Miss Roberts

Pembrokeshire – the advice of stones

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img_0410I’m at my family home in Wales, sitting in bed drinking Whiskey Mac and contemplating the day. I have a strange relationship with this place, it was my dream home as a kid. I was brought up in London and the whole time we were about to move to Wales, it was where we belonged somehow. Every year we would visit and dream of our new home, our new life, walk round houses that were for sale and plan how mum would decorate them. It was all a dream. Then I turned 18 and went to university and finally the family moved here. All of them, my mum, Dad, brother, two sisters and nine nieces and nephews all live here now, I’m the only one that still lives in London.

Every now and then I think of moving here as well, but there is something about this place that makes me depressed and quite ill. Is it Pembrokeshire itself or just the family home? I have no idea what it is, this feeling that I don’t want to exist any more. That is how I was feeling today. Bad chemicals.

It is incredibly beautiful here in Pembrokeshire. We are by the sea, in a small village with a beautiful wood. The wood and the sea make me feel at home, but the house makes me feel alone. Desperately alone no matter who i’m With.

I walked through the woods to the sea today as i do every day when I’m here. i took Max, my mum’s great big soppy retriever dog with me. It was about 4 in the afternoon, it had been raining all day but the rain had now ceased and the sun was out. The woods were a bright almost luminous green. I have had very many seizures in these woods which gives them a strong haunted feeling.

When we get to the beach there are a couple photographing their daughter on the narrow stone bridge that crosses the river. Max is a young dog who tends to get over excited, I’m worried that he will knock the girl in the river as we pass, but he is very good and ignores them. Down on the beach I slide across slimy stones down to the sea. The sea is a grey blue creature slashing at the rocks to the chorus of seagulls. I turn to go back home but the photographer family are still on the bridge. I walk across to the river, crouch down and place my hands in the water. i want to get across the river without having to use the bridge. My fingers twist around the stones at the bottom of the clear water, only a few inches deep.

Take your shoes off, say the stones, roll up your trousers and wade across the river.

So I do. A little reluctant at first, I don’t know how sharpe the stones get, how deep the water becomes, or what malicious beasts might lurk at the bottom. But the water is cool and light on my feet and the stones slippery but smooth. The water doesn’t quite reach my knees and I’m across the river almost too quickly. Max is somewhat confused by my behaviour. I clamber on to a rock, sit and dry my feet. It makes me smile that such a simple thing can be so pleasing . I thank the stones for their good advice before returning back through the woods.

Written by Miss Roberts

July 31, 2018 at 11:44 pm

Patterns that talk of gods and then take the piss out of me for believing them

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Well the Sinister Paisley theme is continuing in my life and pattern has overtaken somewhat. It is curious. It is related to the epilepsy of course. Today everything left its form and became just pattern, there was nothing but patterns twisting and turning round me, and they laughed at me and said “you think we are pattern don’t you”. I was at work and had just finished a lesson. It was very hot, the room span and I found myself crouching down on the wooden floor trying to grasp it, and the floor got up with all its twists and turns and danced round me. Luckily I was alone clearing up so no one got to see my odd dance moves.

This is a bit like one I had about a week ago where I was in the shower and the water became pattern, and the circular pattern on the shower curtain became mouths and a huge voice from elsewhere said “pattern is everything”.

For a while I was thinking this was a god talking to me, and that maybe everything is pattern, but today it was like the patterns were laughing at me for thinking this. Laughing at my pathetic notion of pattern. Laughing at my need for answers.

Yet I have a new attraction to finding patterns in things. Putting the tables away felt better because I could see the interlocking pattern within them and it felt good. It has also been much easier to keep my flat tidy recently because it feels like fitting patterns together and creating new patterns. A peculiarly satisfying experience.

I am in the process of writing a song about Sinister Paisley for the Rude Mechanicals. It is about a festival I was at once and the person I was with was telling me all about his amazing acid trips and although this interested me a lot because the experience is in some ways similar to mine, it also oddly silences me and makes me very lonely because it is not a choice, I cannot do it for fun. But hey I get to talk to the gods so can’t really complain.

Mm…I’ve got the munchies now, wonder if that’s the cannabis oil I’m experimenting with.

A linocut I’m doing.

Written by Miss Roberts

July 23, 2018 at 10:22 pm

Posted in Autobiographical

Paperwork – the endless reshuffling and shuffling of stuff

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A new Rude Mechanicals video about my dismal days working in an office and how I escaped. Many thanks to Mat Hamilton Green of MHG music videos for this.

Written by Miss Roberts

July 16, 2018 at 10:19 pm

Posted in Autobiographical

Song remembering tactics – verse 2

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Oh dear, this is taking me rather longer than I’d thought, and the gig is on Friday, I’d better speed up!

stealingtaxeswontbudgepitofthegut

Written by Miss Roberts

July 9, 2018 at 9:18 pm

Posted in Autobiographical

Rich Bitch

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I feel I ought to say here that when someone says ‘bitch’ to me my instant thought is of my grandad’s old black Labrador Suzy. She was a lovely dog who was my grandad’s best friend for many years. I’m not referring to her when I use the term here, but the pleasant childhood memory of her lurks.

It is coming towards the Rude Mechanicals gig and video launch – on Friday 13th July. Don’t ask me why we picked a Friday 13th, seemed like a good idea at the time. We are launching a fabulous video done by Mathew Hamilton Green for our song Paperwork.  (Farr’s Dance School in Dalston, London, UK, to anyone who can venture our way)

The only problem is we have three new songs, which is good, but my little brain can’t remember things so well anymore so I’ve decided to draw them out in pictures to help me remember. I’m also going to post them up here so you can sing along on the night if your there and the moment grabs you.

First we have a song called Money, though I thought about changing it to Rich Bitch. I wrote it after I had a dream in which I had everything I could ever want, I lived in a palace and drank cocktails and holidayed on luxury boats, but I was very miserable and nothing would cheer me up.

This is just the first verse, next one coming real soon…

richbitchstocks&sharespileofmoneymiserableme

Written by Miss Roberts

July 6, 2018 at 5:36 pm

Posted in Autobiographical

Discipline!

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I just ironed. That’s the second time this week. I hate ironing. What is going on? Some kind of attempt to live an ordered life in defiance of my vast junk yard of a brain? The word discipline always makes me think of the song by Throbbing Gristle, but I’ll talk about them another time. Amazingly I managed not to burn myself on the iron. I saved that till later when I burned myself making a cup of coffee.

So I’m in the classroom 15 minutes before the lesson. This is adult education. One woman has turned up early and is talking to me about her time in Africa, only she starts slowly turning into an octopus. A very large orange and red octopus, but instead of octopus tentacles she has birds legs and huge great birds claws, loads of them clawing at the air. She keeps on talking. She is fully octobird now. I can’t understand anything she says though I’m trying really hard. I stand very very still indeed and say nothing. With time and patience this passes and I push it off with the excuse of bad hay fever. I feel rubbish but am very good at pretending and the class goes reasonably smoothly.

Epilepsy has been in the news last week after a boy had his cannabis oil taken away from him at customs and then was in hospital with a seizure a day later. I think I’m going to try to get hold of this cannabis oil. It wouldn’t be hard to be an improvement on my current medication. Three to five seizures a week is far too much to cope with and hold down a job. Though experiencing life as one long LSD trip does have some interesting insights.

Today the pavement, the shadows and the leaves of an overhanging tree merged together and surrounded me whispering to each other in a strange language important secrets. Then the sound took over, there was nothing but sound, it was alive and conscious and I’m inside it. It tears me apart till I’m just… not.

The teenage cyclist that found me curled up on the ground was very concerned, then zoomed off at great speed doing wheelies once id told him I didn’t need an ambulance.

Discipline.

How to stop myself fading away. The epilepsy plays havoc with my memory. I accidentally took money from work, lost my glasses for the umpteenth time, lost my keys, my favourite linocut knife, failed to turn up to the doctors appointment even though it is very important I go. I’m going to try and conquer this chaos with strict order. Yes, I, Miss Roberts, am going to become an ordered person. It is happening slowly. I have blackboards, and note pads and calendar on my phone, pill boxes and diaries, lots of diaries, so when I write one wrong I can check another. Slowly but surely I shall become ordered, in my usual tortoise like way. And decisive, I’ll be decisive! More ironing…

Trial Linocut of a Cyclops by me. I think he’s lucky.

Written by Miss Roberts

June 26, 2018 at 5:20 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

Fairies in real life

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Real life, huh! That is a bit of a joke when you have a brain with a tendency to hallucinating, but I digress

The art installation I mentioned last week went well, some people loved it, some people hated it, some tutted, some giggled, a lot got it and said they had worked in an office and knew exactly what I had felt. On Friday I rolled around on the floor in paper for a performance, which was thoroughly enjoyable, barricaded the audience off with the desk turned on its side and at one point burst out crying for real. I don’t know why. I never really know how these performances will come out as a lot of it is created by that particular moment in that particular space.

Needless to say after all of this the space was even more of a mess, paper scattered everywhere, mud, bits of old office equipment. It had to all be cleaned up by Sunday and I was working that weekend and couldn’t get there till Sunday evening. To be honest I didn’t think I was going to manage to do it. But then the fairies arrived.

But before I go into the fairies I have to say a huge thank you to Sheila who really helped me out, packed away the table for me and found the vacuum cleaner and mop and bucket, and also a big thank you to Martin who organised the show. There are other people to thank but this blog would just turn into a long list of names so I’ll skip that bit and go on to the fairies.

They would hate being called fairies I’m sure. They were two boys, roughly ten years old I’d say, identical twins. There mum had had a piece showing in another part of the gallery and I think they were meant to be helping her. They had liked my installation a lot, they saw it as aliens taking over, or the apocalypse, which I like. They said because they’d liked it so much they’d help me tidy it up. Now at first I was a little worried about this, I know what boys are like and that tidying up can often mean the vacuum cleaner is a bazooka and the art work a hand grenade. Although this was obviously the case, and many deaths occurred in the tidying up of my space, they were miraculously good at it. Master of the vacuum that I had been deeply perplexed about, adapt at scrubbing walls. Truly wonderful, and they managed not to ruin and artworks either. They even got me a glass of red wine from the party going on upstairs once we had finished. Remind me in future to make my art installations look like something out of an Alien film.

And this really was being rescued. I got quite ill last week from all the running from east London to west London. I was having two or three seizure a day at one point which really does make things truly impossible to deal with. I probably ought to apologise to the friend whose shoulder I bursting out into tears on in the middle of a tarot reading. Everything seemed so very dark and out of control. It’s how having multiple epilepsy turns makes me feel. You know I think the crying in the middle of the office performance on Friday was good for me and the help from the fairies saved me. I’m very happy this week.

Below is a sketch I did of a praying mantis which I drew at the Natural History Museum Thursday evening, a very relaxing activity indeed. It’s first gift to its children is the head of the Dad. I think the fairies might like that.

Written by Miss Roberts

June 12, 2018 at 10:06 pm

Posted in Uncategorized