NZ sucks NWO cock

there's just no polite way to say it unfortunately.

a history of national pride based on a stalwart nuclear free heritage & fierce independence in the face of american pressure over the ANZUS treaty for over three decades to practically overnight embrace contortionism, bend over & simultaneously suck at the knees of the united states, figurehead of the one world government. oh new zealand, i feel your shame.

 photo copyright: greenpeace

just before 53 minutes into the white house briefing below, prior to NZ prime minister, john key's recent meeting with barack obama, the question is raised "whether it's time to end the archaic dispute with new zealand & welcome them back into the ANZUS alliance".

as iconic game show host selwyn toogood said: "the money or the bag?" looks like it's truly in the bag. the rest is paint by numbers. follow the accursed money trail.

amazing what a couple of earthquakes can do. hello HAARP.

 photo copyright: hot wookie

or an errant fundamentalist christian in oslo... or a pair of toppled towers. a litany of lies & brutal blackmail. a subversive international campaign of terror. the war on terror conducted by none other than the harbingers of. a self-fulfilling prophecy of colluded funds into a black ops hole budget [14.5 US trillion dollars national debt & counting], with increased limitations of public recourse. what free speech?

 photo copyright: bollycurry

smiling assassin, key said in his meeting with obama, "if the situation in norway is an act of global terrorism it shows that no country big or small can fail to learn from that risk which is why new zealand plays its part in afghanistan as we try to join others like the united states to make the world a safer place."

another irrelevant war on the other side of the planet. a fait accompli of money-bending distraction, while the real one is waged in our minds, through whatever consumer-held media device of choice. did mao tse tung burn all history books?

i feel so much safer already... following this trail of dollar crumbs right back into the military industrial complex bank while the common people continue to be raped, mouths wide open. inflatable dolls to be blatantly exploited, waiting to have orifices filled with more new world order cock. and swallow.

apparently there's nothing else on the menu. and we have our mortgages to think of. not to mention the next generation ipad, etc. apple is now bigger than microsoft & intel combined. what great consumers we all are. as the blind lead the blind.

if this is me...

who the hell are you?

you introduced me to this song. sitting beside me in the car on our roadtrip you turned up the stereo playing your handcrafted mixtape & said "this is you" as i drove us, roof down 120 kms an hour into the uplifting winter breeze, hair flying. away from the city.

it's now the highest rotation track playing in the studio while i pretend to work, fastidiously analyzing lyrics, thinking about the sometime subjugation of independence when personalities come together, thinking about us. thinking about you. imagining psychotic as sexy. it is a sexy song.

you say you don't want to be you plus someone else. you want to be yourself. as if i would argue, i like you as you. surely we two don't have to be mutually exclusive.

history reveals that relationships can steal personal identity. that one must surrender independent self when fusing with another. but it's not a given. there need not be a reduction. even if egalitarianism is brushed under the carpet, the converse is equally valid.

why not embrace emotionally supportive growth & mutual betterment & inspiration FFS! our friendship, an inimitable foundation, a lifelong conversation. my bubble need not be greater than yours. in the end we're all alone. each erratically breaking the other's silence. or noise.

i come to you. as you came to me. then went. now come back. if not forever, stay awhile. perhaps we'll see out a few more incarnations together. everlasting love need not be a hypocritical sliding scale. energy does not die. it merely changes & shifts with the tide. we can be the moon together. yet polarized stars bound by gravity. read D H lawrence. fuck the religious zealots, poppy choppers & hallmark.

even hedonistic fredrich agrees. marry your best friend ie. a person who helps you become a better person through a shared higher thirst for an ideal above. when you gaze into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. don't look down. hold on...

so dearest defiantly independent nihilist, is your cup half empty or half full? bend time to refer to as yet unwritten pages within the IDTC manual & place our higher operational plane there. you will find passages which will invalidate your "there is no forever" theorem. in short there are too many possible worlds. perception is a malleable force. as are we. you & i. collective & separate.

please take this electric litmus paper test & come run amok in übermensch with me. we can laugh at the abyss together. and take turns in the lead if we can't always be side by side.

i'd like to be your psychotic girl. you need not be the lost boy.

jurassic lounge opens

...and with our coming the walls bled yellow, blue, green & red.

punk monk propaganda painted the skeleton room of the australian museum a rainbow of psychedelic colour & sound last night for the auspicious much awaited relaunch of jurassic lounge, the winter season.

as our femme alchemists: kate, christie, ky, siobhan & anna [and honorary chick tom] animated ancient ghosts to cast organic bubbling saturated hues upon faces & fluid scapes...

our special mammalian guests defender sound AKA steve & james resonated bones with the deep wakeful sounds of sun ra & sexy ass dub.

with possibly enough soulful energy

...to stir the dead. even when this chilled out.

we're all over this season of jurassic lounge bringing our own distinct story telling ethos through experimental light meets sound, crowd-sourced art projections & episodic silhouette films where we reinvent dinosaur mythology in our collaboration with talented local music & noise artists.

 

jurassic lounge

australian museum

sydney

winter season: 

tuesdays aug 02-sep 20: 1730-2130

revved up

this is me with weary yet salacious film festival director jack sargeant at rev AKA revelation: perth international film festival. as captured by evil co-conspirator, multi-award winning experimental filmmaker extraordinaire & great friend, tony lawrence.

it's closing night [sunday july 24, 2011] and my short "salome's picnic" has screened for the last time to a packed theatre with the john waters narrated "of dolls and murder". they go together rather nicely.

my little erotic necrophile film written, directed, produced, designed by & starring me [yes, i'm the semi-naked sick bitch], is up for an IF award but naturally i forget to tell anyone. 


it's time to drink. more. the wagon wheels have long since fallen off. but just for the night.

pink ribbons & bits

it's a family affair... tomorrow night AKA friday july 29 is electric zoo 3. glam electro punk funkster duo, pink ribbons are headlining with uber divine knights who we punk monks have delightedly worked with before also. sydney becomes smaller each day.

to cap off what had been an intensely productive punk monk propaganda fueled/sleep-deprived july, us punk monk chicks run an impromptu photo shoot for the band the night before i leave town for perth.

originally intended as an outdoor shoot, the weather has other ideas... nothing some green bubble wrap & hot pink couches can't take care of in the corner shop living room. ky & i are mother creatures of adaptive invention. 


somewhere in sympathetic distance kate tries to kill her cold with wine. siobhan manages to kill modesty with hers. it just wouldn't be a victoria waghorn set without sexy bits. i manage to get her gear off while ky & i glibly assure siobhan she is not naked. she drinks quickly. the bottle empties rapidly. we exchange camera glances with tyler who coolly poses with eerie professionalism.


this is what we get:

bubble wrap & gaffer tape finally together. at last. glam gutter porn.

punk disco also gets a look in. why the hell not? have shiny disco ball, will travel.

by now siobhan has drunk the bottle dry...

much strangulation follows. it's starting to get loose. soon there might even be an authentic X rated euro trash version. show us your pink bits... 

and ribbons.


we wrap. siobhan immediately voms. pink. has she been eating here?


pink ribbons = siobhan [lady white] & tyler [red dog]
pink punk monk chicks:
producer: kate taylor
director/designer/camera: victoria waghorn
1st AD/camera/everything in between: ky lee menzies

electric zoo 3
sol lounge bar
239 oxford st, sydney
friday july 29, 2011, 20:00 - late.

you can't be a spectator. oh no.

welcome to last night. pulp live. i have the T shirt as evidence.


"you got to take these dreams and make them whole
...come over here babe and talk in the mic. oh yeah i hear you now"

you broke up with me

you broke up 

with me, then 

offered invitation 

to the winery 

- where i met 

your friends.

you seemed anxious  

i would like them

never introducing us

for two years

to answer your question:

- they were fine.

you turned back up 

at the door

i offered my cheek 

but you stole my lips

lingered on 

lou reed personified.

buried your tongue

fist deep inside me 

a jackhammer

pulsating marionette

- the morning after

yesterday.

you held my hand 

too long 

as we crossed the road 

- an old habit

you seemed reluctant 

to let go, i took it back.

at dinner you paid 

said you wanted 

the sander in my shed

you left planning 

to spend your life 

there. 

then you disappear 

again, leave me confused 

waiting for comms

lights off 

you watch harry potter 

indefinitely.

i'm not here

to serve your whim

at my expense

- perhaps

you could miss me

when we're together.

you broke up 
with me.

1950s milk bar in a carton

perth, western australia, is the undisputed mecca of flavoured milk. in no other state is masters spearmint milk available. but why?

when one goes to perth it's like stepping into a time loop & going back fifteen years. the pace & palate seem somewhat slower. by no means an entirely bad thing. unless you're confined by the claustrophobic suburban sensibilities meets 2D nouveaux rich flash-in-the-pan consumerist ideology & utterly desperate to escape...

one of my best friends, stevie hails from this place. he left as soon as he could. and his brother not far behind him. despite the open-minded view on strange lactose-based drinks, perth is no oxford street. in fact perth is seemingly so far from sydney that my unwired internet did not work there. no WA coverage they told me when i rang the 1300 number seeking an interwebs fix. seems it is practically another world. apparently the most remote state in the world... where remnants of previous lifeforms can still be found. amongst the living. is spearmint milk the new dinosaur?

my first introduction to this hangover of 1950s soda milk bar culture came via stevie. although the milk bars were nowhere in sight, commercial fridges burst with this stuff every convenience store i entered. 

all i could think as i tenuously embraced dry july is how good it would be with vodka. previously tried & tested back home & a ubiquitous mantra we lushes [ping stevie, fee & ky] hold near & dear on the east coast. in the meantime we are forced to drink our vodka unmixed until ex-patriot perthians successfully lobby for interstate mint milk love. in the immortal words of cyndi lauper: if i could turn back time [there would be lashings of vodka & spearmint milk for everyone]...

haiku: when realities lightly kiss

making sense of love

when realities lightly kiss

a pointless pursuit

good good good, good vibrations

city beach, perth. my borrowed camper van is parked facing west on the edge of the indian ocean. i'm here for rev [revelation - perth international film festival, for the uninitiated]. my mobile film "salome's picnic" plays closing night [tonight] sandwiched between william burroughs & john waters. it's already played to a large crowd in the main theatre the week prior. as far as i'm concerned, i've made it & could die happy now. what magnum opus? 


i'm also here to shoot a film of my exploits. although the adventures keep getting in the way. consequently there's very little footage. a perfect excuse to return.

the van belongs to my beloved sister gina. who unexpectedly gifted her to me when i rocked up planning on shooting a gutter-edge gypsy porn flick on my mobile when i got off the plane. the van slightly messes with my harmony korine vibe. but not much. i can still sing for my supper if need be.

as if by divine providence for a barrage of unanswered requests [which have been long since been returned to sender], all my ships seem to have come in at once. the horizon is littered with them. they sit. silently waiting on the darkest blue rim. in a single canon snap i destroy the phantoms. now their collective soul is in my possession. collection day is nigh.

the beach is practically deserted. what would be considered a balmy warm day by sydney-siders throughout most seasons is viewed by western australians as cold. they visibly shiver except the permanent beach folk, lifesavers & their ilk. i can count my footsteps in the lustrous sand. and wipe the sand off from between my toes before embarking my mobile home. we waghorn chicks are quite house proud.

i like these guys. but wonder what a beach inspector really does? WA seems to be grossly over-policed. i'm sure it's "for all our own good". god only knows i need protecting from myself. 


suddenly i feel much safer. like when the perth CBD cop yelled "redman redman" all "the shining-like" at gina & i when we deigned to cross the road [coincidentally free of traffic] before the lights instructed the braindead citizens to. we escaped the threatened one hundred dollar fee. authoritarian tosser. "thou must not anticipate". thanks moses. soda jerk has really nailed your coffin for me now.

there can't be many better places to exercise & soak up negative ions. this reinforces my resolve to transform from a giant piece of lard into michelle pfeiffer's catwoman meets linda hamilton's sarah connor forthwith. this epic enterprise merely requires a william gibson cyberpunk body lease-out. with sperm bank like stipulations & fine-print. no gyms or recycled oxygen allowed. good vibrations need only apply.

haiku: false flesh promises

false flesh promises

a mirage. your memory

no easy escape

haiku: your naked fingers

your naked fingers

distended marshmallow scar

my silent skin pines

like a shadow in the night

if my life had a soundtrack... 

this song would definitely be on it. 

an alltime much overplayed favourite.

♡ ween.

do you ever walk alone? 

like a drifter in the dark 

seeking out what isn't there 

looking only for a spark

from a girl who's all alone 

maybe she's a-driftin' too 

like a shadow in the night 

waitin' just to meet with you

and then perhaps in love you'll stay 

or fall and go your separate ways 

still searchin' for a spark 

like a drifter in the dark