Work in progress. Am aiming to write updates daily.
I
If #Ballarat makes a mistake, people are fallible and can be forgiven with the proper measure of responsibility and maturity to recognise, repair and rise above wrongs. If I make a mistake, I’m the same morally dubious reprobate I’ve been since high school and need more Tough Love until I grow up
Edit: Or least stop acting normal and not like a faggot who’s too good for a tummy-tum full of social climber ingroup jizz
If #Ballarat makes a mistake, people are fallible and can be forgiven with the proper measure of responsibility and maturity to recognise, repair and rise above wrongs. If I make a mistake, I'm the same morally dubious reprobate I've been since high school and need more Tough Love until I grow up
II The cops came to my door yesterday. I pointed out to them that if they did their jobs keeping the peace things would never escalate in the first place. I’m not to blame for my reaction to other people’s disrespect, abuse and pack-agro, after all. Much less their agro encroachments on my living space and their surveillance with security cameras in public spaces like the back alleyway. I felt like the problem was fixed with a hammer tbh; at least something was actually being done to address root causes of conflict instead of just shitting down the throat of whoever raises a problem or a question to make it go away. Naturally I was immediately in handcuffs. Am starting to wonder if people in this town are insecure about communicating with me outside of social and thought control contexts.
Oh well, it wouldn’t be Ballarat if you weren’t being told to leave pack wolves and ingroup morality thugs alone. Anyone who says we’re a democracy of property owners and landlords must be some kind of communist faggot.
What is the state
After being at the cop shop, I got a taxi home. The taxi driver was South Asian. He was a nice dude; people who aren’t born and raised in Australia often are in my experience. We were talking about Uber’s business model and he reckoned they showed up in the village during the Spilt Milk festival to charge 60 bucks for the same journey that cost me about 17. Outrageous but did figure for a social order where predators make the rules and takers make the social culture. No one hauls the owners of Uber down to the police station for an interview over price gouging during a music festival. The taxi driver was like, after petrol and depreciation on your car you don’t make money out of Uber as a driver, even when the company is gouging customers. We both agreed the only people who make money out of Uber are the ones who own it. Like work in general, the only people who benefit are the ones who profit from you showing up to clock on every day.
We ended up sitting around chatting for about as long as the journey again when he was dropping me off; the guy was all, “Man, I came to Australia looking for a new life, and I’m giving it all. I work hard, I bought some land, but you can never get ahead. The taxes are endless, everyone has their hand out. I’m about ready to leave again. I can’t stand it.” I was like, man, I’m right with you. I was born here and I can’t stand life in this country.
And it’s true. All it ever does is set you up to fail if you don’t or can’t play along with the rat race. If you can’t complete, you’re a loser. If you won’t complete, you’re a nonconformist faggot who only says bad things about groupthink and selfish individualism because you have micropenis anxiety. And you are for well sure a target, you are nothing if not one. When it’s not taking from you it’s pushing you around. Ballarat thugs you out of jobs and puts IVOs on you for making complaints about workplace bullying, and then tries to thug you back into them later when the powers that be feel like taking again.
Funny thing about Australia, we’re for sure all in this together when you have obligations to work and contribute to quarterly dividends. It’s about the only time we are.
Interesting convo, though. After abandoning his first franchise, my father married a Thai woman though an agency. When I was 11 he showed me a letter she sent him saying ‘I love you,’ in broken English. He was all, forget about your crazy bitch mother, look at your old man the stud kicking romance goals. Class act if ever there was one. I didn’t like her either and never made any attempt to stay in touch after he died, but last I heard she felt about the same way as yesterday’s taxi driver . . . like after being in this country for decades. Makes total sense. Australia is no different to the US when it comes to that line from Killing Them Softly:
You don’t live in Australia for a good life, you live in Australia for a killing. Community is for woke left wing terrorist faggots. I feel sorry for migrants, I’m pretty sure a lot of them learn that one the hard way.
III
I went to Sweden for a conference in 2019. I had won a research scholarship to do a history phd at WSU on the ideological roots of the climate emergency, and then got thugged out of it when I did too good a job of my research and started to threaten careers built on not noticing, you know, the ideological root causes of the climate emergency. Apparently.
Europe is for sure very different, in any number of ways. I amused the shit out of someone at Copenhagen Central Station asking if it was really okay to drink the beer I had just bought from the 7-11 on the concourse. They looked at me like I had been hanging around at Southern Cross asking if it was okay to drink a Coke in public: boy you just got off the boat, huh. In Prague I stood around for a few moments one day watching council workers chew out rough sleepers around the bottom of the big-ass Gothic cathedral in the old town for sleeping on old cardboard boxes and demanding they take some fresh ones they just brought around on a trolley attached to a golf cart. You don’t see that in Australia.
It’s funny when you get back here though. Sure as shit no shelves of beer in 7-11. No baguettes or good good either. You go into a 7-11 at Tullamarine and instead of baguettes and healthy food, you have wall-to-wall pies and pastry to go with the wall-to-wall Gatorade and Mountain Dew. Have some colon cancer to go with your diabetes and high blood pressure. Wandering around Tullamarine after a few weeks in the old world sure puts a new lens on things as well. A reservoir of savagery and brutality bubbling away not very far below the surface. Maybe it’s the cold-blooded murder on which the regime of nominal liberal contract and consent was built. Maybe it’s all the shit food we put down our faces.
Either way I’m pretty sure I fucked my life not leaving permanently. Even if you wind up a rough sleeper on the streets of Prague, at least the council workers make it their job to show you some love. Streets ahead of the respectable middle class in a settler colonial land of competition right there.
IV
How does the seething underbelly of violence and the desire to reconstruct harm as a benefit to upstarts who don’t know their place manifest as a DV epidemic, I’ll never figure. Imagine if you had a dollar for every divorcee who is an authoritarian bootlicker and racist, and hates woke faggotry, but is also for sure a feminist at least for as long as it takes to jump on the virtue-hoarding bandwagons of self-appointed morality police hiding from themselves inside sterile social cliques. You could afford to leave.
V
When I started primary school at Ballarat College, there was this one kid who was kind of tall and lanky, and he had huge buck teeth. They stood right out, poor fucker. The other kids figured out pretty quickly he would schitz right out if they paid out on him long enough. Soon enough he schitzed out without much pushing at all. He would get red in the face and scream SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP and then try to attack people, he was so mad.
I got in on it once, then I felt totally terrible about it haha. I can still remember crying as I was telling my mum about the way they were treating him. They were nasty as fuck and they didn’t care. All they cared about was getting the reaction and knowing they had the power to get under his skin. I stopped joining in in the ‘Make the buck-tooth kid flip out’ routine. I don’t know if my mum said anything to College or not, but I don’t seem to remember it happening much after that.
I was the fat kid in the class hahaha. All the little College brats stopped hounding the buck-tooth kid and just went after the fat fuck instead. And they’ve never stopped lol.
Oh well, sometimes you get the bear, sometimes the bear gets you I guess. At least they stopped picking on that kid who wasn’t old enough for braces or whose parents didn’t have the bank to spring for them, wretched little crotch goblin fucks. I looked for that dude on Fakebook at one point. He was married with a kid and living out on the land somewhere. He looked like he was doing okay, made me glad to see.
VI
I wound up in the Ballarat psych ward more than once. Not that Ballarat is a developmental meatgrinder or one that just stays that way once you’re done with school or anything but. Not that you never get to leave the playground, but it just moves online, or anything lol.
One great think about the psych ward is that everyone is pretty honest about having mental health issues. It’s a bit hard not to be. It’s actually pretty refreshing. It’s like the opposite of prison; if prisons are universities of crime, the psych ward is the university of you’re not actually alone with the kinds of struggles that land you in the psych ward. I would go so far as to wonder out loud whether or not we shouldn’t get people who have successfully battled and survived mental health issues to work as counselors and therapists, instead of just reading about them in the fucking DSM-V. The fuck do I know though. I did honestly like the psych ward though; everyone was beside themelves and out of their tree, but you know what: they had no pretences to the contrary. Nice change from the open-air asylum outside the door where we’re all very much the same, but a lot less honest about it. Innit.
You definitely get a window into parts of Ballarat you don’t usually see. I befriended a woman in there who had been battered. She had her phone in the hallway for a few minutes one day, and I was wondering past so she stopped me and showed me some photos she had. I had never seen photos of a domestic abuse victim before. I hope never to again, in all honesty. The bruises weren’t blue. They weren’t purple. They were black, like the night. They were big, like pancakes. They were on every part of her body. They weren’t taken over time either, like one healed up and then there was another one. They were all there at the same time. Everywhere, all in a series of photos taken at the same time.
They were atrocity photos, and that’s all they were. I said as much as we stood there in the hallway. I didn’t know what else to say, besides swearing quite a bit I guess. My friend spent a lot of her time evading the staff so she could cut herself; she gave me some manic spiel about how it was actually good for her, like it gave her a buzz and lifted her out of her hole. Every part of me was so sad when she said that, no kidding.
Ballarat has a savage vibe, just like Australia does, barely contained beneath the surface. You feel it getting off a plane after being out of the southern hemisphere for a few weeks. Atrocity photos confirm it. It’s a savage land.
On a not dissimilar note, Ballarat’s male suicide rate is 30% above the state average. Men inflict black bruises on the outside. Women inflict them on the inside. Dudes catch more black and blue than we can deal with and check out. Fuck knows I’ve seriously considered it more than once.
This I kind of get:
Apparently the state government threw 10 million bucks into this campaign. From what I could gather it was everything a technocracy can do for the people short of get off our backs. Half of Laborism is Tough Love and reconstructing the harm it does as beneficial to its victims, not least when it’s advancing women to girlboss positions and letting them be nastier authoritarians than their male counterparts by way of proving themselves their equals. Who better to preach respect.
I’m not honestly sure what that is supposed to achieve, really, what any government preaching respect for the individual is supposed to achieve, but I’m pretty sure it’s not going to stop the problem. It sure as shit doesn’t represent the end of social climbing liberal feminists essentialising the harms of structural patriarchy down to the attitude malfunctions of individual men, and letting the class hierarchies they want to climb off the hook in the process. Liberal feminists are the nastiest people around by far around in my experience, truly vicious, pious shitlords who seem to feel entitled to embody everything they claim to oppose in the name of combating the certain evil that is patriarchal capitalism. Saying women are the only people who deserve respect, while single-issue politics liberals dish out inside bruises until you’re black and blue like the vicious domestic abusers they claim to oppose dish out visible ones, makes about as much sense as saying Jews are the only ones who suffer the evils of racial supremacism and are the only ones who should benefit from the politics of antifascism.
Honestly, I saw this as I was walking past and thought pretty much, yeah whoever did that speaks for every dude who got on the wrong side of middle-class liberals looking to be the equal of the deadshits who dish out bruises on the outside. Respect goes both ways, between men and women, middle class and working class, or it doesn’t, and we just end up with more power struggles instead. Which is how it works out in practise, isn’t it.
10 million bucks. Pay one person to raise mental health awareness amongst men, dealing with inner turmoil instead of acting out on it, and amongst women. Stop belitting men’s struggles so you don’t have to factor either class or structural violence into your shit politics and maybe we’ll act out on them less when we’re being supported to work through them instead, who knows. We don’t all grow up in comfortable, secure homes with both parents around to show us ropes before we’re torn to shreds for not knowing them by castrating, social climbing selfish individualists who were happy enough apparently to accept the bribes dangled by the rat race.
VII
When I was a teenage skateboarding nut (as distinct from the greying one I am now), I spent a lot of my time down the street, like a lot of teenagers in the 90s. At Central Square in particular, that is. Back in the 1990s there was nary an intertubes to be seen anywhere. There sure as shit weren’t mobile phones or Fakebook sorry I mean Fakebook. You carried around lists of people’s numbers in your wallet and called from them from a payphone, which were profligate. Life was definitely different without all the technology. Not entirely convinced we were all knuckledragging cavemen either. Well everyone else might have been. I shit sunbeams, personally, vote the born-to-rules of the LNP.
You got to know a fair few people around the traps spending enough time around them. Dopamine addictions are weird, because people don’t wander about the streets being outdoors and off their devices and out of their codependent cyber-cocoons so much these days. You would be sitting around on your skateboard in the Central Square Mall way back when it was closed off to traffic, like, oh there’s that dude I owe five bucks, I should probably stay out of sight, or like, there’s that chick Warwick was going out with two girlfriends ago chatting to, uh, Warwick, or whatever. You know. Oh, Brendan’s over yonder talking to Craig, I hope he’s not badmouthing me because I pressure-flipped his brand new deck and ground the pristine ply on the tail. It would be a bit fucked up if that ever butterfly -effected into something.
In all seriousness, Ballarat has always had a way of producing weirdos and outcasts. The odd freakshow even. It doesn’t mind removing masks of civility and aborting ethical core to do it either. One such heinous oddball at this point in time was a feller by the name of Radio Dave. He was a bloke in his late 20s or early 30s maybe, not attached or settled, which you could gather from the boombox he carried around with him blasting metal everywhere he went, and here and there having words with someone despite being seated on his own, like at the bus stop. He a bit resembled Eric Bana’s Chopper, but like without so much of the dark triad maybe–ocker, fairly solidly built, with a bit of a belly, typically in light blue denim from head to foot for good measure. Like Chopper, somehow you couldn’t help but like the cunt. He was also obviously pretty damaged.
Radio Dave was really into Iron Maiden. Like, I don’t mind Iron Maiden, but as far as metal goes I much prefer Slayer, personally. For the record. I get the appeal of all the pagan and celtic steezo, that’s why I listen to Electric Wizard. I don’t think there’s any kind of Ford/GMH standoff over streams of heavy metal though hey. I should give them more time. Anyway, having still not really adequately laboured the point but let’s move on anyway, at the time I personally found Iron Maiden not my major cup of tea, and I’m pretty sure I had sympathisers there, but you know, everyone knows, it’s Radio Dave. Radio Dave loves Iron Maiden and wants to share it with everyone.
So everyone stops what they’re doing when Radio Dave wanders past. The poor bugger’s boombox isn’t even that flash, it’s some sort of el-cheapo like they sell over at Dick Smith’s in Wendouree Village over next to the greasy arcade with all the best games for the proles to keep them sedated and compliant. There’s no low end in the speakers. It can still pump up the volume though, no issues there. RUN TO THE HILLS BUT NOT AT 40HZ (the first part is solid advice, not just per the personal malfunctions of yours truly either). Before not long dudes would go up to him and start talking to him, maybe partly at least to get him to turn the music down a notch. Radio Dave probably figured out they would and made it a habit so people would come up to him and say, yo, Radio Dave, what’s the hap–hap, brother? Can you turn the music down a notch?
I was honestly a little bit scared to talk to Radio Dave, personally, tbh. I can still remember one other dude, who was a black metal fan at the time but later became a pentacostal christian, saying, nah he’s cool, he’s alright to talk to, he gave me one of his tapes to listen to. No one really had to say: Go easy on Radio Dave, but you just know. The kids up to that point didn’t mind having laughs at his expense; one dude videoed Radio Dave in the food court doing his tic thing one day. Didn’t get his consent to film him, it was the 90s. Radio Dave snapped into mid air like a dog snapping at a fly, and the dude just played it over and over and over in someone’s living room one afternoon. I didn’t feel like it was that funny, but it wasn’t me and that dude had way more pull than me, so I kept my mouth shut.
I guess you get older, which maybe helps with maturity levels. Here and there. Nothing will help in the case of bootlickers hiding behind freedom like yellowbelly cowards instead of standing in front of it and defending it for everyone but, just so its said. Irrespective of that fact, I feel like attitudes changed noticably towards Radio Dave once people bothered to go and talk to the guy. No more paying out on some poor bastard you filmed without asking them because you don’t have to suffer the same problem so it’s funny that they’re so abnormal and such a freakshow for our passing amusement. I remember someone saying at some point later he has a tragic story. At length someone even took a camera out and interviewed him, and shit that’s probably even on youtube.
This is the guy: Radio Dave, immortalised on the internet. He doesn’t bark at the no one he’s sitting with or go off with weird ticks you can video when you buy the dude a coffee and ask him about himself, so your understanding improves and you send him the implicit message that other people mattering to a reject matters, because we live in a community and not a sterile clique of codependent self-seekers hiding from ourselves and our own subjective alienation as winners defining ourselves by those we exclude trying to be top rat of the rat race. How about that.
VIII
Ballarat makes you stupid; you try explaining yourself to people who are committed to misunderstanding you. Which is pretty much everyone.
The rest of the time you just end up telling them things they already know, which is about as pointless on the whole:
Thugs can dish it out but can’t take it. You’re all the same.
PS Not honestly sure what further stigmatising and demonising is supposed to accomplish. I’ve been on jobsearch for some time now. People I’ve known all my life don’t want to be tarred by associating with me, seeing what respectable Ballarat does to freakshows. Any chance for developing secure attachment, and even finding out what it looks like are blocked, as means of financial independence outside of Ballarat are stomped along with career paths and capacity to work in general. I’m not going to thin myself from the herd, sorry vampires.
It’s almost as though the respectable classes of the moral elect need villains and folk demons, so you can define yourself negatively against those you exclude from society, from self-efficacy, from self-belief, from hope. So you can run moral panics and ingroup morality-policing bandwagons to empower and ennoble the shitty, sterile, codependent cliques you hide from yourselves inside of. To mask your own bad faith, your own wolf pack conceit, your own yellowbelly groupthink, your own raging double standards to explain the harm you do as tough love and a favour to nonconformist faggots who are too good for the ingroup jizz. To ennoble hiding behind freedom like a coward instead of standing in front of it and defending it for everyone.
You never know the pain and suffering you cause, even if you dine out on the consequences like every despotic sociopath measuring their power in the amount of harm they’re able to inflict. The freakshow can’t be allowed to do anything right; forgiveness for me if I conform ideologically, punishment for thee if you say too many bad things about positively sacred social and class hierarchies, personal boundaries not so much, or do too good a job of researching the root causes of encircling ecocide and threaten careers built on not addressing them. Not woke but.
I don’t know anything but not being allowed to do anything right. I published a book that sold thousands of copies, i have an MA in History and a teaching qualification. Why would anyone take my life experience seriously. Good for dodging when I start talking about the 10 years I did at Ballarat College and the wacky adventures in clinical depression, attachment disorder and complex ptsd that followed I guess.
Oh well am off the hook for contributing to society I guess hey. I can’t do anything right and as the IVO says I’m unpredictable. Would would want that for a work sunbeam, ew.
PPS What about cliques of the well-to-do and a little bit bent using vexatious applications of the law as an alibi? Think of all the suffering we can inflict as a measure of the raw power of our pack might right there. Mmm freakshow blood
PPPS Trying to be open and talking about shit instead of bottling it up and then lashing out is not least of reasons for banging on with endless gaylord noise about complex ptsd. I’m trying to excuse or play anything down either nutsacks, it’s a mea cupla if it’s anything.
Why is the folk demon and freakshow so emotional and difficult with his shit. He should eat a bag of concrete and harden the fuck up. He pull himself up by his bootstraps put of a dissociation and identity disturbance hole so we can reassert the power of the pack putting him into another one. Anyone who says we’re indulging militant ignorance and the groupthink behind the mentality that the truth of an idea is determined by the number of people who believe it, eg the ends justify the means, needs their fucken head examined.
None of this makes a shred of difference to the big knobs who run Ballarat. They play stupid so they can gaslight you to soothe their own guilt when they’re not measuring their power in your suffering when you’re naive and dumb enough to try to appeal to the ethical core they long aborted. As perpetrators they of already know, pure no-brainer that one.
IX
When you go do a diploma of education, one of the things they train you to look out for is the ‘hidden curriculum.’ To my reading, this refers to all the lessons in the classroom not consciously stupulated, but that are part of the social (or better yet, power ) dynamics of the classroom: the real, lived values of the classroom, and therefore of the school and the broader society. As distinct from the values alleged in speech. The formal curriculum exists, at least nominally, to prepare students for adult life and participation as citizens in a democracy. By contrast, the informal curriculum acculturates us to society as it operates unconsciously. It is therefore incumbent on a teacher not to reinforce hidden curriculums, but to try to identify and mitigate them so everyone can learn and grow equally.
Yeah nah hell is a place on Earth, sorry Christians
I went to Ballarat and Clarendon College from kindergarten until the end of Year 10. I had the lead in the school play (I played a pig), and was offered a scholarship after the old boy decided he didn’t want to pay private school fees anymore. I turned it down. All my mates went to Ballarat High School and the only mate I had had at College had bailed out for BHS a year before as well. He was all, ‘this school is fucking nasty, I’m leaving.’ That was all I ever needed to hear to know it wasn’t just me. At College I was a faggot SKEG and a freak with incredible superpowers of social invisibility. As soon as I switched schools, I lost my incredible superpowers but people talked to me and included me in their lives. Weirdly someghow my grades improved as well; I looked through my old report cards a few years back and felt sick at the results. By contrast, I got two As and two A pluses in VCE Psychology at BHS.
And this never ever happened again
The hidden curriculum is alive and well at Ballarat College. On balance I’m pretty sure I learnt more about how the world really works through the conditions that left me in adulthood with identity disturbance, dissociation, clinical depression and attachment disorder, amongst other things. The world is for sure one big schoolyard; ingroup preppies are born to rule the yard, they’re the moral elect with nothing to prove, while also being ultracompetitive social cluimbers with everything to prove. The ultracompetitive have to constantly reinforce their entitlement and sense of superiority by identifying people they can exclude from their sah-exclusive social circles.
Losers either can’t match however they choose to define their own superiority–accidents of birth, social class, what your parents do for a living (everyone at College knew this about everyone), sporting achievements–or, worse, won’t. Losers need to know we’re losers so winners know they’re winners. When you’re in school you’re all, I just have to be patient and bide my time. One day I’ll be out of here, and will never have to see or talk to any of these people again. There’s a big wide world of legitimate grown-ups out there who are completely different, who are individuals who can think for themselves, who can see through the fucked in the head pack conceit and gutless hypocrisy on a mission of social cliques, who won’t assume the worst as default about anyone they couldn’t make feel understood if their lives depended on it to save themselves the trouble of having to humanise freakshows, losers and nonconformist faggots. Then you do actually leave school get out into the world for the massive dose of disappointment that awaits.
Maybe this is one good thing about schooling as a Complex PTSD-inducing meatgrider and warzone by another name: it sure as shit prepares you for the world as it exists in practice, not the one that features in its self-talk. Adults may not necessarily punch you in the head in maths because they’re bored, or kick your locker door in on a tuesday, and then kick it in again after you walk across the school to the workmens’ shed to borrow a screwdriver, or collaborate on spitballs the size of mandarins to throw at your head and miss, or clothesline you when you’re running on the oval, or give you 30 nicknames related to your weight, or stick rat guts in your blazer pocket after dissecting them in science, or egg you when they find out you’re leaving, or grab your bag off your bike when you’re riding home and throw it over the front fence of the school next door, or any of the myriad of other kinds of shit you catch at Ballarat College. They’re still violent and prone to hiding from themselves inside cliques, but with more of a concern for appearances, hence apparently the penchant for tone-policing and perenial conflation of being criticised with being attacked. Agro, bad-faith preppies with something to prove could always dish it out, but never take it. That sure as shit never changes.
That the agro of born-to-rules and social climbers is perennial and habitual, that it doesn’t end with leaving school, is probably even more for people who were formerly not part of preppie ingroup cliques, but who are bought off as the rat race dangles consumer durables and upward social mobility in everyone’s faces. Peer pressure and carrots reclaims us for the rat race when the desire to claw your way to the top of the shitheap and dominate all life while you invest your identity in the thing you own in lieu of figuring out who you are can’t. It’s the same old logic, either you can’t win the rat race, in which case you’re a loser, or you don’t want to win, in which case you’re some kind of heretic, an apostate and a nonconformist faggot. You expect labeling, demonising and stompings from the born-to-rules; that’s a given. Sometimes they try to be democrats rather than aristocrats for 5 minutes, long enough to realise the peasantry are fallible, at which point they go back to being aristocrats, apparently more entitled and more born to rule than ever. It’s harder when people who would have, at one time, backed you up sell out, and so inevitably sell you out so as to not catch your guilt for existing by being associated with losers, freakshows and nonconformist faggots. Either way, the hidden curriculum remains, and continues to teach what truly matters . . . apparently.
In this respect, the hidden curriculum only ever becomes more relevant as it reasserts itself long after formal education has finished; the morally-elect status of the born-to-rule class was the only lesson that really matters in the end; this is only one of many reasons why I personally couldn’t give one fuck about trying to teach anymore. When push comes to shove, we can see what is retained and given priority. Kids come into class and put the same kind of shit on you as their parents do throwing you away socially to disrupt the class and avoid having to learn anything for a few minutes, i.e. when they’re not playing ‘break the subbie’ because they’re bored. When these are the same kinds of kids who punish you for existing during your own schooling, the hidden curriculum for you as a teacher is a no-brainer. This is the society we live in. And it never stops, either.
At least you can manage your expectations when it comes to the world of born-to-rules. And it is theirs, isn’t it. It figures the moral elect respond to its long-term consequences, intended or otherwise, for anyone other than themselves in the only way they know how to relate to losers and freaks, doesn’t it.
To BALLARAT-UNI-OIC, CSV-MCV-Ballarat Court-IVO Date: Jan 16, 2026, 7:43 PM Subject: harassing text messages
Sending people unsolicited text messages demanding things from them like they owe you is bad, but when the state does it, it’s good! Love that.
I haven’t even been to court yet and you’ve already determined I’m guilty of something. Boy my next adventure in equality before the law made by and for landlords and moneyed big knobs is sure to be as blind and impartial as that kangaroo court that put IVOs plural on me for making complaints about workplace bullying. I’m on the dole and you’re sending me fat fines you know I can’t pay, charging me with being guilty before I’ve even been to court. Not more of the same domination of the weak by the strong, intimidation tactics and being set up to fail the law is supposed to protect us from.
Just keep on doing what you do. Ballarat shits on people when you can’t show up for us, that’s all this village has ever done and apparently knows how to do. I don’t expect anything from you but your worst, and your own apparent mentality of assuming the worst as default. You can’t do anything about institutional crimes or political corruption so you have to go hard on people on the dole instead. How’s that working out for the stability and longevity of the country as a whole lol. Of course we can have endless growth on a finite planet, just keep playing the game and Wall St definitely won’t shit the bed.
You have the power to stand over people who have been out of work for an extended period of time but, winning
PS I don’t know if this occurs to you at all, but I actually don’t mind of ballarat’s world of work doesn’t want me for a sunbeam, as A you have to work for thugs, and B you get IVOs put on you such that you can’t get another job or women who will talk to you or go out with you if you don’t roll over and take the punishment they dish out for showing up to work.
Its not just the job I got IVOs for saying bad things about, its every job. It completely figures we have a school in this shit village that has such a gnarly problem with bullying it’s not allowed to enrol new boarders. It’s almost as though ingroup codependency, thug antics towards weirdos and outsiders the morally-elect clique can define itself by excluding, moral cowardice and bad faith is the glue that holds respectable ballarat society together.
I for one am more than happy to be a reject from that kind of a shitshow. Something tells me I’m doing something right. The freakshows need to be punished so everyone else gets the message to keep going to work and acting normal huh
PPS Figures the standover racket proposes to force tribute on 26 january as well. That’s what the celebration of the national ingroup is really about isn’t it
XI
Lake Wendouree sits in the middle of Ballarat. Local folklore tells that European invader William Yuille asked an local Wadawurrung woman for the name of a swamp, and she said, “Wendaaree,” which the tell says meant “Be Off” or “Go away.” The white people tell probably translates it as ‘off you with you,’ whereas to blackfellas it probably means ‘fuck right off you usurping psycho fuck.’
In all seriousness though, the name of the village lake legimately translates as ‘Lake Bugger Off.” Presumably the people who named it so were trying to be hip. ‘See we’ve borrowed a Wadawurrung word to name a place we colonised to show we care. Does anyone know what the Wadawurrung called Lake Wendouree before we came along? Does anyone care?’
Now does this tell us something about the attitudes of european civilisers hmm hard to tell really. Pretty sure the collective unconscious of this shitlord’s kitchen of a shit village has been possessed by the spirits of all the indigenous people it trampled but.
XII
Charles Bukowski once said something to the effect that most people don’t care about social problems, oppression or inequality until it happens to them. That’s about as true of Ballarat as it is of anywhere. People will legitimately get triggered if you start talking about the power imbalances that arise out of maldistribution of social wealth and income inequality. They’ll yell shit, whats your problem with capitalism. In Ballarat the burden of proof is on you to explain why you think critically about the social order.
It does generally tend to figure. We sent a terrorist to Christchurch, and the incumbents who are on their moral high horse about terrorism enjoyed their second lowest primary vote since the end of WW2 at the last election, but they still set the bar for middle class respectability. Continue hiding behind freedom like craven yellow cowards, instead of standing in front of it and defending it for everyone and in love with mad power while full of hate for everything that breathes not least including yourselves, as long as you think it will help, winners.
They should seriously rename #Ballarat Shitlord Heaven’s Gate. Be honest out of the gate and you don’t have to try to keep your story straight later.
XIII
You can leave Ballarat and go other places, but Ballarat seems to have a way of hitching a ride, like, without asking. Very much so in my experience, personally speaking. Like if you went somewhere, if people could somehow know, they know would be like *hairs on neck stand on end* oh, Ballarat in the house. No it’s not always like that. Sometimes they verbalise feels with a shriek.
In any event, you spend time out of Ballarat trying to un-Ballarat yourself, but as I think I mentioned it likes to hitch a ride. Once Pavlov waves a biscuit or some shit at you enough times, you have to unbiscuit yourself. You’re a dog saying to yourself, er it’s feeding time when it’s meat in a bowl. This is a very cruel trick they’re playing on me, and I’m such a good boy. A biscuit has hitched a ride, if you get my meaning. Mmm operant conditioning Ballarat styles.
Ballarat went to La Trobe. Let’s not even get started on that particular topic hey campers. One thing that does seem to bear mentioning is this one dude who was studying there at the same time, and was from the same area as this other dude who was one of my best mates. I never spoke to this dude the entire time I was at La Trobe, because my mate had said something to the effect, that dude is a complete fuckhead, just avoid.
I’d see this nominal complete fuckhead around. Apparently he was a skater, but in his 20s was getting around campus in boots and a woolen blazer jacket. In hindsight it’s entirely possible he was looking to put distance between himself and social scene complete with dude shit-talking him a bit severely. I saw him once walking along one of the boardwalks, when he was walking towards it on the road underneath. We were close enough to make eye contact; he gave me this look that could have very easily been: you and I both know you know I’m from ******, but you’re too cool to talk to me long enough to confirm that I’m a complete fuckhead. You just took a side, and because it was the one you know for good measure.
It goes without saying at this point that me and the adjudicator of complete fuckheads have since parted ways. If you can’t make it into the middle classes, you’re a loser. If you won’t, eg. because you’ve been set up to fail your entire life by people making you walk on eggshells while they take from you so they can win the rat race and be the biggest rats of all over your head, you’re a faggot whose nonconformity and unwillingness to cop a tum-tum full of the ingroup jizz which is good enough for everyone else is because you’re jealous of codependent, alienated debt-slaves and the anxious sterility of dependence on ingroup approval. People stop talking to you, I mean.
Hindsight is something hey. Did u not think mayb u might hav seen that coming. Then you sort of wonder, hey what if like even checking to see if that dude was the worst person was the difference from a character standpoint between sinking and swimming in life? What if Ballarat went, ah just figure it out cunt. Don’t be a woke faggot if you want positive reinforcement around here, that’s for people who do what they’re told.
What if you eventually wound up back in Ballarat working out everything no one ever told you or helped you with. Would that be awkward for the moral elect who don’t feel like having to address the unintended consequences of historical neglect, and other less passive forms of abuse?
XIV
The court system is a vortex you get pulled into and don’t return from just being accused of anything. The law is like organised religion, the people who control it can and do make it do anything they want. Like organised religion the law is an alibi for the criminality of the powerful, and for structural violence embodying everything it claims to oppose. Is that what happens when you try to build consent-based systems atop fait accomplis of violent, coercive conquest? They just fuck you regardless of what you say or do, regardless of what you have said or haven’t said or have done or haven’t done. Just like the national clique of middle class respectability the law protects.
If you don’t play along with the middle class make-believe and get on the selfish individualism race rat bandwagon, you’re a target. Everyone knows you’re a target once you’re marked as one. The law is fine with that. The law hands out IVOs for not rolling over and taking it. The revenge of the respectable classes for not dying in a ditch the way you were supposed to, or for crawling out of a CPTSD hole you weren’t ever supposed to leave. Get back in your hole, faggot. A faggot who’s too good for the national ingroup jizz in the tum-tum needs to learn its place.
All the law does is set you up to fail if you don’t defer to middle class privilege. That’s all it has ever done. I’ve caught so much harm it does nothing about, usually because it’s perpetrating it.Like this whole fucking society sets you up to fail. The other neighbours are being pack wolf vibing arsewipes over the fence now, if I don’t just roll over and take that I can expect another fucking court date. Peasants can just wear all the shortcomings of the system so the big knobs running it can pretend it works inside their circle jerks where the groupthink bubble never has to be inconvenienced with knowing about the harm it does in the name of preventing them.
The law needs to make criminals so it can justify its own existence. The law renders itself a solution to problems of its own making so that those of us it fails can pay, while preaching maturity, responsibility and self-restraint all the while. The law is unrestrained in the violence it unleashes structurally. The law is unrestrained in the hate it licenses to shut down those it abandons to the pack wolves who are the final line of defense for middle class order. The law is an alibi for the biggest criminals of all.
