Memories: 1 July 2025

1 July 2025

9:05 am I woke up to Beau singing and sunshine outside. Lots of golden light after the rain. Yayyy!

1 July 2024

Cold bleak day. A shock after the heat and sunshine of yesterday! I made a 3 hour vlog for YouTube. Intense. But cathartic I suppose.

1 July 2023

2.02 am home from dancing. When I drove into my driveway I saw a black cat scurry out from behind my fishpond. He must have been hunting, or perhaps stopped by to drink out of the fishpond. I am sure it’s one of my neighbour’s black cats.

I will take it as a sign of good luck. I have always adored black cats. I miss my cats.

I am tucked up in bed with my Beau, a cup of tea, and have devoured a slice of banana bread.

I am utterly exhausted. It was very cold tonight.

I danced wildly but wore myself out early. C’est la vie Babies. It was good to dance and have one night of revelry.

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https://youtu.be/ppk4s5CKSWM

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So randomly he climbs up high on my pillows and sits on my head. It hurts my neck so I am gonna move out of his way in a moment. The brat!

1 July 2022

Murmurations, fleeting and whirling and changing in all four directions.

Which end is up? Who will hold my hand at the end of my life?

On which side of history will we land?

Flying, flowing, giving more than we had while seriously ill and depleted…

But never truly defeated. The way of the warrior goddess.

Lunacy amidst the luminousity. Outliving the daily atrocities. Positivity plumping itself then fading to grey. Never mind…there is always another Phoenix rising. Ain’t life grand?!

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So yesterday, feeling very weak indeed, almost floating out of my body, I pushed myself (after leaving the hospital) to go to Cocos to buy a pumpkin and a few meagre vegetables. Dystopian, the extraordinary cost of basic food now.

I started to panic but pushed that down too. But I did rush out of the store with the barest minimum. The pumpkin was very heavy to carry and my lungs were struggling.

Shit I thought. Dying is a pain in the arse. But not dying today or tomorrow I thought. Manatoa…Manatoa…mad Mama T and her fucking Manatoa.

So I put the hefty vegetables in the boot of my car and suddenly felt an urge to go to the Vinnie’s store. I walk in, laboured breathing, feeling weak. Thinking to myself: what the fuck? What are you doing? Just bloody go home!

But something stirred my discombobulated psyche and my lungs. I looked around, and got inspired by two lovely skirts. I need new skirts as my old ones are almost threadbare! I just wear them around the house now, or in the garden.

So I look at the skirts. They added up to $20. It was a good price for such lovely skirts. I ummed and ahhhed. Tried to talk myself down from spending more precious resources. But a funny thought hit me..go ahead and die if that’s what you want but in the meantime it is incumbent on you to clothe yourself. Live in this body, in the now. All will be well. Quit worrying about money. The stress of that alone is killing you. Aight.

I go to the counter to buy the skirts. In a cabinet is a beautiful cloisonné necklace that I donated to my one of my friends in the neighbourhood. I know it was mine as it had a distinctive shiny chain. Whomever I gifted it too, donated it to charity.

All good, I always say “pay it forward” if I give something to someone that they don’t want.

But the necklace stared at me and I stared back at it. I would have bought it back. Just so it knows it was loved. But I don’t need it. I gave it away as I have too much costume jewellery. I have given most of it away.

So I just smiled and prayed that someone will find it in the cabinet and love it and buy it! Somehow I felt it was rejected /abandoned /and lonely yet still it shone bright with its weird shiny chain and its bright blue Cloisonné enameling.

Love everything…everything. Everything.

Atoms that make up the clothes we wear or the cars we drive or the furniture we sit on and the accessories we decorate ourselves with…need love too 🙂 .

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11:38 am home from the skin doctor. It was a bit surreal. His receptionist did not recognise me, asked if I had been there before? I stated I was there to get my stitches out on my third incision and that I had been coming for 5 weeks and that I have felt tortured.

She just smiled at me wanly. Like I was a ghost or a zombie. Perhaps I am 🙂. I did play Zombie before leaving the house but only to stomp out that Dybbuk Gisela, my progenitor.

So the doctor calls me in, and as I enter his room I observe his eyes slip sideways. Hmmm. Guilt, or shame? Who knows?

I remain calm and congenial even though my ancient ones were bloodcurdling in ancient Tuvan throat singing deep in my gut. I felt like I was going to be smashed with diarrhoea. Ahhh containment. Breathe.

He runs his hands lightly over the other two scars to check they have healed nicely. Takes the stitches out of the wound where the cyst had been. The middle one hurt and I winced…but all good. The rest come out easily.

I tell him with a voice that sounds brittle, almost robotic that I am healing myself in all vectors of my mind, body and spirit. I ask him when I will need a check up?

6 months! Be’ezrat HaShem the sunshine that I love so much does not keep slaying my body and I don’t sprout any new cancers.

I tell him “the world is going down in flames so we must all strive to be happy”. Why did I say that? Who cares about happiness when we are entrenched in a weird fucked up psy-op game for our merest survival.

But my angels pass on these glib messages from my mottled cyanotic lips. I am being used, like a soul-ridden zombie corpse prophetess, and when I think about it…it’s hilarious.

Must go inside and lie down on my bed with a nice cup of tea and some chocolate and contemplate my life force, my Ruach, my ancient ones who always always resurge me, and examine my happiness: hardwon in a time that feels like a cracked open seed, emanating light and love and exponential potential even amidst the shit, the grit and the pathos.

Manatoa, moan my maori cousin’s ancient grandparents. You have Manatoa.

Aue, spirits….but for how much longer?

For as long as the gods decree..eternity or a momentary blip in the space-time conundrum…riders in the storm, hold your head high… Little One.

Um…okay. Thank you. Arohanui! xxxx

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Lmao my evil pustulant dead mother is here (ach du lieber Gott, Omi is here!). (Oh dear god, grandma is here)

I was singing a few notes between languorous hacking spasms. One of the notes sounded like Bali Hai from South Pacific. (I was raised on Hollywood Musicals by both my mother and half sister!)

What can I say it was the 60s and 70s and everyone was self-soothing and obfuscating their roles as protectors of their actual children…but we had sweet little songs to compensate yeah? Aber Nein!

Even as a child, if I rolled my eyes any more, I would have dry empty sockets. C’est la vie. La vie en rose.

You can’t pretty up a terrible debauched childhood by wrapping it in ribbons and bows and favourite things and shit glitter all over it. God only knows those evil dirty bastards tried!

So I put on South Pacific, play Bali Hai. Lovely but humorous. As always my family of origin are funny as hell!

The next song “wash that man outta your hair!” That’s how I knew it was my mother’s inspiration to play South Pacific.

I told her to get herself hence to the 7th echelon of hell…but we all know that creature is immersed in my bones and dna. She is an albatross, a dross I can never shuck off.

It’s interesting she is here. Probably circling like a vulture to claim my spirit.

I will need extra protection even in the final death throes. That demon shall not have me.

Hmmm Spotify keeps playing Bali hai on repeat. What is the message I am not getting?

Better find out asap before I visit my latest skin doctor sadist for the stitches removal.

Psy sighs.

Tchuess! (Bye bye!)

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I got woken up at 4 am by the need to pee for the fourth time tonight (argghhhh) and screaming curlews outside my house that sounded like thinly wailing banshee. Momentarily I freaked out, as I feel so close to death right now. I lay in bed and listened…Nup I feel sure a Banshee would be much louder and more terrifying.

I climbed back into my bed, from the cold bathroom, having also let the dog out for a pee, exhausted and craving more sleep but got sidelined by checking my emails.

I am excited and vindicated that Vocal media finally published not one but two of my journal entries that they had kept refusing to publish (until I went supernova and fought them yesterday!) I told them I will have my truth and I will be taking it with me to paradise.

I was actually fighting to have only one story published but they also published the March one. Wow. I had purposely left it in the draft section as a silent protest that it had not been published. So thanks Vocal Media!

I am learning each and every day that fighting for every scrap of my existence: including my own breath, my own Truth, my creativity and my place on this planet is finally being recognised and validated.

Pity it has taken this long, and is this late in my life that I may not be able to survive much longer.

But here I go. Another miniature triumph.

But I must sleep now. I have to see the skin doctor in the morning to have the stitches removed from the last incision. Hopefully I don’t grow any more skin cancers for the rest of my life as I am done!

Boker Tov, (good morning) my beloveds. It’s now 5 .03 am. Another day in “Paradise”!

1 July 2021

Spoilt Mama T cooking dinner with all the delicious goodies provided for me by my gorgeous friend. To all my friends and the gods, ancestors, elementals that have loved me, protected/defended me, blessed me, honoured me. Fed me, clothed me, heard me in my many various trauma processings, loved loved loved me to Infinity and Beyond.

I am so astonishingly amazed and graced by your deep unabated love. Especially when I can be such a pain in the tochas (arse!)

Just Wow!!!

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My faery goddess just waved a magic wand and someone (one of my Earth Angels who shall remain nameless!) has sent me groceries.

Thank you my Darling. Much appreciated! Quel Surprise!

1 July 2019

11:11 am. Bathing sunshine on my very sore Donai belly. Marvelling in the White flesh and the tiny ancient silvery lines from 34 year old stretch marks. Marvelling in the new surgery scars healing so quickly. Only the drain incision still an open wound. But itchy. So itchy. The sun will dry out the subcutaneous flesh and strengthen my skin.

The light breezes caress me like a gentle lover’s touch. The only touch I receive...from the wind and air and spirit. Better than the laying of hands of any false malevolent human.

The sun is my father. At times a burning man but only if I expose myself to his heat too long.

The earth, my mother is doing her best to support me even as her children spit and spawn and spread poison both physical and ethereal all over the globe. She tells me “Fear not! I have got this...the rising and the shining!” Her wrath lies crawling beneath her skin and she waits in silent contemplation for the next outburst of courage under the sunny fire and the humanoid constant betrayal.

They have raped us. Despoiled us. Soaked us in our own blood and tears. But each time we Rise we become mightier and fiercer and more loving, more loving than anyone can ever ken.

We were underestimated and devalued, slandered and denounced. Stabbed in the face and back and even sides. But we rebirthed ourselves. As is the way of the warrior goddess.

Glory be to the lowest of the low and to the Supernal Highest. Everything is illuminated and everything is connected.

Just for today I must heal...😉

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Watched Harmony. Interesting movie. About energy transference and harnessing the energy of love and transmuting Fear.

1 July 2018

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Thinking of the woman in the hooded jacket last night, as we walked back to my car, past the peep shows and night clubs on Brunswick Street. It’s 2.30 am and the streets are filled with drunks and punks and shadowy people, psychic vampires, people waiting for their bus home on their inevitable ride back to an ordinary, less glitterati, less disco balls-upped life.

I stride along with Jenny and we laugh together. Two older women living our freedom and our joy. Exhausted but content. I look at the people, gaping at us from the bus lines. I quip to Jenny “At least we don’t have to take the fucken bus tonight” and we laugh heartily. It’s cold and we are tired and I have always hated taking public transport.

We saunter near the hooded woman and I have a sense of déjà vu as she calls out to me as I approach “I love your Hat!” I am wearing my purple top hat, my biker jacket, my cowgirl boots and my cronedom seeps out of me like honey butter on molten cupcake. (It’s all attitude!)

I stop long enough to look into ancient eyes in a pale and youthful face. A completely bald head (shaved?) leukaemia?!) Hard to tell but I See into her soul in a brief moment of searing recognition and I smile my sardonic smile of one who knows.

“Thanks Darling, that’s lovely of you!” Our eyes are gripped in a tight embrace.

“No. Thank you!” She says emphatically. I feel a brief confusion as I withdraw my energy and proceed to walk on into our night. Dark nights of souls and angels on the streets of Brisbane.

What the fuck was I being thanked for?

For dressing to my own power and flowering in my own fate?

Perhaps she thanked me for Seeing her and showing appreciation for her compliment? But it felt deeper than that. Sublime.

One always knows when one has been in the company of angels. It nourishes one in a way that we don’t always recognise in the moment. Something to savour like an after-dinner mint or a memory that brings a smile to wizened weary lips.

No! Thank Youuuuuu!

Sweetness and light amidst the dreck and dross and gross malfeasance.

A blessing on your head.

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I had a great night last night with Jenny.

Today I am exhausted and have had a roiling anxiety. Everything I read today (Trump, Malka Leifer’s continued career as a paedophile) has been triggering.

Life seems so ugly and pointless and fragile.

Yet still we must hold on to the intrinsic beauty of our own innate power (Mana!)

I wrap myself in Love. Love for a tiny little girl who deserves better. Myself.

Love for all the children held in detainment camps for the “crime” of needing a safe place to grow up in.

Love for all the wounded loveless adult women who were debased and tortured, raped, molested, stolen from, torn as children and as adult survivors for the “crime” of being beautiful, vulnerable, of existing at all.

For the crime of wanting to be loved and cherished and protected but instead we fell in love with our prison guards/rapists of soul and mind and body and heart (when they trampled on our free and wild, fierce and beautiful Hearts they took too much). Decades, Eons, Paradigms fell by the wayside but we clung on.

Stragglers and strangers threw us a lifeline - a kind word here, a smile, thanked us for seeing them in our own cloaked Raiment of Hell and a juxtaposed joke of paradisiacal maniacal stubborn belief in justice, truth, freedom and courage. Of hope, purity of spirit (purged and tempered like steel in the Phoenixian Fires).

Someone strange but glorious was created. But we cannot see ourselves in our own pain and suffering for as Quixotic heroines we poke and prod our languid spears to tilt at crumbling windmills still crunching our grain to grind the bones of men into wrathful grapes and feed our lives with manna and wine.

Divine!

Blech! It’s all bollocking bullshit, innit?! This life. This quest. This longing for Love and family and partnership and community and sensate sensual bliss.

I am stuck in a virtual reality and a programme and I scream and shout and stamp my feet but no one hears/sees/feels/ or even wants me.

All good. Been here a million times. I will rant and rave and rage against the ghost in the machine for I still believe I have Worth and Merit and meaning and honour and integrity and a tribe who understand whom I am Becoming and the tangled path that led me to this point.

(Even the smallest person can change the fate of the World!)

I am small. Short. Financially stunted. Often Munted. Stymied. Atrophied. But I am Alive. Aware. Awake. I matter. I am nothing and no one and in that paradox I am everything and everyone and a tiny seed of all that is/was/ever shall be. As are we all.

Copyright Tanya Desiree Arons.

“Screaming Mimi”

“Psychedelic Dreamer”

“Mama T”

“The Tanya”

“The Desired One”

1 July 2017

I have lost a filling in my back molar. No pain as yet but it is weird that I should be losing yet another tooth. Oh well. Back to the QE2 dentist I go.

I have had a few weird enlightening epiphanies today too. Life is surely gifting me with many blessings and much releasing of old dead loves. My zombie aspect holds close to dead loves, nurtured them from my dried out breast and broken heart. Feeds and feeds and bleeds her soul into a thousand paradigms, silently screaming into the Void.

False superficial friends exist as reminders of my existential Angst.

Thank you to Kelly Anne who reached out to me this morning, a fellow compatriot of pain inflicted by blood curdling mindless sadistic ghouls fleshed out as lovers/ family and former husbands.

She comforted and reminded me that I am Loved, Valued and Valuable. That my life for what it's worth has Worth and my struggles to find real enduring love with authentic people are meritorious.

We walk down the same road, beset by bad plumbing and abysses of such pure Hell but we climb from every cesspit and every gravelrashed open grave and we fly in the face of our own fury and desire for peace, justice and freedom.

Love me or leave me. Uphold me or sully me. I am whom I am and I offer no excuses for that triumphant strident home-coming.

Old friends have acted strange and abandoned me. Voyeurs that stalked me in the Brisbane CBD night life now hide and snidely, contemptuously debase me.

Hell Hashem even flushed out an old enemy in the CSA forums. I wonder how much healing of putrid ancient wounds that festered underground in my soul I will be forced by the truculent Fates to endure?

When will Lady Luck and the Goddess of Love enrich and ennoble me with my long desired reward? If not in this lifetime, then when?

When can I pass from this soporific dream and find my locus and my Lotus? When will the gods gently let me go and let me flow into a beatific Oblivion?

Never or just for today in an eternal Accursèd Nows.

I am Loved. Truly Deeply Faithfully. By non-humans. That is my greatest blessing.

1 July 2016

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Back inside from the garden. I also pruned my gardenia, night-scented jessamine and cardamon. The front garden looks almost civilised now. I moved the Aloe Vera right up the back corner near the banksia. So I think I am done for today.

Just made a cup of tea, washed off the garden dirt and time to rest methinks. My arms are very sore from the hives.

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1 July 2015

Today has been a distressing day. I have done all I can. It would be nice if people would quit victimising me.

My conscience is clear. The proof is in the pudding!

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1 July 2014

Another Paedophile Bites the Dust. Rolf Harris. I used to be a fan as a child. Sickening! Glad justice has been served for his Victims.

1 July 2013

Did most of the dishes, epic! Hung out washing in the wind and rain and loved the fresh wildness but worried about my health so scurried inside. I'm told weather will fine up tomorrow so perhaps my washing will dry.

I also made a huge of pumpkin soup. Yum! I feel a bit weary from my sudden surge of activity.

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Just woke up to another Wet Monday. Blech! Oh Well, good for the garden even of it does give the roses Black spot lol. I am still getting a few blooms.

1 July 2012

My other Angel, whom is greatly missed.

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Ok. Banana Bread is in oven! Estimated time of Arrival is 20 more minutes. Can't wait... nom, nom, nom! This will not be so funny in a week or two when I am forced to confront the reality that I've gained a few more kilos. Meanwhile Death by Carbs is soooo much Fun!

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Good day! Quiet but mellow. Got dishes done (epic), washing done and cleaned the guttering at low part of roof that I can just access from a step ladder!

Thinking about baking another banana bread tomorrow. Yum! Except I eat it in two days so it's not good for what is remaining of my figure lol.

1 July 2011

Cumquat Marmalade is made and placed in jars. Just waiting for it to cool down. Tastes yum! I still have quite a lot of fruit on the tree so might have to make more Jam LOL.

1 July 2010

instead of cleaning house today, I fertilised all my bulbs, and made shadecloth pouches with spaghnum moss for my orchids growing on the outside of the pots which looked decidedly dry and sorta dying off.

Hohum. The battle of the dishes, floors etc wins again. Let you know when I get scabies, or something?! (The garden looks great and the galahs sing happy songs while munching).

1 July 2009

True prosperity is having all your dreams come true and not even realising it.

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Gosh, after 15 years, I have rediscovered the delights of an electric blanket and a car horn. I wonder what other necessary domestic delights I will realise I've been missing all these years, will come to light. (I'm thinking either a George Foreman grill or a sandwich maker).

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I have found my favourite business "Kandahar" in Woodridge. I am so thrilled. I've been looking for that shop for ten years.

Oh and Courtenay fixed my air horn so I can beep beep people to let them know I'm coming through or stop them from reversing into me.

Copyright Tanya Désirée Arons