bedlam updates

I used to throw my videos out there and rely on word of mouth. Yes sometimes I'd use some smartarse bullshit to publicise them but mostly I was slaved to a retarded non-plan while I worked out why I was even pumping out this self-worship diary. A while ago I realised I was unhappy with nearly everything about online video. I liked The Attention but I seemed to be going backwards. I decided I needed to change the "Sean Bedlam" character and that's when things got weird because I am Sean Bedlam. I'm Sean Bedlam. Hi. I liked The Attention but I wanted Positive Attention. My videos were too often basically trolling people and it was human centipeding me in the dick, whatever that means. I lost confidence and was pretty much saved by Occupy when all my talking suddenly was part of a real thing. Good one. I seem to have neglected to mention getting into standup comedy, which is it's own fucked up hall of mirrors. Anyway, after years of false starts just yest...

Like an Australian movie that leaves it up to the audience to decide what happened you are annoying and there is no point to you. Like an Australian movie that tells a little story about ordinary people you are annoying and the point you are trying to make is annoying. Like an Australian movie that refuses to bow to convention but has no political message or clear story a fucking adult human can follow and by 'follow' I mean 'care about', there is no way to kill you and you are annoying.   You are not an Australian movie but like an Australian movie no one can defend your existence without being annoying. You point to the 'quality' of Australian movies. What kind of prick are you? "This is quality art." Doesn't sound right does it, prick? "This is quality entertainment." Prick. You use the wrong words to describe shit that shouldn't exist and you are annoying as that most annoying of Australian attention seeking behaviours: the Au...

I will kill you all, Taft Brenderbridgetoofar mused vomitously. Like a ship in the night he passed gas and cupcaked himself to relive That Moment. It had been a dinner, many courses served under the gaze of a gradually melting butter goose. Quince Farbarbengringing had made a joke that stilled the party into a silent silence more silent than the grave or as silent as the grave. No one will ever know. Or will they? No one knows. Or will they. However. Children are best served by their parents in a soup as a stew poorly befits a celebration of childhood and as the child soup grew cold the silence stretched into eternity and the partygoers had time to reflect on the poopy hole.  

Two years on from Occupy I find myself scratching my balls contentedly in the full knowledge that we succeeded and the world is now a better place. Peace has broken out worldwide and in my street children play where once cars whizzed by like fuckheads ruining everything. Oh god I hate. What a total disaster. The cops came in and fucked people up, then they fucked up the people who saw the people being fucked up and that was all she wrote. She being Life, which according to terribly amusing stickers and teeshirts is a 'Bitch'. I used to go to the South Melbourne Market to sell moss animals, animals made of wire and moss, destined to die within weeks if not carefully watered. We were basically tearing up ground cover moss and artfully turning it into problems for people who were momentarily charmed by our green elephants and teddy bears. Capitalism- can I call it that? Who cares. People basing their lives on buying and selling shit? I'm losing the will to live. As God i...

The problem I had with most of the nut cases I buddied up with was they had no vision. When my life was an empty pit I moved into a caravan park with my mental uncle. We bonded over being disturbed and hung out with an ex-cop gunslinger we called Bipolar Bill. He tried to teach me to become a driving instructor but I didn't follow through because we were both bonkers. Bonkers Bill.     We were all trying to get our shit together but it's impossible when you're surrounded by mad cunts. You can see that they're mad and they can see you're full of shit. You only have each other and it's not enough. I put it to you that being around the insane is not ideal therapy. We couldn't take each other seriously. Ever been in a room with a bunch of fruit bats judging each other? It's splendid. So you move on, but sooner or later you're with the next group of mad people who won't tolerate you and that you can't stand. You get into each others' hea...

My girlfriend woke me and I rushed into the other room and as I watched a plane fly into a building I thought, what's the story with morning television? How benighted are motherfuckers if they simply have the TV on, just on, just there spouting drivel into a private living space, a space where you are not required by law to listen to strangers dibbling shit or watch them smile like money is being fired into all their holes? People will cry their eyes out at whatever tragedy is slipped into them by experts. People will also avoid reflection on weighty matters. Hey people, the inside of your head will not give you AIDS if you touch it. (The TV was on because news radio was alerting the world that there was great footage to stroke to. Yes, we listen to news radio in the morning because we are superior beings. Kneel, dogs.) As the buildings collapsed I thought, I mean, are people that scared of having an original thought that they have to crowd out any possibility of a clue arriving ...

The WikiLeaks Party buggered my designated pillow hours. The days are fine, but at night in dreams my mind walks in fear. Terrible nights of interrupted sleep. Mornings presented with fresh piles of shit from angry WikiLeaks supporters. Hard core activists idly wondering if we might unconsciously be doing the work of Julian Assange's enemies. The examples of allies going Full Arsehole and speculating about our mental health, integrity, really real actual secret motivations, ego length/width/size go on and on throwing a spanner in my inner workings. We are accused of turncoat antics by people trained by long hours on the internet to make spastic jumps over the truth. To these fucktards the truth is what you know and research is how you arrive at what you know deep inside because you are an elf or some fucking shit. Across social media witch hunters weave snail trails around what is real, never coming close to the salty goodness like the motherfucking slugs they are. Yes, this ...