Tuesday, December 29, 2015
There is no working off the grid anymore. .Getting anything up and running these days is an obstacle course of rules and regulations in Australia. There's no life outside the Matrix of the Nanny State. We have eaten Nanny and we now operate with her mind set. Nanny hides around every corner with a bag to throw over your head. Nan's no fool. She has been around the block a few times and she will stop you before you have even started. She will bind your feet and measure out your carbon footprint. She will tax your moods and fine your farts and keep you marching between her narrow lines. She is an anti mobility moll and she puts me in a( nanny) state that has me pulling thwarts out of my chest. Thwarts come from being thwarted. They taste like metal, feel like shrapnel or burning little nuggets of frustration. I only suffer from thwarts every time I start trying to get ahead...
When I put up an Advertisment on Gumtree for my Winter Goddess Pamper Package. 90 minutes of Therapeutic massage from the head to the twinkle toes. But those Ads have already been deleted 3 times by the admin. The first time because I stated that it was for Women Only I apparently contravened the Discrimination Act. The second time I didn't state 'non sexual' as if it wasn't fucking OBVIOUS and the third time I didn't put up my credentials. Since when does an advertising board ask to see my credentials? I'd say that is none of their business? But I keep putting up my ads and they keep being deleted. It's a quick sand experience that was giving me thwarts. It was thwarting me the fuck out! to be frank. It was doing my head in!
So I thought I'd get Jesus on side and pitch a Prayer Massage. I mean who needs credentials when you're working with Jesus right? I also thought that might cut out the replies from men seeking hand jobs. But I JUST got deleted from Gumtree again and not only that my account is suspended. I assume that's because I didn't state the massage was non sexual. I thought bringing Jesus on board would render that point moot. Jesus is the divine regulator. He don't need no nanny state to tell him how to do his voodoo. I know my atheist friends will all be laughing at this point. But they all have trust funds or partners so they can shut the fuck up 'cause they aint good for a loan.
So I checked out the competition to see the sort of Ads that get passed. And they look something like this.
My first question was who needs a Sensual Massage if it doesn't come with a happy ending! All I see are key words. Sensual. Full body. oil. sexual 4 campus. Even with TAFE credentials it still reads like a cock tease. And this tells me to things about the culture I live in. The first is that we are all cornered into being liars. And the little death is the only thing that sells. Australia may be tighter than a nun's undies when it comes to regulation but under neath that buttoned up front we're just a pack of horny hypocrites. There's no place like hell...I mean home. Home is where the hard on is. My account is suspended!
It's not like I'm fussy. I've long stopped expecting to get employment in my areas of expertise. I am happy to work at menial tasks so I still have my headspace. But the jobs that used to be for wild gypsy sisters like me no longer are given to locals. They're given to backpackers. Because backpackers are younger and better looking and less desperate and you can rip them off without getting dobbed into the tax office. I don't blame those employers. Why bring another crab into your crab pot when you can give orders to a Goddess with a Swedish accent. No doubt in their position I'd do the same.
So again I go over my options. And they're dwindling. It's not like I'm not skilled in many areas. It's just nobody wants to pay for the skills that I have. Take the Digital Diva. Where I shoot and edit videos. I'm very good but nobody wants to pay for them. So I end up making vids for other artists. But 99% of the time they never write back and say thanks. And I'm never sure whether that's because they don't like the video or they're just autistic cunts. I suspect it's six of one and half a dozen of the other. But between lack of money and lack of feedback I am starting to eat myself. Or the thwarts are starting to eat me, they are gnawing away at my chest as we speak. Soon I'll be a pile of shrapnel on the floor. I've knocked on every door the past seven years and I've kept a journal of every failed leap and shuffle. I get tired just reading back over it. And a little depressed when I note that the only opportunity I've been offered in the past seven years was a front for organised crime.
I suppose it's all grist for the mill on the journey of Snake Kennedy. That's my next book that I'm trying to finish. But every time I sit down to put those stories together I think of the electricity bill that I'm too afraid to open and the credit card debt and the two huge launches of my last book 21ST CENTURY SHOWGIRL that netted the sale of TEN books. That's four books at the Sydney launch and six books at the Melbourne launch. I could explain how that happened but I don't have the breath and I'll bore you.
My friend Nico tells me that I should just go back to my writing. That my writing should be my money because it is my talent. But the only talent that counts involves little deaths or trying to make Delta swivvel around in her chair. Go Mitchel Anderson. May you escape this great crab pot!
Ok I'm going to bed.
If you're thwarted for long enough your dreams start to decay and turn sour. My friend tells me that the thwarts are just part of my PTSD and I should lay down when they haunt me. So I lay down very still and instead of counting sheep I start pulling all the little thwarts of my heart and start examining them. And just as I am dozing off into a hazy half dream Dorothy Hewett turns up and sits next to me.
I once sat next to Dorothy Hewitt at an ABC launch of some sort. It was accidental. She just plopped down next to me and I fed her sandwiches like a personal Tea Lady. I remember it upset her literary mignons who all scowled at me contemptuously. They knew I was a nobody but Dorothy didn't care. She was enjoying the sandwiches and refreshments I kept feeding her so nobody could ask me to move. I would have given her my phone number and asked if I could cook her dinner had we been in New York. But we weren't. We were in Sydney. And those stitched up colonial carrions in sensible shoes had circled Ms Hewitt and trained their evil eye on me. There's nothing worse than a menopausal mean girl. I might have been the next Judy Dench for all they knew. I had it in me.
I played the drunk old mother in Dorothy's play 'This Old Man Come's Rolling Home' when I was twenty! I did old and wasted with a verve that left my mum with a fear I would end up a bag lady. I never had a chance to tell Dorothy Hewett all this, as her minders whisked her away when the sandwich tray was empty. bitches.
I am pulling thwarts out of my chest. One by One. I could be here all day...
Posted by blank at 11:13 PM