Bit Of Prose

So I read somewhere that a BNP ex-minister said that rape was like force-feeding a woman chocolate cake. Here's my response to that. Fair warning, the following is graphic.

Mango sorbet is wonderful. Or it used to be. I haven't had it in a while. Used to take great pleasure in sharing a cone, or a bowl, with my boyfriend. After we broke up I spent a few evenings eating sorbet with people I knew as acquaintances. It still tasted great, even though the atmosphere was different. Still melted on my tongue and made me coo with pleasure.

Then one night at a party I slipped up. Someone offered me lime sorbet and I turned it down. It's not as good, you see. Not to me anyway. I only said I didn't like lime flavour so I should have been clearer.

I wish I'd been clearer.

A few drinks later I woke up in a room with the Icecream Man and a few of his friends. I can't count how many. One had a scoop out and was smearing mango sorbet over my mouth. The cold made my teeth ache, my brain ache. It wrapped around me like a wet blanket and constricted. They were all so big standing around the bed. I couldn't talk because my lips were frozen. I couldn't tell them I was scared, that it hurt my teeth because it was so cold. Frozen.

One shoved a cone of sorbet into my mouth. It splintered, sharp little edges biting into my gums to make me bleed. He wouldn't stop. I choked on it as the scratches oozed blood. Oh god, oh god. My eyes stung with tears as I fought to breathe past my icy windpipe. It felt like I'd inhaled a whole scoop of sorbet which clung to the inside of my lungs. So cold.

My lips split, one gouged by a further shove of the cone when it was struck by a metal scoop. And struck again as they packed more sorbet into me. I couldn't taste the mango through the blood any more.

The Icecream Man and his friends took turns to force more sorbet into me. It was all I could do to swallow rather than choke. I just wanted them to empty the tub and be done.

I vomited most of it up afterwards, cones, blood and all. I was so ashamed. Why didn't I just say no? Scream it? Fight?

The next day saw me go through an entire tube of toothpaste and half a bottle of mouthwash. It hurt, but it helped. Somewhat. I could still taste the residue no matter how much I scrubbed or garbled and spat. It clung to my teeth like glue, and it felt like my whole head was on fire. It wouldn't go away.

Two years on and I can't stomach mango sorbet. My chest goes tight every time I smell it, or see someone eating it. Please don't feed me again.

The Boot of a Challenge

The reality of the present world is that once you’ve covered basic needs like internet, food, shelter and the rest, all the gravy seems to be social image and worth. Status, in short. It’s about how we measure up to our peers, those who were once on equal standing with us. Success in this case could be termed as surpassing said peers. Little things like a wage raise or a particularly spectacular appliance can make all the difference in such a petty world.

And it’s also fucking stupid.

We as a culture surround ourselves with this ideal of merit being entirely comparable to everyone else. What other cause could possibly explain the severe stress that someone who could comfortably retire yet goes on working for the money experiences? They get respected for it. It’s about the attention that an individual receive due to the image they present. I can’t help but wonder why we bother.

I’m not so spineless and needy as to require the constant admiration and approval of everyone around me. No, I will not go shopping in trendy places to wear pretty skirts or cake make-up. I look good enough without that shit, and it doesn’t take hours out of my day which could be better spent writing angry angry things. As a population we need to start looking beyond the dollar sign, the manicures, the flash cars and the law suits against anyone who trusts us with the sensibility not to step off a cliff un-warned of by a sign, but rather by a bare patch of ground and a sudden drop. The metaphor extends to any stupid compensation lawsuit ever filed for the sake of money.

All of this comes at the expense of critical thinking and advancement of ideas. It’s a select few in our western world who take status to be the value of an individual’s thinking rather than the cash that results from it. This does nothing for the evolution we have subverted in so many other ways.

I do not need a popular image. I do not need wealth status, nor the anxiety which comes with it. I do not need a big house. I do not need a big car. I do not need expensive clothes. I do not need another fucking women’s magazine telling me that to ‘be myself’ I have to look like every other pumped-up princess strutting around the catwalk. What I want, what I really need, is plain and honest intellectual stimulation. I, like everyone else, need to have the steel-capped boot of a challenge stuffed into the flabby backside of complacency. It’ll bruise like a motherfucker, but it’ll be worth it.

Government Blocks.. on MY Internet?

Sorry, what part of "stay the fuck out of my internet" does the Rudd government NOT understand? Slimy little Labor fingers are not welcome in the pie that is my e-content and they never fucking will be. I did not go to watch child pornography. I clicked a link to an animation called "Life Of A Jar". You can find it, I'm sure. While it has sexual references and implications, it's not even porn at all.

The Australian Government has some moralistic lobbyist stick up their backside so far that they're probably tasting wood. As such, they are trying to block sites containing violent, 'inappropriate' or child pornography. This is waiting until the horse is a continent away before slamming the stable door and proceeding to whip the rest of the stock. It's a dupe designed to help those who aren't sure about the deep dark recesses of the internet feel more secure in their ignorance, putting everyone else who might stroll those locals for entertainment on occasion in the limelight as paedophiles and freaks should they choose to speak out. That's blackmail of reputation. Base tactic.

So again, fuck you Rudd.

This waste of money comes in the face of a recession where it would be better spent in other places, not slowing down the internet for the people of this nation. It's ineffective. It's undemocratic. It's a pain in the arse and it cannot hope to cover the material it is trying to. Take this shit down.

Mosh To This

I love mosh pits. Truly, some of the best times of my life have been contained within them. Unfortunate to admit that some of the less pleasant ones as well. It depends more upon the crowd than the band (This might have something to do with my refusal to go to bands I dislike. Maybe.) and such a thing can make-or-break the fun for everyone involved. Of course, I've also observed some mosh pits which I avoided and they'll get due slogging here as well.


So here's a run-down on some of my experiences and what not to do when in a mosh pit.


Rage Against The Machine: Big Day Out 2008 or Don't Be A Cancerous, Sexist Prick


I like RATM. They're a fun band for listening and parties for all the music becomes rather samey after a while. In this case I was there for the band and hoping that maybe, just maybe, my low expectations for the mosh pit would be some way surpassed. The Anti-flag pit earlier in the day had been a lot of fun. Just a bunch of people hurling themselves around in a Circle.


Rage, unfortunately, was different.


By the time that the band made it to stage (Silverchair had previously been booed off to much personal appreciation.) it was late in the evening and all the alcohol consumed by various people throughout the day was starting to show. A few had even lit up joints in the pit to get the spirit flowing. Bad mark on the record number one. Don't do this, please. Smoking in pits is just asking for greater difficulty when people wish to breathe. Lung cancer does not mix well with tight spaces and sweaty, stinking bodies. I tried to ignored it, moving a little bit away from these people and finding myself a few rows forward. of where I had been. That's where the trouble started.


It's a terminally bad move to say "What's a chick doin' in here?" around female metal heads. Even worse is the dick move of "You're female, you can't take the pressure. Here, let me help you out of the danger zone with my hand on your arse for good measure." That kind of attitude will get people hurt. In this case it got the guy in question's face mashed with a solid fist. Alas that the impression didn't last, as within a little while the very same group were chanting "tits are for the boys" at two women who were lifted above the pit on their friends' shoulders. If these girls hadn't succumb to the pressure and flashed the crowd. It would have been so much better for all involved. These stupid women do nothing to help stem the flow of men who think we're naught but tits and arse. They deserve to be smacked around as much as the people who were screaming "show us ya tits, you slut!"


This is the crux of many problems for shows such as Big Day Out. Too many drunk people with idiotic approaches to others often ends with self-righteous chauvinism and the general annoyance of anyone like me in the vicinity. Not smart, oh drunken yobbo masses.


Rock Eisteddfod: 2008 Rehersal Day "Mosh Pit" or Teeny Boppers Shouldn't Mosh


I wasn't involved in this pit, I observed with an expression of arrogant, metalhead disgust from the back of the hall alongside others from my Backstage crew.


What was going on below was laughable. Highschool students bopping up and down to the beat of some mainstream shit with a woman singing about how she's so very attractive and deserves all the attention in the world. My ears were next to bleeding with the sheer sound of filth, and the screaming, girly masses were no help. There is no way you could call that moshing. It was nothing short of a competition to see which teenybopper could shake her tail the most for the closest guy. Boy did they love it too. Ugh.


Shoot the teenyboppers. Save us all a headache and turn off that fucking music.


Opeth: 2008 Big Top or Don't Drink In Pits, You Twit


I was front-and-centre barrier for this pit before I got a rib cracked. What annoyed me about it was the beer which some idiot spilt down my leg about half way through the first song. The rest of it was spectacular with an awesome band and a great pit (despite the injury) but seriously guys. Don't bring fucking sticky alcoholic drinks into mosh pits. The guys at the front have water bottles for those they can reach.


Alcohol and mosh pits don't mix anyway in my view. You're better off being sober so you can get yourself smashed around and still know when to get out. Spilling drinks down my leg is a good way to get smacked.




It's funny when I look back upon these and remember the adrenal rush at the time. The Rage pit was huge, hence it's intensity. Just served to make me angrier when there were stupid people around.