I know that since "Reagonomics" of the '80s, with deregulation of the banks and Wall Street, and massive reduction of taxes for the super-rich, the middle classes have been squeezed out and sunk more towards the working poor, especially in America. But here in Australia there is still a substantial middle-class that act as guardians on the door to upward mobility, professions such as doctors, dentists, lawyers, advertisers, arts curators etc as well as an army of Govt. bureaucrats, and they make dam sure they keep a tight fist on those well paid jobs for fear that they might too sink towards the "lucky to be working" poor. I, as an unheralded artist, sank even further down into that human morass called the "lumpen proletariat", the Underworld of the no-hopers, vagabonds, layabouts, prostitutes, thieves and beggars, never to get an even break. There's only so many places on the gravy train and, as in the dystopian movie "Snow-piercer", it's a cut-throat battle to get ahead.
Many years ago, the Hollywood actor Jimmie Stewart, touring the world to tout for his best mate Ronnie Raygun's second term as President, was guest presenter of Hitchcock's "Rear Window" at the Sydney Film Festival. As he got out of his limousine I couldn't stop my Tourettes and I heckled him, "Hey Jimmie, Ronnie's gonna lose! History will tell, and Ronnie will eventually lose out!" I was rewarded with a free ticket to the movie by a bouncer which I enjoyed thoroughly, and I was right about the future repercussions of the old movie villain's policies, America's rich are bathing in money while the middle classes are squeezed downwards, and the poor are starving, begging for work at $10 an hour. This act, among others, surely did my non-career in, for the rich, the movers and shakers of our Society, were in the crowd and they were mortified by my outcry.
And it goes on. Here in 2017 there is a "Dark Corporate" festival called “Livid” wherein “the connected” get to put on light-shows, especially in Kings Cross, my old hunting grounds. If you peruse these Blogs you’ll find many artworks and stories depicting the Cross, I’ve put on several shows there over the years, but the curators of “Livid” have coldly excluded me. A mate of mine referred to me as “the poet of the streets” and this has possibly done me in as there are other writers in the area who feel they are the only geniuses deserving of such a title; I renounce the sobriquet, I am a piece of shrieking shit and I know it, and I bet if my name was mentioned as a potential Cross character worthy of inclusion there would be a quick, “No, not him!”
At that same "arts funding protest" rally I spoke of above I saw Jay Katz with his fist raised like some low-rent Che Geuvera but when I went to say "hello" to him he turned his head away with his nose up in the air as if he'd smelt shit coming. He must've been in a bad mood that day, I have to understand that we're all fallible humans, but oh no god, why do I have to keep copping the blow off? His wife, Miss Death gave me a wan look as if to say, "What can I do, he's the boss and he's in one of his tantrums?" Instead of being diplomatic and self-effacing I should've heckled him on the spot, I'm tired of being the nice guy,but it only causes bad vibes, best to go my own way, I've got things to accomplish and he'll come around.
And a few years later he did, I think his wife read this Blog as a poison pen letter, he's being ever so nice to me, telling me what a genius artist I am, stroking my ego till I'm purring, he knows how to give the cat some cream. He's offered me a gig down in Darlinghurst showing my short animated film "The Thief of Sydney" and giving a talk afterwards so I'm quite mollified, I am the type to forgive and forget, but always be wary, the knife in the back could come at any time.
I've crossed her eminence's path a few times and she doesn't like people who speak back to her without kow-towing. Before her recent election, for her fourth term, she got a flunky to ask me for a painting for an auction that would help raise money for her campaign. Even though her mafia have fucked me over in the past, being a cool cat, I readily agreed and submitted the ink drawing below, titled "Undefeated", about the frontier wars between the indigenous Kooris and the invading Europeans in the first settlement days of Australia. This is a drawing I'd previously put a price of $1000 plus I'd paid a hundred dollars to frame it, and here I was willing to give it to her for free, and I'm a pauper on a pension.
The old flunky showed the JPeg of the drawing to her and the next thing I hear is it's been rejected, too controversial and violent, can they please choose another one, something nice, cows under gum-trees perhaps. I flipped and wrote them an e-mail informing them that their PC censorship was insufferable and they certainly could not choose another one. The Lord Mayor has the nerve to own her domicile in Redfern, an area where once the indigenous Australians lived and called their community but have now been moved out due to gentrification; in reality she's on their land, stolen from them, and has the nerve to reject any mention of history and fact. I was and am furious, she is no people's Mayor, she is a power addict, mixing with million-dollar elites, far from the street-level people's concerns.
Her and her cabal are a vengeful lot, never forgetting or forgiving the tiniest slight and they exert their poisonous power, secretly, behind closed doors, nothing which can proved, by blackballing from public events those they consider not onside or rude guttersnipes. This is a true story, not just my paranoid delusion, Sydney is a father-fucker of a city and I've been fucked every which way on every occasion, even when I've tried to contribute. No god, what a bunch of dicks rule here, they'd murder the Kooris all over again if they got between THEM, money for the boys/girls and redevelopment!