Saw a young lady, probably 19 or 20 pushing a trolley and yelling out in a display of deep distress. We were deep in the housing commission blocks. She needs professional help but is in no good state, rudderless, probably going to the commission houses where the police visit mostly. I can only imagine the abuse and trauma she has been through and continues to experience. Recently a lady was killed by her ex partner not far from where we were. 

What I wonder is can everyone be valued other than their monetary value, not just valued for their exploitability. The way I see it, the local culture I know and grew up with as well as the system that controls it has no real human value. What is money but an augmentation, a marker, the ultimate territorial value? Money these days is mostly worthless and people are not in control of themselves or their fate.

I am not trying to say we all should feel sorry for those that are in a bad way, but we should want to make sure people are aware of themselves and their own story. Media companies thrive on stories and we all do so that we can start or stop making a dark story we inhabit. Not all stories are meant to be good or redemptive but we need to understand our responsibility to ourselves and how we find ways to live well. If all you have known is abuse and violence how can you live well?

It gets even harder when media and social mores make us believe we are worthless by default. Every move we are supposed to make builds worth but where does it end and why should it be like that anyway? Worse still if we decide to destroy our consciousness and bodies. People then become the living dead and they essentially need to learn to help themselves. Why wasn’t that instilled from the get go?

Today I was painting and I used an image from a drag makeup artist’s portfolio who works with Bjork quite a bit. It was pretty big and I needed a ladder to do it. I remember there was a famous Sydney writer who did pieces with female faces that at times looked like transvestites. We used to have a laugh but we also loved and respected his work. Once I was going back to my grandparents hostel and another two of my mates were hiding a Thai transsexual there.

They didn’t do a great job of hiding the tryst to be honest but me and my friend laughed at our two mates. Only in that the culture people pretended to uphold was full of holes so to speak. Holes in unexpected places, holes in reality, holes in culture. That is a whole thesis right there probably written a million times over. It isn’t that the tablecloth is covered in stains but also full of holes. If the tablecloth looks ok then does that mean the other stains, deposits, holes or so forth are now in good order?