I live on the very edge of the hem of the hilly outskirts of Melbourne where I write essays, short stories and political commentary. I see wafts of the new story coming, watch the lurching zombie steps of this old one, and wish I could for 10 minutes feel anything other than the precarity that comes with being broke with and broken by ME/CFS in the <s>13th</s> 14th richest economy in the world in the meantime.
My great grandfather was an oak tree. I have died and been reborn eleventy-three times. I would rather eat a small piece of my own poo than watch Married at First Sight or work in public relations.
Below are pieces I’ve had published in the last few years.
I wrote this after being mindboggled by the complete lack of critical responses to an ad on a buy-and-sell Facebook page which was looking for a full-time worker for zero pay.
On the disgusting ideology that sees our government continuing its targeting of people on welfare.
A short story in Southerly 76.1, Words and Music. An economic fantasy about a financial advisor going poetic before going Robin Hood.
An essay pondering the karmic balance between rescuing a wounded kitten and poisoning some pesky mice.
A riff on the US political spectrum, where what was once left is now centre and what was once right has fallen clean off the edge, and about the commonalities we still share despite being sort of arseholes.
An essay in the inaugural issue in which I weave my way through music, physics and the problem of my concrete dancing feet.
A Medium self-publish where I explore the world of work and our ideas and morality around it, and consider the common-seeming and unvisionary notion that a universal basic income would just make people check out from responsibility.
In which I insert myself to an unseemly degree into an exhibition review. But hey, I figure that seeing I’ll probably earn 10 bucks tops for this review, I will push whatever self-indulgent boundaries I fucking well please.
I pen a reply to a Liberal Party early election campaign email.
Q&A is an Australian panel show. I wonder if questions were given sufficient debating time, would we be willing to listen to those with opposing views?
In the heady days when Bernie Sanders was a thing, I dip my toe into trying to understand what the hell the Iowa Caucus is. I also wonder – does it ultimately really matter in an oligarchy who fills the White House’s big chair?
Waxing poetic about how living lonely in the virtual world.
Snide faux-empathetic letter to a big-four bank.