💛"Insufferable Conversations & Other Sensory Overload"

'CONFESSIONS FROM A DEPRESSIVE' RE: MY MEDIA DIET. MAYBE A FREE 'DULL BUT NOSTALGIC' MIXTAPE TOO.. x💛

“If you like your newsletters without politics or preconceptions or seeking a break from the norm you may have just found your new hangout”

07 SEPTEMBER 2025

HELLO!: I left you a voicemail in the aftermath of writing this letter to you, as a wee summary, and to quickly check in! x

TURN VOLUME UP AS AUDIO IS A TAD BIT POOR FROM MY CHEAP PHONE. x

Dear Chasers💛

How are you this evening? by the time your receive this letter directly in your mailbox, it will probably be the early hours of Monday morning. Monday’s are always a weird day for everyone, wouldn’t you agree? Not only for the nine-to-fivers, but also those who live without plans, progress, and purpose; although I can only speak for myself in the latter crowd. It’s just before midnight on Sunday 7 September (2025) still and this letter has been marinating in the mist of my mind since this morning.

I examined my previous letter here, and discovered that I’d said my ‘next installment letter’ would be over on chasingthemuse. I hadn’t remembered that promise to you but had to execute it or else the world would be off-balance and in disrepair for the rest of my year and God only knows what else would occur. Just what other ramifications would be in store for myself and God forbid, anyone else. I just had to do something to prevent the collapse of the planet, the Chasey ecosystem depended on it and in reality; I think I’ve done more harm than good. My heart wasn’t really in it.

It was all fluff and no substance. I fear that I will run the risk of doing the same here, so instead of all the blurbs, introductions, explanations and/or descriptions; I will leave a link here to that fucking disaster of a ‘letter’ and crack on here now with what I intended to talk about, before it gets too late, or I get disheartened again, or too tired, or lose my nerves. I also promised this letter in the other letter and so we have come full circle.

No pressure. Nothing like that which is bubbling away in my mind. I swear I’ve been googling Human Combustion more times than I care to mention this week. As a matter of fact, I am delighted each time my arse lets out a gasp. It’s a sign that I might not actually explode straight away. I’m not sure the receptionist at the library felt as relief as I did, the shock on her face didn’t quite say that it registered the fart being a matter of life or death situation! *I’m only joking of course!

What have you been ‘marked safe from..’?

Sorry, the above is not so accurate as of (or at) 01.19 am the reason for which I shall begin to spew explain in as it comes out in a minute. First, I was marked safe from all of the above today because, for the entire day, I have had the house to myself.

I’ve been able to listen to music all day (as opposed to the racket comeing from mind-numbing daytime terestial TV channels (I mean basic boring channels not on-demand or streaming platforms) not that those offer much more to the requiem for a dream either.

I’ve not had to endure the constant ‘scratching’ sound of dickheads arguing and fighting in the city centre making ‘great’ content for loaded youtubers[ (some of who I admire myself - the youtubers not the deadbeats). I sound like Victor Meldrew (the fact I remember him suggests I’m the right bloody age for sounding the same now anyway!).

I can’t stand chavvy lads, scally women screaming at prams of screaming child benefit claims, old age pentioners still swigging cider with the homeless, swining punches instead of grandchildren on swings in the park. Dossers full of fillers, and fake prada sunglasses, drinking Aldi gin in the trampalined gardens with England bunting around the private hedges, talking shit about being influencers, selling D&G make-up and accessaries, signing the invoices with an X cos they can’t spell their own name like they do down at the dole office.. FFS… I’m on a rant here.

OMG I need to calm down a bit. I’m diggin too deep, but this kind of common environment (that which I grew up in, wasn’t dragged up, was left to crawl along and I’m still just coming out of the gutter, legs swinging off the curb!) does my fucking head in.

I’m just like these people but I hate myself and hate my life, my chavvy mouth even writes with swearing language. I just want to progress not decompose. I am these people. I know I am. I don’t hate them or their lives (I don’t admire or envy them either!).

I hate me and mine. I despise that this IS and always will be my life. Like Oscar Wilde said; “We are all in the gutter but some of us are looking at the stars!” I’m still trying to squint past the wood, the trees, the pylons, the building, even the clouds around Manchester are darker than my heart.

How can I look at those fucking ‘stars’ with muggers, and knobheads squawking from his flagship high end phone’s speakers in the background to my life every single day all day 24/7. No relief. Its like Groundhog Day for druggies, tramps and Vicky Pollards. In my ears, all day every day, I get sensory overload.

I’m not trying to be a Karen or a Snob about anything. I couldn’t be a snob if I tried I’d be more like Hyacinth Bucket. How can I dismiss my own kind though?

“I know I do a lot a cocaine but mines recreational in the comfort of my own fucking kitchen - not on the corner of the street wearing last week’s knickers, with my arms wrapped around next week’s Restraining Order, on full display for all to hear and see on YouTube, in my company, fromm my partner’s phone, in my fucking house on MY BIG OLD ASS 50” LCD TV! Go Away!

**‘chatting to a friend’**

I know I’m the exact same as the people who I’m moaning about, those who scare me, unnerve me, listening to their shit. Those that I don’t want to tolerate around me, because I’m too sensitive. I just wish I had seen other ways of ‘being’ maybe I would ‘feel’ different about myself in my own skin.

I want to get out of my own poverty. Away from who I am for a minute just to see something beautiful, to experience peace and another kind of common normality.

I don't want to be richer in material things just in vibes and warmth and wisdom which comes with change. I can't actually do or change things on a bigger scale, as you know I'm going nowhere.

I'm just an old has-been, Armchair Dreamer but I think if I can remove those people (who are all parts of me , remind me of my relatives, behaving like we all did including my ancestors, poverty is part of my bloodline, my history, my childhood) I want to be freed from this discomfort, especially in my own fucking front room.

Just to escape on a daily basis, change what media n consume. Dad had the right idea when he used hit the off button on the TV remote shouting “get out of my living room yer cunts!” when the actual NEWS came on. Yet, he’d sit all night and watch the Budget or stuff to do with Politics. I thought he was mad. He was, like I am, but schizophrenia has nothing to do with it.

“All I want is a bit of peace & tranquility”

I can paint beautiful pictures on the walls metaphorically and have a ‘room with an view’. Playing my music loud as I like.

Maybe I should improve my own media diet a bit too. I’m running away from one extreme that doesn’t belong to me to another one that I don’t fit in either.

I’m more cottager than cottagecore. I like easygoing, laidback vibes, cosy - no necessarily all this ‘goody-two-shoes’ shite, but I try to over compensate with the likes of ‘little old ladies knitting tea bags down in their cabbage patch’

I said I want to progress my media intake NOT digress back to baby state 😂😂 Thank you for understanding me and sharing your worldly experience with me.

I have a bag full of spoons, literally, and I'd never know what do with them as a junkie might find some use for, but that doesn't mean I'd want to use them as a morris dancer might sometime bang big ones, clacking them together on bare knees!!

I just want to eat ice cream, and yogurts and the odd chicken soup, they're not silver or they'd be weighed in (being the chavs that YES WE STILL ATE - we’re made of that deviant stuff).

I just want to look after what I’ve got. Even if all I use them for is to stir my morning coffee it will be wholesome and good.

Spoons could be a metaphor for education and life experience itself. (or I could really have a pile of them sitting in a BIG bag in a cardboard box on my kitchen floor!) Don’t ask..😜

All that stress was abolished for the entire day. So yes! I was marked safe. The ‘desire’ part was a surprise even to me. I did have a little ‘self-love’ time in the bath but nothing much to write (home) about. I mostly enjoy having time to contemplate my mind, to try and regulate my nervous system without more mean and malevolent emotions being provoked, stirred, reopened, instilled in me by, lets say, ‘outside sources’.

I got to spend quite time cuddling, kissing, and loving my dog without being told to stop fussing her or stop treating her like a baby. She is my beautiful baby, (but even like those Scally Woman’s babies… if mine (dog) barks for a bit too long - it really does my head in - Sensory Overload - when my baby does that she gets soothed and coaxed to stop unlike what I hear on his phone.

I find that these cute, tinkling, sweetly quiet screensavers sound good on the OLD TV for HER to watch -while I bather and whatnot. The cutest ‘dog-telly’ YouTube channel we ‘watch’ together too, while she gets to relax in peace and quiet. Lola loves the little ‘hedgehog babies’ and curls up by my side to sleep, this is also quite relaxing for a brain that’s had a taxing few mins, hours, days, weeks, months. It helps mine reset itself. Until it doesn’t.

I know I go on about my ‘Media Diet’ but this isn’t for ME either. LOL. I’m not trying to say my ‘media diet’ as I call it is any

• healthier,

• sophisticated,

• educational or

• inspirational.

Far from it. I’ll explain: I think I might have the dullest most boring algorithm happening on my YouTube’s newsfeed. I won’t go into all the videos I like to watch. I can just tell you that none would tick any of those bullet points above. I have to out myself too. I was telling a very philosophically, politically, legally educated man, a friend, an ex, a confidant who is always encourgaing me to ‘learn something’ - ‘educated yourself’ - etc.

I was telling him about my annoyance with the shit my partner watches. Much to my surprise, my very clever, sexy, intelligent friend told me that he shares the same interest in most of those YouTubers who I was complaining about the caliber of the people who they use to make content. He shocked me by reeling off names, that I recognised, and understood that all the character traits I reeled off earlier… well, my friend finds it all entertaining!

I had to admit that I didn’t think he’d watch it. Why not? he said. Well, you have better urm .. TASTE??!. I said. Then, I promptly retreived my head from up my own shitty arse, and confessed that ‘ I know nothing ‘ - Like, who am I to talk?

I’m going to be 43 years old next week and my kind of fun and excitement comes from watching a girl with a name like ‘Dippy fucking Daydream’ who is older than me, looks younger than my 2 year old niece, is an artist who makes and sells ZINES. Loves dolls and nature, is a bit overweight, like me, sits and yabbers on and on about plants and flowers and other useless fucking things - and I for one - fucking love the simplicity of it. Oh how the other half live.

Forgive me for being a person who has a schizophrenic soul, surrounded by a chaotic and volatile lifestyle, abused, emotionally and economically (in my own opinion - which changes like the weather!), hurtling hardfaced into her midlife menopause, sexually frustrated, bored, talentless, useless, unattractive, skint - no money, no prospects, no life, no love, ugly, fat, unloved, unwanted, half-orphaned, isolated, and fucking hungry… well …. grrr.!

FORGIVE ME FOR WANTING SOMETHING COSY. WHOLESOME.. GIVE ME DIPPY DORIS DOTING ON HER DAFT ALLOTMENT OVER ALL THAT OTHER STUFF ANY DAY!

Tonight was not blessed with marked safeness. He came home twisted off his head on beer and cocaine, hadn’t save no coke for me (first mistake/bummer!). Came home gurning and debating like a dunce. If it wasn’t for the stuble on his fucking head he’d have nothing there at all. Fucking braindead. Told me he wasn’t wired.

ME: How many bags you had?

HIM: None. Just beer.

ME: What you doing?

HIM: just a little gamble on the slots babe.

ME: Is that the Slot Site that you can’t verify so if you win you can’t withdraw? Just curious?

HIM: yeah but it’s only a £10 pound gamble paid onto my phone bill.

ME: Isn’t your phone bill nearly maxed out again? the £30 per month invoice has been £160 every month for the last three months.

HIM: *fiddling with his phone and chewing his mouth area from chin to nostrils* Schhtttop Moawwwwning At meeee pweease baybee.

ME: How much Sniff have you had? Don’t lie to me you’re holding your phone like Edward-fucking-Scissorhands for fucks sakes!

HIM: just one babe but I’m not paying til end October. Sorry.

ME: *relaxes a bit* - turns back into Snobarse Chasey.

ALSO ME: “SORRY requires CHANGE and you don’t change so fuck your SORRY” I’m opening a Redbull and you can’t stop me! (1.15 am) *Snapps a can open like John Fucking Wayne* in HARDCORE REBELION!

Long story… I think I exorcised some wee demons tonight. The gist of it is that my peace and harmony were disturbed by his unexpected early return, I was disatisfied with the lack lustre wank I had in the bath earlier (first time I’ve touched myself in months!) kinda wished I’d gave it more effort, wrote a shit letter to the muse because the desire has drained away from me. I was going to compile a complaint about the actual state of my love.

My partner cheats, I love someone else (as well as him), I can’t have either one of them, I love my ex (he doesn’t want me). I tried to run away, had nowhere to go, woke up in bed with his hand on my tit the next day and felt the weight of the world evaporate.

I’m confused and dazed, depressed at myself, enraged at my behaviour and my change in tastes, habits, face and posture. I’m undesirable, and my desires drive me flippin mental. I’ll come back on another day when all might be back to normal and well in the world. I miss my poets, my porn-addiction and my private passions have eluded me still. I’m not turning into my grandparents, I believe I have superseded them and surpassed their age group. In my mind I am 109, my back is 3004, my heart is 19, my brain is 11 and my tits are turning BELOW zero as we speak.. “How’s the weather down there, there, there. ..?”

Before I leave you, I’ll lead you out with another old-age indicator. THIS FREE MIXTAPE full of bad audio and guilty pleasures. It’s Long, Unmixed, Unedited, Unfinished, Sad, Nostalgic and half-arsed. I listened to it in the bath. Say no more! Is it any surprise I came at all? This should be sent out on my ‘‘funny’’ newsletter, I don’t know how to cross post. I am supposed to be wholesome here. My newest subscribers have chose to subscribe to this publication (as opposed to all 7 of my other ones). I wish there was a button to ‘Subscribe ALL’ I know there’s a way to do it via ‘recommendations’ but nevermind. SUBSCRIBE.

I’ve enjoyed venting tonight. No bells, or whistles. Just me the biggest bellend since sliced bread. Or AS MY ATTITUDE-AGE SUGGESTS: I’m the biggest bellend since bitten off chunks of bread. (That’s before sliced bread was a thing.. haha!). I told my other friend too, all I want is an easy life, cosy with a side of pornography. Something along those lines.. Oh yes! and those too.

Yours Faithfully,

Chasey Delaney - Sunday, 7 September 2025.

FREE MIXTAPE:

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…RECENTLY ELSEWHERE FROM CHASE:

This reflects my feelings towards the ‘now lost forever’ MUSE which I prepared today over on chasingthemuse.substack.com

I mentioned writing this earlier and not being really moved by what I’d sent out. My thoughts have since changed. I’m moved to tears. I feel embarrased and ashamed that I’d palmed you off with 5+ hours worth of music to disguise the lack of ‘conversation’ x

"ALL THE SILENCE"