Ina Disguise's Blog: New blog, page 61

Dark melancholy and chatting with other artists

Looks like the old me is back.  Reading my post from earlier, it is like looking back a decade into cynical reality.  I guess the grief is setting in.

One of the great things this project has done for me is enabled me to network.  I am not a social creature as a rule, but promoting my stuff, when I can be bothered, has meant joining a lot of interest groups as this is cheaper than merely advertising, which is not cost-effective as a rule.

Today I have been entertaining some artists with reasons for my work.  We often ask each other what our work is about, which is good practise as artists all tend to be scruffy, disinterested, and socially isolated unless we are tremendously successful.  We all tend to make the same social mistakes until we are happy with our technical ability, which is, paradoxically, never good enough anyway.  Being forced by circumstances and the ongoing thought that went into the Wolfe project into creating Ina is the only reason I have shown anything to anybody.

My own work has been complicated by the fact that I do not lust after a sufficient number or variety of men.  Given that that is the only reason I am ever compelled to do anything, I really should have spent more time earlier in life just finding men to perve at.  I was more interested in work, and had a steady supply of them, so I guess in artistic terms I have been rather lazy.

Anyway, just to make you laugh a bit, here are some very simplistic meanings behind my work.

 The Misery Mandala

 

This is what extremely angry sex with me looks like.

 

 Funk This

This is what it looks like when I decide that I can’t do anything about my inappropriate feelings and need a few weeks to try and surmount it (pun intended)  There was a series of four of these for Wolfe, three of which I liked, one I really don’t is Lucky Heart, because it is about futility and the random nature of sexuality.

 Ormus Uranium

A word gag about the Ormus range of products, popular in the USA and parts of Europe, which are mysterious in nature.  Elements such as gold are very popular with people interested in advanced mysticism, but there is no reason why poisonous elements should not have ormus properties.  It was also a good excuse to send Wolfe flowers.

 Fertility and Intellect

This is a very old piece of work, made for a grumpy history professor I adored at university, who had one of the most punk chainsaw brains I have ever come across.  I do love a bit of mental violence.  It is about the difficulties of retaining your concentration on academic pursuits when you are fertile and female.

 Call me Al

This is for Boris, who has a public persona, and a private one called Al.  I am rather touched by Boris.  He is the best of a very bad bunch, both privately and publicly and deserves better.  The UK would benefit from encouraging and listening to him.

 Bordello Rhetoric

This is the only other piece in the Boris collection that is directly for Boris.  It is about the nature of a political career, hence the title.  It is rather glamorous and bold, which I think is appropriate for Boris rather than Al.

Rebekah Brooks is fit for work

The other pieces in the Boris series are about the nature of success and the lack of fit with actual talent.  Simply declaring oneself fit for a task does not make it so, and most of these pieces either involve scandal of some sort, or just having so much money that nobody is ever going to force you to starve to death, as is happening to several sectors of society whilst wages are lowered via immigration. This will be a lengthy and very expensive series.  Rebekah is sitting in my kitchen, where she actually looks fabulous.  I expected these pieces to be loud and garish in place, but as it turns out they are conversation pieces.  Experimenting with textiles, stone, beads and resin has been expensive, but tremendous fun.

I am not sure why Boris is getting so many rock pools, but evidently I find him more erotic than I expected.  It is very much a sub-plot in my grand epic and entirely fictitious romance with Wolfe, however, so I am not sure how this imaginary love triangle is going to develop in the medium term.

 

I will do a page for each piece eventually, but hopefully that goes some way to explaining how my creative brain works.

 

Much affection,

 

Ina

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Ina Disguise Build Update 2

I should have written at the time, but I hit the 70lb weight loss mark at the beginning of November, actually.  Since then, I have stayed the same as I always take breaks in the course of losing weight and, by coincidence, I had an ankle injury from walking in a bad temper, followed by a flare-up of sciatica, followed by my mother’s appalling death.

I put on probably 10lb on one meal a day, and have now lost this again since my mother’s death.  I am now able to walk again, although time and cold is preventing me from doing my full 15km.

I also took a break from the corsetting during this time as it was not practical when spending your time running up and down from a hospital or desperately seeking the means to exist in the form of work.

It is not much fun being attacked all the time, so everything I have managed to do so far has been evidence of my improved confidence as a person rather than a delusional construct (see previous post, What would Mrs Wolfe do?)  I obviously won’t have that option in the coming months, so I guess my flight of fancy has made my own confidence improve somewhat.

If I was sensible and not trying to do anything more spectacular, I would just lose the same again and be done with it.  I have, however, met the most beautiful creature in the known universe now and I will have to make some more serious changes to my overall stature.

To put this in some sort of context – yes, I respect other people’s choices.  No, I do not have any serious plans to bag any wolves or eat their cubs and I LIVE IN A DIFFERENT COUNTRY ANYWAY.

Life is complicated, however, and I do have potential plans which may mean I end up having to awkwardly stand next to him at times, so the visuals have to be correct.  I have a 7″ wrist, which means I genuinely suffer from what nastier people dismiss as fantasy and am in possession of a quite stormingly enormous bone structure.  Wolfe, on the other hand has a beautifully formed, small structure.  As we do happen to look sufficiently alike for more than one fan to stop and instigate conversation in the past, I now have to ensure that I do not look like an inflated female version!

So, there is a long way to go, and I will end up having to sustain being smaller than is comfortable regardless of anything else. It is fortunate that, thanks to him, I have done sufficient research now to be able to manage very good nutrition in very few calories per day.

I probably suit being muscular more than bony, I have tried both, but bony is probably going to be easier given that writing is likely to become more important than artwork or anything else.  Assuming I survive the inevitable family attack, which I may not, it looks as if the future consists of a lot of drinking water and supermix blends, so I need to get used to this now. I have banned everything that is not strictly correct from the house, so probably a good idea to avoid visiting.

My skin is responding well to the attention I am paying it, the magnesium oil, whilst painful, has pretty much eradicated all signs of stress-related psoriasis, but I am still seeing some evidence of collagen depletion, probably age-related around the eyes and chin, which I am experimenting with.  I will update when I find a more fail-safe way of dealing with it than I am currently using.

I think it is probably time to dig the next set of corsets out, although replacing clothing is not going to be easy financially until I secure more gainful employment. (the current job, whilst entertaining and flexible, is not likely to last forever due to a rather unfortunate cultural issue which I have no plans to do anything about)

 

 

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New Stuff from Ina Disguise

New Stuff from Ina Disguise

 

New Vida Store  Feel free to click in and see the updates so far

Evil Money – short story

The Perverts – short story

Feel free to have a look at some new material – working on shoes and a couple of bits of furniture for the Boris collection whilst seeking yet more work.

Will be publishing under another name this year for more serious stuff, so this is a period of some upheaval, but I think we can safely say my output is on an upward trajectory due to the avoidance of despair.

As ever, if Wolfe has any objections, he cannot possibly find it difficult to find me and  let me know. I imagine he will find it as funny as I did. Shoes coming soon, and I will be back into game-making shortly as I am trying to avoid thinking at all.

Much affection,

 

Ina

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Let’s get something straight

The three people that I have kept in touch with in the last few years have talked quite a bit of nonsense in the last month or so, mainly due to the apparent distraction of my change in circumstances due to my mother being killed in hospital.

I have also had to tolerate a lot of nonsense from people who don’t know me, on the grounds that there was no point in concealing Ina any more when discussing what I am really interested in given that my cover was blown with the disgusting scum family.

Whilst this is very kind and well-meaning, I have to get something straight, so that I do not have to discuss it in person as being told that I am now free to find some random bloke/travel/whatever mad idea other people have about what would make me happy is driving me slightly mad. My mother was not the only thing keeping my nose to a self-imposed grindstone.

I haven’t changed my mind about the Wolfe issue in nine years.  Yes, I have been miserable, yes I have experienced significant change, and no, I am not likely to have a happy outcome.  That changes nothing.  I am fortunate enough to have at least encountered potential happiness, which is more than most people ever get to do. I’m extremely grateful to him, just for breathing.  I don’t think I’ve ever said that about anyone else. Yes, he still drives me insane. That is OK too. Perfection is extremely dull.

Settling for what is expedient, on the other hand, is not what I would view as a happy outcome.  I do not envy people who have done this, even though they probably believe that they have achieved something by going ahead and settling for what is real in order to obtain their preferred outcome.  I guess this is a matter of circumstance as well as personal choice.  People who want to have fifteen kids, for example, have to make a commitment fairly early in life in order to achieve their aims.

I never wanted this, nor did I prioritise finding a partner.  I was made aware of my responsibilities to my parents fairly early in life, and whilst in many ways could be viewed as being used, have got a lot out of that in terms of what I would call ‘sideways’ growth – I have a lot of strings to my bow, although there is still a lot of development work to get where it is going. That is fine with me.

It is important to remember, even if you hate my work or anyone else’s, that doing something is always better than fearing exposure, no matter what you choose to do.  Other people do not matter.  When you finally realise this, life gets a lot riskier and yet decisions become a lot easier.

Another thing to realise is that my first thought is always about work.  My father was exactly the same.  Love is work, work is love etc etc.  It is probably on the level of a disorder.  It is no fun if it is too easy and the journey is more important than the destination.

So, no, I do not ‘need a man.’  I do not want to settle for anything.  I am not in a hurry to leave my beloved home unless it is worth it, and it definitely won’t be worth it unless I get the current work done.  The work is way more important than anything.  Whilst my remaining priorities are Wolfe, cats and house related, they do not involve expected outcomes in any way whatsoever and never did.  I have my shit to do and that is that. I have no intention of settling for frankly tedious old or new relationships and I am not going to change my mind. There is only one me, and only one him.  The rest of it is tough tittie, frankly.

If any of the people that I am referring to had listened to anything, they would not be raising these issues.  Sometimes you have to self-destruct in order to create something better, whether that is real or a self-created mirage in order to achieve a much more important goal.

I have grown, particularly in the last few months, to fear different things.  I used to fear the fact I was different.  Now I fear narrow-minded stupid people who assume that everything they were taught is real.  They are the real monsters, and I do not plan to remain amongst them to suffer a stunted, stupid death of the soul.

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Life as an elderly spinster

Well I might as well accept it, life did not go the way I wanted it to.

I didn’t really want much out of it, I loved working more than anything really.  It is quite fitting that the rest of my time is going to be spent doing that.

I took on the mantle of chick with cats at a very early age, of course.  I was terrific at being 17.  I had a flat, two cats, some 3d renderings of lizard eyes to upset passing drug users all over the walls, and I used to get high and knit between reading Sartre and various Russian worthies.

The horror of my mother’s ‘death by stupidity’ is starting to set in now.  Fortunately I have a lot of work to do.  At the moment I am making some grant applications for the first time.  My artistic pursuits have always been self funded.  Whilst you were out spending money on a social life to get a mate and produce more vile little consumers, I was spending money on glue, varnish, wool and whatever else I needed.  No matter how little money I have had, I have always managed to find money to make things.  Even my shoes have been sold when necessary.

The age of this rather disreputable approach of creativity has now passed me by, however, and it is time to get things done before I lose the space to work effectively.  The rabid Scottish wolves that I don’t want are approaching the door, even as the one that I wouldn’t mind spending some time with gets on with bringing up his own little consumers with some chick that didn’t seem terribly bright or pleasant. (I am sure she is delightful, actually, apart from the territorial glaring)  It is all very sad.

I have reeled from the discomfort of my attachment to Wolfe for nine years now.  I still have a lot of work to do, and there is no probability that I am going to self-actualise any time soon.  This is rather depressing.  I am staggering towards it at slightly enhanced speed, but not really any further forward in real terms.  I don’t really feel that uncomfortable about it any more.  Today I thought about how ridiculous it was and wondered what the alternative actually is?  I had no answer, because I don’t think I really want one.  Some people get hitched to stop thinking about love.  I created a little box, stuck a picture on it and decided to forget about ever being happy since it didn’t seem likely anyway.

I miss my silly mother.  I don’t miss dealing with stupid people, and for that I feel guilty.  I have no tolerance left for them.

It is certainly a time-saver.

Rebekah Brooks is fit for work (2018)

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Additions to Boris Johnson Project

 

Priti Patel is fit for work

Rebekah Brooks is fit for work

 

These are the first in a lengthy series, which is taking a long time due to the expense of working with resin.  Jemima Khan and Iain Duncan Smith are coming next, but they may be some time due to the cost of resin.

I will probably keep Rebekah Brooks, as it was a nice table once. Priti will be getting a suitable lining shortly, but I had a grant application to make so we worked on the photo shoot today.

In the meantime, here is a picture of the most beautiful creature in the known universe.  Evidently I am feeling frisky today.

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How the NHS kills old people

There are a variety of techniques I have seen employed over the last decade.  Broadly speaking, if you are over 80, particularly if you are no longer on your feet, you should be considering private treatment for most ailments if you wish to remain alive.

I imagine that this cut-off will get smaller as time goes on.  It is as much for the benefit of the economy as it is for reducing costs of sustaining the lives of people that a consultant has written off and obtained the agreement of some colleagues, who may or may not have met you, to proceed with a process on the assumption that your ‘best interests’ are served by being dead.

Having had reason to read the legislation that the Social Work Department work from when dealing with adults with incapacity recently, even this has paragraphs which all end the same way ‘the problem ceases when the patient is dead.’  Hence we have systems in place which assume that the best interests of the patient are, in fact, for them to no longer exist.

Whilst the actions of so-called-professionals have given me many reasons for anger of late, it is not surprising then that they operate on several assumptions:

That any carer needs some form of reeducation as they are sublimating their lives for someone else.
That any elderly person getting few visitors is of no value
That any difficult patient is draining resources and of less value.
That ongoing health issues as you get older are again draining resources and making the patient actually cost money.

One of my elderly neighbours was actually told to his face that he was deserving of treatment because he was a high-rate taxpayer.  I was told by three separate doctors what was going to happen to my mother long before it actually happened.

When they decided to finish my father, it was the Liverpool technique.  He was drugged within two days of being in a unit devoted to sparing other hospitals from high death rates on the grounds of his being ‘difficult.’  He was still able to speak and was a relatively happy, plump and mischievous man when he was drugged.  Within four months he was starved, unable to speak and agitated when awake.

When they decided to finish my uncle, he was on  his feet and independent.  He recovered well from a UTI, only to be placed in a draughty ward and given further antibiotics until he contracted pneumonia a week later.

When it came to my mother, they actually came right out and told me.  Seven months before, she had been sent home, painfully thin with terribly fragile skin on the assumption she was going to die.  I knew this because of the daily visits of the district nurses, who were supposed to be there to give her an injection to clear any fragmented clots.  So keen were they to also give her painkillers, that a fight broke out when I changed her diet to a highly technical version of a raw food diet and not only solved the continuing weight loss problem but improved her skin and eradicated the infections she had had for the previous ten years on a normal diet.  My friend, a former medical professional, was astonished by her recovery.  So was her GP, who noted the astonishing improvements in her blood work, since the nurses were so keen to attempt to prove a case against me, that they invented stories about weight loss as she gained, clutter which was caused by visiting carers not knowing the house, and by accusing me of neglect if I left the room within the five minutes that they were there to see my mother.  It was a constant fight for seven months.  The social work department were brought in to tell me that I resented my mother, that my saving her life was, in fact, me somehow abusing her and that anything I did was wrong.

Finally, when she went into hospital after a GI bleed (she had also had one on her previous visit to hospital, so personally I would have regarded this as routine and simply given her a transfusion)  I was asked whether I wanted her to have medical treatment, to which I said yes, of course.  The next doctor I saw said that in future she would be ‘eased out.’  The third consultant stated that she did not believe in the science of my mother’s diet, and when I referred her to the blood test results I had established, simply did not bother to look because she was wrong.

I have had many reasons over the years to be highly suspicious of people who assume that their education is the end of them having to learn anything.  Crap doctors, crap accountants, crap former bank managers.  People who take their salary, pay their bills and carry on administering a conveyor belt.

You may choose to live in blissful ignorance.  It will not help you when it happens to your family.

Maybe, like my local shopkeeper and my neighbour, you actually want your loved ones dead.  I did not, and on the assumption that there are still some other compassionate and intelligent people left in the world, I suggest that you get out and learn what they are failing to teach so-called professionals.  There is no need for too many antibiotics.  As I said to a consultant pathologist I was working alongside several years ago.

We don’t need more doctors.  We need better health.

Where is the funding for that? Why aren’t the public told the truth?  If we fed animals the way we feed ourselves, the animals would be taken from us. How come a £150000 a year consultant cannot manage to find it out by themselves, and I can? I am very sorry that I did not know what I know now in time for it to have spared my father his miserable death.

I have heard a frightening number of people who think these issues will never affect them.  They will, and sooner than you think.  In memory of my parents, I think it is time to do something about it.

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My Dear Brother

My dear brother was terrified tonight, as I arrived with this blaring out of my car’s open windows to deliver a lovely parcel of the last photograph of him left in the house.

My dear brother, whose response to my easily attaining a far better education than him was to go behind my back to anyone who would listen and prepare his plan to tell the world that I was incapable of managing, even as he ignored all problems, failed to do anything properly, failed to help with any actual work and tried to steal from his own mother.

He did this by abducting her from her home, telling her that I did not want her any more, that she was a burden and that he would be splitting her money with his other sisters.  He gained access to her bank accounts using a fast method he had learned as a bank manager in the dim and distant past, when they actually employed people with crap degrees on the grounds that they could play golf.

He used to say that we were a family of middle managers.  This is before he learned that the more lying, conniving and pretending to be even stupider than he actually is he did, the more money people paid him for looking unthreatening in a suit.

He told everyone that he was my mother’s Power of Attorney as he did this.  He was not, because he had been too incompetent even to wangle that properly. He tried to force her to sign it after he had tried to rob her and failed, and was prevented because the social work department also wanted to rob her and were trying to declare her incompetent.  He then tried to devalue the property and the one next door by spreading rumours about its condition in an effort to rob his equally poisonous sisters.  I presume his friend wanted to bulldoze it and he was offered yet another backhander.

I then replaced him with a so-called-professional Chartered Accountant, who failed to be particularly helpful and is now pretending to be ill rather than offer any help of any kind, even as I save him from having to execute the will or doing anything resembling actual work.

I have been surrounded by lazy, incompetent people with easy lives, who did not even bother to send flowers when my mother died, far less say thank you for the 24/7 care I provided whilst not following my own career.  None of them have lifted a finger to help with any of the extensive work I have done on my father’s house, and they now think they will stand with their hands out after they smirked whilst my mother was killed by yet more incompetents in the NHS.

My brother apparently imagines that telling me that he ‘distanced himself’ from his own shitty behaviour is sufficient to restore his status, meaning that he will get his filthy stinking hands on my mother’s money.  I have gently suggested that he avoid doing this, but he will probably ignore it.  Instead my father’s hard work and my hard work preserving it is now to be wasted in court, since I would sooner see a lawyer get it.  My life is wrecked anyway.

Naturally he is too stupid to realise that he has a lot more to lose than I do, so it will all be wasted.

This, he will find out tomorrow, when he attends my mother’s solicitor thinking that he will be welcomed like a god.  He is an extremely stupid old man.  What a shame my parents weren’t actually very good at it.  What a shame my brother married a credit card whore.  She isn’t even amusing or attractive, which is probably how he managed to turn out to be such a titanic useless, lazy old bore.

 

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New Year with Ina

This year is likely to be a struggle, with no mother, my family employing their usual vicious and immature tactics and a general feeling of the immense ocean of stupidity surrounding my current situation.

I am remaining blithe about this so far.  Despite the monkeys throwing faeces at the door, I have plenty to occupy me.

Current projects include shoes, handbags, games and several books.

Current work includes environmental research, work for an American company and a few smaller projects.

I am working on a financial project for a new book, which will be under a new project heading.  I may announce it later in the  year, in the meantime Ina will carry on being Ina.

I will be doing a rebuild update later next month, in the meantime I hope you had a good festive season and are as relieved as I am that it is over.

‘Mobbing’ is a term for group narcissism that members of the disgusting scum family should look up in reference to their behaviour.

Ina

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Ina outed

The nurses who colluded to murder my mother apparently also saw fit to out Ina to my disgusting family.

My siblings, who like to pretend that they are respectable are the most repulsive, stupid, dishonest people I have ever come across, and in the past I have met some pretty dodgy people.

These are people who sat by my mother’s bed and refused to give her any of the mixture that kept her infection and pain-free for six months.  They smirked at the mere thought.

These are people who complained every time my mother went to hospital that they were not happy with the out of this world standard of care that she got from me, since she was my first priority.

These are people who thought it was perfectly OK to destroy my life, because they thought they would get some money out of it.

I have no idea who thought that it was a good idea to expose me to even more danger from these people.  They effectively colluded in the murder of their own mother, so why would I want them to know anything about me?

Nobody is this stupid.  Seriously, nobody.

If any of the people mentioned happen to stop by and read this, I hope that you die in a lot of pain whilst stupid people sit and smirk at the side of your beds.

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