge robes,
to those of us with little faith
that wears a clear sign at all
As planes fall out of the skies.
And oceans rise.
The division, the blame, the attempt to understand the horrorshow.
Cancelled or shot
Final solutions
Antifascista flags torn
Banned, outlawed
Caring capitalism in the petro-dollar architecture
The language of land, territories to conquer
O Israel!
Inbetween life and death - I’m the dash the stroke the theramin holding up the scales, the resonator
Use our privilege
Proximity and perspective
Dumb down the greys
Add or take away
Call out the silence
Never approve of violence
Metadata is not our eyes
Be ‘ware of refracting lies
Truth comes with dawn.
BANKSY HAS A HOTEL IN PALESTINE
I don’t want to waste your time preaching here - war is bad, arms procurement leads to conflicts of interest. Rishi Sunak, the British unelected head of state, who’s been caught out for inside trading in a scandal over changing the law to benefit his wife’s childcare firm: we have to make our decision makers as free of conflict of interest as we are forced to be, paying tax, or prison. And the prison system needs to be reformed, so social conditions do not force crime and encourage the black market and gangsters who are, when the day is done, playing into dodgy oil deals and arming the militia who fight this awful corrupted worldwide scene of profit from poverty.
Reading Hansard, the recordings of HMParliament, the security of the residents of Israel is the defense of barbarism as the West drives two million prisoners (half of them children) into death. There are all sorts of warnings in diplomatic speak. Underneath it, I ask is Sunak’s family benefiting from this? [Please direct me to the disclosures on arms profits from those in Parliament and the House of Lords.]
Sunak’s own father-in-law has investments with Infosys. There is a 2021 memo of engagement with the Office Of The Chief Scientist Of Israel. After what happened with PPE suppliers and companies just being made up by politicians, for family members, to divert tax-payers money into, and the gov still not allowing public enquiry to witness WhatsApp messages, these links need to be transparent.
Arms are better profit margins than luxury brands, certainly if you’re on the board…
Paul Bristow MP is fired for asking for a ceasefire.
Again, when did “ceasefire” become offensive?
Where is Julian Assange when we need him? Oh, in prison, on trumped up charges. Yet Wikileaks share a document on X about repatriation for those from Gaza, like it’s a done deal before this began.
If our Lords and Ladys cannot rise for us, it is up to us how we conduct ourselves in every action to rise. We have to take space, it’s all we have.
The UK’s Ministry of Defence spent £45.9 billion in 2020-2021. Where’s does that all go? Who takes the billions in shareholder profits? A quick look on Janes, the defence industry’s news information site, where new gear for mass murderers gets tried out in varying supported wars, from Boko Haram to Yemen, Ukraine, to yes, Gaza now. The “Military Industrial Complex” involves palming off “best before” dated weapons around the globe so manufacture of new artillery and planes and weaponary can be invented, and shareholders can keep on racking up yachts. Get those juicy shares in! Stock ain’t gonna last forever, unless it’s put into reserves…AND WE MAKE MORE BOMBS! And yes, we better use them!
NATO was founded in 1949 as the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation, where if one member is attacked, all are, and all will retaliate. NATO’s command is HQed in Norfolk, USA, with the head of operations in Mons, Belgium. The membership amounts to an operating budget of around £3bn a year. Israel is not part of NATO, but NATO support Israel. They issue statements close enough to: “Woe betide Hezbollah and Iran if they invade, we back Israel.”
I am not a first-hand witness in Yemen - but I have worked with peacekeepers who tell me of the wiping out of population in the south, cleared to the North, as Houti nationals attempt to hold onto some of the profits of oil. As the Yemeni government has been dismantled, the oil fields are managed by UAE and a PLC in Saudi which pays officials, but the profits do not look after the decimated population, and because of Ukraine, the US were asking to buy gas at $3 per (whatever gas is measured in) rather than the worldwide $15. Under a US-backed coalition with Saudi, using British built weapons, nightly carpet bombing the borders - bombs basically, sold by the UK and the US. A black market from the ports occurs, maintaining gang culture, backhanders.
There’s a lot of oil escaping on Panama ships. Pirate ports allow the cash to slip through to fund the rebel organisations which give the reason for the West to keep on fighting Boko Haram, the Houthis, the militia in Libya, or into the the splits in Sudan. The dodgy gold mines in Ghana, where, like the tanzanite of Uganda, it’ll ship out on backhanders when the UN planes are on downtime. Viva war! Keep the racket running!
If the US defense budget is biggest, and they spend nearly 50% on R&D (research and development), and give $3.8bn to the Israeli army, on a per person basis, the Israeli army is second only to Qatar on its per capita spending (Qatar’s Al Thani Royal Family said they’d cut off supply of their oil if there is a wider invasion of Palestine).
How long can America impose control, the most in debt and overdrawn nation on the planet - it’s like it invented consumerism and got so fucking excited, it thought it bought the whole toys of the world on tick and forgot to share, winding Putin up, to destabilise the Euro (and the Union, which was formed to unite post-fascism of Hitler, Mussolini and Franco - now look at the state of idealism falling, as Germany’s sensitivities machinate in the banning of flags when they held one which did so much damage). O, bitter irony. O sensitive times. Camp Fear. Capitalism the noose, an index for others.
Saudi’s 2030 vision is coming and BRICS nations (Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa) develop a new currency that sets to de-dollarise financial standards which have been pegged against the agreed price of gold since WWII. In 1971, the dollar was decoupled due to insufficient US gold reserves until the US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger visited King Faisal of Saudi Arabia to broker the petrodollar system. The US agreed to provide military support and, in return, the Organisation of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC) would denominate oil globally in US dollars. This synthetic demand was based on scarcity and control. In 2021, Saudi signed a military agreement with Russia. US palmed off their out of date weapons on Ukraine, Putin announced BRICS were stockpiling gold, so they didn’t need to be a part of the US anymore. I watch America on TV and addicts look like it’s the zombie apocalypse as Rome falls. China’s development deals flow everywhere from Jamaica to Ghana. Maybe this is the progress the world needs now. The slowest ouroboros, where the tail of the snake is always in the past. But the old skin sheds.
Turkey and Oman call out Israel for war crimes, as does Spain and Ireland.
Back at Davos in 2018, that World Economic Forum ski-club that all the missile slingers meet up at, Netanyahu assured delegates, he’d got them on Iran.
Send gifts!
Oooooo, gifts? Bribery, corruption! Look at this diamond shine!
23 June 2023: Producer of 12 Years A Slave, The Revenant, Pretty Woman admits giving over £200K of jewellery, champagne, cigars and other pressies requested by the Israeli leader for he and his wife. Three major trials are underway by brave Israeli officials accusing Netanyahu of being unfit for office. There are well over 300 cases of this. Oooo, War? Sounds like a GREAT time for a smokescreen to save a hoary little arse. Do something faster than putting up a Jeffrey Epstein noose, release War Crimes Mode!
This is a guy who used a different name to get through university in the US. I’m sure I can find pictures of him with Berlusconi if I can be bothered, Epstein, the jerk circle of compromise leading to blackmail and secrets. But this is no eye for an eye invasion.
Rishi Sunak supports the death of [insert today’s figure]
Kier Starmer debates whether bombed out rumble heaps of unnaccounted bodies are war crimes.
Biden supports
Who are the heroes who can speak out beyond this?
Do we ask our House of Lords to rise against corruption, exploitation of our lives by invisible shareholders that boards benefit from pleasing? Or are they implicit?
The point in having a monarch, I explain to Americans, is to not have the joke of what a senate is, allowing Sackler-types to bribe authorities, but how is the dissolution of the NHS any different? Or profit from arms companies, selling planes to Saudi? I used to believe King Charles would step in and sort the country out, but instead the profits of family run amok.
I walk in Malaga and Granada, we have a joke about the looks of these lands - the business suit pretences of a shop called Adolfo Dominguez (sorry guys). As we have no idea what anyone’s saying and are largely in blissful ignorance, we make up stories about what business people are doing in their Adolfo Dominguez costumes. Doing business, making deals, trading, giving one thing for another, winning! I wear my Kween/She/Professor crown as we walk.
In London, these deals would be done in members clubs, where the uniforms of skirts below the knee have their special days, but it’s mainly the guys, in morning suits, or costume which keeps the Jermyn Street tailors rolling along…
IDF was proposed to me as the biggest members club in the world when this kicked off. The British establishment is rooted similarly.
I remember working on a documentary in a sub-Wigan town. Some “outsider” soldiers were helping each other through the horrors of fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq. Their charity wasn’t accepted, PTSD wasn’t a word that soldiers were allowed to use 10 years ago, because the army could then be held responsible for the illness caused from the actions they instructed, for god, queen and country. Help for Heroes was the trusted organisation. These rebels were the unfunded enemy, the PTSD faction. Now trauma and PTSD are used in the Wellness divisions that pre-occupy anxiety as classic gaslighting. Hopeless 16-year olds whipped by not being able to handle the horrors. Most army statistics include poverty as a driving force for why people sign-up. When let go of, via a week of rest and recuperation in Cyprus, as a holding tank, a transitional location for soldiers returning after killing, or ‘holding justice’, at least 6% of people on the streets have fought for the UK’s royal family-fronted armed fighters, and 8% of prisoners in the US are veterans. 3% in the UK. The institutionalisation of the order offered through army training is like being in an all-inclusive tour, where there’s only one job to do - killing. Life in Britain isn’t radically different. But rather than killing, it’s shopping, wearing new things that’ll clean our souls. As the water rises.
Irvine Welsh’s book, “If you liked school, you’ll love work”, springs to mind. The Nanny State is one that looks after nanny, or the royal family, through propaganda channels that are now governed by a committee selected by the British government. It was good when I worked at the BBC. I believed freedom of speech was possible. I also believed what I was trained to report in, the D-Notes (security briefings that sanctioned some reporting). I looked at friends marching against the invasion of Afghanistan in shock, that by being a rebel, going on marches, I might label myself as unemployable. I was barely aware of the struggle of Palestine back then, nor the reasons for why the IRA fought. I just saw enemies. I believed in maintaining the status quo. I had a blind faith. I had sworn allegiance to the Queen as a 7-year old Brownie. To love, honour and obey. Watching the trauma spread throughout the world, but it not being part of the ‘focus’ of that day’s agenda. What do I need to be covering in my own agenda today?
The recent rise of fascism in the western world did not happen without it being coerced and funded and supported. Believe nothing, trust no-one - until you have the facts.
All wars are about profit.
Wars in ourself can also be about how we relate to our wider society. Do we buy our way through it to feel like we belong. Yum, saved by the smell of fast fashion and multiple brands in the shopping mall selling the same plastic-rich cheap ticket to feeling new and clean!
Sanitisation for all nations!
Believe in the sickness of soul!
Take the antidote.
This is the worst point in the Middle East and North Africa since the Americans invaded last time. Iraq, Libya, Afghanistan, Syria.
I came on this bohemian exodus to write, to develop my own monoculture, away from the mono-diversity of London.
I was accepting a lack of view
In the city scenes that meant Everything I have been
The hunger and the lies
The screaming
I grew to accept
The wet leaves as beautiful
Where all the dreams which come to nothing
Haunt more than the breath of new potential
Geomancy portal lore
I am able to recharge
A sabbatical to fix
Broken windows and shut doors
To heal from psychographic wars
The capital
Cares no more
Bohemian exodus is a ticket out of here
Proudly poet
Not currently suited for a single port
No support
We take the path of vagrant lovers
An oath for
A sunset never seen
London has been changing for a long time, I fought my corner, to continue the subcultural traditions that educated me, passing them on, for reinterpretion and deviation.
Let it be what it becomes.
I have greater work to do. A book commission, now I have finished the second draft of my “secret project”. I must let this essay release itself. Wave au revoir to what took my energies since July. It’s a great sense of achievement, and I’ll talk about the process further down the line. I flick on AlJazeera, and got a private message from someone assaulting my inbox asking why I’m not sharing more on Israel. That’s nothing compared to the messages I’ve been getting from my stalker.
Allow the sheer beauty to baffle me in awe.
It repeats! Lo!
The stars pull the orange sun over the Sierra Nevada.
The slaughtered summer desert beiges are kissed by rain, and a velvet green drapes over the parched white mausoleum mountains, the earth begins to pulse red. Soil dripping with lushness.
The claws of roots sprout from a couple of succulents that I’ve put in cut off water bottles. Almond wood smoke hits the lowering cloudline of the mountain village.
Most lives don’t have this luxury of time to think. Subsumed in media, lifestyle, getting the dollah bills, yo.
How is this not a fight for all humanity?
I got in terrible trouble from supporting Gaza in the past.
There is a massacre by Israel of Gaza.
Innocents have no choice. No voice. The Internet is cut off. Water is cut off. Food is scarce. Electricity. Disease. Bombs. Death. The people of Palestine are used to this, since 1947.
Who remembers Gaza?
Who remembers Palestine?
It shrank again, overnight.
I’ve been trying to find the words here for weeks.
Statistics roll in.
The IRCC, the International Red Cross work independently from the artillery of bots machinating the agendas of whomever they chose to datamine, corporate house styles are capable of perpetuating pain, insecurities, incite division and break every code of human rights.
Beauty is one of the largest growing industry in the almighty, sickly west, it latches into the greatest enemy we have of unification and understanding, which is vanity and individualisation. Self-obsesssion, insecurity. If this is a communication war, we cannot stay silent in the data plantations. We have to show ourselves beyond skin.
It is not war anyway, it is an attack on people who have every right to live freely as we all do.
Julian Assange included.
Where the twixt twains with fiction and non-fiction, journalism and poetry is ambiguous. My poetry has not influenced my journalism well. I can be cryptic. Media is never the medium for nuance. But you gotta know the rules to break them. What both teaching and poetry have offered me, is by trying to connect with the most intelligent person in the room, but also to speak to the people who aren’t really present or educated by much more than consumer desire, it doesn’t mean we have to dumb down.
Raise the game of all.
Educate the mal-educated,
Train the propaganda-reared,
Teach critical skills
Culture is always rewriting history. Deciding what to leave behind, what to carry forward. It is like editing.
Where the Internet was a tool to connect Everyone, it has been coopted by agendas that happen in those Epstein Lodges at Davos. I am fortunate not to know what goes on there.
I think Bill Gates probably knows. And Bezos, and secrets died with Berlusconi but David Cameron will be glad to have had Prince Andrew in the spotlight, as a shield, before his naive form of politics was overtaken by the current gangsters.
In my own private paradise - away from white person guilt and the parade of labels that offer division rather than the unity I have with a good half of the world’s population - there’s a bliss cultivating inside of me. I rise when stars are still in the sky. I walk up to my own personal studio, my sacred temple of creativity - where my Ganesh observes a ritual of reaching for a past, present and future Pantone-prompted card of Sharon Gal’s Etudes pack.
On the road to paradise
Disharmony ain’t a tune I wanna hear.
Winning through magnamity
Metadata ain’t my eyes
Now I’ve been told to turn my other cheek
And four of them I turn
You’re no longer my keepers, freaks
Up yours, politely, y’all.
Gagging on greatness
There’s peace learnt observing mess
Letting the flaws reveal themselves
Slaying with serf brawl, Coopted, or demeaned, or plain unaware?
In my van of white guilt privilege
Screaming “Shut up and look pretty,” into darkness
To blame religion, politics, skin-colour,
For a lack of rational law
Divided we fall,
A choice to add more to other’s trauma.
Mansplaining, you’ve seen a sunset
Entitled enough to roar
Now I was silenced often,
And there’s nothing more golden
Value is saying something
Which leaves the mono-diversity of Before
Finding Good Girl solutions
With any finality of perfection
Is ego blind. This journey is not to divide
When Bad Girl sketches say more
Weigh in, use your space,
avoid recementing old ideas
No luggage of triggering language of yore
Why are we layering more war on top of more?
For Criminal behaviour
Where are those lines in our mind
Accept the Dahmers, Savilles, Bravermans?
Torture is too kind
But begets wins only for the “blind”
Know thy place.
And that is not within the voices of the safe
I want to know my myopic lens
Nurture my own monoculture
Away from the blindsided mono-diversity, whilst doing my best not to offend.
But run them down
Offer no light
As they take my gut
Stop listening
I’m out.
But how do we manage what we can’t see? Do we just ignore it and live our best lives, regardless. Expect all the people in Gaza to starve and die? Keep on feeding people affected by war with grain and oil, as there’s no way of growing vegetables if there’s no water and they’re isolated, dependent on the World Food Programme?
It’s hard not so suggest that there is a conspiracy of equity when the world is so nuts.
I am not a first-hand witness
All I have is empathy,
we try to consider life for other people.
But in a world of trauma, at risk of offending or being judged.
It’s like it’s rained centapedes, locusts, and the ocean will not simply rise.
But take us in the storm. We must all go off grid, and share our surplus.
Rationality and risk are usually put on a grid, anyone who’s ever filled out a risk assessment form, or used gaffa-tape to whack down a wire on set or at a gig, knows we have our norms and our shrieking red alerts. We question any damage we may add to a situation, the purpose to preserve and not cause damage. Or take out ancient wonders like Palmyra.
But it’s no wonder the world is in a psychic meltdown. As if climate change isn’t enough to fuck the world, or anyone buying out the resources of the desperate in Africa, or governments applying racist rhetoric to control with absolute hatred and fear - we are in an auction room of bids, we are all in this war and every other, and it’s where we choose to admit our limitations that it matters.
If one has no home, lifecycle will undoubtedly end up shorter. Like being an artist, AirBnBing your place to make the money that your art doesn’t, because Spotify own you or your art hasn’t intersectioned into public funding interests, or maybe you just have less drive as it’s all so hopeless to verge towards a more anarchic temperament.
It’s the 21st century. I thought this was supposed to be the future. Where technology aided us rather than divided us.
Do we accept trauma? I am sorry to repeat, but I can write no more, I must send this essay out and watch subscribers fall.
Trauma is big word, and it’s got a hell of a shadow, I don’t want to be a victim in that narrative anymore.
Get on with writing, the writing you escaped London to do, to leave the forced labour and toxicity you inflicted upon yourself, wrapped in primitive ideas of who you are. Your behaviour, and people expecting you to do every line of shots at the bar…
Did I have any agency in bad decisions?
Should I share this at all?
Big questions. I go to the beach to think. To another world.
Away from the desk.
Because work is done there too.
We all bleed the same.
Once you’ve got the job, do you protect thyself to keep it in the system you’re complicit with, as a mortgaged, car-owning, future generation creator?
But standing in the shadows,
Be the best versions of ourselves.
We’ve got to use our voices for something.
So by entering the worlds of others we expand our own experience.
I am privileged and brave. I am in true control on my own world. The energy of what I create here.
Life is magical.
I love working on my own work. I get satisfaction from grafting and problem solving. On Wednesday, as my boyf, the Vagrant Lover, Gil De Ray played his debut acoustic gig, with just a guitar and his lyrics amped outside a bar in the village.
From play comes ease, away from labour.
I am safe. I am warm in this cave cut into the mountain. This village will build its own solar farms when it can, as it bought the water contract for its 600 citizens, because the private contracts rose.
The air becomes crisper. Refreshed like the dam I swam in, full of dehydrated dreams, like the grey sludge from my nose after cycling through London. But never as vile as the Farrow and Ball London Drainpipe which washed from my hair then. Ban a plane a day, and London would breathe better. The skies are not for me to police. Nor the bore of botox. I’m trying to recover from the assaults of the city. The filth of noise. Yet never has the world been so noisy. I want peace. Shall I just stick to fiction, poetry, song?
The cats little paws bat my fingers. PROGRESS.
From dialogue comes understanding.
Combine it with the Galtung & Ruge news value of proximity, about how close we are to an event dictating our compassion and interest towards it. But there’s also a measure of objectivity, impartiality and distance. To recover from anything, do you need to acknowledge it? Sometimes the ripples of trauma are so toxic, intoxifying, poisonous to behaviour - it’s better to just shut up, find the nidhir, do nothing.
Find the Zen
Don’t overthink it. What I learnt from London, is that waves of passing on culture need to be handed into the next generation, we have to trust each other.
How can I accept all the people in Gaza are to starve and die and say nothing?
We are all in wars of sorts, and it’s where we choose to admit our limitations that it matters. Maybe expectation of perfection is too much in a world of Control. Religion. Oil. Arm sales. Bombs. The use of religion. Starvation. Control oneself. Turn off the outer world we cannot control?
If you don’t die through war, or end up as one of the 120m displaced (without even including what we don’t know but kinda know does go on in in places where these things aren’t counted) - do we accept trauma?
We don’t have two lives, we have one. I am my own monoculture. My own.
Now cats and war is where this essay is hopefully going to suture together, with philosophical reflection. But as distance allows rationalism, even in this sojourn to the Sierra Nevada, I look back, trying to find a photo of Thurston Moore’s jacket, lying on a stage at that Gaza rally we both played in 2018, finding the recordings of a life well-lived in London for the past few decades. Our past defines us, but I choose to live for today.
Can we fight the wars of others?
Have some common decency. If you get this far, I hope you understand you are seeing into the mind of a pacifist, with a love for all my brothers and sisters, friends, regardless of culture or religious affiliation. I believe in common world decency. I find “War” terribly throwback and unnecessary, when simply:
We gotta resonate.
I feel better for sharing this. Thank you for reading. x
We’ll be in London on 2 December, details to follow, Hastings, at Tough Love Records on 3 December, London on 7 December at Dash the Henge. I hope to see some of you. x
https://www.common-wealth.org/publications/welfare-to-arms
https://www.lowyinstitute.org/the-interpreter/de-dollarisation-shifting-power-between-us-brics
https://www.politico.eu/article/muammar-gaddafi-frozen-funds-belgium-unknown-beneficiaries/
I’m breathless! A diamond-tipped dissection of the times of discord we all find ourselves mired in.
Wow, Kirsty. You write with an explosive clarity xx