You were 19 when you were taken from the world. I was 18 and you were 19 and now I am 29 and you would have been 30. You have been gone for so long. Read the rest of this entry »
Calling 2016 the worst year in history is kind of insulting to years like 1943 (peak Holocaust) or 1348 (Black Death) or even that year around 72,000BC when a Sumatran super-volcano erupted and reduced our species population to about 5000. That said, 2016 was absolutely whack, and that’s not including the myriad of beloved celebrity deaths. Read the rest of this entry »
White Night is an all night art and culture festival that happens all over the world. This particular night, Melbourne was the host. Going to White Night is amazing and the art and installations you get to see are usually spectacular. Working at White Night can be an exercise in torture. An insane amount of people herded like cattle in and around the city, for the entire night. It doesn’t end. If while navigating that gauntlet of all-night wonderment you have at all spotted the workers and volunteers and wondered what they’re thinking, then this post is for you. Here is a conversation myself and a few of my workmates were having over the course of our 12 hour shifts for White Night. Next time you’re ambling about, lining up for your next amazing slice of culture, spare a thought for the people behind the Night. And remember – that is not a flyer dispensing machine, that is a human person. Don’t cut queues. Don’t be a dick. That lady is using that microphone for crowd control, you can not use it for a “shout out to Brunno” and she is not a “cunt” for denying you so. It will make no difference if you’re first in line or fifth, I promise. EVERYONE’S tired, you’re not special. Enjoy the night and remember that that dead look behind the eyes of the workers is there because no one gets paid enough to care about your problems.
– Enthusiastic housemates. I don’t care that you have managed to cross off all the things on your to do list before midday, I really don’t. I don’t care that you actualised your dreams, I really don’t. All I care about is lying here on this couch, in this dark room, eating these end-of-day-discount donuts and watching The Golden Girls. Please take your enthusiasm for life to another room and fuck it if it’s that tangible.
– Whoever the fuck keeps naming Melbourne the world’s most liveable city or whatever. Please stop, my rent is high enough as it is, fuck off and stop making my home expensive. Read the rest of this entry »
As children we all aspire to the absolute unobtainable, our budding imaginations running riot and we believe even the most fantastic things to be true. Kids believe in things we as adults don’t, like mythical creatures and the like, because the idea that they exist is so exciting, so thrilling that believing they aren’t there is unfathomable. As a child you are allowed this imaginative liberty and you don’t even know it. Much like the unreciprocated hum of a crush.
The day is long and hard. The night before was fun and easy, but this day is long and hard. You clutch your sixth cup of caffeine like a junkie clutches to life under a bridge in the rain, and check again to see if the clock was maybe hopefully lying to you. Nope. 10.30am. This 9-5 shit is some other kind of fucked up. The slow ticking of the wall clock exacerbated by the hangover and as you stare at it to will it to go faster, the hands seem to taunt you by doing a slow dance back and forth in time.
Being bitter and jaded isn’t easy, but Edna Krabappel sure made it look like it was. A minor character in The Simpsons, she was given enough stories of her own to make her an integral part of the show and an inspiration to all us cynical and twisted young souls out there, awaiting our first cigarette or glass of red wine. Read the rest of this entry »
– Christmas. It’s only October and the halls are already getting decked with boughs of holly. The tinsel, the fake snow, the red and the green power-clashing in the worst most fuck ugly way; it all makes me want to vomit in someone’s mouth. The only good thing to come out of Christmas are the tacky kitsch jumpers, but it’s fucking summer down in this hemisphere and we have no use of them. Read the rest of this entry »
There was a time in my life when the idea of talking about my sexuality was about as likely as pig flight. Now, I talk about blowjobs the way most people talk about yoga. The act of ‘coming out’ will soon be an outdated one because eventually kids can grow up to be whoever the hell they want to be and it won’t be questioned and they won’t have to ‘come out’ because they will have grown up ‘out’ because that is the way it should be because, nature. Unfortunately, until that time, some kids are going to have to run this uncomfortable gauntlet, but lucky for them, they don’t realise how much good it will do them.
Whenever I speak to a fresh American, almost always the conversation turns to how I managed to survive in such a dangerous environment. They’re talking about all the deadly animals and the heat and I guess the nasty nature stuff that was used as propaganda in the days when being sent to “The Colonies” was a punishable crime, and parents would use it to keep their kids in line. I get it, my country is big and red and we have deserts to spare, but that doesn’t mean we were all raised Survivor-style then moved to the cities when we came of age.