I was wondering
If I could get some kind of receipt
For all of the time and energy I have invested
In seeking to address and resolve
The bizarre interrelational dysfunctions of my family
And send it in to the universe for a refund.
Imagine what I could do
With all of that time and energy.
I could no doubt singlehandedly overthrow the 1%
And still have enough left over
To build a sizeable self-sustaining base on the moon
With my bare hands.
Oh, the things I could do.
And yet we must pursue the projects
Which are important and meaningful to us
Must we not.
This long-awaited and much-anticipated function at James Muldoon’s house to celebrate the scheduled end of OM’s as-it-turned-out-not-actually-finished-yet Federal Court litigation against Melbourne City Council was – perhaps predictably – a clusterfuck. But perfectly so.
I was late and missed most of it except the disastrous conclusion and surreal, prolonged aftermath. Not much media was captured, or at least not by me.
(UPDATE (11th Sept 2015): I found two pieces of audio. This one, captured at 2:15am on my way to Muldoon’s, and the one at the foot of this post, captured at 5:33am at Golden Towers in the city:)
All I have is notes:
I’m particularly sad I didn’t manage, despite trying, to record Cobina’s unforgettable trashed mic check after everyone was chucked out of Muldoon’s house at around 3am (“DOES THE COLLECTIVE / WISH TO PRIORITIZE / FOOD, OR ALCOHOL? / WE SHOULD MAKE A DECISION / AND PROCEED ON THAT BASIS. / YOU ARE ALL FUCKED. / YOU ARE ALL.FUCKED.”) – leaving a horde of feral occupiers running amok on the streets of Brunswick unable to reach consensus, and ultimately sitting stubbornly for hours and hours by the side of Sydney Rd throughout the night for no particular reason except that, y’know, that’s what occupiers do.
Here’s a photo I took during said sit-in at around 5am (the sign at the top, which you can’t read due to overexposure, said “WHELAN: THE WRECKER”. This seemed profoundly meaningful or at least funny at the time):
And here’s a photo of chalkage done by Kenji at City Square, where the two of us ultimately wound up, compass-like, at 7am:
This all started when I received a call from Moo first thing in the morning advising that Channel 7 would be doing their evening news broadcast live from Federation Square, and suggesting that we quietly herd the cats for some snap TPPA-awareness-raising action.
Although in the end I personally missed the whole actual thing. Who knew it would turn out to be this epic? Wrong day to be taking a break. Oh well.
In a nutshell: systematically climbed the fuck out of hell. Again. (See previously: 2005; 2007; 2009.)
And it’s good! Can’t complain.
“Friends – you know who you are; you know we’re grateful.” – Blur, 1993. (Seriously. If ever a year was about Who Your Real Friends Are, it was 2011.)
Similarly, those who have fucked me up and fucked me over this year most likely know who they are also, and possibly how I feel about this (hint: angry, bewildered and sad) – with the possible exception of the Rt Hon Lord Mayor of Melbourne Robert Doyle (note contact details), who I strongly suspect does not have any idea who I am.
(I also doubt he reads this blog. But since it just can’t be said often enough I might as well take this opportunity to (re)state, for the record: Robert Doyle, you’re a fucking cunt. You really are.)
The bulk of this year’s SIDTY post I rendered in audio format at the coast a few nights ago. It goes into a bit more detail (although, to be honest, not all that much). Enjoy:
As anomalous Chez Hagakure parties go, I’d rate this one as anomalous out of ten. We didn’t even do Russian Cocaine in the end. Due to earlier events I was a bit discombobulated. Etc. But it still went off.
At an advanced stage of the evening I even shot a video. Don’t say I never do anything for yiz.