Drown, I beg of you.

Myra Hindley lives
and it is not in your place to decide whether this is an element of fact, opinion, illusion or delusion; just as it is not your place to observe my artwork and suggest that you know every intention of its construction. You can not see the rich blood seeping from its canvas pores, you can see only the cloak of colours. I suggest you keep your eyes there; wading through waters not worthy of tread is dangerous task. You may very well yank your chins to the skies and claim she is of cremated product, and her ashes freely scattered among windy Moors and forever lost; and you most definitely will polish your ignorance off by wishing rape, torture and death upon her had the prospect been she was alive before you. And I may very well laugh at you and tell you that you're just as bad as you think she is, because you condone the same practices and fight to justify your opinion on why they should be inflicted to begin with. And in result, you will retract your arguments like fishermen reeling back their naked hooks; you will try to laugh at me but you laugh with me as I laugh at YOU. Many killers do the same: they find ways to manipulate and justify a situation and usually they are frowned upon because of it. I frown upon you, poor bad and closeted people. You're all in the same sinking ship; I suggest you choke on those waters before Miss Hindley comes and does it for you. She does indeed live, and in spirit; and I wouldn't be so quick to exhale upon her heir. Can you hear me smiling?

???

I have undeniably become a very cold person; and I do not doubt that even the world itself doesn't make sense. If some cannot fathom that small fact, how do they expect to succeed in their aims? I don't doubt either the intelligence that most lack to see past the common definition of one word and to realize the different contexts within it, that do better to explain a situation and clear up the pollution of unwarranted loathing. Another thing I don't doubt is the fact that if we don't accept the idea that there are arseholes and definite haters in this world -who base their arguments on sloppy dough- we do not gain the experience required to be able to say we conquered with the aide of support and even the ailment of those who attempt to tear us down emotionally, mentally and verbally. It's most usually in a fit of jealousy and definite insecurity... we can only hope that they learn from us somehow. I don't doubt the possibility that that may not happen... because if they can't open their minds, how can they open their souls?

subliminal messaging and the power of the subconscious.

Aside my criminology research, I recently started to look into subliminal messaging and its early origin, the range of its appearances, the power of its play on the subconscious and the terrifying effect of manipulation it has overall; I believe this type of study could contribute towards my psychological research also, and has a big impact on understanding how we deal and think about things today. The problem with subliminal messaging, is that most of it is of a negative agenda and by that I mean introducing and directing morbid, sexual, emotional, racial and abusive material towards children (see Disney movies for examples), which alter and effect the way a child grows up; and if proved too effective, unnaturally. Get 'em while they're young, they say. Generally, subliminal technique is aimed for propaganda, marketing and mind-controlling purposes. Businesses aiming for high sales encrypt clips/pictures of food, text and desirable items into programs, advertisements and voice clips at such a short period it is unnoticeable; this means they are not visible to the eye but because subconsciousness can process information at 20,000 bits at a time while consciousness can only deal with 7±2 bits at a time, these things are not seen by the eye and the individual is unaware of such things. The subconscious, however, stores these things permanently and even unaware, we are often drawn into its manipulation like beggars to clothed and wealthy folk. The subconscious operates below the level of conscious awareness; it controls automatic functions, reflexes and handles the process and storage of incoming information and media. As we all know there are five senses -sight, hearing, touch, taste and smell- but there are at least thirty seven sensory inputs in the brain. All of the content picked by these senses is sent to the brain and absorbed completely by the subconscious -however, only relevant and solid data is passed onto the conscious mind after it has been reduced significantly. All the rest remains ignored, like purged files from a computer hard drive. Here are two examples:

1) The most known experiment with subliminal messaging was conducted by a marketing researcher and psychologist James Vicaryin during the presentation of the movie Picnic. Every five seconds the words "Hungry? Eat popcorn. Drink Coca Cola" were projected for 0.003 seconds - see what I mean? Very fast, completely unseen to the eye but not to the subconscious. Following this trickery, sales of popcorn and Coke in that New Jersey theater increased by 47.8 percent and 18.1 percent respectively.

2) You may already know this, but Disney is the worst. In several films -the most popular being The Rescuers, The Lion King, Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast- there are several sex and death references. Some are too quick to detect straight away, but some are so obvious it's hard to believe the silly excuses that Disney comes up with. For example within an example: on the front cover of Little Mermaid, you can clearly see that the front of the castle has a somewhat phallic shaped construction. Speaking of penises in the Little Mermaid, don't you think the priest is a little too excited for his job??
In the scene in the Lion King where Simba collapses against the cliff with exasperation, the dust that flies out from beneath him slowly spells the word 'SEX' into the sky before flying off in a cluster of leaves. There is also a picture of a bare-chested woman in the Rescuers, and in the Beauty and the Beast where Gaston takes final fall from the cliffs of the beast's castle, if you pause right when his face is up close you can see a skull inside each of his pupils.

Personally, I find this insanely creepy. I am paranoid enough as it is. I think it's safe to say however, that the world at least has been dominated by several parties using the subliminal manipulation technique -whatever the aim by the brainwasher in question. And because we, as I said earlier, are often unaware of these hidden messages, we often dismiss them and the allegations as remnants of a sickly paranoid person's imagination. That's because we're naive, and we want to believe the world is perfect. But the more we believe and look into things, the less paranoid and more aware we become. That, in itself, is not a term used for general purposes but only for some. It really is disgusting though, to think that no matter where we are or what we're doing, our minds are being consumed by power-tripping parties with no good intentions and only the intention to benefit from our vulnerable minds. I've noticed however, that the more I search for the subliminal messages in pictures and songs, the easier it is to detect them. I'm not going to go into the song side of things, because it scares the fuck out of me. I love music, and I hate the fact that the subconscious can process lyrical matter and read it backwards even to reveal the hidden message. They did an experiment on this a while back on the radio with Queen - Another One Bites The Dust. Apparently that line played backwards says 'it's fun to smoke marijuana". Its a bit obscured and needs to be played slower to be heard correctly, but the subconscious is capable of practically anything. That's all I'm going to say on the musical matter.
As for the visual media, well.
Get this. As if I hadn't seen enough from Disney - I was playing Super Mario Bros on my NES the other day with my younger sister. And on the underground level where the background consists of blue rocks/bricks and random sprouts of grass, I noticed that the grass in question spelled out 'SEX', downwards/diagonally. Fucking insane, I tell you. I think I am the first to discover this as I could not find any relating or matching posts on that matter. My sister also found a skull that flashes quickly on the flag when you ride the pole down after completing a level. I won't go into the fact however, that there are several visible skulls throughout the game - on the poles that shoot bullets at you. They will use the bullets to fill the void where people question the skulls, but I think it goes deeper than that. It may seem an innocent kid's game but to me it's a morbid deathly subliminal message, conducted to remind children that they will confront death one day and should be aware of it. Or perhaps it is a play of the emotional side of things; depending on the individual's emotional capacity, and with no risk. That's the problem. Another common technique used to detect subliminal messages is image-inversion. The colours reversed can reveal things unseen to the eye... unless you stare at it for a good twenty seconds without blinking, close your eyes then blink rapidly at a white wall. I'm gonna say it again: this is really fucked up; yet so very interesting. Interesting how the words 'SEX', 'BLOOD', 'FUCK', 'DEATH' have the same impact triggering our attention as our names being called would. Who is to blame? Don't make me answer that. The most common subliminal message is 'SEX'. I don't know why, I'm only taking a guess here. I guess it could relate to the domination of male figure over feminine - speaking in a completely different context here - or to manipulate and somewhat hypnotize people into a world where they believe that sex is above all and the most desirable; something we should all engage in. Therefore increasing the population and the idea of destroying and using the world to their advantages. I noticed that many of my Christian friends who grew up with the wish to maintain their virginity until their honeymoons desire sex about the same amount a drunken middle-aged and V-free person might. It's not just society, it's all the hidden bullshit in today's media. No one is safe. You realize that, right? Here are more examples in which the word 'SEX' is visible:
-Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
-Vintage -even modern- comic art
-Cartoons, cartoons, cartoons. DISGUSTING.
I even noticed in a Jantzen ad the shadow of the man's hand on the rope had been altered so that the shadow against his polo formed an 'E', a 'S' was airbrushed deliberately in the sea beneath his underarm, and the 'X' was made for the stitch in the middle of his shirt. Some guy I knew a while back conducted a study in which he took the Coca-Cola logo, examined it and found that it formed someone hanging themselves; and he took another Coke ad to present someone committing suicide by lead poisoning, and an accompanying smiley face. Fuck, at this rate I'll never sleep. So I'm gonna leave it at that. There's too much to say but as I said earlier I am paranoid as fuck and this is just fucking with me. Maybe I'll watch some Bette Midler or play with Myra a little while before I sleep. I am so not finished, though. Continue in daylight.

perhaps...perhaps...

I'm a sensitive soul; perhaps too sensitive. What is it about me that I can drink the emotion of others to an unhealthily excessive weight? I am bloated. I carry the burden of others, and the burden of their indications of irritation. If I look in the mirror, I can see the cellulite molded by frown lines; wrinkles filling a dollar bill. A reminder that I perhaps may still be worth something, but I need to smooth things over in order to see that. I am a child trapped inside a timid old woman. Not too young, but young enough that I can still see the daisies trapped in cracks of dirt on concentration camp grounds. I walk through a butcher and I can still smell my Marc Jacobs through woven scents of different deaths. But I can distinctly pick out from the smell the particular way they died; metallic iron stench slit throat decay beating, bruised and basted meat for bored and sadistic flesh cutting masochists. Of course the man behind the counter will sneer at me; as he wipes his bloodied hands on his apron. Perhaps he likes his job a little too much; perhaps he doesn't like it enough at all. I can tell he does not have the same ability as I do; the ability to sense another, to pick out their smell within brooding crowds. This time, there is no match to light the fire. I will leave the butcher and return to poorly painted moors, where I will sit on a flat-faced rock with my notepad in my crotch. In this world, my pen will never run out of juice. Out here, there is not a single soul to drink emotion unnecessarily from. Unless once in a blue moon, when I'm feeling utterly depressed and just... dead. Perhaps I am sitting on the grave of a child who once felt like a million dollars but is now crumpled pile of bone and gone. I won't be having children at any point of my life; so these ones will stay buried. Until I've finished writing, until I've finished living.

MANCHESTER: so much to answer for

i'm not scared, i felt like this on my way home

do you see it?

boundtonevercryagainBOUNDTONEVERCRYAGAINboundtonevercryagainBOUNDTONEVERCRYAGAINflooredtonevercryagainFLOOREDTONEVERCRYAGAINflooredtonevercry again



see,
   the sun rising is a sin 
            see,
           the moon glowing is a prayer
                      see,
                          the light shining is a fake
                                 see,
                                              the people walking are all dead
                                             see,
                                                       the rain pissing down is all poisoned
                                                       
                                see ;
                     icicles melt before you know what they're for
                 see, i can see perfectly fine the silver lining   -   it's as blunt as a balloon
                                                                   
                                                                                                                           

I'm not bored, I'm affectionately experimental.

where does it take you? i know my place

I now see what the problem is: there is the absence of music.
How does one settle from their day and into night without melody? m-e-l-o-d-y. I am hungry.
My hands glide the black and white blanket; I've finally found the music and instead of duvet covers I grip dusty-with-dirt rocks, my arse nestled in cupped hands of grass. I can smell the smoke perfectly well, as if someone were holding a baby's burnt carcass right beneath my nose and then it's gone with the fly I swat away from my face. The night is cruel, for sure. It can breathe only frost and make smoking a tedious task. All of me: my pores, nipples, tenseness of muscle scream at the stars; USE YOUR GAS TO LIGHT A FUCKING FIRE!
I don't want to be here anymore. Next track.
Now I don't know where I am. It could be my room. The place I've become accustomed to labeling as my 'comfort zone' for years? It doesn't feel that way, though. I feel strangely exposed as though I am lying nude on the floor among a cocktail party, surrounding by a herd of pompous paint sniffers. Or maybe I am unzipping Myra Hindley's dress from behind. Draw the curtains away; here are my teeth. I smile to nothing. Nothing you will ever understand, anyway. Centuries tick by and I am still lying here, my electric blanket roasted me slowly; my blankets basting me to a glow. Her zip is not caught on the side lips of fabric; it just doesn't want to come down anymore. It's probably this Jazz track; much too classy for the occasion, I'd say. Still, it makes me smile. Look at my teeth!
I don't think she's smiling, though. She slides out of my grasp and nudges the exposed wooden floor with her leather toe. I think she wants me to dig. I don't want to, though. It'll smell too much; and I plan on sleeping soon. Maybe tomorrow, after I've purchased my new phone and can invite Ed Gein and Jeffrey Dahmer over for a tea party for the occasion; and Myra will be on my lap, as usual.

floating by.

Right now I sit in oceans calm to the constriction around my body. These waters calm, not

like before when waves slapped me from all angles; rocked me side to side. Pulled me toward

 shallow shores then into deep ends for snapping sharks. I was dipped in and out of the water

with such force by my hair I gathered an unwanted headache. The water now, is neither cold

or hot but lukewarm; with the slight bounce of a steady heart monitor's line. I like it when

I'm like this. I'm not angry, nor sad; but merely calm. But like the sea tugging me this way

and that way, I can't decide whether I am happy or not. I must be, because I'm still here and

still writing. I hit the iceberg long ago, but I'm still treading these waters. Some waters, I find

however, are too vicious to sit oneself in. I might wake up there, but it's not my fault.


Let there be no pirates on this sea; unpredictability salts the air.