Wednesday JAM

Jams I’ve been digging...

For a very, very long time, the world has tried to get me to like Marina and the Diamonds. But it just wasn’t working. I first came across Marina in an article for Tatler about her and her fellow artistic flatmates in their uber coole flat.  At least; I’m sure there was an article but having just spent the better part of an hour searching for it through my old magazines I can’t find it anywhere. The article exists or I’d never of heard about them, and I’m pretty sure it was Tatler because, really, who else? An article about three hip beautiful rich creatives in London? Tatler. And remember I was like… She’s super pretty; she must make great music. And I tried them and I was so wrong. It was like strangled electronica painted pink and wrapped in tissue that smalls vaguely of frangipani and spills glitter EVERYWHERE when you open it; and not in a magical way. In a decidedly annoying way. And for about a year that was it. And then I was listening to Azelia Banks and Princess Chelsea and Youtube was like: You are going to LOVE Marina and the Diamonds and I was like. Meh, maybe. After all, it took me a while to like Gary Numan. But I tried her again- I think I listened to Primadonna? And I said No deal, Noel. It just didn’t happen. And then she started getting all popular and I read about them in a couple of magazines and I was like… pffft. No. But then, just last week, I was dancing around my room doing my makeup and getting dressed in the silliest clothes I own when I gave her another shot and it all clicked.

Marina and the Diamonds is like- everything you want to be, if you’re me. Incredibly famous without too much work; incredibly gorgeous; fairly talented; feminist and fashionable; and the music makes you want to dance. You will probably hate her; unless you are a fifteen year old girl or a fan of Lana del Rey. I find her more irreverent than Lana D and when I listen to Homewrecker or Hollywood I’m vaguely reminded of Amanda Palmer in her ‘Yay Pop Culture!’ moments. I mean. They aren’t GOOD. I don’t think they’re hugely memorable or bring anything very new to the music industry but they’re FABULOUS. Marina is a sort of pin up version of Katie McGrath. (I’m reviewing Katie next week if you don’t know who she is. I don’t want to spoil the fun but it is a hugely favourable review. She might get 5 stars.) I liked her better all sexual with the dark hair like when I first came across her. The new blond look makes her seem younger and all wide eyed silliness. She doesn’t seem as strong and grown up which is possibly the point. Go to her Wikipedia page if you want to read the psychology behind her latest album; Electra Heart. It’ll be as accurate as I am.

It’s just fun. Isn’t it fun? She’s like. Watch me teenage girls; life is full of bubbles and high heels if you only look for them. I don’t think music taste means anything so I don’t feel bad saying I am having a lot of fun with many of her tracks- but not all of them. I still can’t get into Primadonna. There must be something in her indie beginnings which means she doesn’t seem to try as hard as Katy Perry or Nicki Minaj because it does feel more organically created. The acoustic versions maybe feel less so but those are the result of a bigger budget and more fame, I imagine, so it’s hardly surprising. My main complaint would be the whiteness of it all but that’s pretty much a ubiquitous complaint with everything ever. In many ways Marina and the Diamonds are a fantastic accompaniment to the HBO series Girls. They both manage to be indie enough for you to feel kind of proud of watching but mainstream enough for people not to go ‘You’re such an indie fuck’ when you mention that you like them.

I know I may have marginalised her to frilly pop for dancing to but I do have to add: Marina has one hell of a voice. Something about these Welsh girls, I don’t know. To be clear, I’m a singer and I judge a lot on whether a female singer can actually sing or if she’s just a cute pixie with a breathy sound. (Here’s looking at you Cults.) And Marina’s voice sounds classically trained to me. Which makes me she may have at least studied at school and I respect respect for music: by actually studying an instrument. I think passion only gets you so far; at least it can get you SO FAR but you won’t have the integrity as a musician unless you can be bothered to study. Which definitely isn’t the point of Marina but hey. 

I’ve been digging Marina and The Diamonds and I’m not ashamed. 

Asthma

Today I thought I'd give you a Review of Asthma…

So the debate raging on Asthma has been pretty one sided so far. In the interests of balance I would like to present a review that argues for both the merits and the problems posed when coming to terms with Asthma. I am an Asthma sufferer. It’s always been pretty mild: I am not dead, for instance, but it has certainly been a noticeable influence in my life. With the changing of the seasons; what better time to review Asthma and how it’s been going for me.

Let’s be honest: asthma has got me out of some pretty tight corners. I don’t think I ever finished a cross country course, for instance. I just feigned multiple asthma attacks every year. And maybe once I conveniently sprained my ankle. It’s also been quite a good excuse for getting away from Incredibly Boring People. I just say ‘I am so sorry, but I appear to be having an asthma attack’ and because most people don’t know the symptoms they nod worriedly and wish me luck. In terms of how asthma has helped my life positively it scores a lot higher than one might expect. Here are some of the wonderful benefits asthma has brought me …

Smoking: If someone offers me a cigarette these days I smile sadly and say “Asthma.” This implies that if it weren’t for your condition you would DEFINITELY be cool enough to smoke. You’d be smoking like a chimney. But sadly, you can’t. Although I have read dubious scientific studies that smoking IMPROVES Asthma. I’m not quite sure how. Normally when they say ‘improved’ it had less sugar or a new logo. So if you are a smoker with asthma you are totally hitting up asthma that is better for you and looks a little fresher.

Things that make you interesting: Most of us aren’t born very interesting. And some of us stay that way. You are automatically slightly more interesting if you are a woman, a homosexual or a minority but that’s not enough to keep you interesting… you have to have interesting experiences or else people are going to realise you might be gay but despite this you are still incredibly boring. Asthma is quite a good way of being interesting. You don’t have to have something relatively awful happen to you: like being arrested or becoming a Republican. You don’t have to suffer from anything genuinely scary or problematic. On the whole Asthma adds another dimension to you without being too intrusive and with the benefit of being very treatable.

It gives you an awesome stereotype to either conform to or negate: Most people have to fight for their stereotype. It might take them until they are 12, or even 15 before anyone has bothered to put them in a box. Asthmatics are born in a box and this gives us the comfortable option of staying there or, if we chose, proving people wrong. In my experience you get people like me: I’m asthmatic and for much of my life this was a brilliant excuse to be fat and never exercise and people enjoy that. Or you get people like Toby and Harry who were very athletic and it always surprised people that they suffered from Asthma because they didn’t let it hold them back. Basically it gives you a forum on which to be judged by your fellow peers and, like most stereotypes: you can’t choose that that’s how they’ve defined you BUT UNLIKE most stereotypes you also know that it’s true. I’ve known very straight people who for most of their lives were labelled as gay (okay, so the people I’m thinking of HAVE actually all come out as gay now but that’s not my point) without the option and without any evidence to back it up. Some young kids have also picked up the nasty habit of yelling ‘Baldy’ at various people who, being their peers and about 5 years old, aren’t actually bald. They too, have been stereotyped without evidence.

There are, of course, a few downsides to asthma. It’s not always the excuse and point of discussion that you expect it to be. Here’s my list of the unfortunate consequences of having asthma…

It’s fucking annoying: People who have to take the pill will sympathise. It’s very easy to forget something you really need and it’s always VERY annoying when you do. But I don’t know anyone who remembers their inhaler always. And asthma just sometimes comes out to play at random times and it’s really boring. You just have to stop and be slightly anti social for a second, and no one quite gets that so they think you’re rude or depressed.

If you forget your inhaler; you are going to die: The first time I remember being really annoyed with this occurred in the days when I used to play netball. I would forget my inhaler maybe one in six games? And one day we were running late and I remember getting out of the car, breathing in the cool winter air and just knowing. I felt my chest tighten and within minutes I was gasping for air. So I walked across to the St Johns to ask if they had an inhaler I could have a puff of. But NO. They needed a prescription. This is something I have NEVER understood. I CAN’T BREATHE. PEOPLE WHO CAN’T BREATHE EVENTUALLY DIE. I don’t know what illegal drugs Ventolin is used for but if I am a 12 year old girl who can’t breathe I can’t comprehend why you can’t give me the medicine, for goodness sake. It’s so frustrating: you know ONE PUFF would fix it but alas, no. That one puff is denied. This has happened to my dad as well; he went to A and E one night when I was so bad I couldn’t leave the house and was told even if I came in the best they could do was give me a prescription.

“FINE.” He said. “I’LL COME BACK WHEN SHE’S DEAD.” On that occasion I didn’t die fortunately, but in many ways being a martyr so they’d FINALLY REVIEW the process seems like a small price to pay. Are you reading this, Ministry of Health? Tony Ryall do you give a shit? Let us live! I don’t understand!

People don’t really get it. Ever: A few times in my life stick out to me when I think of living with asthma. I remember telling my friend Myrah I had mild asthma going on at the time and she nodded. A while later she asked me if I heard a cat yowling. I was like. Dude, that’s my asthma. It’s like the death rattle of Hades himself. People think, because of the people who suffer from asthma on television that we get it through unfitness, or are unfit as a result. They think we can get it through working ourselves up verbally- which is just plain silly given the number of asthmatics who are debaters. They also think we just breathe heavily; comically moving our body up and down. In my experience it’s more like when babies sleep and they make the most gruesome noises and you’re sure they’re on the steps of hell. You sit there; deathly still apart from your chest which moves irregularly with screams of the long dead coming from your throat. It’s pretty horrible and not that funny. When I was in Nepal tramping, I had the worst attack of my life and as I was lying on my back trying to breathe like a human being (my inhaler was only doing so much because of the cold) the teacher who had so kindly elected to stay with me told concerned passers by I was just sleepy. You cannot know how insulted I was. I didn’t choose the attack and certainly wasn’t intentionally holding up the group (in fact the group had moved on, as you’d expect). And Ms Miles was treating it like a sprained ankle- ‘Let’s do a little more, shall we? Come one, set a goal!’ Which I get if it were a five year old deciding they’d had enough of cross country. But I was 17 at the time: I actually understand asthma now, having suffered from it my whole life and ‘doing a little more’ is DEFINITELY THE WRONG THING TO DO. This is another time I would have died for the cause, but unfortunately my methods worked and eventually I was able to breathe again with ease.

Argh. Asthma.  If I had another chance I think I would stick with it. The annoyance has been character building and I’m not going to deny the convenience. It hasn’t killed me yet, and hopefully when it does it will be in a lets-review-the-way-we-treat-ventolin-and-flixotide martyrize-ing way. 

Study tip 1. (One day someone will make up a really good pun for Monday study tips)

My study tip today is based around my mathematical theorem which has been depicted in the below graph.

This is how that graph works…

Happiness is a state where you don’t overthink things and you do yoga and eat well and sing happy songs as you make your coffee in the morning in the manner of Sean Lock; a comedian who I largely admire for reminding me of my father who I’ve caught singing ‘I’m the best, I’m the best In the WHOLE WIDE WORLD… Who’s the best? I’M the best! In the Whole Wide World!’ many a time. Happiness is good. You want to stay here… but inevitably your pure HUMANITY kicks in and you start to stress…

Which is the start of your problems. OH NO. Being happy has lulled you into a false set of security! And now you’re challenging the very fibre of that happiness! And the minute that happens you’re in dire straits. The minute you start questioning the reality of your happiness you’ve lost it. And the assignments start piling up, and you have to miss a coffee date or two and the work never seems to end.

And then something really bad happens. The sadness kicks in (you may see in my original diagram I had ‘depression’ but sadness is more accurate*) and everything that worried you before is a lot worse now. It consumes you and makes your life miserable for you and barely tolerable for everyone else; especially your friends who LOVE you but would rather talk about their own insignificant problems.

Upliftingly, however, being sad is incredibly boring and you soon find the determination to kick yourself back into action and begin the journey upwards.

Of course: as a result nothing is ever achieved because the cycle means everything good you’ve done is eventually destroyed. BUT HERE IS HOW TO COPE WITH THAT REALITY.

So this is study tip day, not analyse what’s going wrong with your life day so here are my colour coded Study tips for how to best manage each bit of the cycle. (It's not as accurate as I'd hoped. I'd say a wee bit more happiness and a wee bit less determination and sadness. Of course; everyone's different. BUT THE CYCLE IS THE SAME.)

So when you're happy:

• DON'T BECOME COMPLACENT. You are at your strongest and weakest here. 

• Let's say you aim for half an hour a day of three subjects study wise. This could be done on a bus; or in tumblr or television breaks. I would even count thinking about it while running on the treadmill and jotting down your thoughts afterwards. Just half an hour. Three subjects. 

• To prolong your happiness I would drink coffee or Earl Grey tea taken however you fancy. If anywhere around you does it I would also recommend Monks Blend with soy milk. Basically: comforting drinks with no regrets attached. 

• In study breaks listen to JAZZ. Honestly, the more JAZZ you listen to, the happier you are. You will be happiest listening to these kind of, not particularly original but I challenge you not to dance tracks. (If you aren't a fan of JAZZ then firstly, you are leading a slightly less joyous life than I and secondly, fine. Go listen to Revolver.) 

• Be vigilant in getting your alone time: at least 20 mins a day. You could do yoga, or masturbate, or smoke a joint, or anxiously cross things off your to do list. I think a healthy mixture of activities just so as you are familiar with yourself and you know what you want to do. it's whenever I've been persuaded by GODDAMN OTHER PEOPLE that I've done regrettable things. 

• Sleep. Sleep early. Wake early. Whatever early is for you: at the point where it's  little bit difficult to get up but you feel virtuous for doing so. This might be 5.00, or 6.30, or 10.00, or 1 in the afternoon... or any other time. You know yourself better. Trust me. The virtuosity keeps stress at bay for much longer and you have more time to study. 

STRESSED

• Okay. You've got that tight feeling in your chest. Sit up. Stop thinking. WRITE A TO DO LIST. SERIOUSLY, I DON'T CARE IT IT'S ONE IN THE MORNING. DO IT. Does that feel slightly better? If not then I fear you may have Actual Real Problems* which I cannot solve with study tips. 

• It's all about the list; if you're stressed. Refer to it, add to it, cross off from it. It will give you a sense of control. But what you must remember is nothing is ever going to work unless you WAIT UNTIL THE NEXT MORNING. This may sound counter intuitive- like it's 10 am and you've got the list. You could get started right away. But the importance of waiting until the (next) morning should not be undermined. You need to sleep. You need to relax. You know the tasks ahead and probably they are achievable so just relax... as long as you actually DO the list, you don't just throw it away, then there is everything to be gained from waiting until you are in a better head space.

• If you are stressed I would not aim for more study time per day. In fact I would aim for less. Maybe 20mins per subject. If you have high aims you are more likely to not do anything at all than if you have low aims. At least start: If you start then you may finish. As I have said: refer to the list and plan your study accordingly. 

• Stop with the JAZZ. It'll drive you crazy now. What you need is Grrrl Power. Or possibly just Rusko. Go dance. Now. 

•  Limit your coffee to 1 or 2 cups. Coffee is for the happy not the stressed.  Drink these types of tea: Camomille, Peppermint, Green Tea (lemon slices or juice will make you feel alive), anything with rosemary or rose petals in it, Lavander and/or Jasmine Tea. Replace sugar with honey or cinnamon. Then, when you are feeling more relaxed and are either beating the cycle and feeling happy or sliding on your way to being sad drink Lemongrass, Ginger, Lemon, Mulled Wine and whiskey. Don't mix those though. I once had tea with whiskey because I was very cold and it didn't taste as nice as it I'd convinced myself it would. 

SAD

• As bad as it sounds: I always think being depressed is peak study time. Aim for 30 or even 40 minutes a day. This is because it will take you OUT of your self pitying and you can focus entirely on conjugating verbs or whatever you do. Get the most boring, least creative work OUT OF YOUR SYSTEM so you don't have to THINK about your PATHETIC LITTLE LIFE.

• Don't drink coffee. Do you really want to be more on edge or think any more than you actually are? Do yourself a favour and just drink Green tea with passionfruit and lemon in it. Make sure you're getting 5 or 8 glasses of water a day. Basically pick a number and roll with it. The mundane task of it remembering will help you settle into a routine where you don't have to think about how shit everything is all the time. 

• Exercise. Exercise gives you endorphin's. endorphin's make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands. 

• But do exercise. Start for a minute a day- then increase it when you're ready to. Reward yourself with chocolate. It's okay. You're sad. You deserve it. 

• Listen to calming music and light candles. Cry your eyes out. Go on. (Ignore the Rach 3- you'll just get tired.)

DETERMINED

• Drink coffee and black tea again! And all the lemongrassy, fiery rooibosy teas. Your soul needs warming!

• Exercise. Really step it up. Try 10 mins a day! (I know that sounds silly but you get the idea. Start at what seems ridiculously easy for you- be that 1 minute or 30 whwne you're depressed and push that by 2 seconds to 5 minutes each day, or whatever, as you become more determined to be happy.)

• The problem with determination is that you don't want to peter out. To do lists aren't as helpful but Goal lists are. Keep these around you to motivate you. Even if they're just pictures. Whatever helps you. 

• Cut back on studying because you'll probably have something else you want to do and it is better to do a little study than no study. I'd aim for 15-30 minutes a day for three subjects. 

• Listen to what makes you happy. What makes you inspired. I'd go for a mix of Leonard Cohen and The Supremes, but there's me. 

• Take the time out to do something selfish- go to a movie, or finally watch The Young Ones... anything that will remind you of your goals and aspirations. 

• ACT ON THOSE ASPIRATIONS. something amazing might happen.*

So. That's it. How to best get through The Cycle. Next week I'm going to give you: 

I've mastered the Cycle but I'm still missing deadlines... WHY CAN'T I GET MY WORK IN ON TIME?

*I don't want to marginalize anyone who does suffer from Real Proper Depression. We all get very sad sometimes and that's what I mean here. Just sadness. 

*Actual Real Problems are things I'm not equipped to deal with. if your To Do List doesn't even lift your spirits a little bit then I'm worried they might be Actual Real Problems for like, a counselor. Because To Do Lists are usually very potent. 

*And here, I would like to give many many thanks to Robert Shearman for his absolutely kind and delightful comment he left, and the follow on twitter. It's wonderful to see that someone actually successful would take the time out of their day to encourage me, or anyone else. It makes me feels as though I have placed my admiration on the right person. Thanks so much, it really made my day. 

xx Minnie

Be careful what you pretend to be because you are what you pretend to be

So today instead of my sonic (sonic- that was never cool slang was it- or was it? It should be. A lot of multo multo cool things are sonic- anyway if we are taking it literally this comic isn't actually sonic so...) instead of my ultra fab comic (heres hoping one day it will come to be) today you have to sit through a short story I wrote for English last year but ended up not submitting because I was told it would fail. 

Basically what I try to do is write stories about love and usually they are science fiction because I am terrified and slightly sick whenever I think of science fiction. I used to really discriminate against that shit. But then I thought: No. You just have to broaden your mind. And it turns out I like Kurt Vonnegut- in fact, when I have a camera I will show you the t-shirt I made- and I appreciate Philip K Dick. I mean: I always loved Dr. Who and Star Trek so it's not like SCIENCE FICTION was so terrifying; it was just the books and the weird sort of submissive Robot slave things that went on. But through Chekov and Margaret Atwood I slowly came out of my shell. And then- I've mentioned I love Rob Shearman- well I read his love stories and  Do buy and read, I highly recommend it. So I'm just trying to be him, I suppose, and I really wish I could claim more: but there you go. In my defense I read a brilliant quote the other day so read my Friday day's always with THIS in mind. 

PS I just re read this story and I won't say what I think of it because meh I'm young: I will write better and worse things than this in my lifetime and you've got to start putting your work out there sometime. I just thought it was amusing that I explicitly said above that I'm not a fan of submissive robot slaves. And here is a story exploring the art of SUBMISSIVE ROBOT SLAVES. 

The Gut despises the Truth

Mornings were not easy for Frederick. He didn’t like the sun and he didn’t like the birds. He didn’t like the sound of the sea or the wind in the trees. Crickets chirped and butterflies lazily fluttered by and the morning wore on; reminding us both of our failure enjoy the day as normal people did (apparently although we certainly never saw them at it). Friday mornings were better than most as he slept right through them. He never got up before noon. I don’t know why it was always Friday’s he treated as a luxury- it’s not as though he did anything of importance on any other day. Perhaps it was just his programming. Most robots liked Fridays off. I opened the curtains cautiously and watched him blink as cold light filled the room.

“It’s late.” He said, looking out the windows.

“It’s Friday.” I reminded him. “I thought you would enjoy the extra sleep.” Frederick up from the bed and smiled at me. We spent most Fridays listening to the rain and reading. I read History books; telling me tales of Arthur who had a round table and Alfred who burnt cakes and Adolf who burnt people. Frederick couldn’t read of course, but he enjoyed the stories.

“It all seems so very strange.” He would murmur looking at the page with a wrinkled brow- and I never knew quite what he meant.

“Tea?” He asked, and sauntered into the kitchen. It was nice to see Frederick smile. He rarely did these days. His depression had worsened over the years we’d been together although I did everything in my power to change that. It had started when I first realised I loved him. That wasn’t really supposed to happen; falling in love with one’s robot. Frederick and I were not conventional though. He wasn’t a mail order Robot- not like the others on our street. One day he’d shown up with a letter of introduction saying he’d been assigned to me. I called up the company and asked why and a woman told me it was simply a gift and oh, I was very lucky, she said. I ordered her to take him away but she refused. Once you’d been assigned a robot that was it- she supposed you could try and murder it but robots didn’t die, not really. I tried to kick up a fuss but Becket Industries (a sub section of Chekov Inc. who started creating Robots) threatened to hand my files over to the Government. They told me I was suspected of having British heritage, suspected as being homosexual and was suspected as working as a journalist. It was all true and all legal for the time being but no one wanted that sort of information in the hands of the Government. I pursed my lips. It seemed I would no longer be living alone. Frederick was going to live here: eating up my food and creating extra washing. The neighbours worried at first. They told me it wasn’t right.

“It’s his eyes.” They muttered under their breath. We hadn’t seen eyes that brown in a very long time. But as always advertising kicked in and soon Mrs Minchen and Albert Andersch were paying thousands for their own robot- although none of them were quite like Frederick. He’d marched into my house before we’d finished introductions and made himself a sandwich.  

 “I made you one too.” He said by way of apology. And that was that.

As a friend or flatmate- or later when we started having sex- Frederick was easy enough to live with. As a robot he wasn’t exactly what one was led to expect by the ubiquitous advertisements. He hated work, he hated people and by God he hated mornings. He snapped at me and we got into arguments daily. He’d win, always, through sheer stubborn will and I would make him tea and knit him scarves to calm him down. I tried to ignore his constant depression and mood swings but looked on the days where I had to work from home in my possibly soon to be illegal pursuit as a journalist in reluctance.

“Chekov’s Corking Creations.” I read one afternoon as he stumbled from the bedroom to the kitchen where I worked. “The most useful thing you’ll ever buy. Robots will cook, clean, work, design, and last for as long as you do!” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Oh shut up.” Frederick said as I poured him some tea. “I was free; naturally I’m not great quality.” He leant back and took the tea gratefully. “I’m probably defunct.” He said thoughtfully. I sighed. Frederick simply bathed in self pity. Why Becket Industries ever thought it was a good idea to create Robots who felt the same emotions as humans I never knew. They’d stopped doing it now. Too many complaints.

“Probably.” I said. Frederick narrowed his eyes at me and said nothing. “But I’m glad.” I sat back and Frederick asked in spite of himself.

“Why?”

“I get you all to myself.” I said with a smile. Frederick hit me with the paper I was reading. He thought I was being cynical but it was true. It had become obvious to me but within months it was obvious to both of us. At some unknown juncture we must have fallen in love but neither of us said anything, of course we didn’t. He still yelled at me in the mornings and we slept in separate beds but something had shifted. And of course, that was where it all fell down. That’s why there are laws, and rules, and commandments: to stop you from damaging yourself by doing something out of the ordinary. Falling in love with Frederick was not part of The Plan- and those who defy The Plan are guaranteed to fall apart.

One day, when he was out buying milk I’d called up Becket Industries.

“I wanted to know...” I said carefully. “Whether I could purchase any... features for my Robot.”

“Of course.” Said the chirpy woman on the end of the line. “We can do Shazaam, Angry Birds, Scrabble... What were you after?” I bit my lip.

“I wondered if there was a way... I could... stop him from lying to me.” The woman laughed and soon for $14.99 a month I was buying the truth from Frederick. I just wanted to know, for sure, whether he loved me- that was all. I could buy one month then cancel the subscription, I thought. I barely thought of it. It was insignificant. The truth. We should all tell the truth anyway. I just wanted some truth. I hung up with a tentative thank you as Frederick came back with milk and chocolate- and as a treat coffee and cigarettes from the black market.

“Frederick do you love me?” I asked as he walked in and he dropped it all on the floor. He looked at it hopelessly; spilt milk and coffee grounds embedding themselves into our dull carpet.

“Yes.” He said, distractedly, as he set about picking everything up.

 “I thought so.” I said, and helped him. I felt a warm fuzzy feeling in my chest and a smile spread across my face. We carried everything into the kitchen and Frederick sat down with his chocolate and I sat down with my cigarettes.

“I hate in when you smoke.” He said as I lit up.

“Then why did you buy me cigarettes?” I asked, exasperated. “Anyway, I hate it when you eat that.” Chocolate was supposed to be poisonous for Robots but Frederick loved it.

“At least all I get is a stomach ache. You’re going to get cancer. And then you’ll die, and then where will I be?” I stood up and started getting out rice and the other ingredients for dinner. We both knew where he’d be. In a factory, getting rewired and turned into something new- one of the fancy robots my neighbours had who said ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ and cleaned silverware and never yelled at their purchaser. I quietly stubbed the cigarette out.

“Tomas.” He said sombrely and I turned around. He was sitting looking at the table with his brow furrowed. “Do you love me?” He said slowly. I shrugged.

“Of course I do.” I said, and continued making dinner. Our routine started to change after that, slowly. I started buying mugs and towels in sets of two. Frederick stopped yelling at me in the mornings and we started having regular sex which led to sleeping in the same bed. Love was nice- better than I’d remembered and sex was wonderful and a million times better than masturbating. Our relationship was lovely and organic and it didn’t even seem to matter that Frederick was very strange.

“Does it bother you my penis is made of metal?” He said one day over breakfast. I choked on my tea and requested he never, ever, bring up the subject again. He promised- but often did; knowing it made me uncomfortable. Because it did bother me, a little. It reminded me I had completely forgotten to cancel the truth they’d installed in Frederick, and it reminded me that deep down, below excuses; I was never going to. His metal penis had other problems too. I waited until Frederick was out of the flat- meeting up in town with a friends of his he’d met at my friend Greta’s party one day.

“I’m having a problem.” I said to a division of Becket Industries. “This call is confidential, yes?” The woman on the other end breathily informed me it was so.

“My Robot and I... some months ago we began a carnal relationship-” I offered and the woman on the other end sighed sympathetically.

“I’ll stop you there.” She said. “Is the problem that she’s not always up for it?”

“He.” I said, and I heard the sound of typing faintly down the other end. “And yes, that’s the problem.” I was offered a sex drive for $5.99 a month.

“There’s nothing I can do... organically? I asked. I didn’t like the idea of Frederick without free will. That was why I’d fallen in love with him, wasn’t it? His pig headed surety. The woman assured me a sex drive would only increase our happiness as a couple and that Robots weren’t human; a fact we tended to forget in a relationship. I was simply paying for a human quality; it wasn’t fair for either of us to expect the relationship to work without it. She massaged my hesitation away with exactly the right words: words I can’t remember but words that convinced me thoroughly. I loved Frederick and really wanted our relationship to work. After all- we were forced to live together until I died- breaking it off now would be uncomfortable at best. I hung up happily and waited for Frederick to get home. We had sex twice that night. In the weeks that followed I began to think of other ways in which our relationship could be improved. That was the reason they now cost so much, Robots. They were built to one’s specifications. To fit ones needs. And daily I spent more money on Frederick. There was a sense of duty that came with these minor adjustments: I was protecting Frederick; protecting our free will. I called each time with scruples but the calming voice on the end of the phone would remind me that it was okay, that this was for Frederick. For days I would feel wonderful and fine and Frederick would love me and make me tea or black market coffee but then I would catch sight of myself in a reflection and something deep down would stir. I tried to kill it: to squash it with painkillers and sex but it was still there. A black feeling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t long after that when I came home to find Frederick strung from the ceiling. It wasn’t the first time. He’d first done it as an experiment and the second and third times as half-hearted attempts at suicide. He’d always philosophised as Hamlet in days gone by but his depression had been getting worse as the feeling in my stomach grew. I cut the rope and left him on the floor, feeling vaguely ill. I went to make a cup of tea. It’s what my Great Great Grandmother always did in a crisis, my father had told me. You can take a woman out of England but you’ll never take England out of a woman, he’d said admiringly. I sat down and Frederick walked in, rubbing his neck.

“Sorry.” He said. I shrugged and poured him a cup of tea. That was all we said to one another for some time. He wouldn’t meet me in the eye. I caught sight of myself in a teaspoon and sighed, throwing it in the sink. I was beginning to avoid myself; my reflection made me question things in a way I didn’t like. I didn’t want to question myself any more that night- I’d made up my mind and the next day, I made the call. I had been trying for some time to rid Frederick of his depression but his fourth suicide spurred me into action as nothing else this far had. Removing it was costly and dangerous; it was such a large part of who he was. It was what made Frederick who he was. The company assured me nothing would go wrong and said all the usual things and I smiled and gave the lady my credit details and slept well that night. Safe in the knowledge that I’d fixed everything. I was right. Frederick was fixed. My happiness lasted just that night. The feeling in my stomach woke me up at an early hour in the morning and it was worse than ever. I got up to find painkillers and on the way out the door I caught sight of my reflection and stopped to gaze. My body seemed thinner and my skin was pale and evil.  I looked haggard and wrecked; a young man carrying the weight of one many years older. I stepped up close and was reminded of a story my Dad had told me often of a man and a portrait and the fragility of one’s soul. I looked down to Frederick, lying peacefully and back to myself. It was then, although I don’t remember opening my lips that I heard myself speak. And although I felt no words in my throat my reflection was talking.

“It’s all right. Everything will be alright. He is yours- yours. You are playing; tinkering. You will be fine- you will be Great! You are destined to be Great. No man should stop you. Frederick agrees. Lovely Frederick with such blue eyes… this has been growing inside you, yes, you knew it. And know it’s here; in front of you. The Greatness- for you will be great. Release the pain.” I smiled to myself and closed my eyes; forgetting and letting the pain slip away. And it should have worked: perhaps then I would be Great. Great like the hero Winston Churchill- or was it Winston Smith? But a thought occurred to me and my eyes flew open and I stared at my hungry reflection. My reflection smirked but I ignored it- because Frederick had brown eyes. He always had. I flew to the kitchen and grabbed a knife- calling Frederick’s name. I walked back to the bedroom and he was sitting up in bed, blinking in the dark.

“It’s early.” He said, concerned but I barely heard him. Because his eyes… oh they were so very blue. Like the deepest sapphires I had ever seen. And I reached out to him and I held him lovingly and he screamed as I thrust the knife deep into those horrific eyes. As though he were human his blood began to soak into me as I stabbed and stabbed furiously- searching. I knew it was somewhere and I dropped the knife as I fumbled over his limp body. And it was there- on the side of his ridiculous metal penis that I found the reset button. I switched it in agony and release swept over me. I let go and slumped to the floor. Defeated.

Frederick shook me awake the next morning.

“It’s one in the afternoon.” He said. I looked at him. He seemed fine. Certainly he didn’t seem like he had been stabbed to death last night. He bit his lip. “Tomas, are you okay?” He said. “You… why are you sleeping on the floor?” I shook my head and drew myself up.

“Would you make me some tea?” I said quietly. Frederick rolled his eyes and nodded. He stood up and as he moved away I could see myself in the mirror. The horror of last night had gone. I just looked tired. “Frederick.” I said and he paused at the door. “You don’t mind if I smoke do you?” Frederick looked at me for a second and smiled.

“No- you go ahead.” He said and left. I blinked. I smiled with relief. It was the first lie Frederick had told me in such a long time. Perhaps everything had been a dream, I thought as I lit myself a cigarette. But then- no. I remembered as Frederick came back with my cup of tea. It can’t have been a dream. We sat talking on the bed for a very long time. There was an old photo of us on his bedside table and I kept looking at it. His eyes had definitely been brown. They were in the photo. I nodded and smiled as Frederick said something amusing. His eyes were blue now. 

THE PLAN

The plan is this: (I just need a plan or I'll forget to ever do anything. I'll just lie in bed with a vibrator watching Merlin or something. I don't actually own vibrator though- maybe I should buy one? I know some of them are like $145 but there must be cheap ones around. Basically what I'm saying is Mum; this is my creative outlet AWAY from family so just go away, please. Follow me on tumblr and twitter- isn't that enough? You see me EVERY DAY.)PS I never ever post on tumblr so like, dear people, follow me for the novelty if you want- like I follow Sean Lock on twitter but yeah. Expect nothing. So in order what I actually WRITE and shit here is my blogspot schedule:

 Monday: Study advice, complaints and questions. Because school sux and university isn't easy.

Tuesday: Review of something everyone should know about. Like a TV show or a Book or a Movie or a product. Or even a religion.

Wednesday: Music. The music that's been in my SOUL all week.

Thursday: Politics or just What Been Done Happening and This Be My Opinion WORD

Friday: This will be when I post my collab Comic with Lily Paris West but this won't be ready to even start until at least a month from now so I guess I'll do a vlog or post a Short Story instead. It's gonna be fabulous- about two teen sisters with magic powers but I haven't written much and I can't draw so like. I don't even know if Lily has the time but I kind of NEED HER. So yeah hang out for that but you'll have to put up with my stories till then. I try really hard to be Robert Shearman but eh. I'm just. Not.

Yeah Rob love of my life.

 ewwwkay today is Thursday so like... lemme get started on politics.

(this will be changed)

Sort of. I can't... really get worked up tonight? Also I've already written a LOT and writing is stressful to poor wee internet reader. So in Thursday's to some I'll provide interesting and insightful thoughts on stuff. Today it's just a little feminism. Next week I will do a long "Here are my views on race and feminism' because race needs to be talked about if I plan to talk about feminism, and it weeks to come I'll expand on the shit I've written tonight, among other things. So forgive  me and don't quote anything I say tonight.

 I am a feminist and a super proud one who is also a fashion person. Not a clothes person; a fashion person. Clothes people are very different. As a human at least three things I read a day make me roll my eyes and as a feminist this increases by 67.2%. I am constantly getting annoyed over "Make me a sandwich" jokes and FUCKING MEN YELLING AT ME FROM THERE FUCKING CARS OH MY GAWD GET OVER YOURSELVES AND GO HAVE A CRYWANK . So men and women everyday make a comment or do something that challenges the idea of what feminism is. I think writing can be off putting to people so today I'm just going to deal with the typical statements that I get all the time and how I feel about them and next week I'll actually write something intelligent...

Typical dick: "You can't be a feminist. Look at you- you're dressed like a pinup model."

Self respect man. I love myself. I am actually incredibly vain; and most days my aim in style is '90s goddess meets Medieval Sorceress but YES GODAMM I love fashion and like most plus size girls I find refuge in  lingerie and red lipstick. And not even approaching the subject of assault and rape It is so disrespectful that someone would even try to out you in a personalty box based on how you dress: I know first impressions matter but often I get the 'FEMINISTS CAN'T LIKE FASHUN thing after I've explicitly expressed I am a feminist. Like grrrrr. That's like "I'm Jewish." Well, soz but you haven't got Payot so I don't think so. Freedom of speech is a basic human right; as is, I believe, freedom of thought. Every time you say I can't do one thing or it negates another you're undermining me and it's annoying.

Typical dick: "I'm not a feminist."

But. It isn't like you have to be Riot Grrrl and into Punk and a lesbian and man hating. Do you want equality? Please tell me you do.

Typical Dick: "Feminism isn't necessary in this day and age."

Because? Putting aside the West- where in theory everything is equal between white men and women  (it isn't but even putting that aside) have you ever turned on the television, read the paper, like maybe browsed twitter? Feminism is entwined in religion and race and it is so important. Ignorance is no excuse. I have mentioned on this blog I am basically atheist despite some spiritual/Wiccan things what I do but I'm all in favour of Religion as long as it isn't needlessly hurtful. And so much of religion is needlessly hurtful... and it isn't okay. More than feminism is needed to change peoples attitudes and build a better future but it's important that feminism is out there.

Typical Dick: "Girls belong in the kitchen."

Oh grow up.

 Kay from now on I am definitely saying 'beeped' instead of 'texted':

 Me:I just got Beeped.

 Me: Awwww Yeeeaaah.

<3



xx Nico

There and back again...

Or the Return of the King. I am heavily into my fantasy worlds at the moment and CAN'T SEEM TO ESCAPE THESE DAMNNED DETECTIVE NOVELS. It is Sherlock at the moment; in the wake of the recent film and television series... aren't we all so in love with Benedict Cunberbatch and Martin Freeman? Brilliant casting my dear Steven Moffat.

I have been unable to load photos on to my computer for years and years hence me not posting anything ever. I find it difficult to concentrate on words on a computer- they all swim before my eyes and dance and give me headaches. Apparently I have a follower now, which is tres tres strange given I haven't written ANYTHING practically. But forward we press. I now have a tumblr which has absolutely no direction as I don't really understand the meaning of tumblr. I'll link it on the side anyway. I have thusly learnt to manipulate photos and create gifs and oh my life has taken an exciting new turn.

Voila; some New York Graffiti and outfit photos from my heavily mod stage. (It has calmed down muchly since then.)

oh au revoir- the night is young and I wish to go dancing...there is time later to post pictures of me posing in front of a camera wistfully.

xx. nico.

ps. oh alright i'M STAYING UP LATE TO WATCH SHERLOCK.

Today

Hello from Sydney. I am on the way to NYC but have to wait in transit for half my life before I get there. I'm typing off my mothers I-pad which has proved to be an extremely difficult endevour testing my will and my strength beyond human capacity. My outfit is really good but due to my card reader for the camera dying of exhaustion after the first flight we boarded I can't upload any pictures. I am jolly bored. I can't even eat the free sausages because they are FULL OF PORK.

I will now tell you that story.

Once upon a time I was very very young. I spent my summers and public holidays on the farm near our beach house where lived a lovely pig who I think I named Henry. I loved him with all my heart and one cloudy day he was simply... Gone. Someone had eaten him for Christmas. And thus I do not eat pigs.

Oh zana bayne. I FINALLY found something of hers I could ACTUALLY wear on my BODY. And I can't find it anywhere.

Must remember Patricia Field NY.

Well, sayonara.

Xx nico.