🦋Myth of Paradise💀

INCLUDES MIXTAPE. in The Heart of The Cruel Perfidy, I am Granted Perfect Peace, A Release From Myself & The Stormy Drama of My Life. -x- ChasingTheMuse! Free Blog

"It slips silently into the day-to-day existence of each of us, into our most private moments, our buried secrets."

—David Grossman (Lion’s Honey)

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SATURDAY: 8 AUGUST 2026

‘NO PARADISE’ MIXTAPE BY CHASEY DELANEY (2022)

Greetings, Chasers!🦋

THE MYTH OF PARADISE

(“Disarmed, Childish, Infantile Self”)

Myths are universal and timeless stories that reflect and shape our lives —they explore our desires, our fears, our longings, and provide narratives that remind us what it means to be human.

Nothing quite like a head fuck than attempting to read The Book of Judges, Chapters 13-16 from The Authorised King James Version, I’m just assuming they didn’t do a ‘Samson for Dummies’ textbook edition? I’d like to say that I’m ‘between books’ like I’m some avid reader. I am between books, about 4 or 5 to be exact, about 8 pages into to each one and now unenthused for the foreseeable fortnight.

Lion’s Honey by David Grossman was an ambitious book to pick up and carry off with me and my ‘bath-glasses’ to get in the tub for some much needed rest, relaxation and mainly some sort of mood absorption.

I decided I’d get in and read a bit until I was slowly falling asleep. I’d then tackle the idea of shaving my neck with no real intention of extending the act down to my minge and legs.

In the back of my mind, I considered the possibility of a shag being on the cards for me at bedtime. Again, the mood I was in, I couldn’t be arsed with any of that happening one way or the other but, you know me, I’m not one to knock a gift horse in the gob either.

I made sure I had both face and fanny razors in my artillery. I heard someone say they used the same razor for all over and then spotted a greasy redhead on her chin (not me! lol) a nasty looking boil and in that moment I realised, maybe I’m not a freak for functioning fresh razors for everything from the chin to the grizzly bits.

It reminded me of how I got told off once when I first moved in with my Dad and his first wife, and her amazing kids (my little brother included). There were two girls, a young boy and my baby brother. I was the oldest and should have known better.

They had a set rule for ‘supper’. I was amazed when I discovered it was no more than two custard creams, a couple of bloody biscuits! This was a bad head-bender for me as a teen. I couldn’t believe the level of deprivation I was about to receive. I’d been highly accustomed to eating nice food before.

Nana’s suppers were mint in comparison, they ranged anywhere from cheese and raw onion butties on white bread, to beans on burnt toast, to tinned fruit cocktail with the syrup juice in a bowl, to my favourite, fried potatoes, thinly sliced (like crisps) and we called it “scallop butties”. I adored a hot meal late before bed, set me up for the night it did.

My first impression of this new way of living with them, they were a proper family, a unit who worked together, functioned properly, were kind of strict, and Dad seemed to slip right into it. She was a bit more middle class than we were.

I respected their authority and the pleasantly imbued environment, however orchestrated or forcefully manufactured, promoted an air of serenity around us. I loved the niceness, politeness, the fucking pish-posh atmosphere.

I soaked this up surprisingly fast and my soul sighed at last. This is how the other half live! It could have been bliss, a soundproof sanctuary, safe and secure and away from the scum outside the door –only they knew too well they’d just let some in. Me.

Having younger parents was fucking disappointing in the beginning. Little things like rotas for cleaning and shit suppers to sleep on. I loved slumping up the old apple and pears at Nana’s house.

I missed myself stinking of chip fat and wiping the corners of my mouth, from greasy lard, on the back of my hand! There at Dad’s I could sprint up the fucking stairs, dusting crumbs off my nightdress and still hear my stomach growling up each step. There was a small queue to use the bathroom too.

‘What’s this?’ I thought, why is everyone lined up in pajamas at the bathroom door? “you have to brush your teeth and strip wash before bed when its not bath night” my step-sister said rolling her eyes.

I couldn’t decide what was more confusing, I’d never heard of a strip wash and what the fuck was bath night? I knew bath time was whenever I fucking wanted one and that, first thing in the morning, was to have a nice shower. Not in this house I would later find out, learning the hard way when it was my turn.

I went in brushed my teeth and wouldn’t use the wet hand towels that had been used before me. I never use a wet towel even if I used it before. I use a towel once because I’m a germaphobe when towels are concerned, be it a peeve or a fucking phobia. I don’t like things that can put bacteria on me!

Needless to say it was alright as I washed the toothpaste off my face and neck with a nice clean wet cloth thing,.. I’ll never forget my sister’s face as we swapped places, her coming in and me going out, as I threw the rinsed cloth back into the shower shelf thing. She laughed so much I got a mad.

That’s a fanny flannel “its (her sister’s name) not mine!“ she says still laughing. OMFG… A Fanny Flannel!!?

First ewwwwwwwwww. Second. Flannel? That’s the difference between the two houses and three generations. I preferred my Nana’s generation. I got to have a soft pink sponge for everything in the bath. My own towel dry and used once and it got washed when it was wet.

I missed my Nana more than anything at all but I was too hard faced to admit it. I wanted to be cooler than I was. I wanted a proper 2.4 family, and so did they apparently. 2.4 didn’t include me. The bastard kid from his previous relationship. I won’t go into me getting booted out again. What’s the point in that. Dad’s dead now.

I’d give anything to have him back. He predicted that I would still be ‘fucked up at 40’ and in a way he’s right. I know he loved me when he said it and I was gutted he didn’t live to see it. I would have made him so proud by now! I miss my Dad. I miss everything we had.

It’s times like this when I wouldn’t mind a big fat line or two. It has always been in times of being ‘caught beneath the landslide’ that I find my repose, it’s like paradise is under my nose.

Relish your victory…💀

Love from Chasey!

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Chasey Delaney - 08.08.2026

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