bedlam updates

Ah, Failure Mountain! You will be the lasting monument to my life's work! I will be known as the The Unknown Failure and everywhere men and women who failed repeatedly and very successfully will be commemorated by a statue in the town square. The Failures. Those who tried but were barking up the wrong fucking tree. Those who persisted but were shockingly wrong. Those who cared about total bullshit and fought like wankers for victories on fields long emptied of meaning. Today I read a review of an historical book that brought home with sudden vomit that I know fuck all about the real world. Oh christ. The more I know the less I fucking get fucked yep gonna vomit again. When people talk about being misunderstood, what they're actually saying is "Why is my genius not apparent to these fuckheads?" Fuckhead of course being anyone unlucky enough to be in the way as the genius makes a beeline for home and the calm of not being around anything real. It's a bit of

Hit the fucking jackpot yesterday. Twitter Lefty announces that dude-I-follow-on-twitter is anti-semitic and I weigh in because I know he's not and that's just fucked. I mean, more people should be anti-semitic amirite Nazis but this guy just isn't so don't be labelling people if they haven't earned it through hard work. Anti-semitic. So anyway, this horrid accusation is thrown at a guy in a public forum and it happens to be exactly the kind of labelling behaviour I hate more than I hate women. Oh, sorry, I should explain that when I sent a tweet to this person calling her behaviour "revolting" (go me, no swear words!) she came back with a strong implication that I'm a rape apologist and followed that up with the even stronger smear that I'm a misogynist. At this point I was just high on life. From out of nowhere I was now Bad Lefty Words with a good chance to collect the whole set of Phobes if I kept going with this unhinged recipient of a uni

Last night I watched Apocalypse Now, Platoon and We Were Soldiers, all Hollywood "war" movies and all in the fine tradition of American crybaby entertainment. When I saw Saving Private Ryan in a packed cinema there was a deep silence throughout the audience as the opening beach battle scene unfolded. No wait, a woman at the back left of the theatre laughed hysterically all the way through. I assumed she was uncomfortable at being in a room full of adults behaving like they were in church. Steven Spielberg went on to make a movie about a bunch of really great guys who assassinated people for Israel. It's funny y'know? If I killed people for my activism maybe I'd be considered a hero too? Probably not and also: I'm not a fucking murdering piece of shit. The Hurt Locker was about a guy so underwhelmed by civilian life that he needed to be where people were being slaughtered- to protect the lifestyle he couldn't stomach? Yeah, I know, that makes no sense

Target businesses. Embarrass them where they live. Go into their offices and ask awkward questions, anything real will do. We are so deep into the bullshit realms now that simply pointing out the obvious is radical enough. Of course it's radical. We live in a real world but argue instead about how we're represented in the media. For that alone we 100% deserve to be oppressed. Every newsagent window across Australia is covered cover to cover by the covers of "women's" magazines. Do women routinely smash these windows? No, because the failure those windows represent is real. It's stuck to the inside of a shop window and everything! Who could possibly fight that?  We earn our oppression every day. Every day is a good time to be outraged but we don't seem to be able to get angry enough to awkwardly block a doorway. We have a hundred excuses. We're scared of being arrested, we have a child's boogeyman terror of What Might Happen. We're way too i

(Much shit-talking about the Left here so feel I should preface by mentioning The Socialist Party provide great leadership to the Tunnel Picket campaign here in Melbourne. Oh, and I'm a Lefty McLefterson, make no mistake.) I feel exposed when I try to describe what the Trans Pacific Partnership is and I have roughly thirty days to write a half hour of stand up comedy about the fucking thing. However I can think of worse fates than indulging in the pleasure of Feeling Brainy as I take endless notes and scratch my beard like an engaged thinker taking himself seriously. I won't get a Christmas break, but I will get a holiday from thinking in fucking soundbites.         The TPP is a corporate takeover, a coup, the next logical step in the consumer nightmare, (but a very stoppable juggernaut if people can get organized enough). It's a series of negotiations held in secret between a whole lot of nations that don't matter and the USA. It's an obvious slap in the face

Mother had recently abandoned us for England and we were under the roof of our insanely angry father. It was ever so early on Christmas morning and we woke and tore into our presents. Only later that morning our Dad discovered us and was outraged at our behavior. An insanely angry father will make you black out in terror and completely forget why you were doing whatever it was that has given him his latest reason to rip into you. It is only now at age 45 it occurs to me that we opened our gifts because we assumed anything good and in front of us could be taken away. We woke that morning well used to having to try fend for ourselves. Mum had warmed us up for the ultimate abandonment by leaving us alone in our depressing foodless flat for long stretches of day and night. My brother would make sandwiches out of pepper and tomato sauce, we had sores and bruises from malnutrition and undernutrition. We continued to behave strangely under Dad's roof in strict accordance to having b