None of them with a fucking clue which country they're in.  Far too insolent, omniscient, mad to learn, especially of course from a woman. 

From about a year ago.  Nothing amazingly enough has changed other than my health has deteriorated, and I am 14 months closer to running out of dosh.  I still thought I was going to be able to buy something then, even if it was just a little broom cupboard to call my own.  As I have said, I shall put it in my Will that, should I perish miserably, grossly deformed, of poverty and hypothermia, all you absolute filth and lovers of filth, lovers of anything vile, cowardly, sly, dishonest, dirty, vicious, mad, shall be individually notified.  Even a year ago, if my body hadn't been comprehensively wrecked, I could have had somewhere, but I just couldn't  make myself move, but of course you won't help me, all you want is England at the mercy of savages and psychopaths and freaks, peasants, animals, barbarians, let them all loose, the way your precious pets were loosed on me, to destroy, to desecrate, to mock, to murder, loosed on me to tear my body apart, break my body, wreck my life, loosed on me to crawl over me capering in triumph with every move I make.  You all hate me for disturbing your corruption, your evil, your filthy fascist animal world where fact, reason, morality are meaningless, your puke-filled mediaeval fantasy of serfs and masters where everyone obeys and no-one may question, where cunt-faced nutters fancy they sit on high to decree, order the world from behind closed doors where no-one can reach them and Doctor and Nurse are our superiors who know best.  There is no-one who can't be wrong, misinformed, ignorant, flawed in his or her reasoning, plain evil.  There is no-one who can't fucking well be questioned.  Sick animals of nursey-wursies strutting around thinking themselves God Almighty.  Christ, how you all hate me.  How you hate anything clean, anything honest, upright, open, rational, hate anything that isn't squalid and corrupt and dirty.  Nothing would or will make you do anything, control them, contain them, demand they behave like civilized human beings or even help me.  You left me in the hands of animals and you just watched while they ripped at my body and you did nothing because you're not fucking human, any of you, nothing when I became crippled, nothing ever, not one decent civilized human being ever to offer me help or support of any kind, political, emotional, practical, financial,  not one decent civilized human being howling in outrage at the assault on my spinal fusion, at the assault on democracy, only lovers of filth, lovers of evil, lovers of corruption, lovers of fascism, not one so-called fucking doctor would speak. Total refusal to publicly establish the facts.  Total refusal to come out of your coward cockroach squalor and speak in public where everyone could hear you and anyone could challenge you.  Total insolent absolutely insolent rejection of democracy. You want everyone to be animal, intellectually and emotionally helpless, dependent, afraid, you want everyone to be illiterate, unable to cope with words, unable to analyse and express ideas, you want people to be frightened to speak, accepting the criminal authority of the unaccountable nutter, you want everyone to be ignorant and incapable of checking fact or discovering new fact.   And so that smirking monster traitor cunt Naylor got a knighthood and I'm scheduled for the scrap-heap.  And you're happy now, aren't you, Linch, Naylor, Goldstone, apes in paper-hats, their criminal rule confirmed by destruction and desecration, by lies, by cowardice, by pay-offs, by treason.   You're the ones who are really deformed because you're not fucking human, you're just fucking animals who've abandoned all fact and all reason and all morality to power   You and your obscene tard skivvies, tards, tards, fucking tards, all of them fucking smelly shit-filled ignorant ineducable cunt-for-brains, criminal, absolutely criminal, stupid fucking no-hopers devoid of education, devoid of intellect, devoid of reason and you dare, you fucking dare claim your dirty smelly tards rat-faced sniggering gloating smirking, wordless, mindless, illiterate, have superior degrees, had a right to make me into a porter. Criminal and obedient, which is all that matters to you, cum running down their fat red legs as they get off on how virtuous they are because they do what they're told.   Vermin, all of you, vermin, sick and mad and evil, all ganged up on me, year in year out, all absolutely committed to filth and evil. Mustn't upset animals.  Mustn't upset traitors.  Mustn't upset the scum of the earth.  Mustn't upset offal like Linch, filthy obscene lover of his filthy squalid vindictive animal mob, his mutt-pack of howling animal-women.  Clever old baboon, broken my body, wrecked my life, just a clever dirty squalid sly foul monkey, but still a fucking monkey not a human being.  You just thought I was a fucking piece of property, didn't you, a disobedient slave-girl who could be used as a punchbag to give the boys a bit of a laugh, just knock the stupid cunt around until she learns who's boss, obviously no need to pay any attention to anything I said, how can anything a woman writes matter.  You just want us animals, don't you.  Laugh in your dirty monkey faces.

Thus the ruthless surgical excision of reason as a foundation for society.  All that matters is someone’s opinion, no matter how garbled, how faultily reasoned, how sick, how stupid, the person is not to be made to adhere to fact and reason, not even to be challenged, not expected to be capable of rational response.  When the person has a degree or degrees, the sheer monstrous obscene farce of this is of course thrown into highlight.
 
Yes, Vice-Chancellor, ‘Professor’ is not expected to be capable of reasoned argument, of independent thought. 
 
Naturally the sacred and unchallengeable nature of whatever garbage these creatures have between their ears renders them wholly ineducable.  They do not, will not learn.  They have been sealed off from learning.  How academic can you get?
 
Thus we have the absolute refusal to confront ‘the cream of London medicine’ with fact and reason, the absolute refusal to demand they adhere to fact and reason.
 
And so ravings were deemed instruction to cripple me, to attempt to destroy me and not only were the ravings of cowardly psychopaths not exposed and mocked, but they were not even quietly sidelined; nothing would do but they be regarded with awe and wonder and implicitly obeyed.
 
There is a downside to being Doctor and Nurse.  It would be hard to demonstrate they are of diminished responsibility or indeed insane,  though all too clearly their considerable mechanical and technical skills  are distinct from what pass for their minds, leaving malice, unbridled and indeed visible malice suffusing their actions, for which of course they are responsible. Suffused with fervour to carry out their masters’ will, mocking the mad old freak in the corner who insisted she lived in a free country and a democracy and objected to having been crippled.
 
How does Nurse think her master empowered to conspire to pervert the course of justice, overthrow democracy, give aid and comfort to the Queen’s enemies, cause grievous bodily harm, attempt murder, all indeed engaged in a conspiracy to overthrow democracy, an absolute refusal to countenance, accountability, transparency and their supplanting by the unchallengeable rule of hidden cowards ordaining from on high, out of reach of question. 
 
Anything goes so long as democracy does not penetrate UCH.

Aren’t the IQ5 butchering raping murderous sly squalid ignorant ineducable and generally inutterably foul nursey-wursies wonderful, so compliant, so helpful, they’ll do anything, thus dribble ruthless evil psychopathic senile old men fondling the golden curls of vicious intellectually and  morally derelict animals, child-monsters clinging to Daddy for protection, Daddy’s paradigm of womanhood, Daddy assuring them it is quite absurd for a woman to claim to be a writer, a thinker, an intellectual
 
Not difficult questions, why these vermin were not summarily told to keep their filthy claws out of me, why was I left in their hands to be butchered and crippled, why were they not summarily told to say what their fucking problem was in public or not bother, why they were allowed to whinge and whine and dribble to each other like the filthy squalid sly slimy cowardly diseased cockroaches they are, behind closed doors.  Some bloody illiterate nursey-boy acting either on his own malice, his own hatred of intelligence, reason, excellence, or on a load of filth fed him from the Royal Free, gets his  wizened little penis up at making me do heavy manual work - It is not that these foul creatures are stupid, though of course they are, it is that they are psychotic, mad, evil, convinced they know everything, convinced they know best, others are theirs to command, mind and body

Probably they gloated and sniggered as much at the destruction of the books as they did at the intended destruction of me.  Doctor and Nurse do not like books.  Books frighten them.  Books tell them about the world around them.  Books tells them people think, people have ideas other than their own.  Books threaten Doctor and Nurse, not nice things at all.  Doctor and Nurse can only cope with bodies.  Abstractions, principles, these are beyond them.  Thus they dribble along in a given frame of reference, a tiny mental box into which the real world must not be allowed to penetrate.
 
Thus they will attempt murder rather than ‘permit’ the governing system of the country to intrude upon their world of the wholly insane. 
 
But they are Doctor and Nurse.  They appear normal when coping with bodies.  They con people they are civilized human beings. 
 
And I’ve got new bookshelves which will last the rest of my life and probably the rest of the life of anyone who wishes them thereafter, and I have more or less sorted the saved, the precious books, and that is sort of a gloat and sort of a statement of disassociation, disbelief, for sorting this lot would have been a daunting task for anyone considerably younger and more agile than I.  And here they are.

So-o—o nothing hurts, everything hurts, the scar down my spine echoing the jagged cut through my life that came from the greatest mistake I ever made, which like all the best mistakes didn’t look like a mistake, looked like a perfectly reasonable act, working for Professor Dame Carol Black oh and the second mistake, thinking all doctors can’t be like that, thinking the mental box of medicine would respond with sanity.
 
It is disturbing to be surrounded by the happy smiling faces of those who have first crippled you, then sat back and watched you grow older, more disabled, more desperate and who are now determined to destroy both you and the foundations fo your country.  Some, perhaps, feel a bit sorry for you, but ‘everyone knows; that you have to do what you’re told, that if you offend, if you disobey, you get punished, beaten, and you are forever a nasty naughty wilful little girl, who deserved all she got, ridiculously railing against her rightful punishment by hidden, cowardly, unaccountable and so criminal brutes, to see London outside the window – look, everyone, look at all the big red buses, this is London, England - and be trapped in an alien world, where the norms of free, democratic, rational and civilized societies are dismissed out of hand, where there is not even language, only the cowardly ape with a club.
 
And of course the crowning glory that these are supposedly doctors and nurses who are content with having crippled a medically vulnerable woman by abusing my spinal fusion.  Not in England, they’re not, but of course like any other norm medical ethics is jettisoned as though it never were by universal consent, no question even of argument about such things, no question of establishing facts in the open, of demanding people state their problem in public where it can be challenged.  Thus they all sat immune to all reality in their little metal box babbling filth and garbage at each other, enthusiastically agreeing with each other’s lies. 
 
Farce.  Sick farce.  Kafka, of course.  They live on lies, feed on lies, eat, breathe, sleep lies, hating anything honest, anything upright, anything clean.  Hilariously, if challenged, they’d probably say there’s no such thing as a fact.  That how you practise medicine, is it, Doctor?  On say-so.  Look, dear patient, you just do not have cancer, because I say so and I am Doctor, and I know everything, and the fact that every scan, every blood test, every x-ray you have undergone says you do have cancer is immaterial, irrelevant to My Infinite Wisdom.  They really really believe they are not to be questioned, they really really believe they cannot be wrong.  Their bright intelligent conversation we may assume limited to, you can’t say that, it ain’t allowed, it is lies.  Should we not then establish the facts.  It’s the law.  Yeah, a lot of things are the law, conspiracy to overthrow democracy among them

It is disturbing to know that people think you are better dead.  It is disturbing to know that people will see you in a wheelchair in the gutter rather than countenance democracy and freedom.  It is disturbing to sit the butt of the malice of the mutt-women. 
 
I was disturbed.  I am now considerably less disturbed but oh it took longer than I thought to get over the horrors of the final 18 months, combined with loss of my mum and the nightmare of commuting, culminating in a hideous chest infection which I just might now be recovered from, oh yes, I think it can take a year to recover from pneumonia with grief, stress and exhaustion thrown in.

And so here is my life, a fair part, though by no means necessarily the best part, of it over, my derailed life, which would have been so much happier had I never fallen into the hands of the greatest cunt bitch whore monster of them all, Carol Black, but that absolves the rest of London medicine and they’re big grown-up boys and girls and I see no reason to absolve them of anything. 
 
I could not have done anything different.  I do not crawl,  I call no man master.  I am no-one’s property. My spinal fusion, my body, my life, and my mind are not at the disposal of psychopathic vermin.   Period, over and out, for all the diseased whine I am trying it on.  Except I was stupid enough to trust.  Had I realized there was no-one to trust, I should have chained myself to the railings of The Times or the BBC while I was still agile enough so to do.  I do not trust anyone and do not suppose that I ever shall.  Everyone left me there to be butchered, raped and murdered.  What’s  trust? 
 
Evil grin
Prayer to Artemis for Joy in Oneself Alone
Wild-running Artemis, daughter of thundering Zeus,
fleet-footed huntress, bright-hearted girl whose joy it is
to roam the wood and flowered field, you hold the mountains
as your own. Artemis, fair maid of the forest,
I call out to you. In all things, O goddess,
are you sovereign; in all ways do you uphold
your own might. Artemis, friend of the maiden,
friend of all who are sufficient to themselves,
grant to me the joy of independence, the solace
of self-reliance. May I treasure my solitude,
O Artemis; may I sing with my own voice.
 
Yes, I think you could say I do that, without help, too.
 
Or maybe – eviller grin – you prefer this one
 
Prayer to Artemis Before the Hunt
Slim-ankled Artemis, free-footed, wild-haired girl,
with steps swift and silent you run through the wood,
your bow at the ready, your shafts sharp and deadly.
Far-shooting Artemis, keen of eye and strong of arm,
your aim ever true, you take your prey, goddess,
with a single strike. Artemis, I pray to you
as I begin my hunt–may my eyes be clear,
may my hand be steady, may the shots I fire
reach my target and no other, may any kill be quick.
I am grateful, goddess, for the meat on my table.
I am grateful, goddess, for the time I spend
in the cold, in the wood, hearing the silence;
I am grateful, goddess, for the time I spend
in your world. Grant that I take on this work
with honest intent, grant that I feel the weight
of what I do, grant that I honor the lives
that feed me. Mistress of the hunt, I pray to you.
 
Artemis is not exactly tougher than Jesus, not exactly harder: more carnivorous, I think is the word.  Was Jesus veggie?  Why do the churches not address the interesting bits?  For all ye being better than they, I don’t think he’d have seen the point of animal slaughter. Jesus of course says skip the carnivore: forgive them.  Never till hell freezes over or after.   Artemis is certainly not harder as in more difficult but more complex, aligning, containing the carnivore.  If you look at the book overall it’s all about aligning and containing the carnivore, knowing who and what the enemy is and not letting it get in the way of anything.  It’s just over there somewhere, apart from, separate.  Thus when I want to howl, it’s not so much, o woe is poor little me – well, it is sometimes, of course – as wondering why no-one has broken their bloody necks.  Neither Jesus nor Artemis does o woe is poor little me.  Different approaches, I think you could say.
 
Isis, ah, Isis is as they say something else.
 
I have been left crippled, isolated, to make do as I can, in order to protect uphold, maintain, propagate, total corruption.  That is – irksome.  I could not say it thrills me.  I thought better of the country I live in.  I recognize it is changed.  There can’t be many people who would hymn how fair and reasonable is England today.  Somewhere over there IQ5 tards are raving, brutally, bestially ignorant, feral.  Somewhere over there are those who pretend to take them seriously, somewhat harder to put aside the viciously ruthlessly evil, but it can be done. 
 
What is a witch? A strong independent woman indifferent to the great penis, and thus the most hunted creature in history.  Of course I’m a bloody witch.  Go on, peasant hysterics, throw yourselves around. 

Froth at the mouth, vermin.  Little eyes bulging, spitting with hate.  With luck you'll do it on camera.  Tear at your clothes.  Howl.  

All in all you remind me of Chesterton's To a Modern Poet

To A Modern Poet
by G. K. Chesterton
(from his Collected Poems)

Well,
What
about it?

I am sorry
if you have
a green pain
gnawing your brain away.
I suppose
quite a lot of it is
gnawed away
by this time.

I did not give you
a green pain
or even
a grey powder.
It is rather you, so winged, so vortical,
Who give me a pain.

When I have a pain
I never notice
the colour.

But I am very unobservant.
I cannot say
I ever noticed that the pillar-box
was like a baby
skinned alive and screaming.
I have not
a Poet's
Eye
which can see Beauty
everywhere.

Now you mention it,
Of course, the sky
is like a large mouth
shown to a dentist,
and I never noticed
a little thing
like that.

But I can't help wishing
You got more fun out of it;
you seem to have taken
quite a dislike
to things
They seem to make you jump
And double up unexpectedly -

And when you write
like other poets,
on subjects
not entirely
novel,
such as, for instance,
the Sea,
it is mostly about
Sea-sickness.
As you say -
It is the New Movement,
The Emetic Ecstasy.

I don't care.  Is some part of that obscure?  I am separate from you, not a part of you.  I run on separate tracks.  I am distinct.  I am equal in rights.  I don't care about the delusions of illiterate slum-criminals, whether that they are not illiterate slum-criminals or that the world has to revolve around them and no-one may be permitted a negative opinion of them.  I don't care about this figment of your imaginations called God or the further figment of your imaginations that he is the author of certain books.  Your imaginary reality is nothing to do with me.  It does not control me.  I don't care if you worship the Sacred Six-Toed Anteater of Quetzcoatl or the Great Holy Light Bulb, so long as you keep your filthy claws out of other people who do not share your beliefs.  Your rights end at the border of your body, your self.  Others are not your territory, not your property, to do and be and think and say and write only what you deem 'acceptable', to be creatures of your devising, creatures of your will.  My body is not yours to be broken at your whim.  My mind is not yours to be shaped to your choosing.  I am what I choose to be.  My mind, everything I have read, everything I have thought, is not to be excised and replaced by your mind, such as it is.  If you wish me to change my mind, you argue, you present me with fact and reason.  You merely injure and destroy.  How is that supposed to change my mind?  It merely tells me you are worthless, an animal, and any belief-system to which you subscribe is worthless, animal.  You are cowards, you are liars, you are psychopaths, you are butchers, you are thugs, you are fascists, you are traitors. You are committed to the destruction of freedom, democracy, reason, intellect, learning, morality, civilization and not least me.  And you expect me to be impressed?  How funny.  You are excrement on the sole of my boots.