Thursday, December 15, 2005

Politics makes my spelling and grammar bad. It's called passion.

Soundtrack: Louis XIV / Pledge of Allegiance

Yeah yeah, so I'm with y'all with the anger and the shame and the rah rah. But I gots a couple of sticking points that I need to rah-rah-release. For posterity, you know? I'd like my kid Bird* to read this blog and I'd like them to know that I was always honest and that expressing yourself is a good thing, no matter what.

*Bird is fictional,ok?

The thing is with all of us righteous brothers throwing up our arms in disgust and blogging well thought out arguments and well meaning parody is that...well, I still can't help but think that we are being incredibly AUSTRALIAN about the whole thing. And by Australian I mean...apathethic.

*raises gloves*

This germ started to ferment within my brain yesterday when I kept reading articles and forum threads about how everyone is ASHAMED to be Australian and how this country isn't WHAT IT USED TO BE and similar bullshit. Well, yar...we're right, it's not what it used to be...thing is, we're not fucking children anymore and these halcyon days that everyone keeps refering to were years ago when we had absolutely no fucking control over our country. It's nice to remember Gough and Bob and Paul, but really, they were just figures of authority to us when we were too young to actually make a difference.

That funny man drunk the beer and made public holiday! LABOR RULES!

Bleh.

What these meathead fucks have started is disgusting and deplorable and I really can't see it just fading away and being remembered as "that weekend the skegs went nuts"...I see it as a real catalyst for some bad shit to start happening...unless.

Unless!

We start doing more than just surfing the net for information about it to use on our blogs or for dinner party conversation, and start actually FORCING some motherfucking change somewhere it counts.

I will be attending the Anti Race Riot Protest tomorrow, but sadly, like the Anti War Protest and the IR Reform Protest, I really have no fucking faith in the voice of the people anymore. Not when we have elected a government that has control over both houses and the power to fucking inflict upon us any thing they fucking well feel like.

So.

There is really only a long term solution as far as I can see, and that is to create over the next two and a half years, some sort of viable opposition to the current government. Labor are fucked, they speak with the fucking aggression of a newly born kitten and have as much air time on TV as The Motherfucking Sopranos. Grrr.

We need to force change in the Labor Party and we need to do it sooner rather than later. We need to remind Australia that a social conscience is more important than a budget surplus, a happy boss or a stinking cricket game. We need to write to these cunts, FORCE them into action, force them to depose the meek sack of poofy potatoes that currently masquerades as an alternative Prime Minister and force them to show Australia that what we need now more than anything is not a set of rules that erodes at our civil liberties, that sparks mistrust between minority groups and inflames the religious sensibilites of every single fucking person, but LEADERSHIP. We need leadership. We need someone who bashes their fist on the lecturn, who has the conviction to speak their mind, the mental capacity to back it up and the courage to face us. To face ME. I want to follow a leader, I want to follow a leader who stands up for themselves, who doesn't play politics.

Difficult, nigh on impossible to find. I understand this. But the way it stands, we're facing at least another six years of this shit and that I cannot stand for.

I am not ashamed to be Australian, I love where I live, I love the people, the pubs (hehe)...the collective intelligence and passion of everyone I come into contact with. But to be honest, I can see why the "average" fuck hasn't voted for Labor these past few elections. Because Labor does not fucking EXIST. The opposition does not fucking EXIST.

Well, there's only one way to change that.

Monday, December 12, 2005

SOMEBODY HELP

Or:

Why my Drug Dealer Freaks Me Out...

My drug dealer really is the nicest Drug Dealer in the world. He has ridden his bicycle 30km in the pouring rain just to give me one pill at 7 in the morning without me having to pay. And other stuff...But still, we all have our dark side...

Recently I texted him something about fixing him up some cash I owed him.

This is the response...his spelling...

Thanks it would help, but you are much loved on this side of the coin my friend, and if I was a chic for a day I'd be one of those sexysuicide dominatrix type chics, i'd be in pvc high shiny boots, a very tight leather corset with a very purple ribbon pulling it together just enough to squash my very tanned puppies up almost to the point that their popping out - you can just see my areolas are exposed but as you look down at my crotch you notice a very large very life like black vainy strap on cock and you are in my motel room after you meet me backstage at the after party for the queens of the stone age (that were playing to a private gig at a party for shock records) and after a lot of substance abuse and jager i take you back to my hote room and tie your arms and legs face down on the bed and with that black cock (which you might not have noticed at the party under my dress because it was duck taped to my leg and as i remove the tape the strap on comes alive sticking out like a big black pudding and as i splash virgin olive oil all over your back and cheeks i tell you it's scented oils but i'd run out in the first two hours of having to be in the the body of a fucking horny slut kitten. And you don't know any of this because your down in the pillow and you squeal when i touch you on your wet date and you scream when you feel your ass dylate as this huge oiled up strap on gets you by surprise but after a few slow jabs you warm to it and start rearing back, you kept this up till you had the whole lot up your ass you came and you paid me and said you'd call me again when you were in town.






Fucking Jesus Christ...How about those riots then hey????
For someone who continually preaches the Power of Love, I'm filled with a lot of anger and hate. It's genesis is a mystery to me, crazy childhood, life of pain, rah rah rasputin...I don't particularly understand it, but I know it exists and I know the destructive power it holds.

Maybe it's a yin and yang thing, maybe one cannot exist without the other.

Or maybe, everyone has it in them and like all other facets of my personality, I just wear it on the outside for all to see. Maybe to me anger is a release, like dancing or jerking off.

But the thing is, anger is just far too destructive a force to leave unchecked, and anger without a purpose, blind spiteful rage is just destruction for destruction's sake, or Emotion Gone Wild riding a bus topless around California...or some other weird anology...

Sigh.

A lot of things make me angry, a lot of things trigger my heart into morphing black and molten lava to wash over my soul and paint fire in my eyes and a torrential outpouring of feeling like a monsoon, drenching anyone who stands near me.

Note to self, pack an umbrella, and a good book.

It's easy for people like you and me, literate, reasonably informed citizens to look down our nose at violent mobs with a Cyclops like mentality, one eyed and spite ridden, clubbing all in their path with a fist full of rhetoric, easy for us to tsk tsk over our morning coffee and shake our heads in disgust at the world around us...

But but but...

It's harder for me to face what is inside me. For I too have a black soul sometimes, and I too verbally pummel and blindly rage against false injustice when out of control. I too am guilty of feelings of hopelessness and inequality and fear and sadness and fuck fucking EVERYTHING.

I just tend to be on my own a lot, which makes it a safer world for you. Heh.

It has hurt and frightened and disgusted me, the events that have taken place over the last few days. But in an ironic twist in my own microcosm, it has come at a time when I too must examine feelings of anger within myself and try to understand.

Stupid Mars, planet of rage.

I read a bumper sticker on my walk home this morning. It said, There is no road to peace, peace is the road. And sometimes the Hippies have a point. Rather than look at a goal, a future where things will be different, happier...it's a lot nicer to just make that the NOW.

Nicer but fucking hard.

I know some people who seem so perfect. Beautiful, outgoing, nice, loving, smart, calm CUNTS, heh, I mean people...And I envy them their serenity. But then, so much of me is tied up in blind passion, so much of the good parts of me comes from blind Italian-Irish passion that to seperate myself from any one part of it seems like an impossible amputation.

But watching the riots and the mob and seeing photos of drunk men spitting venomous vitriole...let's just say...I got scared. I got scared that I was capable of looking like that, though driven by different forces.

Anger really frightens me. The anger within me really frightens me. Trust me when I say I have seen more than my fair share of it while growing up, and I am afraid that I may never control it. So I'll write about it, and work on it, and try not to lapse. AGAIN. AGAIN. AGAIN.

Keep breathing. Keep thinking of words and music and art and light and love and the country and food and Love and friends and it's all ok, it's all ok.

And I read in the paper an article about the riots, and the writer was saddened by the look of SURRENDER in those that were being bashed, and he wrote that there is no greater victory over a mob than a look of dignity.

And I think he was right. And I think dignity is the mortal enemy of anger. And I think it is not only a beautiful construct, but it is a beautiful word.

Dignity.

*keeps walking road of fucking life*