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, that 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 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.
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!”
Jay Fartz has never produced a thing except lording it over arse-licking desperate film wannabes and when he’s dead he will be instantly forgotten; for all he’s gotten up the bums of the “Livid” organizers he must be just plain jealous of what I, a poor guy from a housing estate, has managed, with no old boy network, committee climbing, wife to do all the organizing or family money to fund it. He showed trash movies in a pub in Anandale for many years and I once asked him politely to show my film but he politely declined. I even presented him with a few of my hand-made silkscreen posters for his Trash movie archives and I bet he sold them on as they are going for a $1000 from certain galleries and I didn't put them there. What a naive fool I am!
At that same rally I spoke of above I saw Jay Fartz 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, and he did, only it was from his own arse. Dig it! What did I do to this crud except be polite and generous? Instead of being self-effacing I should've heckled him on the spot, I'm tired of being the nice guy, next time I see the arsehole I'll give him an ear full!
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 above ink drawing, titled "Undefeated", about the frontier wars between the indigenous Kooris and the invading Europeans in the first settlement days. 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 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 proved, by blackballing from public events those they consider not onside or rude guttersnipes. This is a true story and my paranoid delusion, Sydney is a father-fucker of a city and I've been fucked every which way on every occassion, 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!