Check out my new samples and tracks on reverbnation.

I have added a few drum track samples, and an experimental track. Which is high pitched at one point so be warned!


Italian poetry from medieval times

Posted: December 21, 2010 in Uncategorized

I was just looking on google for a correlation between the words ho and medieval poetry, and this was one of the first poets from that era who appeared. So I have run with that.

S’i’ fosse foco by Cecco Angiolieri – based upon a translation mentioning chorality of the verses, I assume for the purpose of the translation.

If I were fire, I would burn the world;
if I were wind, I would bestorm it;
if I were water, I would drown it;
if I were God, I would hurl it into the deep;

If I were Pope, I would be happy,
as I would harry all Christians;
if I were emperor, do you know what I would do?
I would chop off the heads of the lot of them.

If I were death, I would go to my father;
if I were life, I would run from him,
and I would do the same for my mother.

If I were Cecco, as I am and have been,
I would take for myself all the young and pretty women,
and leave the lame and ugly for others.


So opportunistic. And yet so righteously vengeful. And also the first four lines sum up the way of how to be not of the elements, as it stands with pagan rites according to an ancient usage and awareness of language.

This is a truth, and an English teaching of mine since I learnt to speak and write the word deems it wrong. Yet it is recognised instantly and ancestrally within myself, upon following by hearing and picking up on written and human sources who have awarely activated not, however it is spelt. And the word not is deemed as important to spiritual life for pagans. Some, anyway.

Check out music from Pop Murder

Posted: December 17, 2010 in Uncategorized


A fun covers band I found on reverbnation.

Music Player

Posted: December 14, 2010 in music

Shopping centres. I have walked around shopping centres a lot in my life. I remember falling asleep being carried on my mum’s shoulder, when I was a small girl with long fingers.

Even when I was a toddler I had young eyes and long fingers.

Good for playing piano and my double bass. Good for typing. Good for many things in life.

Good tidings we bring for you and your king. Says a Christmas carol. It used to be so exciting to wait for the presents stacked underneath the Christmas tree. It was a tree I had to grow taller for, to reach the top. I then achieved that height. The reachable height of an angel on a pine tree in the corner. With all the colourful little lights. The fairy lights, sometimes flashing on and off. Lights flashing on and off. On and off. And some on the blink. Tiny bulbs. With pointed delicate ends. Were they glass? I don’t know.
Easier to leave it at that. As they were breakable.

I have awoken with a start in a cold wintery cabin beside a cardboard box. It buzzed with the vibrating mobile phone alarm. At 6am. Made me near jump out of my skin. I had little sleep. It was so cold there. Frost on the grass. Horses neighing in the field behind the cabin, at 2.30am as the males obvious arousal showed. Mating season. And just standing there. I guess that’s a horse behaviour, to just stand there with a hard on.

I wouldn’t know what it feels like to have a hard on, at all, but I have wondered about it. Imagined the feeling of having a penis.

There are many things I have seen in my life. Horses hooves are stomping all over my feet as my own warning to myself to live life. No matter how much it throws at me. I am a ma, the horse. I am a freedom unto myself. I am a person, a human. Yet I tell myself as truth and also as puzzles. Puzzles, maybe I should put puzzles everywhere or even the word to retain the mystery of myself.

I have tried to work on a puzzle when I was in a place in the City. A jigsaw puzzle. Throes of mind entertainment it is not. And to take one or more of my gifts away is not allowed. Gifts must be retained.

To summon a tactical defence force for my angelic flight is not necessary. I have read the bible, I became aware of a similar story. The truth is that I flew a little without summoning myself to do that. I have levitated at a school camp years ago when I was a young teenager.

I have been lifted, possibly by an angel. It says a similar story in the Catholic Bible. I know it is not a work of great volume about my life. Yet I type and speak the truth. Once I get the energy bodies of people off me I will be talking a lot more as myself. I do this by creation, and a lot of it. Yet it is only one way to do this. I didn’t need have to summon all of myself before, it was easier to live and talk freely. Yet that was when I was not free.

I observe life from beyond the point of observance of people in the present. I constantly reiterate this as I face opposition and name calling , labelling of me. Yeah well I have different voices all right, and anyone who has been around me knows that, they’ve heard them speak instead of me. I have talked to people or attempted to or didn’t even really need to. And this talking of others or recognition of others who sneak around in my body willingly or not, with bad intent or not.

And no one else knows sometimes, and they go along so naively. Yeah I was too preoccupied by the things I was self determining as my life. Even though the rude people talk disturbingly in gutter speak. Even though the wrong definition of rude as somehow pagan, is not who I am. I do not say I am not, unless I am meaning not as in a rite to not a candle, an element, a being, a tree, a deity.

To not the elements, as the ancient words have rung true as I found out by life experience. Even though I am going everywhere. Even though beings seem to try to define life every step of the way and to regulate it. To attempt to make life something for someone else is always the life and talk of the people who do not know how to be that themselves.

I am recognised as a powerful being by the ones that matter. I am a powerful psychic healer. Things just fall to the wayside that need to be arighted.

There are no enquiries with some nice 1940’s hatbox and five little steps to go up in heels and a dress with tiny dots on it. No bell to ring. No person to person, wait for the message, sit on the steps, read a book, play a game with children, tend to the farm, or even the backyard. Tend to the garden and the roses and the chickens and the turkeys and all the meat that I can’t afford. And can’t share.

All the unnatural plastic things that in a small way can help. Yet no nice co-op things to put into paper bags, and take as I need, freshly. Take only what I need. People look upon not having as something to be more alarmed by than to not have a good life and good earth and respect and all the other good things that life should be. Such greedy trolleys in a packed shopping centre rolling along with an increasingly disturbed society of consumers. As if the trolleys and their contents are closer than relatives or old neighbours. Yet they go so soon, with greedy mouths. Not particularly hungry. But eating too much. Like smoking cigarettes whilst socialising. Or emotionally discussing, and smoking one after the other, yet I was aware of the illusory state and was not addicted, just went along then as a 16 year old, 18 year old, just going along. To do things with others, the entire concept of sharing. The right to consume is over anything else. To be a badly fed rich person is not ever me.

We live in a world that is denied as truth. We have so much more to see and believe than you or I can comprehend, yet we can take in our wisdom from what is seen. And be believed and accepted and loved.

I love and resonate to the power of soul and things that remain.

Here’s one to consider.