HATE CRIMES

I dedicate this blog to Amanda.

And to Jemma, Kirsten, & all who rage against the hatred…

‘My religion is kindness’, says the Dali Lama.

How many times have I tried to remember this?

Take it to heart, and practice it? 

And how many times have I failed? 

I seem to be built to HATE hatred.

I cannot stand it. 

I seem to be a BIGOT myself, in that I have a deep seated hatred for BIGOTS.

Is this not a contradiction? 

Where can this go?

Hating hatred?

And I also seem to be waging a perpetual war against STUPIDITY.

OPERATION ENDURING COMMON SENSE.

Where on earth can such seeming duality- contradictory forces- possibly go?

Will it not implode?

Or is there another way?

I wanted to see.

I have had time to review these matters this week.

Perhaps it is the intersection of a number of affairs; the Priest I was molested by as a child comes up for sentencing this week, & this will- hopefully put to rest- a lifetime of struggle.

An open sore, finally able to heal.

But what of the righteous indignation that the abused flesh seems heir to...?

that driving force within is that wants to 'put things right'?

This hunger, this yen for justice, in a world that is becoming increasingly unjust?

For this week, I came face to face with the gun toting red neck fundamentalist religious right in America. 

I had seen it in movies- but never seen any direct evidence of it. 

Frankly...I found it hard to believe anything so STUPID could possibly exist.

But it does.

Fascism and bigotry, discrimination against others on the basis of nationality, race, colour, creed, expression, accent,  is alive and well.

And living right here.

Am I wrong because I cannot bring myself to forgive it?

Because I find it impossible to ignore the crypto-fascist tendencies of the far right in America?

I was on the verge of saying 'we don't have anything quite like it in Australia'...

But of course, we do.

I refer to the hate crimes and incendiary verbiage of the Aboriginal Memes Group, inciting hatred and violence against the Indigenous Community.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/333438993413349/#!/pages/Aboriginal-memes/159797174156990

It claims to be a comedy site.

But what it is, according to mail received behind the scenes from the perpetrators...is a considered, concerted effort to wage war against the indigenous community.

I- like my friends in a special effort to shut this poison down...

https://www.facebook.com/groups/333438993413349/#!/groups/333438993413349/

...simply cannot seem to ignore them or forgive them in the same way the Dalai seems to have forgiven the Chinese Army for hijacking his country, slaughtering his people, and driving him into exile.

We are all built differently…

but I simply cannot ignore the hate mongering war machine.

In all it's forms.

And, unlike the Chinese who make no bones about their oppressive agenda…

These movements are insidious.

Just as Aboriginal Memes claims to be comedy...

Just as the American War machine in it's concerted effort to spread it's economic, cultural imperial hegemony around the globe claims it does so in the name of 'freedom loving people everywhere...

Democracy...

And we are all complicit in it's march of progress...

It is all part of the same lie.

The same insidious hate agenda.

And it seems to speak to a popular view.

An all too familiar popular tendency.

A few things made sense to me this week.

I have been watching a lot of documentaries this week on US foreign policy over the years.

Trying to understand what it is about the American people that allowed an illegal action against Iraq to go ahead.  Has allowed so many illegal, immoral and hateful crimes to be carried out in its name in so many countries.

And this week, I found out first hand…it is the popular view.

The vast majority of the country seem to concur.

The enthusiasm & lust for warfare, animosity  and hatred against people even slightly different…is palpable.

As an Australian person- a foreigner with a different way of perceiving the world- I saw this anger and hatred first hand.

And it chilled me to the core.

And it caused me to despair.

Made me feel hopeless.

I would love to ignore it, go off and meditate…

But I cannot rest when I know there is injustice in the world.

Which means I will never rest.

‘You take life too seriously’, people tell me. 

What can I say…

It comes so naturally to me…

Whether life is actually serious or not, does not seem to matter to me.

Even if this is all just an elaborate joke on the world- & I have a sneaking suspicion it probably is- I simply cannot seem to resist my natural inclination to take it seriously.

I let it play merry hell with my blood pressure.

Try as I might- I simply cannot seem to sit back and relax, while the stupidity horror parade marches through my world like a Bozo Blitzkrieg…led by the mind numb fundamentalist right wing in America.

Examining footage over again of the Oklahoma bombing, and listening to the interviews with members of the extreme right wing fanatical religious groups sworn to take down society…

I realised that hate is alive and well and living everywhere.

And as much as it would serve me better to let it slide…

Let it all fall away and ‘mind my own business’ like Crocodile Dundee when asked about his position on No Nukes…

I cannot seem to.

It is so hard to ignore.

The hatred.

It seems there are people out there under every rock and boulder, waiting to spring forth like insects once exposed to do their damage.

Even here on FB…in the unlikeliest of places, there lurketh hatred unlike anything I have ever encountered in my life.

Only this week, I have seen bigotry the like of which I have never seen- not even as a cop.

It is insidious, because it was so well hidden.

No jackboots and swastikas and skinheads here; under the surface of cheesy FB groups, otherwise seemingly innocuous, there beats the true heart of hatred and loathing.

I should have known better when some of the members seemed to be right wing gun nuts champing at the bit to flaunt their wares.   

Scratch the surface…and the true colours come scuttling out.

Hatred, anger, of the evangelistic type…the destructive type that cannot be reasoned with.

That will not listen.

The type that has taken us to war in Iraq over bullshit.

It is the kind of hatred that abhors a different perspective on live.

It seems to have an objection to basic humanitarianism.

And it loves viciousness.

And it is absolutely correct.

It doesn’t care about the UN, legality, or morality.

And it seems to want to destroy anything slightly different.

Bomb the shit out of it.

So what? 

Hatred is out there. So I found it.

What did I expect? Not to find so much of it.

And it loves company.

When you realise how much there actually is- a lot of it possibly lurking beneath the innocent exterior of friends in the midst…

It is very hard to remember that kindness is your region.

Because it makes you so angry.

Stupidity makes me angry.

And yet- how can you fight against bigotry, racism, anger and malevolent rage?

We know the US has become so desperate in its paranoia & choked by the reflux of its own hypocritical- and probably confusing- foreign policy…

It is bombing anything and everything that moves.

This too is how the general populace are behaving.

They have quite simply gone mad with paranoia.

And like the Monsters Due on Maple Street- they are retaliating in their droves.

Retaliating against what they perceive to be the threat.

With scant regard for what was actually said or done.

 & they are conditioned to think they are in the RIGHTS…no matter what.

Might is right.

Like a Terminator- it will not be argued with, reasoned with…

Negotiated with, or stopped.

It flies into action, bombing anything different.

It does not wait for UN ratification.

And it is dangerous.

Worse still…I have seen up close how popular it is, how much it loves company…

How it clusters together.

The maniacal glee with which it views its views its manifest destiny.

It becomes…feverish.

Positively jingoistic.

So possessed of its correctness.

Screaming ‘BANZAI’ as it dives its plane into the target.

Taking everything with it.    

The show goes on.

As far back as I can remember, from my own fondling men of the frock, abusive fathers & corrupt cops to the broader ghastly destructive weirdness of 9/11 and beyond…

It all seems part of the same weirdness.

The great conspiracy of hate and mistrust that attacks anything resembling anything different; different race, different colour, different belief, language, ways of seeing the world…

And it bombs the hell out of it.

Because it cannot think things through to a better conclusion.

Like peace. And love.

It is a sad fact…I have come face to face with it…& it spells the death knell for the human race.

It will kill us, eventually.

ALL of us.

Because in its vehemence…it pulls out all the stops…& will die for its martyrdom of hate.

It would rather burn in a fireball taking everything decent with it…

Than allow anything different to exist in the world.

The basic view of the white supremacist.

I should simply accept that there is no reasoning with hatred.

BUT…it all seems like a huge slap in my face.

I cannot seem to NOT take it personally.

I perceive it to all be a personal affront against me.  And in my righteous indignation- I take it on daily, like Quixote wilting at tind-mills.

I simply cannot resist taking it seriously.

Even though by now…

I am beginning to look foolish.

Especially to me.

Believing in a better world.

The impossible dream of justice.

Something in me tells me if I do not go gently into that good night of madness- if I continue to rage against it- either it will make a difference to that madness…

Or to me.

One or the other…something has to give.

So how can I lie back and think of happy thoughts…

When all this craziness is going on?

I have a full head of steam at the moment- what with the saga of the Molesting Priests coming to a conclusion with the pending sentencing of Brother Mamo this week.

I feel like I am on a roll, and might as well take on all comers.

Everything from online fascists to the 9/11 conspirators, and the NOW.

I want to take on all of it.

Or die trying.

Why?

Because I got a taste.

By freak of nature…when the molesting priest pled guilty to all charges earlier this year…

I thought anything was possible.

Even if I am wrong- even if this as just a strange and unusual twist of faith…

I cannot sit still.

I am pushing the envelope- on the off chance I might be able to get away with something else.

What if one can have a streak of luck against injustice?

What if not only we brought the molesting priests to justice…

But I was able rising on the wave of this success…

To push a few other things to their conclusion?

Bring a racist to justice?

Nail a hacker?

An anti-semite?

Solve 9/11, and bring the perpetrators to justice?

Call China to account for it’s human rights anomalies?

Hardly likely.

But what if?

Even if this is just an impossible dream…

What if?

I have no time for kindness.

What kindness?

What do I do if I don’t feel very kind?

What is this is no time for kindness?

What if a sustained edge in our voice is called for?

To give- if not the evildoers their comeuppance…

To give us hope?

Even if it is all in our head?

As a postscript- there was one thing from the whirlwind of hate that gave me hope.

As I stood in the furnace…one lone voice send me a PM.

A man I had never met before…someone I assumed was part of the right wingers, but his voice seemed…different.

He came to me, clarifying what I meant.

He asked me questions.

Seemingly in a spirit of reconciliation.

He sounded…

Like the Dalai Lama.

He said…’I care about people’.

One good thing came from all the hate.

That lone voice of peace, love and compassion.

Why do I even bother persisting with the human race when it is so hateful?

This lone voice in the wilderness.

Looking for peace.

Might is indeed right, and hate will no doubt win in the end.

But I liked that peaceful voice, in the melee.

It gave me…

Hope to carry on.

"oh...that's just one of those women's problems..."

Something that happened yesterday has been bothering me, so I feel compelled to write about it.

As usual.

As some of you might know...yesterday was a special day I set aside to honour women.

This was my banner for the day, in case you missed it.

"Made reference to the genital mutilation of women in a rant yesterday- abhorrent practice. Barbaric. I doubt anyone here will disagree; I see no use for it, other than the continued & irrational exertion of power over women. This should be finished and done with as an ethos.

No brainer, right? Sadly, no; it has been endemic in even our culture for long as I can remember. As a child, I was brought up thinking women were somehow second class citizens...& Mum didn't exactly fight the power. Being a Christian- she bought the line of shit. What I can say...since I have been working on myself here and in the outside world- I have learned a lot more about the decent treatment of women. & I have proof.

Today, I am going to meditate on the basic human rights of women around the world. ALL of them."

OK...so in line with that intention for the day, I popped over to my favourite group...'Don't hate me but I don't get...' & basically posted something along the lines of

“I DO NOT get...POST NATAL DEPRESSION.”

(don't look for it now..I deleted it because of the response from so many imbeciles.)

Post Natal Depression is a horrible affliction for a woman to have, & I cannot understand why it is not properly being addressed.

I have seen the consequences of it in my time as a Police Officer, and dead infants are NOT a pretty sight. They will chill you to your core...FOR LIFE. 

I DON'T GET WHY SUCH A HORRIBLE ILLNESS IS PREMITTED TO CONTINUE.

I have seen continuing evidence of it in my own family...& you no doubt have been touched by it yourself.

Now I don't know if this horrible disease is a chemical anomaly, or some evil spirit that drops out of the sky and possesses people. I don't know enough about the mystery of human existence.

But I do know...we are not trying hard enough to ERADICATE IT.

You could argue, like Kurt Vonnegut does...(tongue in cheek, I think, but accurately) that some things have been put here to wipe the species out.

Including STUPIDITY.

But like him...I actively and consistently argue for our salvation and sustainability as a species.

Don't ask me why...I simply do. It seems to be how I am built.

Now...you would think that would be pretty inarguable. Anyone who knows me, knows that this is an accurate portrait of my humanitarian imperative.

Who amongst any of my friends who know anything of me could possibly object?

Well..one found a way to. Believe it or not.

Never underestimate the human capacity for pugilism & warfare over the most spurious of causes.

When we could be spending our time making things better.

I CURSE the darkness.

RAGE against the dying of the light.

So..here I go again.

Two things about any kind of depression.

FALLACY ONE: it is the sufferers fault.

WRONG.

FALLACY TWO: everything that can be done is being done.

WRONG.

Don't take my word for it; check the facts. The writing is on the wall.

I only became curious about the subject because of my experience as a police officer, the things that haunted me.  As I said..dead babies are not a pretty sight. 

If you have seen one...you will know.

AND WHEN THE DEATH COULD HAVE BEEN PREVENTED...

THAT is the real crime.

And it was when I became involved in Sudden Infant Death Syndrome charity work, that I delved into infant mortality, and that inevitably led me into post natal depression.

I realised...

This is wrong.

We don't need it.

WHAT POSSIBLE BIOLOGICAL PURPOSE DOES IT SERVE- TO POSSESS SOME POOR, INNOCENT, OTHERWISE POTENTIALLY REASONABLE LOVING WOMAN TO STRANGLE HER INFANT???

It serves NO useful purpose.

Hence...we should tackle it with the voracity with which we have tackled our lust for WAR.

And do you know why we don't?

Because WOMEN suffer from it.

It's one of those pesky 'women's problems'. & you know women; such moody and unpredictable creatures.

FUCK THAT.

MEN are just as bad...if not worse.

Just because MEN can kill with a breathtaking ambivalence...DOES NOT MEAN WE SHOULD ALLOW WOMEN TO CONTINUE TO SUFFER IN THIS WAY.

We worked endlessly through the night to made a pill to get a man's DICK HARD.

But post natal depression in women?

We have done NOTHING like enough work on it.

And it is getting worse as time goes on.

And basically, because I am a man...a certain person suggested I had no right to comment on it.

This...is bigotry.

Plain and simple.

And bigotry against ANY person having ANY kind of opinion and stating it because of their gender, or sexuality, or race, is WRONG.

And illegal.

She is old enough to know better.

And although I am with Robert Anton Wilson in regard to his 'Maybe Logic'...(none of us can ever know anything absolutely for certain, except what we perceive)...

I will tell you ONE THING FOR SURE.

HUMAN STUPIDITY AND BIGOTRY WILL GET US ALL KILLED.

Hence..I rally against it at EVERY opportunity.

I have zero tolerance for it...& will lance you like a boil if you engage in it.

Christ...we shouldn;t even be having this conversation.

Are we not advanced enough to be over this, the bashing of gays, the suppression of women's rights, the horror of war...

Are we REALLY still talking about all this?

It should be OVER.

Now..if your position is we are all fucked, and the sooner we are wiped off the planet like a bad disease...more power to you.

I ARGUE TO THE CONTRARY.

I THINK WE ARE WORTH SAVING.

END OF STORY.

I stand by what I wrote.

& I apologise to no one.

For Ronnit...

My dear friend Ronnit is in hospital, sick as hell with an aneurysm…
Made my illness look pretty pathetic.

It’s not about illness.

I make no apology- I was pretty sick…& whether was a chest infection or a brain tumour doesn’t much matter.

The world is full of sick people, and I am just another.

The point of this is…

OK…

When you get a wake up call and you start to think…

‘I’m sick. I might die’.

And you look at all the shit around you…

Your life…

And you ask…

Did I do what I wanted to?

Did I do what I was put here for?

Will there be any regrets?

Has to happen.

Plus…

Don’t think that hasn’t given me pause too.

So…sure, you think about it.

No special deals there…no discount or sympathy…we live we die…

That’s the deal.

It matters not a damn why it happened- there is no reason or rhyme.

What DOES matter…

Is how did I live?

THAT is the point.

Sick…

Thoughts of mortality…

How did I live.

Thinking about R.. 

I started to think about my life.

What did I really want from life??

And did I succeed in getting it?

OK…good question.

What did I want?

To be happy?

I don’t know.

Frankly…I seem to get more pleasure from unhappiness than happiness. A doctor once said to me he wondered if I was not making myself unhappy. Woody Allen called it ‘Anhedonia’- it was the working title for ‘Annie Hall’- the inability to be happy.

Maybe.

Maybe.

But…why was I unhappy?

And why did I not let myself be happy?

Was it just my abusive childhood? Miserable upbringing?

Sure, I never felt worthy…like any abused child.

So what. Half the population is an abused child, and the world is a vampire.

So what.

Others find another way.

Why did I…

not?

I remember- I always felt restless…

Dissatisfied…

Like I was searching for something.

Striving.

I have been called a seeker.

Seeker of what?

Let me go back in time.

As a child.

So often…you get the best clue about who you are and what you want as a child.

OK…

I wanted something.

I NEVER wanted to be a soldier, or a doctor, a fireman, or anything like that.

I really don’t remember wanting ANY kind of job.

I never wanted a job.

I was fucked for this life from the start…not wanting a JOB.

So what did I want?

What did fascinate me?

You know…it was only the other night, one of my friends brought up the joys of kissey chasey in the schoolyard. And it hit me right between the eyes.

I NEVER wanted to be an astronaut.

I NEVER wanted to help the sick and poor and needy.

(sorry…but if you hear me say I did…it’s bogus.)

It’s really not in there. & I have looked.

I have tried to convince myself for YEARS I wanted to help others…

But you know what?

I ONLY EVER WANTED TO HELP MYSELF.

To what?

Money?

Fame?

Fortune?

Power?

Nope.

LOVE.

Love? What is love?

Kissey chasey.

That was all I ever wanted to do.

Play kissey chasey.

So I chased.

And I kissed.

I chased the kiss, and I kissed the chase.

May I burn in hell for my sins…

But I loved girls.

I loved them so damn much.

And I wanted to spend my life playing kissey chasey.

This is the first time I have ever admitted that.

Illness takes you the long painful way down…

Forces you to sit yr ass right down…

AND LOOK AT WHO YOU REALLY ARE.

When yr really sick…and you start thinking about getting yr will in order…

You take a look at yourself.

You are looking at a man who wanted NOTHING MORE than to play kissey chasey.

And goddamn it…

You would be amazed at how much of that I actually did.

For all my faults…judge me as you will…

I devoted an enormous amount of time and devotion to my prime operating directive.

The sickness this week?

All that crap about railing against the government for 9/11..

All the toxic shit in the world…?

You talk about a cover-up.

I was bitching about what I thought I should be bitching about.

What was I doing 9/11?

When it was happening?

I was talking to a woman.

I was on the phone to a woman.

I can deny it up and down…

But when I really look at myself…

ALL I EVER WANTED WAS LOVE.

Listen…there were diversions.

Sure…I had to eat.

I didn’t want a job.

NEVER wanted a job.

Listen to me…I took jobs to eat.

Not because I wanted them.

I became a cop.

I will look you in the eye & tell you it was to help my fellow man.

For justice.

Bullshit.

I was no fool.

I NEVER in my wildest dreams EVER believed there was such a thing as justice.

Man…I was beaten by my father and fucked by priests.

You think I ever believed in justice?

NO FUCKING WAY.

I BELIEVED IN WOMEN, KISSEY CHASEY, AND LOVE.

You want to know the best thing about being in uniform?

THE WOMEN.

Sure…there were diversions.

Over time…

Being a cop got to me.

It was not my job.

And you can’t chase women ALL the time…

At some point you have to do some work.

Eventually…all the other crap got in the way.

The rigours of being a cop…

If you are not in it for the right reasons…

It’ll fuck you up.

So I got out.

When I left…

9/11 happened.

I was thinking about women.

The girl I was on the phone to? Did I love her?

Nope.

I did not know what love was.

Fine line between love and hate, and being brought up in an abusive household…

It will get confusing later on in life.

BUT I TRIED.

Love, man.

Did I ever find it?

Nope.

Hell…most people don’t find it.

All my MOTHER ever wanted was to be a wife and mother, live and die with dad in a small town. He had other ideas, and took her on a detour into hell.

We don’t always get what we want.

I never got love.

BUT GODDAMN IT I TRIED.

Wow.

It’s kind of scary to actually admit this.

It’s almost unbelievable.

I mean…can you see why it would be hard to admit?

THAT’S NOT A FUCKING JOB!

Looking for love?

Healthy people look for love on the side.

MY PRIME DIRECTIVE…

THE ONLY THING I EVER WANTED TO DO…

WAS LOVE!!!!

Truth.

I can’t think of a better, more comprehensive, decisive way of alienating myself from love FOREVER by saying what I am saying…

I can’t think of a better way to turn my friends off me…

Testing you?

Nope.

Myself.

With my truth.

See if I can take it.

Long time coming, this truth.

But as I contemplate my illness, and my mortality…

Let this be my epitaph.

All I ever wanted was love.

Sounds like an illness.

A mental illness.

‘All I ever wanted was to assassinate John Lennon’.

That kind of illness.

All you need it love.

All I ever wanted.

Needed.

Man…if I was in love???

If I was living with my love?

THAT WOULD BE MY JOB.

SERVE THAT LOVE.

Even now, I hear that voice.

That’s not a fucking job, you dick head.

Not saying it is a job- whoever I am talking to.

Whoever is asking that.

I assume all the authority figures that ever lived in my head.

Regardless…this is about me…not them.

Me.

As I look at myself, and ask myself certain questions…

If I died tonight…

What did I want?

Love.

Did I get Love?

No.

DID I TRY?

YOU ARE GODDAMN RIGHT I DID.

I TRIED AS HARD AS HELL.

Did I actually find love & not realise it was love- for whatever reason?

Possibly.

Was I loved but not ready for it?

Did I ever throw love away needlessly?

Yes.

Did it mean I was not in love?

Maybe. Not always.

Maybe I was mad.

Maybe my idea of love became too narrow, too limited.

How would you know?

How do we know for sure?

Did I look so hard for it- I almost came blind with the obsession?

Did I end up in love with the idea of love?

In love with the search?

Maybe.

That’s the risk you run.

So what was I put here to do?

I was put here to find love.

You have to eat…so I’m pretty sure I chose my passion for film to try to record it.

Went into film.

Telling stories.

And over time…I spent my time trying to get back to who I really way.

My attempts to film things have all been about MY SEARCH FOR LOVE.

So…

When I look at my life, I ask myself…

Did I do what I was put here for?

Was I true to myself?

I surprise myself how much I actually did.

I am quite stunned at how much of my life I SUCCESSFULLY DEVOTED TO MY SEARCH FOR LOVE.

Am I ashamed? Proud??

I don’t know.

Not really.

DID I DO WHAT I WAS MADE FOR?

I think so.

I looked for love.

I tried.

I failed…

But what does THAT have to do with it?

Most people failed.

I did my best.

This will take some time to come to terms with…

I mean…this might be deluding myself…

But given how hard I am on myself…

How quick I am to dub myself a failure…

To call myself any kind of success is so rare…

It must be accurate.

ALL I EVER WANTED WAS TO BE IN LOVE.

TO LOVE, AND TO BE LOVED.

TO KISS, TO HAVE, TO HOLD, TO LOVE.

I TRIED.

I FAILED…

BUT I TRIED.

If I died right now?

As much as I might feel I OWE IT TO THE WORLD TO DIE RACKED WITH GUILT SHAME AND REMOURSE…

I MIGHT ACTUALLY HAVE DONE IT…

My way.

How about you???                 

Who the hell do you think you are??

For those who have only just met me, this is a humble clarification.

About four years ago, I came onto FB the first time, & I played with it much the same as everyone else does. I was just as excited by the possibilities as everyone else.

But it was here…I was able to confront not only THE possibilities of the technology...

But MY OWN possibilities.

My potential.

Good and bad.

Just as I was able to explore my skills and inclinations…

I was also able to confront my fears, flaws & neurosis.

I also saw the benefit of the medium to do something about them.

It was a first for me; at a time when I had lived a largely unexamined life, crashing from one failure to the next- finally I saw a way to not only socialise with other human beings…

But be held accountable to them.

Some have asked…is this a place for therapy?

I don’t know; FB is what you want it to be.

Is it a place to let people know what you have eaten, or what you are watching on TV?

I simply saw more potential in the medium. That’s all; my aims are not loftier, or better- just different.

When I first came onto FB, and when I began to examines the sins my flesh is heir to- I saw myself as a bit of a bastard.

Literally.

I behaved selfishly, with scant regard for the feelings of others.

This shock soon became a blog, called the ‘Bastard Watch’.

Seems funny now, which I guess is a good thing. Funny I did something like that.

Not everyone understood it.  Least of all my girlfriend at the time.

Poor woman.

At least she had access to my truth.

So did everyone else.

Funny business... 

But that’s what I did.

I wanted to be held accountable for my behaviour- & do something about it.

And I wondered if by recording...I might find clues to my behaviour and the correction of it...

And perhaps even encourage others to examine themselves the same way.

But it was mainly about fixing me.

It was like- I saw my behaviour as something separate from me.

Like it was another person doing it.

I spoke of my darker self as if he were the enemy.

Imagine if you could do something about, say Donald Rumsfeld.

I mean…I am not a bastard on his scale- I did not bomb Iraq, killing thousands upon thousands for oil…but a bastard is a bastard.

Scale is semantics.

In my view- you deliberately or with blatant disregard hurt another human being…

You are a blight on the landscape.

And should be held accountable.

It was not enough to say ‘I will stop being a Bastard’…

I had to resolve to actually do something about it.

The blog held me accountable.

I used the opportunity, the technology, to explore not only the extent of my bastardry, but the reasons for it, with a view to understanding why I do it…

And what to do about it.

It was, of course, a mixed bag.

When you aspire to something like this…a complete dismantling of a faulty human being…

It can become all sorts of things you don’t expect.

It became worst of all tiresome, at times.

Sometimes...It went nowhere.

Just became a place to wallow in the muck.

It even became a self fulfilling prophecy; I called myself a 'bastard'…

Admitted to my nature…

Which in a way, condemned me to remaining a bastard.

Didn’t actually STOP me being a bastard?

I simply transferred my skills for bastardry to the Internet!

It turned out to be a way of maximising my efforts!!

Which meant there was certain fundamental flaws I was not confronting properly.

(You might ask why I did not seek professional help? I have done all that. Professional help is a sham- the worst of all shams. Even when you can see someone- it is night on useless. There is no practical effective sustainable adjustment of the personality but the work you do yourself. None.)

So…I knew that from experience.

I will not go into much detail about the way in which I was able to explore my character flaws, because I took a camera with me, & filmed them.

Over a period of years.

The upshot of all the work?

There is no film to show for all that work…

But there seems to have been an improvement in who I am.

I literally feel like I am no longer a bastard.

I have my moments…

And there are times I feel like being a bastard- but when I am aware of it…

I STOP.

I simply don’t go there.

Which is, to my view, an improvement.

A reason for doing all this.

Given that it has worked so well…

I continue to do it.

Here.

And I have a small group of friends who have agreed to help keep me accountable to my intentions.

Which brings us to where I am right now.

As I look back on my work, & I ask myself- where do I go from here?

My weapon in this battle against my base nature has always been the truth.

I have tried to stick to the truth- as elusive a concept as that might seem- it has served me well.

I have tried to define my truth and align it with my core being by asking myself questions.

A good one has always been- ‘if I was treating myself this way- how would I like it?’

Putting myself in the place of the person I was hurting.

Empathy.

I look at myself at a turning point…at the crossroads, and in the face of serious illness, I am asking myself some fundamental questions of life or death.

I look at my truth.

Who I really am.

Not who I claim to be, or aspire to be- because I know myself well enough to know these things can be worse than bastardry- they can be a lie.

A lie we tell ourselves.

I am asking myself the questions; on the edge of illness-

Who am I?

What do I want?

And for that, I ask myself a series of other, more direct questions.

Questions about the questions.

What was I put here to do?

Born to do?

If I have my basic needs and desires met- & for the most part, I do…

What do I want?

And of course it was then…I found out something I had been hiding.

For a lifetime.

I knew it in part…

But I did not know all of it.

I mean…I knew what I wanted- I knew what I was put here for…

In a way I have been chasing it my entire life.

THE IMPORTANT THING- and I think it is something we ALL hide from ourselves in one way or another…and it has to do with the extent to which we saboutage ourselves…

Stand in our own way…

We KNOW what we want.

What we DO NOT ALWAYS KNOW…

Is why we will NOT allow ourselves to have it.

I wanted love.

BUT I NEVER FELT WORTHY OF IT.

Never.

Never did…

Never do.

Will I ever?

If so…

How?

SICK TOWN

As some of you may know, I live in an industrial town- admittedly an attractive seaside one- but industrial nonetheless.

For the most part- we are told we live in a healthy environment.

I have never had any problems…until now.

I have been sick as hell lately, worst I have ever been, with some strange unspecified viral infection which seems to be common- indeed, almost epidemic- in this town.

One by one, my family and neighbours have been coming down with it.

It’s not an age thing; my little nephew is sick as I am.   

We are talking sick for weeks. Two, three courses of antibiotics.

Debilitating.

This is not normal.

You may remember I mentioned not long ago, there was a hazardous chemical spill in town, wherein residents had to seal up all their doors, windows and vents in their house, & stay indoors.

There were the usual denials and white wash…but it all blew over.

Now- the town is experiencing unprecedented viral & respiratory illness of the type I have mentioned. Co-incidence?

Well, apparently not.

You know me…I have my special challenges, & weird ways of working through them.

Nutty as a fruit cake, you might say.  And not always in a cute cuddly Frank Spencer way.

I accepted that…hell, I think from childhood.

It’s no big deal; I work with it.  Like you work through your shit.

And people keep the sharps away from me.

The sharpest thing I have is my pen.

All I can do is record what I see as accurately as possible, document the chaos, & hope to make some connections with my fellow man, get some corroboration, find some patterns, some links.

Affirmation. Verification.

I record what I see- not only in the world, but in my mind’s eye.

I have been a bit odd lately- to day the least. If you read it- it’s like an organism under attack.

Which…in effect…is what is happening.

Internally…externally…& not only me.

It would seem I am not alone; such strange illness is rife, & on the increase. 

It’s like the movie ‘The Crazies’ here.

Small town, in the grip of some weird virus, goes mad.

For those living in Australia, it will be in the papers.

The usual denials, the usual cover ups, etc.

You know the drill.  

We have been through this before.

But at least it’s comforting to know it is not just me.

A doco opportunity fallen into my lap?

Well…not really.  Because it is simply a reminder of things to come.

Another doco on the effects of toxic industry on a town? Who would care?

We know. We already know.

And I’ll bet there are worse towns than this one- much more poisonous.

All over the world.

Right?

As pretty as a town is- if you live near heavy industry…you take certain risks.

Frankly- the local Aluminium smelter is like a giant spaceship at night.

Some days, you can almost taste the fertiliser as the fumes from Hi-fert and Pivot factories make their way out to sea.         

I don’t need to tell you about chemtrails, and the like.

I guess we are choking on our own crap.

On some level, we all know this.

But when you start to feel the effects in your own home…

You start to take note.

It’s a wake up. & it is important I do my usual thing.

Write my way through it- stick to the word, hold on tight, and see if it will get me through the maelstrom with something useful to report at the end of it.

I had a feeling I was in the middle of something the last few weeks…& the best plan is to hold on tight, ride it out, and see where she goes.

Tomorrow will see me in the Doctor’s Office again- if I can get in.

And over the coming week- we will find out more in the news.

And I will try again to find a way out.

But…that’s not the cut and thrust of my story.

This is going somewhere.

I hope you will come with me for a little while...

PANIC MERCHANT

You can get anything on the Internet.

I had my first online panic attack.

I mean, I didn’t know that was what I was having – but I was.

Yesterday. You might have seen it.  (Hope you didn’t get any on you.)  They are slimy bastards.

I used to get panic attacks years ago. Toward the end of my Police career- I had quite a few of them.

Which is why I am now out of the force; you don’t want cops going around feeling things. They carry guns and shit. The system would break down completely if they went around feeling things.

Bad enough the regular humans feel things, without cops crashing the feel a thon.

Robots are always best in law enforcement; can’t have feeling things administering the law.  

So what the fuck?  What gives? 

What is the panic?

And before we go any further, this is not brave or courageous for me to go here.  So let’s cut that new age shit out right now.  

Some of you are out there- you say it…and it is sweet and caring…but this is nothing to be proud of.

Nor ashamed, for that matter.

Like a case of the shits. You get it, learn from it, then move on.

It’s not a Purple Heart kind of deal.  Takes no special courage to have a panic attack.

I had it…& then it was over.

Don’t encourage me…I don’t want to specialise in having these fucking things & working through them for a living. I had one, and I never want another.

There was no bravery; mainly a lot of panic…

Nor is there any bravery in the telling.  

A thing ‘aint brave unless it scares you.  Doesn’t scare me to tell this…it comes naturally.

Scares me to be IN a panic attack…but not the telling about it after the fact.

That’s just me.

Doesn’t take any particular courage to be me.

I would not wish it on my worst enemy…but as I got the task…here I am.

I am no braver than the next pair of pants along…This is just what I do.

If you were me…you would do it.

I experience something…unique to me…then I write about it.

If I took steroids and pumped iron and hurled my baby through the TV in a rage fuelled roid fest…then I would write about that.

I would much rather write about…

well, I guess if I was driven to do something else…I would pretty much be doing it.

Then write about it.

This must be it.

My thing.

I write about shit that happens inside me, shit I don’t get to hear much about because…let’s face it…who would choose to write about mad shit in their head??  Not me I’d rather write about adventures and rings & goblins and world tours and what not.

This is what I am built to do. Most of you already know this.  So I do it.  Because no one else is.

Far as I know. If they did…I would likely do something else.

So…WTF??  Panic attack, you say? 

What happened, bro??

It’s a combination of shit. It’s never just one thing…anyone who had such an attack will tell you it’s a conflagration, a confluence of events.  A bunch of shit all at once.

For starters… well, it didn’t help that I was already recovering from my worst ever illness.

Nothing worse than people chatting about their illnesses…we all know what it’s like getting sick…& more and more of us are going to get sicker and sicker as the world gets increasingly more fucked up.  You know this. To pretend I have some inside dope on this that you don’t have makes me more deranged than even I imagine.

So…I was about as sick as I have ever been with some virus or another…

And I wanted to be better.

We might want a day off work time to time…but deep down…I think most of us yearn to be better than we were before.

It takes a special kind of malingerer to want to be so sick you opt out of shit you love.

I want to be productive again…so I creep back online.

There is work to be done.

However…I already know as of yesterday…I’m still not well.

But what am I going to do?  Lie in bed another week?  How will that get anything done?

Life is tough enough as an artist, without adding ‘doing fuck all’ to the already precarious mix.

It also didn’t help that I am back in research mode.

Research mode…you’re in yr head.  There it is. 

A lot of data…not much interaction with real humans.

That’s the deal.  

A doco film maker doesn’t just wait for jobs to fall into his lap…inspiration doesn’t waltz down the street and knock on your door.

You go out and find the story.

I did take a temporary diversion; I decided to download a stack of films on 9/11, and see where we are with all that folderol…over a decade later.

I watched one.

Then another. Then another.

I realised…we still have no hard fast answers to that nightmare.

Still.

9/11 Commission whitewash REALLY the final word?

I mean, I KNEW this was the case…but I did not want to believe it.

The evidence looks good for an inside job.

A demolition.

Still…as much as I don’t want to believe it…there is nothing solid to the contrary.

I don’t know what I was expecting; maybe I thought the truth fairy was going to come in and fix everything in the meantime if I looked the other way.

I hoped to wake up one morning, & find the loose change of justice under my pillow.

But nope; still no word on what I know from the evidence to be the case.

9/11 was a giant con job.

I have managed to keep a lid on the insanity that is this crazy messed up world post 9/11 pretty well.

Being a depressive personality…I know I have my issues. And I work on them like everyone else.   Keep trying to find my way to contribute like everyone else.

But after all the 9/11 stuff…it began to build up inside me. 

The outrage that had lain dormant all this time.

This morning…Friday…I’m online.

And I am already down on the government, down on the world…for this insanity.

Why doesn’t someone do something about it?

Why didn’t I do something about it?

WTF have I been doing????

Heart rate goes up. 

Panic sets in. 

IT MUST BE MY FAULT!!!

MY FAULT!

MUST BE MY FAULT!

(I’m already conditioned to accept that, right? Since childhood.)

So…

MY FAULT MY FAULT GOTTA’ BE MY FAULT…

So I’m already attacking myself.

Next thing I know…I’m confronting Mum with my failures.

Mum I fucked up.  I did bad. I failed. I’m so sorry.

Dad was right.

I am a no-good piece of shit mongrel dog traitor scum vermin etc…

All the stuff from childhood.

So I got that soup going good and strong.

PLUS…by this time, I have an intruder in the midst…

an imposter with a fake profile, I been tracking for a little while, coming to a head. And I’m trying to keep THAT going, in case there is a film in it.

Who knows; you never can tell.

Fake profiles on FB; multiple personalities.  

Could be juicy. You just never know.

I knew there was one person with 2/3 id’s & another with two. 

(this was not a product of my paranoid mind…happens all the time; & to be fair, I did get a heads up in advance.)

And I’m trying to keep that going…almost forgetting which one I’m talking to, and who I am supposed to be.  But I’m stirring the pot…keeping things going…

But it’s getting harder; I’m forgetting my script. I have lost track of which one I am talking to…& what I am supposed to say.  And it is working out almost identical to one I almost caught last year in NZ.

Why do I do this shit to myself?

Do I hate lies that much…that I will drive myself nuts to confront them?

Maybe.

Does it really matter in the long run I expose another fucking liar?

YES. 

Because we just watched a bunch of shit on 9/11.

Right.

So I’m working that over in my head…trying to keep it going…

But I’m losing my routine.  Losing track of where I am. 

Too many things going on.

It’s not like being an undercover cop…you forget which lie you told…that’s yr ass.

This is different. & I’m not even on full strength…& I’m not even sure I care about it as a project any more.  But I keep going with it…it’s not life or death.

So why do I care?

Why?  What else is there?

Same as I keep posting on FB.

I’m a junkie. For one more truth.

About life, the universe, human beings…

About me.

I’m an obsessive personality, & I have a yen for just one more truth.

One more realisation.

A little closer to understanding.

So I’m on that for a while, that’s going on in the background.      

All part of the same deal…my on-going crusade against the lies and deceit of the world against me, fought on more fronts than I can keep track of.

THEN…I start going through my friends.  Which of them is actually my enemy??

Because…let’s face it…

I CAN’T be my enemy; I’m ME!!!

Why would I attack me????

WTF???

HAH!!

Before you know it, I’m ranting and raving & down on myself for being a worthless piece of shit cunt dog mother handler poodle molester shit fuck piss bugger bum root etc…

As if it is someone else I am talking to.

As if the bastard inside me is some bastard outside me.

Then…while I’m out there…

I’m back in FB world…

Throw in a couple of FB defriendings for good measure…(I had to weed out some MF’s I never been too sure about…)

Then I find out in my travels my best FB mate Ronnit has had TWO aneurysms…

& one brain op…

& I FUCKING LOVE HER…& I think…

OH FUCK??? 

What if I get one of those?

(Made it about me. Right?  The system under attack??  Everything rallies around to defend the home turf?  9/11 style?  The way they got those jets in the air to blow the hijackers out of the sky before they hit the towers? Right?  The way it is supposed to work?? )

Then while I’m still posting and trying to figure out who is my most immediate threat, what to do about it, who to fire on first…

The soup comes to the boil.

In the end…all there is left inside me is to shut down everything else…

& focus on one threat.

The imposter has come to a head; not who I thought she was- or rather…one of two correct people, but NOT using the alias I expected...

& while that is winding down…

I am exhausted.

Pulse rate returns.

A couple of friends tell me to snap out of it…

& I manage to do it without defriending and blocking them.

And I look back over the days work…

& I realise…

This was a panic attack.

And I captured it.

Recorded it.

I promised to do that…right from the start.

All those years ago.

Record it all.

The good the bad and the ugly.

So I was able to see the worst…

& why…

Like I give a shit.

About who I am…& how my existence impacts on others.

Like it matters.

Reel it in. Keep an eye on myself…

Pull it back into line.

Straighten up and fly right.

And know enough about it- when the wheels fall off…

to look out for it in future.

That is called self awareness.

Responsibility.

Accountability.

Because it matters.

Those things matter.

Self awareness is frowned upon- some people get it confused with self indulgent…

But I think it helps you.

I have never had a blow out or a hissy fit here and not learned something.

Never happened.

My worst one was Friday…& I learned six things of value.

Well, medical science is no use.

The mental health profession knows sweet fuck all about what to do about a panic attack.

So we learn from ourselves.

Take notes.

What happened?

How did it unfold?

Why?

What could be done to lessen the impact/effects of the attack?

Can anyone else benefit from this?

You use FB your way…I’ll continue to use it mine.

You have your good things…

And I have mine.