Dead Body

 (Written while listening to Pig Destroyer.)

I am writing while listening to Pig Destroyer. I have just been to a Preston barber. I kept my long hair, but thanks to some sweet clipper work I now look like one of the guys who live around here. I mean, I thought so, and when the friendly face at the cafe asked me if my brother works at the rock band rehearsal place up the road (nope) I knew I had arrived. It’s good to stand out and it’s good to fit in. To be honest, I am so far up my own hole right now. Why go to the gym when I can just get a haircut? I am going to live at the barber.

Union folk are behind the Trans Day of Visibility this Friday and it should be big, but a trans mate pointed out that they don’t mention the cop union presence at Trades and they also left out the bit about cops working closely with terfnazis on the 18th. I’m sure it’s just an oversight and that they’ll be calling for the pigs to be booted from Trades Hall and for Premier Daniel Andrews to answer a million questions about his relationship with Victoria Police. Maybe we could pass the hat around and pay for hypnotherapy, so he’s not so afraid of them?  

VicPol are the biggest gang of violent fanatics in a state with a capital city of over 5 million people. A reader has asked me what I would do if I needed cops. I had to pick their brains for suggestions for when that might be. Apparently if my home is burgled, I’m in a car crash, or “god forbid, a young family member is nabbed”. Let’s start with the nightmare scenario that your huge collection of funko pops have been stolen from your house that only has gamer chairs to sit on.   The cops come, you try to explain that Magic the Gathering cards are actually worth heaps and maybe, maybe, if you’re very, very white, their report helps you get some insurance money. Oh, it’s a car crash? Okay, the cops direct traffic while your screaming children try to put your head back on. Your child is kidnapped? Excuse me? So you're a multi-millionaire? Just pay the terrorists, it’s your child for fucks sake.

Oh! I can think of one things cops do really well and it’s winding up the families of victims of crime so they become campaigners, avenging angels of death, seeking vengeance, even if their excitingly harsh new jail sentences ruin innocent lives. Essentially, if you want your shit fucked up, or if you had your shit fucked, cops are there to do nothing about it or make it much worse. 

Or they’ll just straight up assault or kill you. Calling the cops on your violent husband? You’ve taken your life in your hands. Calling the cops because your adult son is having a menty b?Just maybe, he might, just, there’s a slight possibility, that’ll he’ll live through it.         

Normies love to say there’s a time and place for everything and sometimes I agree. For instance, when the nice person asked if my brother worked at the rock-out room, I didn’t say, “No, my brother did play there ages ago though. I say “did”, because he dropped dead, alone, in his depressing flat and no one found his body for three weeks. When my other brother found him, his body had been lying in front of a heater, which was on, all that time.” Even in our capitalist nightmare world, where that’s a normal working class story, that’s a lot to lay on someone who’s just trying to make a human connection with you. So I didn’t say that, but I reckon at the Trans Day of Visibility the people who get up to speak can afford to talk in specifics about the police and Trades Hall, the police and what they did to trans people that day and the police and their super menacing relationship with the Labor government of this state. 

We can all smell the dead body, let’s talk about it.