Memories: 17 July 2025

17 July 2025

6:41 am I just woke up, feeling a bit rattled. During the night (around 3 or 4 am) I woke up from a dream that Joanna Lumley “Patsy” of Absolutely Fabulous fame had died. She was eating what looked like red caviar out of a tiny white ice cream bowl. It could possibly have been crushed raspberry ice but it looked more like tiny red eggs.

She looked radiantly beautiful, her hair piled up as her character Patsy dies. She looked around 40 but in real life she’s probably around 70? She was surrounded by white light. I immediately freaked out as I hope like hell it was just a dream and that she is perfectly well and happy. One of my most favourite British actors!

Also I don’t know her personally, so there is no reason why she would visit me during her transition period as many of my friends and family and even that dead ex lover David Davidson did.

So I put myself back to sleep, telling myself it’s just one of my nightmares.

I woke up earlier than usual today, so my brain demanded I be present and accounted for, for any news that might come my way.

It’s cold and dreary and rainy outside. But here I am, holding my own on Sacred Space, Brisbane Australia, Planet Earth. Ready for anything.

Update: I just googled her. She is 79. I pray she is thriving.

17 July 2024

10 am Revivified zombie Dancing Queen slept for 11 hours and 45 minutes last night. Only two pee breaks during that time. Impressive. It looks like cpap is working.

Pity my days are full of nasal congestion and my lungs struggle, coughing up phlegm. But at least I am getting better sleep (I assume!) and while the mask is on, I don’t cough or struggle with my Schnozz.

I’ve been using cpap for 13 days. I’m told one usually adapts to it after two weeks. So hopefully this is the shot to a better health for the Tanya who frankly is over decades of interminable suffering.

59 years of it. Quite enough. But if this keeps working I will bloom exponentially, I will prosper, I will thrive and I will keep jive turkeying my hide with my wild shamanic dances. Fly over the mountain, breathe fresh air and create new vistas and just Love!

…

@Mirchi, Paddington. The aromatic scents of the Indian food drew me in. I had a wasted trip to go see my favourite band. Fought my way through traffic and had to walk a lonnggg way to the Lord Alfred only to discover it was a Private Function.

Awkward. But I bought a JD, then fought my way through the busy football Crowd and then walked back up Paddington. Decided to shout myself dinner on my walk.

This way it was not such a wasted trip. 🙂 C’est la vie. I was being spontaneous. Adventures are lovely things sometimes.

17 July 2023

12:26 pm. The day is grey and murky which perfectly matches my mood. I stayed up until 2 am, working on my vocal media journal.

It takes forever to copy across and rescue my Memories and quirky stories from the vaults of Facebook. But I deem them valuable so I pushed myself through all the trauma reactivating and the howling giggles at some of my conversations in the dance scene. It’s been an interesting life, hard to navigate but enriching spiritually, if not fiscally.

I have seen so much personal growth in the past 8 years since my suicide attempt. Staying in love with my gods, ancestors that love me, and my own wild spirit has gifted me much joy and courage in the midst of horror and grief over our current paradigm.

I have been listening “The End of Covid” which has modules on all the many varied ways we as a global population were sold down the River Styx. I am so glad of my advocacy, courage and utilising my god-given intuition when the world went completely mad and began its inversion perversion.

The Covid Epoch has ended. There is much to be answered for, and egg on thousands of faces but I realise it will never end. The governments (and billionaire “elites”) will drum up new disasters and we the people need to hold our ground on our small patches of planet earth.

Love each other. Fight for our freedoms. For peace. For joy. For our right to live in relative comfort, ease and safety.

…

17 July 2021

I just had a lovely chat with Annie in Wales. It’s 30 degrees there. Sweltering! Love you, Annie x

17 July 2020

Spontaneity is the essence of life. Wellsprings of happiness bubble forth and send out waves of wellbeing.

Crap merchant babbles oblique nothingness, to create a spontaneous illusion of normality.

The writings of a madwoman…being worshipped from afar…hopelessly devoted to you.

Faint echoes of lost loves reverberate inside my mind…I look neither left nor right, I hide from the reality of carrying a love for those who were left behind. I resent the bullshit that is left inside my psyche. I feel like a trussed up old whore worn out from the knowledge of my failures and despondency.

I sit here and contemplate my future…what would it be like? – if I could only transform all the emotional flotsam and jetsam from my past, let it subside like the ebbing tide and flow with the light and joy of new loves, better loves, reciprocated and respected.

I struggle still to love myself enough to feel whole again. My psyche has been shattered like a broken mirror…the shards and pieces make a mosaic of pain, loss and fear.

I surrender to this shame, this sense of emptiness…I know when I reach down into the depths, the pit of my loneliness that I still have the ability to slowly rise to the heights of ecstasy again. No man can ever destroy me, not for long…I am strong, I am determined, and most important of all, I am free.

I surrender to my freedom, knowing that it is hard won, and a blessing bestowed on one who has suffered. It is like a medallion, made from an alchemical alloy, some gold, some silver, some platinum, some titanium…shining in the sky blue sunlight…some hope, some courage, some light, some strength.

I am afraid to lose it…it is more precious than diamonds, rubies…plutonium. I have tasted it and it is good. So what do I do now that I have made peace with my enemies…those that I cannot trust, those who have proved themselves beneath honour, valour or moral decency?

It encircles my heart like a vice, clenching, squeezing my lungs, the soul of memory strangles my rational mind. We all know, it was not safe for me.

We all know it was pure intuition that brought me back to the scene of my destruction, the house of pain, the mother of inconstancy and her manipulative evil boyfriend.

Perhaps I hope and trust in the fact that senility renders my mother poisonless…that her time without me had taught her humility, that she knows and understands the price of having me in her life…kindness, respect and unconditional love.

Is it too high? Is it too much? Will I once more be damaged by facing the hag of my past illusions of familial love?

The embedded longing deep within for love, to be seen, heard, understood, loved passionately, uncompromisingly and respectfully, the sensation of free-wheeling into the mindless future, of not knowing where I will be from one moment to the next.

I walked down dark and misused alleyways of my mind. Pondered the failure of a past relationship…wondered how I could have been so wrong, when my heart continues to say “Yes”, to the ghost of a man that hurt me so long ago, and yet the memory is as fresh as yesterday…in my heart he is still with me, a millisecond of thought away.

A strange and unholy bond that should have been broken so long ago. Later on, I became ill, so maybe the yearning was just a manifestation of a physical malaise.

Everything has to be all right…give it time and it will flow all right…it has been a long journey of despair and loss but things have started to smooth out all right…you’ll see…it will all go your way in the end and you will be all right.

Noone will steal your freedom and noone will stand in the way of your happiness. It is your right and privilege and all will be well with you.

The blessings bestowed upon you will heap up and you will glow effervescent in the darkness of your mind. You will no longer linger in the shadows of your own mind…it will be erased.

There will only be beauty all around you. Your talents will come to the fore and you will make a living doing what you love. Writing and performance…there is a whole new world opening up to you and it is close, very close to becoming a reality.

You will have to work hard and trust in yourself, but it will explode…just let your thoughts find expression…you have much to teach the world, much to explore.

Finding oneself alone, after a lifetime of being surrounded by loved ones, feels very strange…like an air of expectancy is around you, a sense of mystery and an awareness of magic, lingers in the air.

4 November 2004 © Tanya Desirée Arons

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I just came across this from 2014: Wow!

March 5 at 10:32pm near Brisbane

"I met a man who sang the blues, I asked him for some Happy News, but he just smiled and turned away...." ok so I burst my bubble, decided to communicate effectively my reaction to last 'suitor' playing me for a dumb blonde idiot with no Soul.

I texted him to blow him outta the water. I abhor Gameplayers and Superficial Men. PHEW! I feel like I had a nice little purge.

Hopefully, in time I will meet a man who is not Fake, or Superficially Polite to enhance his own Prospects. This one will have to stay out of my way! I'll be on my side of the Pub, and he can stay on his. Never the TWAIN Shall MEET again.

I'm an all or nothing Woman and if you treat me like I'm NOTHING, then No THING shall you receive from me, including my attention, my amazing personality or my joie de vivre. Go back to watching, waiting, yearning in your dark corner, Boycijk cos this Woman is staying in the Light, near the band, rocking out, with or without you! And Loving it!

Troglodytes, Neanderthals, and Homo Soporific Sanitised scrubbed up, polished but not quite Interested men can stay in the Dark!

This reminded me of the Hippie Filmmaker Frenchman I met once in Byron Bay who spent an hour or two raving madly to me in French (even though I gently explained that "ma Francaise est trop pauvre, Monsieur!", promising me God only knows What delights of Love making and Sophistication and Je ne sais quoi...then finally in frustration when he realised that I could not comprehend any of his gestures D'Amour, he Thanked me for my attention! "Merci Beaucoup Pour Votre Attention!"

Men! Quel Dommage! Je Vous En Pris! What is a woman to dooooooo???? Except, Dite Moi, "Adieu!"

Ok, Ok, I am strangled by my own Franglais. Franglais Stranglee, Escapee. Tour de Force! Formidable! Je Pleur, but not too much, cos I find this all rather funny!

March 5 at 9:14pm near Brisbane

Like a Siren I lure them from their Shadowy Safety where they can drool into their beers, into the bright lights, under the stage where the Musoes play the lyrics, the poetry of Passion and Pain while beneath I rock and sway, jolt and stomp, leap and almost fucking Pirouette.

At the same time, scouring the crowded pub for enemies or suitors, and worse, drunken rape-eyed accosters whom I flick away from my flesh with a quick elbow aimed mid-dance at their chest, or kick my legs in just the right way to protect my assets and throw them off-centre, remaining hyper-vigilant and splendid, protective and loving to my fellow women dancers and occasionally the male dancers also, while allowing only a precious few into my space.

The one time I let a troglodyte into my life and I get, what? Ambivalence, Indifference and Ignorance! Lesson learned. Next time I get vaguely interested in a vague man, I will remove myself from the situation. Don't engage with idiots. Ha! Famous Last Words, Darlings!

Well I did tell him honestly I was feeling weak and broken as I had hurt my back. haha

…

Inala was interesting. Mouth splint happening. It's a risk that it might crack my front teeth so I am not happy at all but the splint is worth $2000 privately and I guess I will give it a go if it aids my sleep apnoea. I doubt it.

Afterwards I went to Maccas for a coffee frappe and 30c cone. Some guy started talking to me about how he is homeless but thinks he might get a place this arvo. He said he was sad as 2 of his friends had threatened suicide yesterday. I said "yeah I know how that feels".

He correctly identified my tattoo as the Burning Bush. I was impressed. So I told him life will improve albeit slowly and he said "Yeah bring enough pebbles you can make a mountain". Then he blessed me, hoping my life is better, and I wished him the same and we went on our merry way.

He was nice looking, intelligent, spiritual but like me, damaged. I was a bit stunned afterwards. He had silver nail polish on but was dressed like a man. Unusual, eclectic, charming.

He wore a pendant of a dragon, either side he had two rings he called "halos" and under the dragon hung another pendant which said Love. We both smiled this sad smile at each other when he mentioned the Love pendant. Soul kinships Knowwww!

…

also written in 2014: (the usual requisite trigger warnings of csa, domestic violence, systemic abuse and other generic inadequacies mixed in with actual psychopathology or garden variety sadism)

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My mother has a nostalgic memory of her own mother. “You are driving me up the wall!” So she laughs at her childhood memory of trying to run up the walls. “Was machst du? (What are you doing?)” My grandmother shrieks at my mother. “I'm trying to climb the walls, cos I drive you up them”.

For once she is not beaten senseless. The comic irony was not lost on my grandmother. In fact comic irony was rarely lost on anyone in my family of origin. A clever quip could often avoid calamity, unless the timing was wrong, or the tone was a little too sarcastic, or sometimes just because Mum was in a bad mood.

Then nothing saved your arse, or your face. “Here comes Slap Happy” my Dad would quip gleefully. He loved to make her public enemy number one, but the truth was, they were both my enemies. Both were inconsistent, volatile and unpredictable. It had always been so.

They had been raised with the same level of violence and the threat of impending doom. Well, in actual fact, my mother had endured worse violence, worse uncertainty being raised by my depressive volatile maniac of a grandmother and surviving the blanket bombing during World War 2 in Hamburg and later the south of Germany.

The violence she survived was extreme. She was afraid to go to swimming lessons as she was always covered in bruises. One time the teacher saw them and wrote a letter home, but the swimming lessons discontinued.

This was rather inconvenient when my 15 year old mother was put in charge of looking after civilian orphans who were bombed out and sent to Bavaria and she had orders 'from the top' to teach the children to swim in the local lake.

She couldn't swim properly. However orders were orders in Nazi Germany. So each day she went to the lake and dog paddled until she was confident enough to not drown, then she took the children down. They also learned to swim. (Probably to this day, they could only dog paddle but that was still swimming!)

Anyway I have this fond memory, of climbing our own walls in the kitchen. My mother would encourage me to climb on a chair, onto the kitchen stove top which was high enough to climb up onto the top of the kitchen cupboard and vertically from there, I would reach the man-hole to the attic and then I would carefully push the man-hole cover up on the ceiling beams, then I would shimmy, on tip toe, off the top cupboard then climb into the ceiling cavity.

I would sit there for as long as I could stand the heat. NZ summers were never very hot but under the tin roof with no insulation the temperature would get very humid indeed.

We had a skylight under which I could read the books my mother stored up there, or she would get me to tell her what was up there and I would hand down various items to her.

It never occurred to me, aged 6 and 7, how very dangerous this wall-climbing really was. It never occurred to my mother either. I was fortunate in that, I never fell out of the attic and broke anything. I was small, and agile, and adventurous.

I did later break my right wrist. That happened at a NZ health camp, several hours north of Wellington where we lived. Oh the irony. I was sent there for my poor chest issues with chronic bronchitis, and came home with a broken wrist.

I hated that camp. We slept in dormitories and there were dozens of children sleeping on stretchers in this huge hall. Adults walked up and down all night. I feared them. I had good reason to fear them.

If kids cried and wouldn't settle to sleep, they were spanked on their behinds. So mostly I faked sleep until I passed out. Surprisingly I was not sexually abused there. Small mercies.

I do remember they were terribly upset when I broke my arm. We were miles from any hospital so they drove me to a local gp who confirmed my arm was broken, gave me pain killers, put my arm in a sling. Then I was shipped back to Wellington so that I could be taken to Wellington Hospital where orthopaedic specialists could reset my wrist and put a proper cast on it.

I felt afraid to be the only child on that bus, coming home early from camp. Afraid and in pain. The bus trip took forever. I slept most of the way. My way of coping with long trips.

Easier to sleep through it than deal with the crap that usually went on. My parents screaming all the way. This time I slept as a way to pass the time, and because I was a tad sleep-deprived from trying to stay awake each night in the dormitory.

I broke my arm after being bullied by a boy behind me on the monkey bars. I was halfway across. I got scared. I froze. “Jump” he yelled. “You're holding us all up. Jump”. The Monkey bar was high up. Higher than I had anticipated from the ground.

I hung down, and there was a few feet beneath my hanging feet to jump. “Jump, for christ's sake, you sissie girl. You idiot. Get out of my way”. So I jumped down.

I landed hard on my arse, but my right hand and arm landed on my lap and involuntarily bounced off my knee and onto the hard ground. In that split second that my wrist and arm made contact with the ground there was a sick crunching sound and instantaneous pain such as I had never experienced before. My screams quickly drew a crowd of kids and adult guardians.

The bus arrived at the depot. I was the last passenger waiting on the bus. My fucktard Mother. Is Late. The Bus Driver wants to go home. His shift has ended. It was a long trip.

He is eyeballing me in his rear vision mirror. The tension is building. I am alone, on a bus, in pain and my mother has not come to pick me up. I am 7 years old. I don’t know what to do. So I start crying.

He gets mad and frustrated. He yells from his front drivers' seat. “Get off the Bus, Kid, I have to go, I can't wait forever, you know” I think to myself, What a bastard! But I don't know what to do.

If I get off the bus, I’ll be alone, on the street. If I stay on the bus, he will hate me but I reckon I am safer on the bus. Finally he explodes in anger. “Look, Kid, your mother isn't here, but you have to wait for her outside”.

There is a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach, but I gather my bag and get off the bus. Just as I am getting off the bus, my mother runs, huffing and puffing with her characteristic asthmatic wheeze. “About time!” yells the Driver. She yells, “I'm sorry, I went to the wrong depot”

I think to myself. She is always going to the wrong depot. She is always so, so wrong. I can't help feeling relief run through me, like a rush of tingling fever from my scalp to my toes.

I can handle her wrath, she's my monster. I did not feel like handling the wrath of the burly aggressive arsehole driver. He cranks up the motor and drives away, still fuming.

My mother gathers me up and we go to catch another bus home. The next day my father drives us to the Hospital. He has work. He leaves me with my mother. I get put in a waiting room, and then taken into the surgery. My mother waits outside.

There are 3 or 4 doctors and nurses in the room. A bright light. They give me an anaesthetic. Tell me to count backwards. In an instant I am gone.

An instant later I wake up, with a thumping great cast on my wrist and forearm. It is heavy, uncomfortable and I feel like my arm is swollen and being squeezed like a sausage within!

They usher me out. My mother is standing outside. We are told to wait for the pain medication prescription. She is hassled and irritated and awkward. She turns to me.

“You Screamed the entire hospital down, the whole time you were in there. What the hell is wrong with you?” I have embarrassed her. I don't even know why. I didn't even know I was screaming. I said “I don't know Mummy, I was asleep. I didn't know I was screaming”.

The doctors or nurses come out. Mutter something to her. She snatches the script and pushes me at the back of my head down the long corridor out of the hospital. I've been a nuisance again. I am always such a pain in the arse.

Why did I scream? I don't remember my dreams. I was out cold. What did I dream? What happened in there? I remember waking up and the look of alarm on the medical staff faces.

They know. They know. But noone will do anything. I am not important. I'm a little kid. Noone cares about little kids. We have no value. No rights. Bad things happen to us, and noone believes you anyway.

I look down at my squeezed painful right arm. Yup. Cool. I have something noone else has. I have a massive cast on my arm and other people can write on it. It's heavy and cumbersome and it will heal my arm, but it will also make a great weapon. I smile to myself. My very first superpower.

…

I just had my debrief with my psychiatrist. He said my Diaries (although re:traumatising and triggering of my depression and anxiety) are extremely valuable as they are my VOICE! Yes he gets it! Marvellous!!

I feel so supported and respected! :-)

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Home from Ecstatic Dance. Exhausted but happy. It was good to be able to dance in a group in person again. :-)

17 July 2019

I woke up early. I just went outside in the freezing cold to try to see the lunar eclipse. Nup. Missed out again. But it’s energy stirred me from my subterannean depths where I lay sleeping. I woke up with three words in my head and had to smile at my “angels”.

MAINTAIN THE RAGE.

I can’t even. I am too old, too tired, too fucking broken. But my angels always know how to fire me up. Conspire to inspire. I love them.

Even my metaphysical Guides are anarchists and revolutionaries. Luminous luminaries. Philosophical jokesters. Someone else can take my baton and maintain the rage for me.

I have my debrief this afternoon. I hope I will not be enraged. If so I will quit therapy. But we shall see.

…

What a glorious morning! Something truly beautiful is manifesting in my spirit today. I have been lying in my warm bed, ably protected on each side by Beauregard and Penny. Feeling greatly loved by their animal spirits and yes by the unseen ones.

Thank you for your loving message this morning Louise Winton my Irish Jewish angel who loves me so fiercely all the way from Manchester. Thank you to Laura Martin in Ontario Canada who constantly keeps me precious. Thank you to Megan who constantly reminds me of our warrior goddess Rising and Shining. Thank you to Catherine also.

Thank you to those who say nothing as they know not what to say or do but send me their loving energy.

Thank you to the gods, the angels, the elementals and most of all to Gaia who nurtures me daily and gently lulls me through dark times and the brightest most glorious momentous bliss blitzes.

Who holds my energy deep in the bowels of molten lava and takes it and seethes it and transmutes it and sends it back to me so I can once again, know Happiness.

The war is a righteous one. A worthy one. I am so honoured to have stood up, even in my most weakest and vulnerable, and fought against abuse and injustice yet again.

Maybe my efforts are ineffectual. I shall probably die alone, unloved and untouched by human men but that will be my greatest glory.

For I stood beside the Divine Feminine and I shook the temples of the patriarchy down to the ground, screaming and trembling in awe before gods of my own innate understanding and like Shimshon, the only way they could negate me was to “cut my hair”... or silence me, rape or marginalise me.

But I grew back. Time and again. Across all paradigms and vortices. In the face of all deception/betrayal/slander and my own perpispacity.

In the face of my own poverty and doubts and fears and rivers of tears and agonies imposed by an unworthy society and a body reaching its final declension but yet still healing itself and raising its standard on the fields of carnage that steal our honour and our womanly pride. I yielded to no abuser nor their handmaiden.

I sipped from the golden chalice of the gods. I was well cared for and satiated. Just when I thought Love would enfold me, he slipped away again. But I have watched him peeking and seeking behind the crowds.

Silently yearning to gain control over my heart and mind. Afraid of a warrior goddess and her limitless love and her still-blossoming Potential.

I wish some day he can come back to me and know my heart was only meant to nourish and nurture and to be cherished in return. True love is a gift that is given both ways.

An energy that builds and climaxes and cascades, again and again. With or without you. I love you as soon as I open my eyes each day and I love you as I close my eyes each night.

A love that emboldens and unfolds even though we are apart, as you never chose me. Haha. What fucking epic knavery!

I lay here thinking of all the men who stole or purchased or claimed a piece of my heart. The same whimsical games played over and over again. Even amidst platonic male friends.

I remembered sweet young Efrain who after a boxing match, full of Mexican pride and fire, yelling at me to get away from him. I had started to look at him with love which was confusing as at that time in my life.

I was in love with that devil Davidson and I was truly disturbed and broken and shattered so I was cleaving to anyone who treated me with any sort of kindness and I am grateful to Efrain who saw my suffering and did not take advantage of it. A kind decent loyal friend.

I remember running...up an embankment and far away. I was upset, of course. Rejection hurts. But we remained friends over the years and that is a far greater privilege than any roll in the hay.

I also remember the early years with my beloved friend Jarrod who verily saved my life in those most hellish sadistic days when my marriage crumbled and my mother stepped up her campaign of terror.

Without his and Lyn Sloane’s staunch determined love I would not be alive today and my children would have been raised by bloodcurdling practising paedophiles and their henchmen.

So I never regret wanting a different life for my daughters but the abuse was so entrenched that they too, became abusers and that, my friends is how my story begins and ends. A useless unmothered woman who like a Fool dreamed of better or safer or kinder or different but yes, accursed I was, with the inability to break my chains.

So in the sunshine of my middle age I can only rattle them and staunch the bleeding and take my courage and my occasional absurdist euphoria and kiss the face of G-d, my jealous God who refuses to allow me a life partner that is authentic and mine.

He refuses me the comfort and ease and love with my children and any potential grandchildren. But He gifts me a functioning mind, and no more Silence and the heart of Warrior Goddess, bloodletting her spiritual courage and a broken battered Heart that is Eternal.

Some of my former lovers have no idea what hit them. They thought they could strangle me, rape me and I would lick their feet with eminent gratitude for such betrayal.

Well.... one could not cross the threshold between this world and the next as I told him for his disgusting ignominy he would one day crawl at my feet and I would step over him. He bashed my door but could not cross my own threshold. My angels showed me I was loved and protected.

But who are they? These angels that send me into mortal danger and gift me men with golden auras who can only fake love to slake their lust (Dave!!!) Yet still they peek and cast aspersions from behind other men’s shoulders as deep down...way deep down inside, that quivering in their glans, and wrinkled twisted hearts they knowwww... my love was true and strong and enduring while they played me for a fool and even my capricious trickster gods had to shield their eyes and shake their heads because The Tanya never ever fucking quit.

So when my time comes... Psy Sighs...I will be met by dozens of cats and birds and a few dogs and a horse named Asfaloth. By former comrades of Heart, by ancestors who truly loved me and had my back (I rebuke those evil ones from now to the rest of eternity!) and by beloved friends who stood by me through thick and thin and my spirit shall rejoice into the next horizon beyond all worlds.

Dancing through the Sephirot. Gladness in all the universes. A Love denied me in this incarnation that will be all I ever dreamed of in the next Blossoming.

Thank you. Eternal One. All that is/was/ever shall be. And a tiny little spirit named Tanya. Welcome home. (Wherever that is!)

Oh and MAINTAIN THE RAGE.

…

I want to go out somewhere nice. All glammed up nowhere to go. Still have pain in my right side. Had my debrief. Came home and made a cake for Jarrod’s new house as I am going to see him tomorrow. Pain or no pain.

I put on makeup and beaded my hair. Dressed up showed up. Yes. Reconfiguring The Tanya.

…

…

By Joves. Maybe the propofol has worked? 😉 It is believed to “cure” complex ptsd. Well two surgeries within 3 months. My mind is clear. Too early to tell. Lmao

17 July 2018

Another exquisite winter’s day in Paradise. My jaw is on the mend. It is the eighth day. Glad that I am feeling much better. Although extremely fatigued.

Finally out of bed to enjoy the sunshine with my feather/fur/fin kin.

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17 July 2017

I am going to the "Murder House" (QE2 dentist) today. Arggghhh! But back molar needs its broken filling restored.

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Feeling lightheaded and weak so gonna have a lie down before my dentist appt at 2 pm.

It was a tumultuous weekend. I ended (yet!) another friendship on Saturday and feel really drained from all the crap, frankly.

I am glad I had an awesome Friday night and most of Saturday was such a beautiful day. It restores my soul, this gorgeous weather, and the love of true friends.

…

Back molar patched (no anaesthetic, grrr) but one problem Solved. I have to go back in September for the final root canal excavation that was supposed to be done today but the broken molar took priority.

Long slow slog of toothie problems since December last year. Ugh! She tells me if she can't fix the root canal issue (I still get sensitivity and pain in it) she will have to send me to a specialist with microscopes to find where the length of the canal(s) go. Omg!

My darling Jarrod and little Harvey are here so I am enjoying their company and not fixating on my teeth. Yayyy!

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17 July 2016

3.13 am. Home safe. In bed. Utterly exhausted. Another fantastic night. Not sure how much longer I can keep physically doing this. But it has been worth it. Fun before I die. As I promised myself.

Home to my cats and Beauregard. The house is so quiet but the energy is singing. Big shifts. Big big changes. I feel so much pain right now, but this too shall pass.

It was good to be whirling dervishing again but now my bed is my solace and refuge. Alone.

…

Woken up to the stink of steaming hot cat poop on my rug. (I ran out of cat litter and one of the cats disliked the newspaper I threw in the litter tray). So I was "punished".

Punishment it is for real, as immediately the fumes reached me while lying in my bed, my eyes began streaming and my nose burned then started sneezing and I felt so allergic I had to get up to investigate the extent of the damage.

Offending poop now cleaned up. But the nose-eyes still watering. Ugh. Remind me why I have animals.

I had just put Bobo outside (he asked!) several minutes before the offensive feline pooped on my rug. The little bastard (which one?) could have gone out with him. This rug-pooping thing is starting to be a regular occurrence (even with fairly fresh cat litter). So annoying.

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Taking Beauregard to the dog park as he needs to run and I need to ground.

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…

Today my torc finally broke. It is only bronze or steel but I was rather fond of it. My gold torc that my former sister bought me years ago broke a few years back. I never take them off so I suppose they get quite a hammering. Excuse the pun!

Now I need to save up for another one as Warriors of Viking/Celtic/Teutonic ancestry must have their Torcs as a symbol of their survival and Mana! I will try to get a Wolf torc from Crafty Celts in the US. I have wanted one for a long time but it seemed superfluous when I still had one.

You can also by a wire weaving kit from the US (Gail told me about it years ago) to make your own Viking jewellery. I might just leave it up to the experts though and buy one ready-made.

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I lost my black spectacles somewhere. Possibly in the garden. So am stuck with my cheap hospital grade ones. Not happy.

They are the same script but my eyes are sore and dry. These ones are ugly too. I had to wear them both nights out. Looking like a dork. But I like being able to see too. :-)

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That stupid Sicilian Freemason turned outlaw motorcycle club member still trawls after me at the casino. The dumb prick needs glasses as he squints at me from the opposite end of the dance floor.

He doesn't dare fucking approach me after he made lewd jibes at me about only having 4 sexual partners the whole time I went there, so I told him at least I am not the last idiot that got patched who shut down an entire clubhouse. Double agent that one. He ran like a rabbit then as he knows I know.

What do I know! Nothing but he is too stupid to know that for sure. What I know is he thinks I know a whole lot more and sometimes that is my superpower. Not. Giving. A.Fuck or Being intimidated by gronks.

Besides, my People whom "get" me are survivors of holocausts, shootings, domestic violence, child sexual abuse and rape and more violence than the average person can comprehend. What do we fear but fear itself.

We live in a fucked up judgemental elitist materialistic world who shuns and mocks, hides from my type of fury. As so they should, since their lying hypocritical apathy is how we all got here in the first place.

Noone has integrity or guts anymore. The Tanya grows weary. But at least she has one Dick-head Free Zone.

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Trigger warning: Unrequited love obsessions. Religious abuse rantings. Discussion of childbirth.

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Undeadable zombie creature did a very bad thing. She reached out through the membrane that divides her from her lost true love, clawed through the impenetrable skin/wall/barrier.

Scratched and sniffed at his ignorance and contempt. But Loved. Loved loved loved. Undeadable zombie creature should not be in charge of an iPhone. Or use words/feelings/thoughts as her clarion call to Love. Or dance or jive or walk or crawl where angels fear to tread. Or even be alive.

Undeadable zombies who are off their meds should not inflict their abandonment issues on their jailers. Who still hold the keys to that little hut on the Riveira. Undeadables are probably dead and always have been but are just ghosting or worse, hosting something dark and fetid wrapped up in holographic pretty packaging like they now do with Hungry jacks fries to deter the seagulls. Hahaha.

Pretty pictures of bedazzlement hide nothing from the Vultures of Fate and the dour dark vengeful Messengers of G-d. You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear but you can stuff it, smoke it, feed it to the dogs of war/hate/dead love and if you are not kosher, eat it.

Sour puss. Ain't nobody got time for that. In the midst of my revelry last night, grief and bitterness poured through me like a scalding oil. It gave me super powers of stamina and mortification of my poor beleaguered body.

She sang "Joey" and I went off. Healing myself in my own madness. I drank only water last night. So my mood/state of being/Grace has nothing to do with booze or psych meds. This is me now. Raw. Putrefaction of my spirit.

So many feeders/users/abusers have turned me Wild. But I was always Wild. Perhaps my freedom which came at the cost of real love is finally going to be my demise. Psy sighs.

I fought back from another long illness. My lungs squeezed in permanent disdain. Now when I am getting better my mind snaps. My psychiatrist is right. I will not cede control of this body to anyone but me. Not even to illnesses.

I will take my own control back. I am not a Golem or a zombie anymore. I can only push myself so far and I have pushed pushed pushed enough. But these are my thoughts and feelings fuelled by exhaustion, by rejection/abandonment, by loss, poverty and grief.

Another day blossoms on my gnarly decaying tree of life. The bush burns effortlessly but will not be consumed. G-D my Traitor in WHOM I trust has more tricks up His sleeve. Oh Daddy. Oh David. Oh Adonai. Oh Adonis. Fuck You! Fuck It. Fuck me.

I am Yours. I marked my flesh with You. (May 2012). You Blessed me with a car fittingly named the Ein Sof (Sept 2012) Then you sent me Angels. One by one they came.

You even sent me mine enemies to beg my attention before you claimed their spirit for ever. Oh Holy One. Your little girl is awake and aware. She is Whom she is Becoming. She is a creation of " I am that I am!"

She can't/won't escape you or your Love or Grace amidst the fires of hell and the burning Light of the Ein Soph Aur. For this you brought me to this season?!

Please release me let me go, for I don't Love you anymore. Not angry anymore. Not alone anymore.

Haha! Lies I tell myself to stay vital on this Moot planet.

I am not afraid anymore. Not of my family of origin or their bastard henchmen and women.

You took my money, homes, security, dog, sanity but when you took my spirit and crushed it you took too much. It was never yours. It does not belong to anyone but G-D and even He does not want it.

That is why I am here on this regurgitating recycling centre of the living-dead-living. Being made to do this SHEIT all over again.

Maybe, I am the reincarnation of my grandmother Eva, the violent femme suicide. Or Henry the Eighth (too many heads of women so now I am doomed to love the headless soulless empty hearted Horsemen of the apocalypse).

Such grandiosity! Perhaps I have developed Bipolar after all (God knows Buck the Schmuck falsely accused me of that often enough as his foul excremental excuse to slander me as crazy/violent and a liar when all along he set me up to steal my future security and my life from me.

And his franchise of greedy malignant cohorts helped him do it (Gila, Terry, David Davidson, his gf Kylie, his daughters and who else got on that bandwagon????). So many.

Well I survived because Fuck them and their evil lies and greed and envy. What was there to envy? A damaged woman struggling to survive with her two young children was so fierce they had to annihilate her?

My ferocity. My strength. My mind. Which is now Fucked beyond repair? They wanted a piece of that, as well as my Vagina. My soul.

If not for 3 rabbis defending me, I would not be here telling my truth. Truth is my only card left. In my armoury of Love. Love of G-D who tormented me and Love of Self (whom I constantly doubted because I was made to be worthless, and kicked to the kerb).Love of a few select humans.

Love of a life that was always possible but always denied me but the Psychedelic Dreamer never gave up on the dream and never will, for without hope, faith, charity and fantasy there is no reason to hold oneself up in the mirror of Life, amidst the smoke and ashes.

Life. Birth. Rebirth. Rinse and repeat. Die. Rise and Shine. I am Done. The dead have danced too long. But it was beautiful. It was wild. It was free. So was She. I can hold my head high. I tried.

I am in transition, between contractions, subtractions, distractions on the way to another kind of Life. I got this. Birth pangs of new alignments are killing me.

I was never a very good breeder. Haha. Long epic labours which required artificial interventions. But I birthed those babies. Through my vagina. Even with epidurals and enough drugs to kill several horses I pushed them free of my body to lives of their own.

My doctor even complimented me on my ability to push so damn hard and if my body had not resisted birth so much (my defunct cervix), I would have had quick labours.

I was born to Push. Push push push. Even my Midewii healer called me Mustang Kwe (Woman) as I push so damn hard. Push myself to the edges of the known world and back again.

For what???? For no fucking reason but to survive. He offered to tame me. Me!? The undeadable untameable. I wouldn't let him/them break my spirit down. But soon I pray to fly over the mountain. Free at last. So mote it be.

…

Yum. Just cooked a Spanish tortilla with eggs, onion and potatoes. Pity I had no garlic but it was still delicious.

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17 July 2015

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Today I was bullied and silenced twice. I wonder why so many Trolls are on pages dedicated to fight child sexual abuse. I wonder how many other survivors see this as clearly as I do?

I wonder how long these Enablers and defenders of paedophilia hope to get away with it. Why they believe they are right and that society protects them?

Why is this life a torment and a torture for women like myself who have found our voice and are fearless? Why these, mostly men, dare to silence or shun me? Shame be upon their heads.

I will continue to speak my Truth until the day I die and Fuck anyone who tries to deny me that right. (Well not actually Fuck them for they are well and truly fucked up all ready! :-) ).

17 July 2014

I slept all day. Went to sleep around 2 am and woke up at 4.30 pm. My Dr is right. I am exhausted from being Awesome (or Brilliant as he termed it). Lol.

My poor mind can't keep up with the Depression, manic flavours triggered by Loss, and the epic Dancing. The old Body is looking pretty sexy. I have muscle tone but my mind is not so keen on being over-loaded when keeping me breathing takes so much effort alone.

Humpf! So I will just keep breathing and wait for different parts of me to play catch-up...or die. Life is for Living fully.

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That Fucking annoying game is going around to support Breast Cancer. So I am beating my breasts.

No, my socks are not missing. Yes, I have loo paper. For a change. No, I am not cheated on. Yes, I love all my women friends and men friends cos we are all beautiful people who care deeply. Games. Piss me off. Period.

I am throwing one tit over my shoulder cos I can and nuzzling the other one under my arm cos I can. I have a mammogram every 2 years cos it's smart and I can. Cancer is not a game. If I get it, I won't be playing nicely. Heaven Forbid.

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Yesterday I realised, quite randomly that Friday 19th July is my grandmother Eva's birthday. She died in 1949 by suicide. Gassed herself in the oven the silly chook.

She feared living alone without my mother for support as she was widowed in 1945. She had never worked. (Women didn't in those days, apart from a few spectacular exceptions) and she suffered some form of severe mental illness so was often crazy violent.

I think she had burnt out and feared a life in poverty as she had lost everything in the war from the constant bombardment.

Then a few hours after I remembered her birthday, I got an email from Wiki Ancestry to remind me of it. I thought that was weird, but just now, midway through typing this, I realised I had left hash browns in the griller so rushed into the kitchen just in time.

My Eva has a weird way of reminding me I about to burn the house down or gas myself. Lol! (In this case my subconscious reminded me! Using my grandmother's memory to get me to go in the kitchen).

I am starting to worry that I don't Need a Male Partner but a full-time carer. I would hate to lose my independance so that has me running scared. Harem Scarem!!! Time to Ride....going out with Jo for a few hours 🙂. No money but need to dance.

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Note to my Angels. I need Money asap :-). Bring me my One True Love as there are a few too many 'watchers' or suitors at the pub and I want whom I want and this shit is fabulous fun but very confusing.

My Angels smugly already Know who my true life partner is…So get busy. Amen v' Selah. PS. I can survive without much money but I simply don't want to be alone anymore.

Thank You, to the Holy One Blessed Be He and his co-conspirators. You once saved me from a potentially fatal head injury when I fell out the Police academy bus by lifting me up and turning me 180 degrees and landing me on my high heeled feet like a cat.

I got away with only a sprained ankle and was back at work next day. I became a bit of a supernatural freak as the OHS sergeant quizzed me on how I did it. I said “Dunno, but I wasn't going to crack my head open on the kerb when I have two kids at home that need me. Also I like my brains inside my skull just fine”.

He gave me a weird look, muttered something then yelled that I was not due workers comp. I walked out feeling dazed and confused with my sore ankle but it was that afternoon that I knew I had my very own protector(s) and nothing and noone can take them away from me. Lmao!

So yeah I am a Psychedelic Dreamer and a Huge Believer. Some things are better left to the gods Ahem! Faith before I fall again for another unrequitable psychopath. The Fool must navigate the Abyss to transmute into the Mage.

I am greatly Loved by Unseen Beings. Several times they have saved my ridiculous sorry arse. I am meant to be here. Whether I like it or not. It's an awesome thing to know I Belong and am wanted and needed on this planet. :-)

17 July 2013

I was listening to a program in a room on Paltalk. Done in a chatty news as entertainment style which however alarmed me greatly.

The journalist claimed that there are several "residential care facilities" in 3 states of US. They are secreted away and disguised but are in fact concentration camps. There is double razor wire on the Inside of the fencing to keep people in not to deter outsiders from getting in. They have playgrounds at rear etc so entire families are housed there.

The residential spokesperson claimed that they are owned by Immigration and that the children playing there are very happy and children of employees. All lies says the journo who was heard demanding answers and shortly after the police were called and no real answers were given.

He left in fear of reprisals. He says anyone anywhere in the world who regularly signs petitions or protests against govts are put on a " Watched List" and if considered a threat, they and their families are placed in these residences. Without due process! He also saw 7000 plastic coffin liners so these places are also equipped for mass burials!

So I don't know how true this is and we all know how govts LIE. But please, I will continue to sign petitions and protest anything I feel passionate about that impinges on human rights or food quality, ecology etc.

If you fear continuing to fight alongside me on issues that I invite you to fight for via Causes or other sites I send invites from, to avoid being watched on a watched list and risk being 'eliminated'. Then please understand. I do not want you to risk your personal safety.

I will continue to be a voice in the wilderness. I will never allow govts to silence or bully us into death camps again. This shit has happened before in Nazi Germany and if it is truly happening again in the US or in other First World countries we must not be silent.

Update 2022: prescient!

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Yesterday I felt euphoric! Today I feel exhausted and drained. Oh well, ONE DAY AT A TIME, SWEET MOSES! Hashem, please cut me some slack so I can fully enjoy my life...happiness, prosperity, and a genuine loyal love partner would be nice, and enough good health to Live with relish until I die. Cheers thanks in advance!

17 July 2012

Lucy's baby girl was born 13 July. Her name is Avah! I am a proud "Auntie".

17 July 2011

I attempted to make crystallised violets tonight. Judging by the epic fail of the sugar syrup/toffee disaster I suspect the violets will not work out. (This is why I rarely cook, I do hate to fail...so spectacularly regularly).

I tried Hoedes Almond cake but used self raising flour and the whole thing exploded out of the tin. Not game to give that one another go LOL.

Fortunately my friends and kids love me for my scintillating personality, charisma and my occasionally successful Poffertjes 🙂.

Heather Abramson: What are poffertjes?

Sally Castle: Yummy little Dutch pancakes....a personal favourite.

Me: LOL Sally, I made a batch for Jasmine the other night, and turned around in time to see her whisk out her phone camera and take a photo of them before she devoured them happily.

I had to laugh because the last time I made them, the week before for Crystal, she also took a photo of my efforts. (They have a whole photo-commentary happening of the rare times actually cook successfully).

Somewhere in my photo archives there is a photo of me, smoothing mustard on a leg of lamb in an almost erotic fashion- well, they took a photo of that, a) because I rarely cook lamb roasts as I can't afford meat, and b) cos I was actually devoting much effort to the lamb and c) cos the look of intensity and longing on my face was hilarious).

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17 July 2009

I saw Bruno tonight...he was Fantastisch.

Copyright Tanya Désirée Arons