How Liberate Tutemet Came Into Being

How The Blog Began……
LIBERATE TUTEMET – (or LIBERA TE TUTEMET) is a sweet l’il précis version of LIBERA TE TUTEMET EX INFERIS, Which means “save yourself from Hell” and is used to BEAUTIFULLY spooky effect in Event Horizon. (Nerd Alert)
These days it’s translated somewhat more loosely, having somewhat colloquially morphed into “Free Yourself” which is fine with me.   Another reason?  I just LOVE the music of the phrase.
But the main reason for the blog’s title was to honour a little throwaway Facebook post of mine that took on a life of its own a couple of years back.  The post ended up my most popular ever….and it was later used by a teacher friend who used it to educate the class about the power of language (and taking that power AWAY). Then a colleague used it for pretty much the same reason at an equal ops conference. I received no fewer than (in the end) 194 messages and emails of support for essentially having a big mouth…..
If you’re smart, you’ll get it. To be honest, if you’re reading this in the first place you probably already get ME so there you have it.
This is my CND. The Campaign for Noun Disarmament. And verbs, adjectives, phrases, or indeed anything else that tickles your fancy (whatever the fuck THAT means). I’m fed up with homofuckingphobia. I hate-with a passion-any kind of name-calling aimed at disabled people. Racism and Xenophobia disgust me.

So – let’s talk about it……why am I doing this when I risk offending the entire social media population?

Well – I saw some nasty kids picking on another, calling him a RETARD. (I’m guessing the kids’ parents are arsewipes too).

A (very) wise person suggested I repeat this word over and over to myself, meaninglessly, to take away its power. And do you know what? It worked. It was so liberating, in an almost other-worldly way that I’d not experienced before.

So here’s the deal. This is my room 101, where anything goes. I realise that I run the risk of offending MOST of my friends, but for anyone who has ever been the victim of bullying, or been on the receiving end of hatred, you might just understand why I’m doing this. And I’m ok with those odds.

Say these words in here. Repeat them. And in doing so, let’s take away their power. They do not control you; YOU control yourself. These words say so much more about the fuckwits that use them than they do about the person/group on the receiving end. They are JUST words: let’s disarm the fuckers.

These words are used with such vacuous hatred in this World of ours, so I want them THROWN AWAY lightly in here. I want them cast aside, banished into a Facebook comment.

Why on here? It’s the ideal forum. I have a superbly diverse set of friends, most of whom are creative and open-minded……Playwrights, Actors, Bloggers, Artists…….and teachers. Let’s TEACH.

This is for my gay friends. This is for my brown, black, and olive friends. This is for my friends who have kids with special needs. This is for my brother who is a FAGGOT and for my Mum who is a FUCKING CRIPPLE.



Homewrecker: a person that nicks someone’s partner.

As well as all the other bollockery I’ve been posting lately, this is also a load of the same. Not just regular human cojones this time, but big hairy elephant knackers.

Think of the Liz Taylor/Debbie Reynolds lot of today. Angelina didn’t nick Brad. If Brad was HOME…if the Aniston arms were his true home, he wouldn’t have been nickable in the first place.

You simply CAN NOT break up a happy home or someone else’s marriage.  A cracked marriage does that for itself.



I am not a normal person – this you will have established for yourself if you have been following my blog. I don’t think like everybody else, and as for behaviour, well –  I just Do.Not.Conform.

With that in mind comes a disclaimer: what you are about to read is my own personal opinion and I am not trying to glorify or justify or condone any fuckking thing. Got it? Not one single thing. Good.

This rant comes to you from the heart and soul of one woman; and it’s about other women. Shallow ones, in my own humble. And specifically, my fem-dar today is picking up signals from women who just can’t bring themselves to love a real man.

Ever heard a chick complaining about her bloke? Here’s a reminder:

– He’s got too much baggage.

– He’s too emotional

– He’s too intense

– He’s possessive

Well EXCUSE ME! Or rather – him.  So your baggage-man happened to have a life before he met you, did he? BAD MAN! How fucking dare he have a past / a fucking prison sentence / an unbelievably shit-coated upbringing (or whatever the THING is that makes some women condescending judgemental arseholes).

Too emotional? Yeah – we don’t want THAT, do we? Who wants fucking FEELINGS getting in the way of a relationship? SO he cries when he’s sad. Don’t you? And have you ever asked yourself WHY he does that, let alone just BEING THERE for him?  If you haven’t, then you don’t deserve him in the first fucking place.

As for being too intense – Is there such a thing as TOO intense? I WANT this level of intensity. I want a guy who cries when he’s sad, instead of being some macho twat who keeps it all in and then ends up taking it out on me in the long run anyway. I want my guy to be fine if I die, but on the coin’s other side, totally unable to cope with the thought of life without me. THAT is the fucking passion. RIGHT THERE. I don’t want the alternative – the guy who just goes YEAH…WHATEVER… and fucks the fuck off. That, my friend, simply means he does not love you.

This does not, of course, mean that I want or expect my man to contemplate leaving this plane without me. And the reason I am ok with shooting my big rubber lips off about this? I’m hoping to be with my guy forever. FOR EVER. That’s IT. There’ll be no leaving him,  and no leaving me. Only happy stuff for us – no tragedies here. I am Catherine but I want to KEEP my Heathcliff, goddamnit.

Whilst I’m on the subject, I may as well throw in a rant-for-free about the detestable sort of person who KNOWS everything about every person who has ever attempted or succeeded in mortal-coil shuffleness by their own hand.  Because we all know suicide is selfish, right? Is it bollocks.

Suicide is not a weakness; nor is it an act of cowardice. The person – man or woman – who contemplates the ending of their own life…..feels – nay; KNOWS the world’s gonna get better without them: they’re gonna cure the world simply by not being in it, goddamnit. And for that reason alone, suicide is unselfish.

And there’s more. The state of MIND somebody has to be in to contemplate that shit? Just think about it.

Finally – possessiveness (or however you want to label it). Again – I want this. I SO want this. Do you really want your man not to fawn over your photos on Facebook or hang off your every word? It’s when he DOESN’T that you have a problem.  When he doesn’t wanna know where you’ve been and with whom.

Just think about it. Redefine OBSESSIVE or INTENSE.

These men with a past – these deities with a dark past from which they’re still trying to recover – these are the keepers. These are the SURVIVORS. And they will jump RIGHT IN and love you like you’ve never been loved before, and probably more than you actually deserve. Suffice to say they may actually be too good for you.

But if they let you love them? If they HONOUR you with every aspect of their past and ALLOW you to adore them?

Lock them up tight inside your heart and throw away the key.



I met some eyes and stared a while;
For in their sadness: mine.
I was the sponge who soaked their sobs;
Their weeps and cries and whines.
When wetness over, tears the foe;
I dried my soaking-sponge.
When he was dry, his tears now mine;
I listened to his tongue.
He told a story rich but poor,
Of past and present true;
Where hurt was bare, love had no chance;
No nights or days to rue.
Then soulful power followed us,
With prose and hopeful song;
With care and early promises
Of love forever long.
Six decades passed and still we loved;
Addicted to each other;
Those eyes I met again and stared;
Across the ‘planes- my lover.
When time was done and days were up;
We lay and linked our hands;
A burial of hearts embraced;
Now hidden ‘neath the sand.

Slight Monsterage Is To Be Expected


The monsters from our past continue to fuck with us as they’ve made sure to leave us with a charming visual, which plays on a loop inside the screen of our minds. But they only stay inside your head if you LET THEM. They have no power unless you fear them….and the circle must be broken.

Monster once begat monster begat monster, with the abused becoming the abusers. But some people DO break free: they’re the gods amongst us.

This: Two brothers. One beat his wife, the other did not.

The first was asked “why do you hit your wife”?…and he replied “because I saw my father beat up on my Mom”.

His sibling was asked, “why DON’T you hit your wife”? – and he gave the same answer.

Don’t let them win.

Look under the bed and see that they’re not there.

Climb ONTO that bed…..

…..and sleep.

Nothing can harm you.

Not Nobody But Someone


No-one sees the sadness in your eyes,
No-one knows the fact that in your past you would be dead;
No-one likes the madness/sane disguise,
No-one cares what’s wrapped up in your vast two-person head.
No-one sees the sorrow of your lips;
No-one knows the fact that in their pout they hide blood red;
No-one wants the danger of your kiss;
No-one thinks of mongrels – only wanting thoroughbreds.
So fuck this no-good nobody right off;
And go and find a someone who embraces all your pasts;
Coz someone somewhere loves the all of you;
Your diffidence, your horror, and your crazy little laughs.
So look and let this someone love you deep;
This someone loving you for all your NOW and all your WAS.
That somebody is waiting here for keeps;
And this is why they love you: not despite but JUST BECAUSE.

Love, Honour, and Fuck That Shit



(I always wanted to start a blog with “OK, so….” just because it’s so fucking frowned upon. Job done).

First up: a confession. I pinched the title from a story. But it’s my own story so I ain’t gonna be suing the arse off myself. Actually – I might do that. I’m weird.

This is about marriage and what it IS and what it should be and what it IS THE FUCK NOT….

….at least…to me. These are my eyes and they see weirdly. They can also cry if they want to. And so can my soul. Whatever and wherever the Hell that may be.

Marriage to me is nothing to do with godstuff. It’s nothing to do with vowing some meaningless shite in front of a shitload of leathered guests who’ve essentially only turned up because they have a particular affinity with free fucking food and ridiculously big fuckoff hats.

Marriage is about….well, marriage. Two people, who just find each other. And when they do, they realise they’ve been lost up until this point. Where’ve they been? Where the FUCK were they the first 10, 20, 30 years of your life?

More to the point – where’ve YOU been all your life? Certainly not here.

But that’s just it –  it wasn’t a life before they came. It was an existence….although you can’t envisage how the fuck you ever existed without this person in the first place.

It’s definitely not about some dog-collar-wearing dude or conveyor-belt registrar saying “Right. You’re married”. What in unholy fuckness is that?  It’s like: oh gee, thanks for telling me that I’m now married to this person I already felt married to anyway and have been all my fucking life but didn’t know it until they actually materialised.  This person who was made for me, waiting for me, this other half – this CREATURE of utter perfection who takes away my pain and carries it with them. But yeah – thanks for your fucking PERMISSION to carry on and love them until all eternity, coz I really wouldn’t have known how to do that.

What do vows actually mean anyway? I mean – people change. Shit changes. Crap happens. How can you possibly stand up and vow to love someone forEVER when you don’t know if they’re gonna fuck with you in ten years’ time?

But there it is – right there. If you DON’T know…don’t fucking say I do.

Only the RIGHT marriages are forever. Like when you fall in love with someone by text or email or on-line dating or whatthefuckever. (Yes, I know shitloads of such couples). That stuff is REAL. It’s part of this New World that we all have to be brave in. And if anything – that stuff is more meaningful. You fall in love with a PERSON. Not a fucking face, or a pisshead on a drunken night out. Not some guy from school whose *number you obtained at the school bastard disco and thought ten years later “why don’t I give him a call?”.

*Big mistake…

On the coin’s other side, making yourself unmarried is equally easy. To me, if you don’t FEEL married, you’re not. You don’t need some dude in a suit to declare your unlove. Ban all paperwork and let it be about the SOUL. Hell – a soul is something I don’t even believe in (I’m a science girl myself)….but then you suddenly find someone…somehow…who teaches you to believe in the power of SHALL and WAS and FOR EVER WILL BE. Someone who GETS every last one of your freaky time theories and in doing so, gets YOU. Someone who is OFF-THE-PLANET smart and understands when you spout about time having fuck-all to do with clocks…..because, being PART of you….he says the same stuff.

This is someone whose touch you can feel when he’s not even with you…..whose AURAL SEX voice turns you to jelly (or Jell-O) and whose words drive you so fucking crazy with love, passion, brainsex, desire, and blunt fucking take-me-now horniness.

And that kind of person IS someone with whom you wanna stand up and vow about eternal love… BECAUSE, damn it, you’re a big-gobbed, ranty shouty bitch…..but you’re also a romantic *motherfucker.

(*husbandfucker, technically).