Tools of violence

Identity violence

Symbolic violence

Communication violence

Historic violence

Revisionist violence

Repetitive violence

Infantilising violence

Nostalgic violence

Communication violence

Prejudiced violence

Tiring violence

Destructive violence

Sexual violence

Gendered violence

Religious violence

Spiritual violence

Class violence

Linguistic violence

Colourist violence

Male violence

White male violence

Co-opting violence

Toxic violence

Co-opted toxic violence

Ideological violence

Paternalistic violence

Patriarchal violence

Symbolically patriarchal violence

Promotional violence

Just violence

Violence violence

Tiring violence

Too tired coz I’m broken and it’s the result of all the above and more violence

Mental violence

Inferred violence

Implicit violence

Bright-eyed violence

Broken souls violence

The once you had bright eyes but then you got co-opted and are stuck but still need peeps and I get it but don’t you get that I get it, so why you gotta erase the stuff we excavate and stop us entering and flinging open the doors-no revision check, not open the doors break all these fracking symbolic capitalistic colonial walls – so that we can all evolve together and your tired eyes can weep and rejoice in celebration with us all, bold beautiful and brave and bound to the forward March of completing our shared ancestors abolitionist principles and journeys to create a new fair fresh deprogrammed society so we keep being we and us, and you and me, happy and free together… urgh! Gah! For f***! *sigh* but you can’t and that’s violent, violence.

So instead here we stand. Ina pyramid and I keep trying to educate and create and collate and collaborate while we survive and you thrive but I don’t even cry coz I’m proud inside that at least someone who got one part of our ancestral spirit souls good side to the table where it’s all about whose there to dine, and whose outside… not about our fellow people who die and are also pushed towards pipelines to die. Whether quickly or slowly, that’s for us all to see with our eyes.

I’m too tired to speak, so I’ll leave it to that… and sleeps for the night.

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Making the most of your surroundings: Year Review

It’s been a little over a year since I re-entered London to pursue my next project, my doctoral research into exclusions in online spaces.

It’s also been about seven years and three weeks since I first connected to the capital, I mention this only because today I was not clocked as being from anywhere else. I have again acclimated to my surroundings, even though I made the conscious effort to keep my broad twang.

So, I thought it was apt I started writing more often. Even though the imposter syndrome might run deep or make things get shady sometimes, I know that for my future I need to just GET OVER IT! With this in mind, I’m trying to acclimatise myself with writing and especially writing on the online page. In a similar way I’m realising how I’m so blessed to be able to enter so many places and to participate in them (marginally) better than those who feel more awkward than I. Only today I had the absolute privilege and energising feeling of being in a room full of “BAME” (hate that word) women and men who considered the future of women in UK politics. So I’m going to make a conscious (and consistent) effort to write more reviews of events I go to, the readings I do, my musings and more… Gotta let them see me work!

On that note.. I better get back to reading Simonden closely. Byeeee

 

 

Late Night MA Woes

Putting the Social ‘Bleaurgh-ness’ out there so it’s not in me mind as I sleep:
 
So still have the actual proposal bit of my research proposal to do. (1000 words to go!) This is gonna be killer. But heck at least it’ll be very much grounded and God-willing on point in terms of word count and understanding.
 
Heck they gotta appreciate me making my idea so fecking clear despite battling illness, actual physically dying (ageing), numerous time and people constraints and the fact that my biggest issue is I don’t like to adhere to deconstructionism but want a more interpretative stance to my research and essays.
 
p.s. I love writing! Words rule. Wish I could do and feel like this allllll the time. It;s so productive and fun listening to your voice as you type.. I should sleep. ‘nite!
p.p.s. My body hate me. Battling some form of 2 month long illness is really starting to take it’s toll. Cannot wait to sort all this out come Tuesday and the week after. Maybe I just need the gym? That’s the cure to everything right??

NaBloPoMo #16 – Why no #12- #14

So… I was a bad unproductive person. Online that is. For the last 4 nights.

There is no excuse big enough for dropping out, because as someone says “If something is important enough you make time for it!” . Therefore, I guess, using that logic I deemed me, my online persona/career-building and my writing less important than what was happing around me. This is in-excusable really.

So this is just a post to say “SHIT!” and “I’m sorry” – which is just my Englishness coming through, because in all honesty I’m not *that* sorry. But still, convention dictates I must say these two words a million times a day, not only because I am English, but because I’m British. I’m a woman. I’m a woman of colour. I’m working class. I have a confusing, inter-linked, inter-sectional identity that is hard to find out there in the world. So if I don’t say these words, I won’t be able to get any better. I won’t be able to learn from my mistakes. I will never learn to associate this shame for letting myself and others like me down and this shame to something greater. So that should I ever stop or think I am going to fail in the tasks I set myself, I am then reminded of this frankly annoying and unproductive bit of writing that I MUST do.

The reason I say must is because I have been reading more of Bickham’s “The 38 Most Common Fiction Writing Mistakes (And how to avoid them)” . In his book or published wisdom, he has set this task of simply writing a big sorry letter to oneself explaining why you failed in writing everyday / every week whatever time limit you have set yourself. Not only so you can identify common themes that may need to be addressed in your life, but also so that you learn that simply forgetting to write, or thinking you shouldn’t write due to lack of inspiration or whatever excuse we all fling up, doesn’t mean you don’t write. If anything you keep writing. You must. Even if it is utter crap, or cathartic meandering as this post is fast becoming. So that the skill is kept honed in. I liken it to those evenings when you think – “Nah I don’t wanna cook”, but you end up doing everything around the cooking process, plating, washing-up, clearing, spending time ordering and thinking of taste combinations, flavouring, what you have in the fridge or cupboard that may go with it. If anything having a cheeky lazy “No cook dinner” evening is anything but de-stressful. Though, maybe that is simply a personal response from someone who admittedly is a bit compulsive or obsessive when it comes to planning.

That’s another thing. So I guess I don’t need to mention. It has been a melancholic weekend right. Not only that it was a bittersweet weekend for me. I had an old friend – my bestie over, I then went out with two of my bestest friends and a bunch of new friends. I attended the cool Though Bubble comic convention with a weekend pass that I will no doubt return to next year in an adjacent city. But well, I guess I haven’t really come to terms with how I am feeling personally or politically. I know there is no compulsion from anyone for me to sort that out. But I feel compelled to do so, for myself.

A crazy road lays ahead. One I know I will stalk individually but not alone. My only hope is that there is more thought, more reflection, more communication than ill-informed actions.

#Peace #Love #Contentment and #Appreciation of Humanity and your loved ones. Also #Hashtag – Coz seriously that is jokes!

( I don’t know why I ended talking like that. I’m afraid my brain is still a bit emotionally frazzled)

 

Saddened Tears Unsurety

I allowed myself leave
Felt pushed out
But still grasped at the dream

One that would be beneficial for more than just us
maybe, perhaps, someday, one that’ll lead Them to not cuss

Now I’m rediscovering my old friend
She silently screams internally at me
Dry-heaving as she drowns in fucked up dreams
Unsure of what she sees, hears, or feels.

Distrust and hurt, once decades old
Memories, choices long ago burnt
Dredged up so easily
Pushed onto me.

This weight is mine to shoulder with my saddened friend
I only hope that God gives me a full life to make amends.

If only forgiveness was easily won
and my wandering friend could work with me,
to make our soul content
our purpose known
tasks done

and a happy home.