Monday, 18 May 2015

Cat Fingers

cw-gif + body horror

More proof that all cartoon network shows are just cute versions of the akira transformation?!

also i want to paint this...

Monday, 11 May 2015

England, My England

"As I write, 

highly civilised human beings 

are flying overhead,

 trying to kill me....."

-England Your England, George Orwell* 

"Trying to turn back time 

is as futile 

as trying to get

 an energy company 

to lower its prices."

-Charlotte Church

The national headline is a sad face emoticon, proof that the state of the nation and my self deprecating online persona are merging rapidly.

British politics is not a rational game, it is not a sensible game and it is not a kind game. It is gleefully violent, outrageously cruel, past the line obscene, Saw Movie blood thirsty and end of the pier ridiculous.

British politics has no etiquette. 

Why is the goose-step

 not used in England? 

 It is not used 


the people in the street 

would laugh.

It is Clive Martin, the greatest writer in the country, tweeting nonce in block capitals to Conservative politicians, it is Charlie Brooker saying I hope she fucking walked to Natalie Bennett from his set design sofa, it is every episode of Goggle Box, the best social history, social document, this side of the British Library.

It is the Tapper family tears in their eyes laughing as Ed Miliband falls over, it is Ed Miliband eating a sandwich, it is Ed Miliband crying, it is Nick Clegg crying, it is Nick Clegg in a car park whilst the Siddiqui family say so flatly 'that's the mark of a man in exile'.

 It is the Guardian colouring book of David Cameron bottle feeding a lamb, it is when I was sleepy and accidentally said David Cameron breast feeding a lamb, it is Steve Bell's condom headed Cameron, creative uses of the word cunt and the phrase tory cunts and tory scum, it is the game show broadcasts of politicians whaling over each other. And of course it is every facebook status type out if you voted UKIP or Conservative pls unfriend me (smiley face emoticon.)

And most of all it is Paddy Ashton half chewed fedora:


British politics is not subtle or balanced because it does not need to be. It has never needed to be. 

 The English electoral system,

 for instance, is an all 

but open fraud.

 In a dozen obvious ways

 it is gerrymandered 

in the interest 

of the moneyed 


It is them or us, out or in, everything is fucked or everything is awesome. 

But is not England 

notoriously two nations,

 the rich and the poor? 

Dare one pretend

 that there is anything 

in common 

between people with £100,000 

a year

and people with £1 

a week? *

Party in the cul-de-sac or riot in the street.

 It has fallen so far into parody that Russell Brand is set to symbolise the left and Nigel Farage the right.

 Sidenote: Russell Brand is trademarking his spelling of the word revolution.


I am critical of an authentic working class and cringe at the word Tory, a  ghost phrase from an Old Labour that no longer exists. But this isn't the time to quibble semantics. 

I always feel the most working class during an election I suppose, class is an embodiment, a heritage, a history. And there is almost a need for a bolded disclaimer label printed over any content I write, any social media stuff I reblog, middle classes this is not for you, not right now, not like this. And how corny is that? 

But in all societies

 the common people 

must live 

to some extent 


the existing order.

Charlie Brooker joked that the TV party debates was a great opportunity for each politician explaining their unique point, their beliefs their polices. 


*cut to stock video clip of clegg/cameron/miliband emitting a high pitched moan in perfect unison*

(It is not about being taken seriously, it is about being heard.)

And the same applies to history.

Have you ever had a tab open, watching a movie on putlocker, spam ad talking, second browser u forgot about started playing three days later. They crash eventually, they always do (unless you have to hold the power button and shut it down yourself).

The miner's strikes, the poll tax riots, the 'great' fire of london, st paul's occupy, student protests, London riots, the London olympics, the BNP, V day, the EDL, empire, India, the blackshirts, the Blitz, Bullingdon year pics, 2 world wars and 1 world cup, Cable street, Tony Benn, Tony Blair, John Major, all buffering, all loading, ready to play when you least expect, making you jump from your overcrowded Chrome. 

What can the England 

of 1940 have in common

 with the England of 1840? 

But then, 

what have you in common 

with the child of five whose 

photograph your mother keeps on 

the mantelpiece? Nothing, 


that you happen 

to be

 the same person.

And in the DC Batman/Patrick Bateman occupation of London, the martyr's death of the Joiner's Arms and the 2012 Olympics, sometimes it takes a playground pinch to the neck to restore the capital to its nonsensical self.

The Stock Exchange will be pulled down, 

the horse plough 

will give way to the tractor,

 the country houses 

will be turned into

 children’s holiday camps, 

the Eton and Harrow match

 will be forgotten,

 but England 

will still be England,

 an everlasting animal 

stretching into the future 

and the past, 

and, like all living things,

 having the power

 to change out of recognition

 and yet remain the same.

*(note: all text by George Orwell from here on in marked in yellow)


And even Welsh and Scottish readers are likely to have been offended because I have used the word ‘England’ oftener than ‘Britain’, as though the whole population dwelt in London and the Home Counties and neither north nor west possessed a culture of its own.

There is no question about the inequality of wealth in England. It is grosser than in any European country, and you have only to look down the nearest street to see it. Economically, England is certainly two nations, if not three or four. 

Friday, 8 May 2015

Remembering the power of print on a sad day

See Red Women's Workshop

May 68

Chats Palace

Poster Collective

Wednesday, 6 May 2015

Hidden Visions

[i made hanna take like 20 photos of me and my face looked weird in all of them so i had to revert to my default ootd pose to an attempt to document this event without looking like one of those pug memes.]
OK so this blog post is ridiculously delayed? But Hidden Visions! The a+ art show on mental health by young artists dealing with this stuff curated by irl princess Lizzy!! It happened and it was great and thank you to everyone who came and stuff?? Tho meeting new people can be scary which reminds me of how art galleries aren't always an ideal environment for my own mental health (interacting! with! other! humans! Egad!) but I had a really awesome time and Harriet came and we had a really loud conversation about postcolonial interpretation of the matrix movies which probably scared everyone off but hey! Also me and Maeve got a talk about or A LOT. So all basic needs met tbh! I'm seriously so happy to be a part of this wonderful thing and I can't wait til Lizzy is the director of Tate and also Vogue and also THE WORLD.

So yes! Photos!!! Enjoy!!!

image by lizzy artwork by John Michael Taylor

photographs by Maeve Buckenham, 2nd image of Maeve's work taken by Lizzy
paintings by Stephanie Linne
painting by Miranda Chance


Nothing About Us Without Us: Thoughts on Mental Health and Medical Museums

Dennis William Reed at Glenside Hospital Museum

We live in a place where autism is an allistic's special interest, where disability is a dress up box and mental illness the halloween costume of choice. This ideological occupation is as interesting to me, as relevant to me, as the colonization of my home country. And when Saidiya Hartman speaks of the violence of the archive, and when mental institutions serve as museums, serve as most haunted sites, serve as shock and gore, to slip in an out of like a Tesco costume straightjacket, it is necessary to reclaim these sites also. I edit an art and literature journal on mental health, I work at a mental health museum, Glenside Hospital, dedicated to empowerment through reclamation, I'm writing a novel on mental health stuff. (Sooo either I'm an amazing advocate or I just really like talking about myself?! Most likely the latter). 

a Nobrium advertisement spread in MIMS, from October, 1974, p.62, part of the Glenside Hospital Museum’s Library

I have worked in museums and archives since I was a teenager. The oral history department of British Library where I worked so many years remains, in my opinion, a site of radical action.

 The Concise Home Doctor, part of Glenside Hospital Museum’s Library

Even seemingly 'progressive' mental health narratives are limited, relying on straight up bad chronic illness analogies with unsettling ableist implications, Western white washed histories and a failure to understand intersecting experience such as class, race and gender that informs the individual experience.

Mad Pride Parade in Brazil, 2009

In this sense we must look, not just to our libraries, but to our museums to understand, when it comes to subjects of race, mental health, disability and neurodiversity, whose telling what story and why. 

This doesn't necessarily mean writing the next Ulysses, even though that's y'kno cool too. We can work with what we've got here. Because even though we might not get taught it at school the history of disability, learning difficulties and mental health is rich and deep and awesome. It can just be finding our more about activists like Ed Roberts, the ADAPT protests (images of these movements are like my reblogged images on tumblr? more than ABBA outfits! people wanna know about this stuff!!) reading work actually written by people with mental health struggles, particularly those whose voices are less likely to be heard, less likely to get a fancy book deal.

The Glenside Museum Pinterest and Tumblr that I set up and manage.

It's not that these stories don't exist (they do, they exist in multitudes) it's just that they are lacking the right platform. And I want to see them spoken loud in the very spaces that sought to silence them.