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Week 1 :: 2023
Adventures with Bad Hijabi Woche im Rückblick
At 6 months old, I used to lay in my crib, wide awake, silent + sucking my thumb. My mum would hear the slurping noise coming from my room and when she investigated, would see me, smiling away, deep in whatever thoughts a 6 month hooman thinks about, happily amusing myself whilst not sleeping. I did not cry when I could not sleep. I amused myself silently. Yep, harsh insomniac right out of the starting gate of life, go me. Apparently I have dragon mitochondrial DNA, my sisters are also dragons who rarely sleep, and our mother was a dragon who did not sleep unless heavily sedated.
Each day I wake up and my neural circuitry lights up with whatever thing has captured my intellectual attention. These days it’s nazis + islamists and their sycophants + collaborators and how they created the present-day intellectual world. Yesterday a though about how Furor Islamiticus reminded me of The Manchurian Candidate screamed my brain out of sleep. Today a thought about Lord Rothermere, founder of The Daily Mail, and his connection to Oswald Mosley’s Black Shirts and also to the Nazis slammed my brain into red level alertness.
Can you believe we have already passed through the first week of 2023?
The past several Januarys have swooped in like a torture sentence, one in which I stew about death and the way she has hewn me away from + into myself. The father of my sons, the bloke I spent nearly 2 decades connected to via marriage and motherhood, hung himself in a local park in the wee hours of a January morning in 2016. The following January my father died and that awful hell left so much bitterness + rage in my heart I could barely breathe or move under the weight of the inky blackness—my mother could not fix that ouchie. My father’s death created an enormous gulf between my mum + me that I could only bridge a few months before she died. Somehow, in my mother’s death, [to date the most painful thing I have lived through], the chasm closed. She never went away from me, she only went toward me.
I am here now. Doing the things.
Maman, if you are watching, know that I was watching you when you were my age [I was 14 when my mother was the age I am now] and I will live my life from this moment forward in ways that you could not because to love you does not end with your departure from this earthly realm, to love you means to stretch myself to become everything you could have become, had you only seen yourself as I do now.
Thank you, maman, for the possibilities of your fire.
I’ll recap the week, in case you blinked and missed anything. Please do read, like, and share the sh1t out of this stuff if it resonates with you.
Bad Hijabi swooped into 2023 on her dragon and, on 1.1.2023, introduced readers to The Grand Mufti, the father of Palestinian nationalism. The first post of the year doesn’t waste time —
My research has so far revealed that, as far back as 150 years, (so pre-modern German and pre-WW1), the Germans began fomenting Muslim outrage with a view to creating a 20th-century Saladin to help them conquer the British Empire. Max von Oppenheim, the father of modern day jihad, lives on in many ways—many of these early extremists live on because their ideas still find a place in our sociopolitical intellectual world of hyper-masculine d1ckbaggery.
The first Monday of the year, 2.1.2023 came along and Bad Hijabi continued to introduce readers to the Grand Mufti, sharing the finer points of a declassified US dossier on him.
A series of communiqués declassified by the US government in 2006 portrays quite succinctly what various historical sources confirm about Hajj Amin al-Husayni, self appointed Grand Mufti of Jerusalem and Nazi sympathizer + collaborator.
In Tuesday’s post, I explored the ways that the Mufti’s ideas live on and tried to highlight the underpinnings of extreme + fanatical thinking—cognitive distortions fuelled by low emotional intelligence.
… a stagnated place where people will not think for themselves, where the hive mind wallows in victimhood and resentment, where contracted thinking dominates all—where God lives in earth shattering questions such as does swallowing my toothpaste break my fast?Like, dude, what? How did all these people memorise the Qur’an, and they totally missed it’s entire message? Like, some of these people can even read Arabic and they still have missed the boat entirely on the Qur’an and the really important stuff of God-Consciousness. I want to scream sometimes are you all okay? Because this does not feel okay, in a God-centred way.
On Wednesday I cut you guys some slack and gave you a break from Islamists + Nazis + their cheerleading squads. I wrote about bacon in the grocery store and harbouring Catholic guilt for sh1t as a DIY Muslim.
So, I walk up to the bacon, I stare at it. I pace back and forth in front of the bacon counter. I stop and stare at the bacon. I reach out, then hesitate. I want to touch the bacon. Look around, is anyone watching me, this weird hijabi standing in front of the bacon meat counter having some weird spiritual experience?
On Thursday my brain screamed me awake with one thought — D1cktopia, and naturally, I had to write about it when I saw the hilarious images Midjourney rendered in response to that new word I invented at 5 am. The images alone make this essay worth your while.
Yeah, we are all safer with a brigade of emotionally stunted hyper-masculine reality television thugs possessing enough incendiary explosive power to destroy all of humanity and the planet with it. Yeah, we are all safer with a ridiculous global cult of d1ckbaggery which has amassed more ways to divide + destroy humans than to unite + save them. Yeah we are all safer with a band of d1ckwagging Machiavellians weaponising religious fanaticism in some deranged psychotic geopolitical empire games.
On Friday I woke up captured by thoughts of my mother + of motherhood. Inspired by Flamingos + peonies, I wrote a powerful piece.
Mum died on May 11, 2022–just two weeks shy of her 91st birthday. I think of her as a fiery and formidable force a nature—a beautiful dragon. I think of her as a complex and gorgeous creature with a heart like the Silmarils. I think of my mother as the Silmarils—jewels whose beauty exists beyond all rational description, jewels containing the light of the universe.
On Saturday I woke up with Manchurian Candidate on the brain and I wrote about how pan-Islamism + its distorted teachings have unwittingly made the Muslim collective a favourite exotic imperial currency.
Guillan wrote once that brainwashing doesn’t quite capture the process of indoctrination, which he describes as more surgical—i.e. emptying minds and then filling them with pre-fabricated thought. Thinking about the modern origins of current Muslim thought [this latest research project I’ve embarked upon]—leads me to the Manchurian Candidate.
How did your first week of 2023 turn out? What will you do with this whole new year? How will you build self-compassion into your life? What will you fight FOR? What values will you champion? How will you fight for freedom and joy for humanity? Where will you grow love? What will you give the world this year? What will you give yourself? What if these two questions are the same question?
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