And I emailed this to some friends. It has been edited for legal reasons and to appease the swearing sensitive:
****** ****** is a f**king f**kstick who cant even f**king spell her own name right. you can smell her ***t before she enters the room, such is the smelly ***tness of her smelling f**king ***t. she has two ***ts. the second one is her f**king face. a face that i want to grind into the bitumen with my foot to the back of her head. i want to bash her mincing s**tting body with a street sign until she is people soup on the pavement. i want to watch her get swept up by the city of perth street sweeping machine. i want to watch her smoking-acid blood dribble down the drains so she can poison the fish and give the sewer-rats hepatitis, minge-cholera and crabs. i want to watch her bludgeoned corpse get crushed in the machine and come out as a little cube of flesh and bone, which i will drop into the spoon of a passing junkie in the hope he will jack her up into his arms so she can spend eternity as the splatter-s**t in the gutter of some northbridge back-alley. and then i'll spit on her.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
And I emailed this to some friends. It has been edited for legal reasons and to appease the swearing sensitive:
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Reading: I’m counting down to the last pages of Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited. Have thoroughly enjoyed it, even if he did turn the character I was madly in love with into an insane alcoholic.
Watching: Bleak House is the only thing I simply cannot miss, and that’s more about endurance and an anticipated sense of achievement.
Listening: Maria Callas is warbling at me again at the moment. Especially Un Bel Di, from Butterfly.
Downloading: Absolute trash… Pussy Cat Dolls, etc.
Website du jour: National Association of Research and Therapy of Homosexuality (it’s a research thing).
Café: Probably still Exomod, though have most recently been to Rifo’s in Maylands.
Pub: Not doing a lot of this, too busy. Though someone tried to drink me under the table at the Brass Monkey last Friday night.
Club: Too busy for this. Closest I get is a phone call from Lara in London.
Eating: Have discovered pot noodle. Has changed my life and drastically reduced my nutrition.
Drinking: Goon. It’s necessary.
Wearing: A jumper that earned me the nickname “the chocolate lime” with Emma Gant.
Last show: Nabucco, WA Opera.
Next show: Ben Folds with the WA Symphony Orchestra.
Can’t wait ‘til: Ben Folds.
Lately I have been: Doing pots and pots of research for the documentary.
Most recent scoop: The State plans to triple the Coastal Business Centre’s lease to $90kpa and 25 fledging small businesses could be out on their ear.
Most recent purchase: Definitely cannot afford anything.
Want but can’t afford: New digital Dictaphone. Classic 100 Opera box set.
Need but can’t afford: To pay my council and water rates. The former is due tomorrow and the later was due a month ago.
Last nice act: Helped out at Nova this morning because Helen was ill.
Last bad act: May have told Kate she looked like a hooker in her fishnet stockings today.
Bad news: Have been having some health-related problems that require me to be euthanased (or at least knocked-out) so they can have a lil look see inside me.
Good news: I’ve signed some important documents on the most important thing that’s going on for me right now. Oh yeah… met someone nice, too.
Goal: Help finish scripting this thing I’m working on.
How to achieve it: Do what a woman at the ABC tells me.
Yesterday I: Worked and then researched and then read: that’s what my life is these days.
Right now I should be: Researching. Or showering.
Later today I’m: Researching and reading and sleeping.
Tomorrow I’m: Writing some news leads for the paper. May go shopping for Grandma’s birthday present.
General mood: Tired from exhaustion, enthusiastic about life, buoyant about the people in my life.
It would be better if: I were two people, so that I could do everything I need to do.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Yesterday I blogged with sadness that every bastard was in Europe except me. One of those bastards is my darling friend Lara. Lara has since emailled me an open letter to the City of Paris, which I share with you now.
i was in our neighbourhood last week and noticed a few points of interest about you. i do believe there might be a few misconceptions held by the world outside of europe so I, with your blessing of course, would like to put the record straight and share with the rest of the world your true character.
You retain your steadfast position within the political sphere... you have helped formed liberalism, assisted in freedom of speech, and you have even assisted the united states in attain a suitable UN resolution for the latest middle east crisis.
you were the one who vetoed invading iraq and you brought france's poverty to the stage in les mis...all of which are commendable efforts.
however, there are some tarnishes, blemishes ...wait whats the word im looking for... oh yeh... STAINS about your moral character. details are as follows:
firstly, you smell like f***king s**t... i cant tell the difference from the stench of your homeless people and the aroma of your sewage that wafts throughout the underground subways. i would hate to have a fight in the streets of paris... not because im afraid of getting raped and robbed (which is also scary) but because i worry that remaining in the streets for too long and exposed to your fumes, i might catch some airborne venereal disease ... and i dont care if thats not possible... anyhting is possible in paris. michael jackson with his airtight mask and his pet monkey and god knows what other rodents would fit perfectly in your backyard
so take a shower and while you're there, why dont you clean up your act?
city of love? my ass! you are the city of porn you filthy hoe.
you are nothing but a sexual deviant parading half-naked women across magazines and selling them as "stlye mags" which brings me to another point.
paris puts the "le" in style... and that is all.
most of the people are that overweight they cant even fit into the designer labels you sell. hey, theres nothing wrong about being overweight..im australian... the second fattest nation in the world! but we dont go whispering to the world that we are the hub of international fashion do we? no! so stop blabbing to your little european union compatriots at your belgium HQ that you are too cool for school, because you clearly are not.
secondly, get an adequate welfare program for your homeless. the "derelique" campaign aint a fashion trend you idiots. whats made for zoolander, stays in zoolander.
thirdly, mate, im telling you, you love tourists. why? cos we spend our worthless cash on your stupid bread and perfume at la fayette galleries. we bolster your economy. you aint the pound... you're the euro... so lets just put it in perspective hey?
you do to speak english...and dont tell me you dont... ive heard you!
so when i ask... where is the prada section please... or .... where is the metro station please.... dont look at me like i'm coolio or some trashy white girl from jerry springer you f**k. why dont you just tell me so i can spend money and then we can all be happy?
and then you can use that money to get some proper freakin toilets, you diarrhea-ridden cesspool.
i go to paris to get away from indonesia...ive already been there once.. no need for an imminent return. so get rid of those "squat toilets" and lets get physical with hygiene.
the lourve is definitely at the helm... the art is amazing and one of your beauties... but did you notice there's hardly even any french art there??!!! its all italian, greek and egyptian... so dont go around declaring your love for culture and the arts... its not even yours you HACK
your eiffel tour rocks... but the bureau de change sucks... your commission is extravagent you filthy greedy frog eating freaks.
be like london.
work a full week, stop striking....stop protesting over every little thing... and save your shouting for the big things... like better health and education... a cleaner city... and embark on a crusade to be nice people you hapless porn-loving psychos.
Now I KNOW I'm missing out.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Sometimes we do something on a whim and it pays off. It becomes one of life's memorable experiences.
I have had many of these moments: I drove to Albany aged 19 and didn't return for four years; I covered a Burns Supper for my paper and took up the bagpipes for two years; I went to a restaurant for dinner and spent three years with the waiter; I filled-in a form at ABC Online thinking little of it and have spent a year avoiding directly answering the question "where do I know you from?".
Well this isn't quite the same scale as any of that... but I did experience something truly amazing.
I spent the afternoon listening to nearly 1000 voices singing brilliant choral pieces by Orff and Verdi.
The WA Symphony Orchestra Chorus was holding a "Big Sing" and people from the community were invited to go along and fill the Perth Concert Hall with their gleeful voices. (Okay, so the Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves isn't exactly gleeful... but you know what I mean). I wrote about it for work and a heap of our papers ran the story. So I'd like to take some of the credit for the enormous turn-out! lol.
It was impressive. The sound was incredible. I am always blown-away by the sound of human voice en masse. I love it.
Earlier this week I saw WA Opera's production of Nabucco (funnily enough!) at His Majesty's Theatre. The sound was awe-inspiring. And here I was, a few days later, listening to nearly 1000 amateurs singing the same piece. I wanted to cry, the emotion it evoked was so strong.
Tenors, sopranos, altos and basses, all together, in unison, in divisio: brilliant.
To hear two pieces of music I love so much, sung so well, by a temporary choir of also-rans, rehearsed for only two hours, was an amazing experience. I wish more people had gone along just to listen. I arrived depressed, I left higher than a castrati.
And I'm sick of it darlings.
This morning I had a phone call from Lara "Perth's Best Kept Secret" Hyams (or DJ Abortion) from London's most exclusive club, Fabric. She had been dancing to the best progressive set she reckons she had ever heard... and she missed me.
Last week when I called her, because sometimes I too miss her, she was on the Paris underground looking for the station at Bastille.
This morning I had an email from another darling friend, Amy "Don't Tell Anyone I'm In Features" Henderson. She was in the Champagne region of France where she had sampled more of my favourite food group than I dare let myself believe exists. She was fresh back from Munich and Berlin.
Every bastard is in Europe except me.
Now I know my good friends check in on this site from time-to-time, so I'd like to put something on the public record. The following people have promised to move to Europe with me:
Daniel "Dancing Daniel" Baker
Lara "Am I Bovered?" Hyams
Lindsay "Dust?" McPhee
Emma "Thompson's C**t Gazelle" Gant
and Wayne "Antonio" Bennett gets an honorary mention in dispatches on account of the fact he's quite likely to at least leave Australia shortly and could therefore potentially hang out with me at Hilda's Brauhaus.
I'm adding Bill Bryson to the list as well, just because I think he'd be fun to travel with.
Of course, if this documentary hadn't have come-off I would have been in London from last Tuesday (August 15), which had been my intended departure date. Consequently everyone is constantly asking me when I'm leaving.
Let me also put on the public record, I plan to limp over Christmas and head off in the new year. Anyone who wants to come with me... well you're more than welcome. Sharing the adventure is half the fun.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Occasionally, I dedicate myself to a cause.
When I was in high school a group of mates and I joined a decent-sized protest on the steps of Parliament House to rally against logging old growth forests.
When I was at my (agricultural) university (in Northam, darlings, where they lynch non-conservatives) I perhaps rather unwisely chose to side with the Maritime Union of Australia over the dockside protests against Patrick Corporation in 1998. While farmers were volunteering to run the wharf themselves, I waswearing pro-MUA t-shirts and pulling finger signs at the scab labour driving blue and yellow Patrick trucks. (Still do, actually).
At various times I have helped further veterans issues (through the RSL, no less), refugee issues and general union clamour.
Oh yeah, and I also marched on the streets of Albany against the War In Iraq (as soon as I'd finished covering the event for the paper).
None of these actions have ever made the slightest difference. I'm too left wing and compassionate to be allowed to taste victory in Howardian Australia. (God I hope history judges that man for the disaster he has been. And if it doesn't, then I'll just have to set to re-writing history - a journalist's privilege).
Anyway, the point is, today I did something for my cause d'jour. Gay marriage rights.
Two years ago today John "Fist Me" Howard placed a Federal ban on same-sex marriage. We're talking about States and Territories being allowed to register civil unions between gay and lesbian couples.
It was used to create division in an already divisive election campaign (oh yeah, and thank God Labor didn't get in because then interest rates would have risen).
So today I attended a rally at the Northbridge Cultural Centre in the city and listened to an hour of fantastic speakers, delivering with eloquence and passion a message to our (notoriously and literally) hard-of-hearing Prime Minister. We want equality. We want access to our basic human rights. We are not sub-human. Marriage is about love not gender.
I was immensely proud of the young people who organised this event. They were passionate in the kind of way I wish Australians were passionate. They were passionate in the way people were passionate in the 60s and 70s. The refused to accept the status quo, the laise fair. They filled me with hope.
Several times I wanted to cry.
Last year I attended the same rally. There were about 50 of us. It wasn't huge but I was proud to be there. This year there must have been at least 300 - most of whom I had never seen before. I was so incredibly proud to be there among them.
After the speeches we marched through the streets of Northbridge.
Afterwards someone told me they didn't think the public paid attention to protests like this any more. They said the public took a dim view of speaking out in this way.
Perhaps he's right. Perhaps that's exactly what is fucking wrong with this country.
It is far too easy for politicians to call protestors radicals. Far too easy for the populous to do nothing.
You can hide behind your white picket fences, should you wish. You can lead your modern Stepford existence. You can close your heart and your ears and believe the propaganda of the Neo Cons.
Or you can dare to think.
Dare to feel.
And dare to speak.
I, for one, will never fucking shut up.