To:
The Australian and State Parliaments, our elected Members, the Members of the Houses of Representatives, Senators, Congress-persons... OUR voted people to represent the People... 

The Majority!
(The Majority, by the way, are the [once] silent people that do all the basic shit in this country... like stock shelves, fix roads, drive trucks, connect phones, milk the cows, look after the sick and injured, fill libraries, sort mail, grade roads, pump sewerage, guard the borders, till the ground and... shuffle your papers,
etc, etc et al...) ...are getting sick of your crap!!

We are suffering. We are on the bones of our arses!
We work fucking hard, but don't seem to be getting anywhere...
We are tired of it!

Posties can't deliver. Truckies are struggling. Farmers are dying. Councils are apologising. Casual workers are living hand-to-mouth. The Pensioners are scared stiff.... and every other issue of "come-on, why? day after week after month by year by year, Do I Struggle?"

What is going on????
Multi-Million $$ corporatations are paying less tax than a Small Business?
Billionaires are tax-free, essentially?....
In the words of my Milellial followers.... W T F ? !

OK fine... It was OK to encourage big business; ONCE UPON A Time.... But!
Let's be a little bit current, and realise that there are a LOT of people that have paid a lot of tax and support... so, please...

You have got yours.... Let US have Ours!

No apology... I've other stuff on my mind

I don't go to dawn services... a long and avoided habit. I don't go to church; it takes a wedding, funeral and wild strong horses to get me there.
I don't March on ANZAC Day... I feel awkward, I don't feel "a part", I don't know anyone... I'm proud of what I did and what I put in, I don't want to march.
I've The Australian Flag tattooed on my chest. I am a patriot all year. I pull people up for comments contrary comments about this nation or The ADF.

I liked the Army more than it liked me.... Small cog, Big Machine... I got fucked-off, for smoking pot. I'm ashamed about that, but I believe that I was a better soldier than many, by hook or crook.
I was never the thugby team, the Rifle Team never seemed to take off, and being the Regt Photog was a cherished position, ...and a good lurk!
12-odd years [+plus some ARes time] Four 'gongs'... One, I have, two under application for replacement [my -ex, says 'she or the kids haven't seen them!' ...they're in that house, I know!] The other I had to buy a copy on EBay... as it's a foreign medal [UNTAET]

But , I said "other stuff on my mind" ...

Anzac Day is the remembrance of my eldest Brother, Senior Constable Bob [Don't call me Robert!] Lowery driving down a quiet road, and shooting himself in the head with a .410 shotgun.
He knew the local coppers travelled that road, from A-B, every morning... He'd arranged to be on Leave... Apparently, rent was paid and all that shit.

At this time of year... I'm sorry, but the events of '92 are uppermost in my heart; not 1915.

...I keep bursting into tears! ...and fuck! ...and now I've got a splitting head-ache.

It's only midday.... I think I'll have a little lay down [ an LLD ] and the day will be further on...

Sad, sorry...

Pete.

It's funny [funny: odd & funny: haha!] how stuff comes back and smacks one up-side the head!
I was gobbing-off to a Face-Book post about Women's Day, adding a smart-arse comment about "International Women's Week, nobody here!" from The Buzzcocks 'Orgasm Addict'... good on me...
...and that lead to The Jam's 'Eton Rifles' and Joy Divisions 'Transmission' and a whole heap of memories about not being the in-crowd playing sport, and remembering the frenetic days of my youth and ... spewed up the undigested pizza I'd "treated myself to..."

Shakey... staring into a distant future and a favourite but bibulous and disassociate past... I look at tomorrow and wonder, and sweat...

I don't sleep well... I wake up at... an hour after I turn the lights-off, then after another hour or so... half-past 4 is the next, then half-five...
Six. If I'm not werking... I force myself back to slumber... until I can't stand 0615!
I wish I could urge myself to go for a strenuous walk or ride, but I don't! Instead, I piss, splash some boiling water onto instant coffee and think hollowly about the day ahead as I prevaricate and avoid my tasks... Roll cigarettes or start drinking...
Hello today!

Oh bugger! (Fasting for a blood-test... Oh well! Do it tomorrow...)

Then the day continues... I don't like 'Outside'... I avoid it like the Plague... The internet, TV, catch up on games... I'm joining more daily...
Into rubber, a good excuse not to go out! Got to take some pics for my wannabe alter-ego account on FetLife... It ain't gunna happen...
Swill some more booze, feel like ten shades of krap... have a gut-wrenching vomit... go for a "little lay down"... toss, turn, thrash about....
Face the afternoon, wracked with guilt that I haven't werked... check the Internet to see if my dreams have been answered... Nope.
...It goes on... and on and on.

I seems hopeless, but it isn't! When I work, I work hard and straight and clean.

When I werk, I wish I had some time to myself....

PETE admits the (supposedly) obvious...

...this is sort of a coming-out, I suppose!
Hardly cataclysmic, and anyone who knows me won't be all that surprised, those that only know me vaguely shouldn't be too shocked.

 I've been into this for ages... Since I was in my mid-late teens. Hidden, not discussed or admitted, surreptitiously explored, longed for, confused, despised... but constant and wanton, needed...

I'll not delve into the psychology and all of that krap... All I know is: I like it. I want it. I miss it when I don't have it. I desire and demand my 'fetish'... I've had girlfriend/partners... I made no great secret of what I 'was into' except maybe the depth and degree...
The extent, mood, and necessary "atmosphere" and willingness is the inherent bitch-point... It's very hard to portray, to someone so close/too close.
I fucked-up, often at this issue.
Part of me says "Not hard enough!" the other says "Too tough!"... I'm single, again, alas...

Still trying... still working on it! Still spending money I can barely afford... on that 'Ideal' of the perfect situation, specific scenario, ultimate vision... of fetish, of Domination, submission, the whole caboodle....

More later....

Feeling a bit stir-crazy...

Watching videos, broke, last of my money on booze and cigarettes... I have enough food as “war-stores”to get me through... waiting for the scraps of pay to come through... on the dole, waiting for that too...

Scoffing cheap red wine, on special at the moment; thankfully, mixed cordial-style... 50-50 water and goon. I put two filters in a cigarette so as not to lose any tobacco.

I plan and plot and wish... Wish for a win on a lottery ticket I don't buy. Plot to make some fantastic heist I have neither the ability, nor the will. Plan to give up smoking, or drinking, or to sort my shit and pay my bills and save for a rainy day...

It rained like a tropical bastard, last night! I left the fan on, aircon set to 'evaporative' as I kept windows and door open so I could hear the rain pounding down... and I slept for 14 hours. Slept and dry-wept. Sleep, wake, roll-over, stare at the ceiling, roll-over sleep some more... Wake, have a piss, go back to bed, what time it is? Fuck 0215... I've only been 'asleep' for an hour or so... Back to sleep, because being awake is worse.

Toss, turn, roll and thrash. Covers on, covers off... Foetal position. This arm goes numb, that one hurts. This way is too hot, that position isn't right either...

Too hot, too cold; restless; worried...

It's not something I readily admit, being worried. About life, or the lack of it, about lifestyle, or the wont... about money, health... 'career' isn't the right term, but a job one enjoys without too much suffering... So many, lately, don't have careers. We just have jobs that don't destroy us too rapidly...

I had a career once, but blew it.

I had a lifestyle, but didn't know how to use it.

I tried to find another, but fooled myself, others around me and hurt everyone, to the detriment of all.

It's good that I'm writing again... this disjointed epistle from the apostle, as my Mum once called my letter home.

Vague, disoriented, fractured, I think of death; of dead people, of loss, of inabilities... of many things. I can't summon the energy, the drive, to do the simple necessary tasks of day-to-day... week-to-week... forget next month.

My concentration span is akin to the proverbial goldfish... I'm not in touch with much at all... never have been.

Sometimes, I'd love to smash the ADF and cry 'poor me!'...

Sometimes... I want go back down south, go home... but that would be A: costly B: a big effort C: cold! And D: a retreat?

Watching myself... I see me shrugging my shoulders and grimacing... lost, lost for words, lost for effort...

Head in hands.... Sign off. Nevermind, I'll be here tomorrow.

Pete.

Usually a fucked time of the year.... Waiting to start!

Let's bloody go!!

"It's quiet everywhere...!" I'm hearing that all the time, everyone I talk to, clients, bosses, co-workers... people on the street, in shops, everywhere.

I want to stay in my job... I like it! I'm good at it. I'm getting fuck-all werk... a dozen hours or so per week, and have to apply for the Dole. Fuck!

The Dole Office, palm me off to a private company who say I have to apply for full-time jobs, until I don't need the Dole anymore....
Don't they realise NO-ONE gets a fulltime job anymore?! In this HIGHLY CASUALISED WORK ENVIRONMENT?!
Well... yes, they do... but they are in charge of getting "dole-bludgers" to find jobs, like the Government used to do... So that they can continue their contract, and earn the money.

It's all a bit fucked, really...