Twistd. Read my mind (includes the weird end bit)

This is how I make a film

I decide what event of my history will be the focus

Then I sit down,
and I listen to everything I hear in my head about that event

I write down everything I hear
And I don't stop until I can't hear anything anymore

I stop writing when there is silence

And then I am one memory lighter
Because it can't weigh me down anymore

I am one memory happier
Because it is free to float away

I am one memory less fucked up
Because this is the nature of my therapy

Free writing my way out of
shame and blame
and this whole twisted ball game

This is Twistd

It is the 95% of the next film 'Loosey' that isn't included in the next film 'Loosey' - and it is in the form of a poetry reading

For most people, it is very hard to read without creating pictures in their mind of the story they are processing

Some are more aware of the visuals they create than others

If you are like me, as you listen to the purging of this memory from my past, you will make pictures in your mind as you interpret the voices in my head, what they need to say, and what can't be left unspoken

And by the end of my thoughts and the start of the silence, you will have made your own very niche independent film, based on a story you have never heard, a book you have never read, a film that has not been made, about a person you don't know, an experience you have not lived, that was something but is now nothing, in real time, without any equipment or crew, for an audience of one - using only your imagination

Just like you did when your mother read stories to you at bedtime

Did that just get weird?

If it did, just close your eyes

Open your mind

Tell me what you see

When you step into me


"You got a branch loose up in your brain forest girlfriend"

"Well, I find your lack of jiggawatts disturbing" - Back to the Future

This was a film about a 30 year best friendship 
That experienced an unfortunate side hustle 
Towards nope, no way, nuh uh
The reason is obscure
And distant

Like Pluto

I can only theorise about what happened 

Like Pluto

I look in The Big Book of Unknowns 
Chapter six
And the eternal question



No. Thing

Not. One. Thing

Can you not hear me?

Perhaps I can only
Be heard as a friend
From a safe distance

Me. Way over there

Like Pluto

Perhaps I was guilty
Of not being the person I always was

The person with the nice girl mask on 
For everyone’s benefit
But mine

Perhaps the magnitude of emotional inequality
Was the straw that broke
A friendship built on a foundation 
Of fuck all, not much and some string

Or so it now seems

I pulled at one of those strings
But I couldn’t find the me you wanted me to find

Like a goldfish being true, in the past I have forgotten


Because life isn't a movie 
From start to end
My absented friend

When you have worn many masks 
And lived several lives 
As all friends must
And we have
I didn't want to write 
Anything that made myself right
No lies
No roses 
No self servings
Of self  justification

If we were indeed 
A subject 
I cared for
All I can give you is


This is me

This is me now

And this me is choosing to be weird
And not need to be cheered by you

This me is choosing to be different
Instead of indifferent - like we practised at school

This me is choosing to search for the perfection of honesty
In my imperfections and failings

This me is resigned to what will be
Instead of what can be rescued

I can't say
'I'm sorry. I'll make everything better'
Because I'm not sorry for doing something tangible with my fears

But I am sorry about the intangibles

I am sorry that you have been conditioned to believe 
that my bare skin is pornographic and obscene

I am sorry that you cannot separate my art from me

I am sorry you think I'm morally confused, directionally challenged and beyond broken

I am sorry that you believe the skin I was born in
And my memories of being in it
Are lewd and something I should be ashamed of

I am sorry you have to wave your finger
In my general direction, at my choices
Aiming to do some shaming
As a way of protecting you from what you fear

I'm sorry me being me
Got in the way of you being you
And us being us

'In the desert you can’t remember your name, for there ain't no one for to cause you no pain' - America. Horse with no name

I'm not complaining about the ride into the desert, because I did gain something from the journey

A scar with no name

I got another scar in my head that no-one can see
And you know how much I like collecting 
Invisible emotional scars that talk to me

This scar is quite chatty. For a scar

Last night it told me
Missy, sometimes, you just have to be ok with being a life statistic

What's a life statistic? I asked

It's a measured weight of emotional roadkill that is deader than a chair leg, whose only purpose is as something for rats to choke on - and it's just stinking up someone else's desert highway full of dead memories

The things I choke on. One. Two. Three

Part of me
Is now living part of my life
On that highway
In this persons rear view mirror
As she speeds away from the scene of the memory

Of me, and who I am

Every day
I am getting smaller & smaller
Further & further away
More & more invisible
In the reflection of something I once valued

Slowly expiring as the white lines
And roadsigns

An ever receding horizon of estrangement
from which a long friendship waves bye bye 
as it floats 
off the edge of terra firma

Until finally, it looks like a little speck out near Pluto

Ssshhssh hush now
Quiet mind
Eyes clear
All the better to see you 
My dear

I don't know what happens after that
But I don't think it's good
Because I still feel I'm trying to escape from something

I try searching Google to distract me from me

'Escape from me'
Google replies...
'No results. Did you mean to search for ‘no escape from you’?
Because you know you can't escape from yourself
You knew this right? 
Or are you just stupid?

Ok, then just tell me what's impossible about me if that's possible

It takes a while to register that I'm waiting for myself to answer

I am what I write 

I don't hear
I never saw
I didn't feel
I needed most
I write about
I need to understand

A little girl pain parable 
Wrapped up in an old black poet mind
And logic is a cop 
Shining a flashlight in my eyes

I would describe my mood as highly sub-optimal
So I listen to sad Beatles songs 
That sing about things being alright

Here Comes the Sun
Da da da da
Here Comes the Sun
I say
It's alright

But the only thing I learn from these Beatles songs is...

The word 'sub-optimal' is not used in any Beatles song, but the word 'alright' is used in a lot of Beatles songs

I found this curious

And the reason is - 'alright' rhymes with 122 other words. It sounds the same as a lot of other words. It has lots of little word friends. It is well liked in the literary playground. It's a very positive little word

But sub-optimal doesn't rhyme with a single other word in the English language


No. Thing

Not. One. Thing

It is a difficult word. It is different. It has no friends, it doesn't play well with other words, it hangs out in depressing sentences and it is hard to explain 

Sub-optimal has many issues - but its lack of ryhymability explains why I have had trouble matching any Beatles music to this particular mood

"The secret to life is one thing. But no-one knows what that one thing is" - Jack Palance. City Slickers

Reduced down to its most nihilistically granular elevator pitch

Life is dumb
Stuff happens
You die

If you're lucky, you then become an invisible memory in someone elses sub-conciousness - a series of word pictures just floating around in black nothingness, occasssionally being smiled at sadly as you pass through their frontal lobe

The infinite end of the cycle
Looks a lot like the endless beginning 

Maybe the secret of life is
All these things added together 
In the end
And the beginning


No. Thing

Not. One. Thing

If you want it to

Or it could mean something else

Or it could be a trick question

Yours, while focusing on failing as a human being, and realising I am succeeding at something for once - I am over-achieving at being sub-optimal as a best friend

Missy Jubilee

This has been a short chapter from Missy Jubilee's 'Vagina'. My Life from the Inside Out

It contains fancy-schmancy odes about my life & abnormal existence within normal society, at a speed of 80,000 words a year

Disclaimer: These sentences were constructed by an overly opinionated button pushing monkey in the Missyverse Highfaluting Word Factory located in Outer La La Land

Pavlov!. You're a bad monkey

A very, very bad sub-optimal monkey

Based on this feedback, Pavlov the monkey then searches Google for....

'Bad Monkey' 'Punish' 'Handcuffs' 'Whips' 'Chains' 

Google replies in 3 milliseconds

"You're wouldn't be opening up old neural highways to mentally punish yourself with searches that create sexualised self-hate submissive role play scenarios designed to emotionally damage you, reinforce your self-blaming small talk and thereby once again giving power to the self-loathing reflection that mocks you in the mirror every day would you?. No, you wouldn't be doing that. Would you. Much. Have you met my friend 'Literally'?"  

Is it just me, or are my search results starting to judge me?

Welcome to my mind - where I just developed an app written on a code base of rhyme, riddle & ridicule that returns uncomfortably personal psychological analysis with every search you do - based on the words you used, the words you thought about using, and the words you avoided using because you didn't want to incriminate yourself.

It allows users to know exactly how twisted they are, how much they are in denial of their twisted nature, the real reason they became twisted in the first place, the nearest other twisted person, and how many standard deviations of twistedness they are from normal, based on daily global sampling of:

1.      what is normal

2.      what is twisted

3.      and what is so fucked up that we exclude it from the sampling because it is just wrong

This app allows you to be completely ashamed of every search you ever do - in real time.

Gone are the days when you'd have to wait days for self-judgement to set in, now it’s right at your fingertips.

Plus it shares all your deepest, darkest secrets that you have hidden from everyone all your life - automatically with all your social networks.

Now you don't have to waste any more time trying to remember what you've hidden and what you haven't

This isn't software as the answer to a problem

This is a new paradigm software - software that creates the problem, then throws petrol on the flaming carcass of the problem after the villagers burnt it as a witch, which causes the solution to run screaming from the scene of the shame into the desert looking for that horse with no name - and wanting no further part of this fucked up shit

Twistd. The App. The velvet love glove for your insecurities

Not available in the Play Store. Just in your head

Available on all compatible Android and IOS devices. Solutions to problems sold separately. If you can find them. They're in a desert somewhere

It's is all very web 3.0 in a Hitchcockian kind of way

"Precisely at the time you start to develop a conscience in this life, you start to be at war with yourself" - James Baldwin

And then memories just become a requiem for a dream