Well, George Osbourne’s Budget last week was something to go down in the history books, but today’s Prime-ministers Questions should be as famous as the ‘Battle of Orgreave’.

The battle between the most vulnerable disabled people in our society, against the established government and the media, mainly the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC).

This is Norman Smith, a BBC news broadcaster who was told to stop filming the protest, and he did.


What sort of journalism do we champion in this country? A sort that does as it’s told when told by the establishment. Well, that’s not what journalism is, was made to be, but unfortunately has become.

The MP’s were under strict rules to not show any support or acknowledgement towards the protest based in the lobby of the House of Commons today. All but one listened. Caroline Lucas MP of the Green Party of England and Wales. And what a woman she is, powerful and strong she doesn’t give a shit. Democracy and freedom of expression is what she champions, and she gave the protesters the coverage they deserve.

We’re all in this together… All must mean everyone but the vulnerable, the non Tory voters. Well done Tories. You set of bastards

A school in Northern England has given me the honour of getting a little voluntary experience in a classroom, helping mainly the kids with learning difficulties. I got the job, because of my cover letter I sent to schools. It talked about my ambition of becoming a TFEL teacher overseas, and then I boasted about my university work. The controversial decision that my tutors refused to help me because of the national law. Turns out, I proved them wrong, and I got a 2:1 overall.

The staff whom gave me the job was impressed with my letter, very interested and curious. My project based itself around a simple goal – “How far can a student, push the boundaries of freedom of expression.”

Now my role is to help children and teenagers with special needs and learning difficulties, I too have suffered from depression and anxiety for years and hopefully my experiences in life, as well as my work, will greatly influence at least one or two students.

I’m nervous, very nervous. I want to prove to these students, staff and the school itself that I can be a good teacher and guidance into life of uncertainties and challenges. I have thrown myself in the ‘deep-end’, The school has got average standings, out of around 1,200 students the school has around 200 special needs students, and only 11 teaching assistants to help out. That’s a large ratio. The schools in Britain are crying out for teachers and assistants, some places more than others, some schools more than its neighbours.

Our government last week announced all schools will eventually become academies by 2019/20 – to which some schools, like the one I’m starting at, have objected to already becoming an academy because their school would suffer tremendously more. I hope my attendance at the school can hopefully spark a political influence in some students for the benefit of the schools future.

Best of luck to myself, I’ll need it with the surname I have!

Friedrich Neitzsche, “The Birth of Tragedy”

A beautiful quote. People say artists tend to have mental illnesses, of all sorts. But what about those who die young, who aren’t famous within their peers or popular culture. I feel I could be one of those. A life wasted, gone. Blown away with the northerly winds of the Yorkshire moors. Conservative Britain struggles to thrive with culture because, well lets face it. They don’t give a shit about the mental health or artistic values of the poorest in society. Thatchers old ghettos brought us ‘chav culture’. Not much really came out of it, nothing compared to the later centuries popular culture which dazzled a world. Western culture now gives us people like Justin Beiber, a man who actually spat on his own crowds…

Kanye West, a man who’s wife is extremely famous from one terrible pornographic film and the man himself. Well, his mojo has ran outta juice and he’s now publicly begging for money and producing terrible costumes for fashion shows around the world, the blandest thing i’ve ever witness. A quote from myself when I first saw the catwalk… “where are the clothes?”

Why can’t these be apart of the infamous ’27 club’. Why take Jimi and Jim’s live but not these people who are nothing but a reflection of capitalism going wrong. Terrible produce and shit tons of money.

For life will always baffle me, I hope. If there is a god. He will smite down and burn the souls who are desimating the modern western popular culture down to a laughable excuse of ‘art’. Ain’t no artist diss another artist and say you’re better.

Burn um’ all. They’re not artist’s. They’re capitalists!

Last night, British TV showed a program about ‘Manic Depression’. Before I start talking about that program, I just want to say that the general movement of this awareness, is great. The older generations of our country are the type of people who dismiss depression, people like my parents and family, and the hardest bit for me, wasn’t admitting I have regular depression and anxiety, not even being diagnosed as ‘Manic’ or ‘Chronic’ depression. The real challenge, and still on-going challenge, is for my family to wake up to the facts of this awful disease.

The program showed Stephen Fry, a worldwide famous actor, comedian and writer who has publicly expressed his own mental health problems, and campaigns for the awareness movement. So money isn’t everything, he’s smart, pretty minted, travels a lot and still suffers from the same shit I have. I related more, to the first character. A female who has been held back by the power of her depression. Stopping her from friendships, a career, travelling, or simple things like socialising.
Now, some people who know me, know I’ve had a rough life of drugs and lots of alcohol, and may object to me blaming my wreckage of a life on ‘me being a dickhead’, rather than seeing the bigger picture of depression. People who say these things, haven’t suffered from mental illnesses like I have, clearly. Some of them I know, have had rough stages in life. I’ve had a rough stage in life since I was 11. That’s the first time ‘recorded’ I was depressed. Many many years before then I was the same. It was just then when my parent (Mother) decided to get me some counselling.

It also showed a bloke at the end, who suffered from Bi-polar too. This guy had firmly believed that some famous 80’s singer wrote songs, for him. He thought she left messages in her songs for him, and this destroyed his life. This was the most interesting of cases in my view, he not only was depressed, but had a firm believe in something quiet wild. A passion for it, but it took over his life. I suppose you could put the same scenario with say; a working class lad, had a rough life, boring job, finds a conspiracy theory, and his life is changed. He dedicates life to learning about ‘the corrupt’ and/or maybe more conspiracies. Weather people believe him or not, he firmly believes what he believes and well, one could say, he’s brainwashed. Others might say, he’s enlightened. Whatever it is, his mind is constantly set around one topic, person, object, theory… the list is endless I guess.

Here’s why I mention this, why this interests me so much. At the end of 2014, I split up with my girlfriend who I met at university, and lived with for 2-3 years. It was hard, my first ‘real’ relationship with a partner, and there’s some positive’s, maybe more negatives. But it taught me things. After our relationship finally finished, I kind of, just stopped trying to socialise, stopped trying to meet women. I had a stage where I thought I was homosexual, and met a guy who I had some sort of sexual experience with. I didn’t enjoy it, didn’t feel comfortable. I felt lost.

My third and final year came around after re-sitting my second. Now, living without my ex and with a friend Heidi, and two other females whom I didn’t know. My life changed, I changed it, dramatically. I knew I was there for the reason of studying, and coming back from nearly being thrown out (not for my grades, but a petty fine) – I fought the university myself, and I won. But I was still very depressed, as everyday. No meaning of life, no wanting of more.

Then I introduced myself deeper into a world unknown to me. Politics. And through my own personal history, I realised a lot about who I am, who my family and friends are, and the people I feel most comfortable around. But that isn’t the connection. It’s the fact, that whilst I was visiting the doctors and university councillors for my depression and anxiety, I was throwing myself at learning Journalism, Law and Politics. It was the intensity of learning, which made me realise. I can beat depression, with passion.

My old 2nd year uni tutor, he wasn’t a councillor, nor a medical degree in psychiatric’s, but he did tell me to control my depression and anger, to put it into something passionately. And I did. My work, and I passed with the highest grade I’ve ever had in education. I got a 2:1 which I’m extremely pleased to say my tutors refused to help me, the nature of my work turned many people away from helping, because of it’s political references and the general election was so close. I almost had Nigel Farage on a dartboard in my mind, and every time I felt depressing thoughts of my own life taking over my time, I was throwing darts into Nigel’s turtle-looking face, and I continued to work.

I regularly wake up around 10am-1pm, but during this time. I was up at 7am every morning, no such thing as a ‘weekend day’, and I worked until the early hours every morning. All this whilst drinking and smoking ridiculous amounts of Marijuana I became a manic depressive, and taking down Nigel Farage’s UKIP was my main drug of choice. The finished piece alone I suppose can be looked at two ways. A manic depressive’s findings of UKIP and Nigel Farage, or… how most people viewed it. “Raw and controversial, great work, you should be a journalist”. When I left education, my life dramatically changed again.

I turned back into the first character of the show, I secluded myself even more, and the idea of intensely working on my passions, seemed a thousand miles away. I lost my independence and moved back home. I felt my manic depression had gone, and I’ve gone back into my average state of just… the bog standard depression of hating my life, everyday.


So I’ve got a new job, I’m a casual worker for the local council, my work – Stage production technician for the Theatre. It’s great, some colourful characters, some dull ones. I met actors, dancers, colleagues who I’m now close with. These relationship’s were formed in an extremely difficult time during my life. Over the course of the 8 weeks of pantomime madness, I managed to lose two grandparents. My nan, who was so close to my heart, and my grandad, who wasn’t as close, but his love for my grandma is something I will never forget. He worked until he was 80! Mad bastard, but that was him. Workaholic!

A friend I met at the theatre, threw £20 at me and forced me to get a taxi, the day before my nan died, to visit her in her final hours before the devil’s work of Lung cancer took her life. I was the last person she saw from our family, and I’ve never been so grateful for an act of kindness towards me.

The last day of pantomime, just as the final show started, two days after my nan’s funeral, I lost my grandad. Anxiety and depression took over his life in his later years when my grandma moved into a care home suffering from dementia. He visited her, but he had lost his soul mate, his best friend, and he gave up on life in general. His death was fast and sudden, only months ago was her planting winter flowers for approaching season.

Having myself suffer from Anxiety and Depression for over 10 years now, my daily life routine was just getting back into ‘normality’, whatever the fuck that is, when my grandparents lives started to diminish. I felt I had to change something, and the folk I met at the pantomime helped me see light at the end of the tunnel, never once did I cry, I only smiled.

Being suicidal for years too, I thought I would be feeling those same emotions when my grandparents pasted, but I never did. I drank and smoked a lot of weed, but I never felt suicidal, I just kept remembering I am apart of the pantomime. Remembering peoples smiles and laughs, the good nights out I’ve had during the show. And one other thing, which I don’t ever seem to mention much, but the inspiration from the people who worked it, helped me realise the hunger I had years ago before I left Bradford for London.

A great way for me to survive those suicidal thoughts, was quite simply, because of the pantomime. Focusing my attention to something enjoyable. That’s it.

For as long as I can remember… I haven’t known shit about politics. Like most Britons my age, we are under the illusion that our parents sink into our minds at a young age, “they all talk the same shit”, “i don’t care, it means nothing to me”… those kinda things.

Until I realised I took a fond interest in conspiracy, then… I realised you can do fuck all about it. If you don’t get involved in politics. After returning home from university, being a Green Party voter, I confronted my family about their politics. My dear friend Sam who’s family are so warm and caring, always have political debate. They have a liberal, a labour, BNP and a UKIPPER.. all sitting around the dinner table. I used propaganda to express my Green thoughts amongst the family, and turned them all into Green voters, even the father became a candidate at the latest elections.

May came, my birthday and the national polling day in the same month. What could go wrong?

Well. Everything went wrong. The Tories got 24% of the countries population to vote for them, and thus, won overall majority. A vast majority of the population again, didn’t vote. We don’t live in a democracy. Noam Chomsky calls it a Dictated Democracy which in my eyes, sounds about right. My birthday went tits up too. I confronted my family, I got it out of them. Secret Tory voters. Yet – the daily news comes on and they moan about this and that, but I now have the excuse of saying, “you can’t moan… you voted for this to happen” – wether it’s austerity cuts or war. You voted for it!

This revelation in my life – along with recent arguments with friends, and even the taxi driver dropping me off home “ohhhh you must be rich, look at this house!”… so I gave him £5 instead of £4 just for his cheeky remark. But it made me think hard about my life. I know i’m this spoilt little cunt from a family who.. well. Ignore my depression, brush it off as “you’re over-reacting”, a family who “support me” by giving me money to live on. Which, because of my background and years of experience, like always, I resorted to drugs and alcohol. I found no love in myself, my only way of thinking is about ME ME ME. Something I have tried strongly for years to never be like. It summed it up for me. Maybe I’m a Tory in-disguise, after all, most Young Greens are middle-class kids wanting to be different. But I believe in socialist policies…. makes no sense.

I know I don’t have the support I should have from my family. No warming family moments, the only support is money, which I blew away. And now i’m here – a realisation of my privileged background, my selfishness and arrogance. The drugs and booze are all mine! All mine I tell you! Just like the Tories money. It’s all theres!!!! Not ours! Coming to terms with a family that doesn’t support depression, see’s it as a over-reaction, a burden amongst the family. Something I was told to never tell anyone about as it would decrease my chances of a job, a better university experience. My ‘mild dyslexia’ to which I think is more than mild, is shrugged off by my mother. Professionals tell me different. I cannot trust my unreliable friends, I cannot live a ‘normal’ life of boozing at the weekends with friends. This stopped years ago, and I was told by tutors, I have now grown up.

I feel like I am now learning from year 1. From scratch. Not another chapter, but a fresh book.

My life is filled with much confusion, after my first relationship went tits up, I’ve had to learn to love myself again. It’s taught me to be a stronger person, but am I? My university is 50/50. If I fail, I can’t re-sit, so I fail!! So I don’t have time to be chasing women, I have to be here learning and designing in order to pass this ridiculous institution.

My life has got interesting, so it seems. I now wake up with the intention of doing journalism, and graphics… rather than waking up having to do graphics work, which I merely enjoyed. Now I am excited about my project even more, my involvement with spying on UKIP is taking it’s toll on my head. My sexual life has been radicalised… although I do not wish to say much. My mind is all over, my deadline approaches, and I no longer cry about my ex-girlfriend.

I have started listening to more ska and hip hop music than ever before… blues was bringing me down to much, a change was needed. Classic FM in the mornings to keep my mind at peace from horrible thought. But still.. my life. my strange and confusing life. I feel like my soul is forever descending into an epitome of darkness … yet a fucking gain.

A life of liking.. and until the death of us. So it seems. I saw something on Facebook which made me write this. I, like many other people, constantly ‘Like’ things on Facebook, and take no action towards it, if for example the picture is off picture of something like a beggar on the street… and a quote saying something like END POVERTY END AUSTERITY! we all like it.. becomes a big hitter.. 400,000 likes… Then you turn up to an anti-austerity march and there’s 10,000. Thrilling. The excitement of liking and showing willing, being a sheep. Bahh.
The picture I saw was of a man punching a woman saying “Like – 0 Respect” with another 3 photos of something good, a man giving to homeless, a hero of war (debatable) and something else.. i can’t remember.. But around 400,000 liked it. Yet you see more than 400,000 people in the city of London just ignore homeless people. I hate these two faced people. I have some in my class at uni. People tell me they want to go on marches, protests, demonstrations… and they support all this stuff and believe all this stuff… so what? they fit in? they feel cool? important? … yet don’t be an ACTIVIST?! what’s the fucking point. Your a couch potato watching the big game on TV. Why be a spectator?

I’ve even had some people ask me, why do you do it? why do you put yourself in danger etc??


Keep liking the photos.

What pushes another man to bully another man should be the biggest question. Why have i been through so many ‘systems’ that fail to accommodate my depression and anxiety. These foul beasts at the top clearly don’t have depression otherwise it would be a bigger issue. I was told by my mother that I shouldn’t mention my mental health, it will stop me from getting jobs, people think differently of you… Well she was right. My honest is my forte. My death sentence as it stands. My prison sentence as it is. I think that most of the time the people your asking to help, never have the answers. Never have the help. I get pushed from one person to another, from one organisation to another.

Is depression looked upon like witches in medieval europe, or aids in the modern world. Why do people look at me like i’m strange, odd, abnormal. What is so confusing is why won’t nobody help me? I see these headlines in the newspapers and media programs that because of recent celebrities having suicidal deaths.. it’s bringing to the attention of depression. A word that has haunted my life for years. A word that i seize to exist. Why couldn’t mental health problems be an advantage to a human. After all most of the best genius’s in the world did suffer from depression, including Albert Einstein and of course, mrs Doubtfire – aka Robin Williams. A great actor i fucking loved, mrs doubtfire is still one of the greatest films i’ve watched, so heart warming, so family loving, and yet so deep and dark.

Robin’s life was taken due to depression, and the saying money makes you happy clearly isn’t true, this man was wealthy. I can never push myself to suicide, i’m a coward. I’ve been prevented a few times, which could be why i’m sat here typing this shit instead of been dust in the air, or buried in a wooden box 6ft under. Who knows. Maybe a bus will hit me tomorrow, hopefully.

I don’t have money, i don’t have many friends either, I don’t have good grades and no work to show at all for this year at university. I don’t have no hope in my life, no hope to wake up tomorrow. I lock myself away to a world of self-loathing and anger. Yet my family think I over-react. I must be a fucking good actor to have played this role for around 10 years. Maybe I should take up acting after all, smokey did say

But don’t let my glad expression
Give you the wrong impression
Really I’m sad, oh sadder than sad
You’re gone and I’m hurting so bad
Like a clown I pretend to be glad

Now there’s some sad things known to man
But ain’t too much sadder than
the tears of a clown
When there’s no one around

The Era of Filth and Sluts.

Back in days of the Renaissance, they was a whole load of artwork dedicated to the erotic and horny ladies and gents, and it’s known for it. But back then they didn’t have Primark, Youporn and Perverts. It’s not erotic anymore, its not kinky or sexual, its fucking filth. We live in an era of slut’s wanting constant sex, throwing aids all over the place, religious leaders who hate contraception and have strict rules on ‘sex before marriage’ but yet they rape children. You can enter anything on google and your guaranteed to find porn, some lowlife tart with her tits staring at me from the corner of the screen.

Romance? Don’t make me laugh, I knew a girl who sucked a dick for a packet of £1.99 chips from Wibsey Pizza, and that was suppose to be a romantic walk home with my friend. Oh how I praised him.

Primark and other retailers selling bikini’s for kids under 6 or something fucking daft, yet we have the biggest media coverage of perverts and pedophiles at their best work, still we are all blind and still dress our children in what seem’s to be porn clothing. Women have started wearing less and less clothes, shorter and shorter skirts, so short I can see last night’s dinner. Where’s the class… even these classy women who live in the sticks with million’s are still filthy bastards, still sucking on the pork sword like there’s no tomorrow.

And at what stage did porn become a high street top seller, what happened to this strict catholic country England? We have popes and priests backing ‘sex before marriage’ yet there is Ann Summers on every high street with sex dolls and costumes all over the shop window whilst familys are out doing a shop. What an awkward shop to walk past with a teenager. I enjoy the titty bars, and it’s not even a weird thing, there fucking everywhere, full of creepy men who all go by the name of dave… just call me dave. My friend who is a stripper told me she sells pictures of her feet to men she meets at work. Madness…

This growing culture of ‘young parents’, 15 year old girls talking like 40 year old mum’s, children and parents all still in education and under 18. This is a popular fashion, and it’s fucking up everything. Not just the world’s problem’s like population, employment and money, but its fucking up the future generations mentalities, children from certain areas, who are from certain families, will think this behaviour is cool, its acceptable, its the way of life. Your wrong, and your parents are idiots. The future generations are only going to make it worse, make it into a grimier and more disgusting era of filth of sluts.