bedlam updates

(This is not a funny post, more a case of looking for useful feedback.) I got into Occupy because of Wikileaks, so I've decided I'm going to help the Wikileaks Party get into power, however I can. Already trusted expert activist mates have made it clear they're not feeling it, but I'm not feeling me missing out on this historic moment. I imagine a future where I'm asking myself why I thought I had anything better to do than back a freedom fighter. Oh he's not? Good times. My friends tell me the system is broken and they are right. Occupy is broken too. I was one of the people almost crushed along with the movement. I stuck it out and I'm still to see through one ongoing court case (and another much bigger one relating to The Eviction is being looked at as possibly a goer. In which case- if I lose- I'm up for thousands of dollars. But I'll take the risk.) People talk to me about grassroots movements and I get it- look at my videos from years ago...

Went to a lovely wedding and didn't talk to people if I could help it because I really wanted to be back at the comedy festival joking with heartless comics about my little cancer scare. Fucking hell. I shouldn't have gone. I felt so bad about wanting to talk about cancer. I looked great though. I just could not face talking to other dudes, I knew I wasn't even slightly interested in anything they had to say and being me it would be written all over my awesome sunglasses. Partly it's a problem of not having kids, partly it's that the vibe in Castlemaine is so fucking nice. A fight involving bloodshed might have helped me relax. Purely as a spectator, mind. I love watching idiots hit each other. Instead of that I found myself getting way too into the blues band, sitting there by myself and giving it loads of "Oh shit! Now we're talking!" and "Damn!" and, "Mmm....MMM!" Like a total fucktard. I don't even like the blues but the...

Yesterday I coughed up blood and though I went through no decision process that resulted in me thinking, "I have cancer", I did decide to go straight to the doctor just in case I had cancer and that made me cry because now I would have to clean up my shed because now I have cancer. I don't have cancer, I have mild bronchitis, but for a little while yesterday the only way to Not Panic was to use my time thinking about settling up my affairs, the most menacing aspect of which would be cleaning up my fucking dirty fucking shed. Fuck it's a mess. I couldn't stand leaving behind a shed that other people would look at and laugh, saying, "That Seany, he's a character!" As they tried to make sense of what the fuck I thought I was thinking as I filled my shed with what looks exactly like garbage sprayed from a cannon. I smoked cigarettes for twenty years and gave up after I started coughing uncontrollably at a meeting of Mildly Amusing Action Squad. One o...

To me soldiers are like atheists: right about everything in a way that’s terribly unhelpful to nearly everybody. It’s the kind of rightness where nobody wins and that’s why it’s a great idea to never trust a hero.  Yesterday I’m reading that there’s an exciting new hashtag that’s going to change the world one cupcake at a time, “KidsAreHeroes”. This is an Earth shattering anti-bullying initiative aimed at not attacking any root causes of mutual hatred from the usual gold star farmers who live the mission of keeping us supplied with backrubs, encouraging murmuring noises and meaningful eye contact at appropriate moments. Just enough, not too much, yes that’s my finger up your arsehole, breath gently now and accept my universal love. I quite mistakenly hate everybody which is a huge problem, particularly as it’s actually just idealism, hope and good vibes that have been told they’re naive by stupid people one too many times. As a kid I was bullied and I bullied othe...

I do stand up because I need to be creative and I need to show off. People used to say to me, ‘You must have weird dreams.’ No, I’m just like you. I lie face down and lower my heart rate to one beat per minute and astral travel to the 5th dimension.  This is an art form. Sure anyone who can speak can try stand up comedy but no-one in history has ever casually stood up in front of strangers and cracked them up for half an hour without thinking about it first. Can we admit there’s probably some thought going into the totally unnatural act of performing like a seal to a collection of possibly soulless faces? Shit, I’ve been doing it for three years and it’s only just sunk in that there’s no escape from bombing. That’s a huge lesson to learn after 150 spots. (150 is an abitrary number, it could be 200 or 250, or 255, or even 256 spots, gosh, who knows?) It’s not enough to be naturally funny because it only feels natural when the whole night is going really well, there’s a wa...

When I was growing up all the fish’n’chip shops were run by Greeks and people loved being offended that the Greeks would be speaking Greek in their own place of business. The idea was, “What if they’re talking about us?” Because if you’re working another long day in a hot fish’n’chip shop in the middle of summer your customers are going to be so fascinating. I mean, what could be more interesting than someone who trudges into a chip shop, someone who’s just had this electric conversation, “What do you feel like eating tonight?” “Chips?” “Ok.” Cutting edge stuff, humanity at it’s finest, pure fucking gossip fodder. I was an outsider so I hung out with wogs and dagos and they were me mates, just as much as the dumb skip cunts I went to school with, the whingeing pommy cunts, and the kids who magically fit in and knew what the rules were. It was the dumb skip cunts who didn’t understand anything who were most paranoid about wogs speaking Greek. But that’s the working class for yo...

I suppose I should start by telling you a little bit about myself: it’s hot and I want to die. I want to see the streets running deep in blood, the time to snap is now, let’s not fool ourselves, madness is the only way forward and these are the end times.  Normally I wouldn’t be so dark, but it’s usually not the Apocalypse. And I don’t even have to work outside! I’ve worked lots of jobs in the harsh Australian climate. Bricklayers’ labouring under the vicious sun, delivering pianos as the sun tries to kill you, working on farms hoping you get sprayed with toxic pesticides because at least it’s wet. Steaming kitchens cutting vegetables as your perspiration pours onto the defenceless potatoes. Welding steel in boiling factories as you feel the working classness washing over you like a pre mixed drink that’s been left out on the roof of your mate Simmo’s panel van.  You could say I arrive at hot weather with a bad attitude because I associate it with working my arse of...