Monday, January 31, 2005


...hasn't turned out at all like I thought.

I thought:

  • My band Disgraceland would be gigging by now, instead of waiting for a couple of members to hurry up and write their parts.
  • I'd be enjoying long nights on rooftop gardens listening to jazz/live drum'n'bass, drinking alcohol-free cocktails, and enjoying conversation.
  • Greg would be getting laid like the batchelor he is, every night. He's just been staying at home for the last month, watching tv.
  • I'd feel different.
  • I'd have finished building my chopper, and I'd be riding it by now.
  • Other stuff.

The once-clearly defined seasons of my youth have dissipated into some kind of amorphous gloop, the whole concept of summer has been confused.

That's Me!bourne for ya.

I went to the beach at St Kilda yesterday and died a thousand deaths looking at hot Italian girls with enormous hoo-ha's (and the water, of course).

I played Monopoly with myself the night before (I won).
I was the racing car and the wheelbarrow, and, true to form, the racing car finished up with all the hotels and owning most of the properties, with around $4500 cash and no mortgages, while the wheelbarrow creaked over the finish line with no cash, no property, and in debt to the bank.
De Sade would have been so proud- I totally whipped my ass.

I have discovered eBay six-hundred years too late, and am currently looking at, wait, I'm not telling. But I'll totally show off in
4 days 21 hours, if i get it.

I have hooked up another monitor to my PC of doom, so now it is the most ridiculously torqued-out piece of circuitry this side of R2D2. And an extra hard drive. And a DVD Burner. Holy crap, I'm buying a missile array for it.

I went through my records 2 days ago, and smiled a lot. I forgot how many cool albums I have in there. I also forgot I had 'For those about to rock' by you-know-who on vinyl too.

Believe it or not, and. speaking of which, I was fucked around by yet another journalist last week.

As a rule, magazines are cool to deal with, and genuinely dig knowing about and sharing knowledge of your creative output.


I had organised with Liam Houlihan from the Herald Sun to do a photo shoot for them in AC/DC Lane, wearing a mask to hide my identity.

This is necessary, the second my photo turns up at the cop shop associated with graffiti, I go to jail.

For 2 years.

So, no thanks.

At least on a blog I have an element of deniabilty, you know?

It was all organised, and agreed upon, but on the day, the photographer turns up without him, and then says I have to put my hands over my face, no mask.

I said "Good day, Sir", and went straight back home, thanks for wasting my fucking time.

When i got in, i found an email from Liam Houlihan, saying basically if I change my mind, and decide to go do a photo their way, and not the way we had agreed on, to let him know.

Fuck that.

Every time I do anything for a newspaper (and, sorry to break it to you Liam, but I've been in HUNDREDS of newspapers all over the world), they have spun it out of context, misquoted, and fucked me around in every way possible.

Journalists are leeches, without exception, and I have vowed to stop being so fucking accomodating, and to never answer a request from a newspaper again.

I've already hit the top- A colour photo of me was the cover of the Evening Post in Wellington, NZ, 6 times the size of the little pic at the bottom of the page celebrating Michael Jacksons wedding.

I'm bigger than Jackson, yo.

I can't wait for the piece to come out, so i can marvel at how I've not only been misquoted, but to witness firsthand how they will paint me as some die-hard AC/DC fan, so morally outraged at the exclusion of a lightning bolt from a street sign, that I was determined to risk imprisonment to right the wrong perpetrated on the band by the man.

When in reality, I'm a street artist, and if I wasn't doing that, i would have been doing something equally awesome in another alley, someplace else.

In fact they will probably write (from knifey's blog) "I...a...
die-hard AC/DC fan, (was) so morally outraged at the exclusion of a lightning bolt from a street sign, that I was determined to risk imprisonment to right the wrong perpetrated on the band by the man."

Fucking leeches.

In other news, I am heartily sick of stupid little bottons on the internet.

If you want me to press it, make it ENORMOUS.

I'm sure my hand is going to fall off whenever I visit '', and I have to spend 6 years trying to will the mouse into clicking on the tiny dots to vote.

Seriously, fix it.

I put all of my magazines into a pile yesterday, and it is 15 feet high.

We're talking Wallpaper*, i-D, IDN, Oyster, Black Book, While You Were Sleeping, Monster Children, Cause Celebre, bla bla bla.

And i should be happy that I have so many, but instead I have a file that tells me which back issues I need to buy to complete my stes.

Like a geeky widdle nerd!

I don't like today. I don't like it at all.


The article is up, here it is:


Rocking on: the AC/DC sign.
Bolt from the black for AC/DC

Lane name that had no street cred has been fixed.

MELBOURNE City Council might think twice next time they overlook a little thing like a lightning bolt.

Seems their teeny-weeny omission of a bolt on the new ACDC Lane has sparked a crusade by a music purist.

Local street artist and rock fan Knifey was none too happy about the oversight and he was determined to make amends.

First he tried Texta, and then paper, but Knifey just wasn't satisfied with the results.

Because when you're talking about AC/DC, Australia's rock gods, only the best is good enough.

Eventually the bright spark came up with the idea of a metal bolt and, with AC/DC playing in his headphones, hammer-drilled it into the laneway wall.

"I did it because it should have been done properly in the first place," he said.

"I felt it was a totally hollow gesture to name a lane that way but not even bother to get it right.

"Kind of like cashing in on AC/DC and giving nothing in return. You know, like leaving the `rock' out of beau-rock-racy."

So, here we are thinking the man might need something more in his life.

But the weirdest part about all of this is that Knifey – apparently his friends call him that – has made somewhat of a name for himself over the little stunt.

His recording of the sign makeover, which he posted on his internet weblog, has emerged on websites and magazines around the rock-loving world.

"AC/DC are one of those bands that have such an intensely loyal following," he said.

"Doctors love them, strippers love them. If it was Crosby, Stills and Nash Lane I don't think that many people would care that much."

And now we hear there's a chance Knifey's idols may get to view his tribute later this year.

Rumours are flying that AC/DC will return this year for a secret gig in the Melbourne laneway that has become a shrine to their hard rock achievements.

This year marks the 25th anniversary of AC/DC's classic album Back in Black.

PS: Knifey would not appear in a photo because he is convinced the police and council are after him over his artistic endeavors.


And here is my response, emailed a minute ago:

Liam- a couple of points regarding your article...

"with AC/DC playing in his headphones" - Never said it.

"You know, like leaving the `rock' out of beau-rock-racy." - Never said it (or spelled it with such blatant disregard for the English language- it would have been bu-rock-racy, as in, 'bureaucracy').

"Knifey's idols" - Never said it.

"PS: Knifey would not appear in a photo because he is convinced the police and council are after him over his artistic endeavors".

For the record (as if you didn't already know this), the reason I didn't appear in a photo is because you renegged on the deal we had set up. Nice one painting me as a paranoid delusional though, that's a very 'newspaper' touch.

I made the effort to come into the city and be at the spot on time. You never bothered to show up, and obviously never cleared the idea with your pictures editor before agreeing to the mask idea.

So for you to paint me as you have, when you couldn't even show me the courtesy of dealing with me in a professional manner, is pretty weak..

As far as "You know, like leaving the `rock' out of beau-rock-racy." is concerned, what I actually said was "Kinda like cashing in on AC/DC, and giving nothing in return.
Typical bureaucracy versus rock music.", but then you know that already, as I emailed it to you.

Do you just make this up as you go along, or what?

I just want to register my total lack of surprise, as yet another newspaper journalist misquotes me, and despite getting plenty of words to work with, still misses the point.

Just once I wish you people would faithfully report something with a bit of flair, a bit of passion, and without having to sensationalize any of it.

This is the last time I deal with a newspaper again (with the exception of Patrick Donovan at The Age, who could teach you more than a thing or two).

You truly are the lowest rung on the ladder of reportage.

Cheers for the disrespect, let's hope you don't need anything from me in future.

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Saturday, January 29, 2005

What's the Go with Little Boys?

When I was a young lad, I made a point of finding my own way through life, and if anyone said "Do this's cool!", I'd view it with more than a little scepticism.

So today, I want to ask my male readers to explain a scenario for me.

I'm riding home on a pushbike, when 2 hotted up Holden Commodores speed past.

Out of the back window of the 2'nd car, is hanging a young guy, about 18, wearing a Von Dutch cap, and a Stussy tee shirt.

Not a vintage Stussy tee, but a new one, 8 years too late.

And he yelled at me.

He yelled "Get a car, ya fuckweeeeet!!!", and then, as he roared past my face, he actually yelled "Wooo-hooo!!!"

Woo-hoo indeed.

I raised the obligatory middle finger at him, and the four guys in his car, and in the car in front could have easily turned around to take issue with it.

But they sped up, and roared towards Flemington/Moonee Ponds.

Things I don't get:

  • Why am I a fuckwit for being conscious enough to ride 13 kilometres a night to work?
  • How is it tough/exciting to yell from a speeding car?
  • Who actually says "Woo-hoo!", anyway?
  • How can he face his friends after acting like such a gimp?
Please tell me, because I don't understand.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not cut up about it...I was laughing at this kid while he did it.

Besides, it happens every night.

So if you guys can reach back into your testosterone and beer fuelled adolescences, I'd really appreciate it.

I might even say "Woo-hoo!"...

...though I doubt it.

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Friday, January 28, 2005

Why Humanity is Doomed.

That's not a very nice title, is it?

I know, I know...but I'll try to keep it light.

I think every question or problem in the Universe boils down to one topic in particular, and that topic is called 'Subjectivism'.

Now back in Philosophy, where I grew up, subjectivism was
the doctrine that 'all knowledge is restricted to the conscious self and its sensory states'.

Basically, You determine your own reality.

And that's remarkably accurate, for Philosophy!

Apparently, it's promounced thusly:

b-jkt-vzm), but I don't see that really helping anybody.

Basically, in knifeyland, subjectivism simply dictates that my experience of a thing, and your experience of a thing, will differ from each others experience, due to a difference in...well...experience!


When I was a kid, my Mothers hands smelled like coconut milk. So now, when I smell coconut milk, I think of my Mummy.

To my friend Gretchen, she discovered coconut milk at the State Fair, and so she thinks of hot dark nights, with lights and candy apples, and screams from the rides.

We're talking about the same coconut milk here, but it is transformed by 2 different peoples experience of it.

But this is coming off kinda condescending, like 'Sophies World', and I don't mean it that way.

OK, so we know, what the damn thing means already.

Now let's crack this coconut open, and get with the subject matter...

Have you ever had a fender bender?

They really do sort out the sheep from the goats, and I think most of us have at least seen what I'm about to discuss firsthand.

Some people, no matter how responsible they may be, for causing an accident, cannot be wrong.

In whatever reality they are broadcasting from, it is simply a Universal impossibility, for them to be wrong.

Sure, you saw them drive right into the side of your car as you went around the roundabout, when they should have given way.

But what you're hearing, is them relating a story of how you suddenly appeared in front of their car, how you are responsible, and how you must pay for their damaged vehicle.

Traditionally, these people do not have insurance.

Now, let's swoop in, and cut open their brain, shall we?

Inside, we find all manner of behaviourism (or for those not versed in the pleonasm the rest of us nerds know as Philosophy- 'life experience').

And you can bet your bottom dollar every time, that in there somewhere is an experience where they were wrong once before, and they have never gotten over it.

They have never dealt with it.

And they have never accepted it.

Another example:

Your Father died alone in a nursing home, because you were working 7 days and nights a week to get your business established, and didn't have time for family.

You couldn't stop him from dying, but you could have been there for him, supporting and loving him, when he did.

And your mind knows it.

It absolutely knows it.

But in order to stop you from going crazy with guilt, your subconscious mind takes that file, and deletes it.

And it writes you a new file.

This file is called "My Father didn't leave me any money. If he had, i would have had some time to spend with him, instead of having to bust my ass to get up".

That's how it works.

And it's all about you.

So, back at the scene of the fender bender, it wouldn't matter if you, Judge Judy, God, or the mans Father appeared to explain his culpability in the matter, he can't be wrong.

Not gonna happen.

And everyone standing around scratching their heads at the sheer idiocy of this guy, walks away and chalks it up to subjectivism.

But it doesn't just work for traffic accidents!

If subjectivism was any more user friendly, it would seriously come endorsed by Chuck Norris, with a free set of steak knives, and an ab-flex for the first gazillion-thousand callers.

It really does work on anything.

I just turned a girl down, because she likes getting stoned.

I have no respect for people who get stoned (if that offends you, I really don't give a fuck, there's the red 'X', don't come back...), and I'm not going to have a relationship with anyone who does it.

Case closed.

My subjective experience dictates to me that no matter how mindful she tries to be of the situation, sooner or later, it will come up, and I will break up with her.

I can't not break up with stoners.

Her subjective experience thinks I'm an uncaring bastard, and that I'd rather throw everything we could have together away, over a total non-issue.

She's right about the bastard thing, i was born out of wedlock.

But it is an issue, because I say so.

Just ask Ariel Sharon and Yasser Arafat (if you have a time machine).

We all have these differences of opinions, and because we all don't subscribe to the same set of moral values or guidelines (apart from 'The Law', which is so full of holes they should have called it 'The Swiss Cheese'), we will always continue to have these differences of opinion.

Individuals will differ from other individuals, groups from groups, classes from classes and nations from nations.

And everywhere in between.

So what this all boils down to, is, because we're all different and diverse and thoroughly Benetton right now, all this difference and diversity and uniqueness, as great as it is for culture (and hopefully for acceptance of cultures that aren't yours), means we're all fucking doomed.

Unless we all grew up in exactly the same way, in exactly the same time/space, place, perspective, whatever...we are all guaranteed to come off the line different.

Yet another way Mother Nature has taken a really great and unique thing, and made it useless and pointless.

At least, that's my take on it, but I'm sure some of you will disagree.

That's subjectivism for ya!

Id Search Engine Name Search Keyword
1 adalita
2 knifey sibling
3 "Ivanka Trump" + "Blog"
4 wilson hard salami nutrition

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Thursday, January 27, 2005


Yup, another swelteringly hot Thursday, and I'm melting.

I spent all day writing emails to people I read about in magazines and think are inspirational (traditionally, ALL people respond, isn't that great?!), and doing an email interview with the Herald Sun, as I'm way too street level and legit to do it in person or on the phone.

They want me to go down to AC/DC Lane tomorrow for a photo shoot, and I agreed, on the proviso I get to wear this:


I said it was to protect my identity, but the real reason was because I shaved my beard off yesterday, and now I look like a stupid monkey!

All I need now is a Hitler moustache...

Anyway, I'm doing this photo shoot at 3pm, so if you're in Law Enforcement, and would like to get your nuts kicked off, come on down!

Todays Google search terms employed to find me was:

Id Search Engine Name Search Keyword
1 wilson hard salami nutrition

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

She's a big-time Editor.

I know my regular readers love it when I write about my love life, so with that in mind, I bring you this, my latest offering.

Liz Hancock is an utterly stunning, tall, blonde beauty editor for i-D magazine.

But she wasn't always that way.

Once upon a time in New Zealand, she was a
n utterly stunning, tall, blonde ballet dancer.

Thing was, and I know this will be impossible for you guys to believe, but I was a geek.

I never had a girlfriend, I worked from 7.30 in the mornings doing an apprenticeship to become a master chessemaker.

I smelled like cheese, all the damn time.

But at night, I would put on my best pink shirt and acid wash blue jeans, strap on an electric guitar, and play in bands, or for the local Paraparaumu theatre group, the "Coasters".

And it is there that I got to talk to Liz, during a production of god-knows-what, way-back-when.

She was totally unpretentious, she always had a rosy glow to her cheeks, she was unfeasibly perfect, and every guy I know wanted desperately to make her fall in love with them.

And for some reason, even though I was the worlds biggest geek ever, she would stop and chat to me whenever she was near.

So of course I got the wrong idea.

It was her birthday, and it was a typically rainy and blustery southern evening.

I had made her an ice cream cake in the shape of Garfield, complete with orange frosting stripes.

On my way from the train station to her house, the rain came up and soaked the cake box, and eventually, soaked the cake too.

It was ruined.

I don't know if you know what it's like, to have a door open in front of you, and to be confronted with effortless and impossible perfection, but I do.

And to have to hand over a soaked box of slop (with orange stripes) to this vision?


But Liz didn't care. She loves ice-cream, and thought it was cute. It's the thought that counts, right?

And then she said "I want you to come up to my room, and make love to me. I have loved you since the first moment I saw you, and I can't wait any longer. Knifey - I need you now!

Actually, no she didn't.

She kinda swivelled uncomfortably on the balls of her feet (ballerina), and looked like she was gonna go wee-wee in her pants.

And she told me how, she thinks I've got the wrong idea, and I'm a swell guy and all, but she really just wants to be friends.

*Total heartbreak*.

And out of all the (2) rejections I have ever faced in my life (just kidding about the 2 part!), I can still feel the sting of it even now.

My face flushed red, and even the cold rain on my way home couldn't cool me down. I even cried. I thought my life was over.

And I went back to my job at the cheese factory, and eventually got fired for having no initiative, and went on the dole, and...ended up in Australia playing on TV to millions of people and generally living like the rock star/guerilla street artist you all know and love today.

Oh, and sex symbol...don't forget that part.

So I'm reading i-D, and there's her picture in the A-Z of future talent.
She's starting up a new magazine called Project-Magazine, and...oh look! There's her email address!

I'm gonna send her a message, and congratulate her on getting married and ask her if she enjoyed the garfield cake.

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

The Document Contains No Data.

Fuck this annoying cunt of a website.

We all know you don't give a flying fuck about whether any of us are satisfied with the service you provide or not, but do you really need to rub it in out faces?

I just spent the last 10 minutes pressing the post reply button on my friends latest blog, only to encounter 2 different types of server error, over about 80 attempts...jism eating cock scientist (this site, not my friend).

I'm probably all shirty because it's like sitting in front of a hairdryer outside, and it's almost 2 in the freakin' morning!

It's a full moon, so all the freaks were out.

I'm totally naked right now, and sweaty, and my cock keeps flopping onto the keyboard, so i have to stop typing every now and then, and delete 'njhgjhngmrmjr4nhr3uj433'.

It really does have a life of its own.

I shaved off all of my facial hair (and there was a lot) to impress ms Cynic on our Friday lunch date, but she's just going to spend the whole thing laughing at my chin, which i not only haven't seen for 6 whole years, but looks like an upside down bum.

At least she'll have a good time.

I shaved my balls too, I know you were dying to know that.

I've been invited to a private BBQ/pool party tomorrow, but there's no way in hell I'm going.

I'm sick of the same people, talking the same shit, god i want to die just thinking about it.

Even my well-documented love of other peoples food can't rouse me into action.

Might just stay home and give my cock some much needed attention, god knows it's been bugging me for it.

Get out of the way!!!


This heat is just insane.

And I'm sad there is no-one here to lick my lovely hairless balls, as rude as that sounds.

It's like getting a new pair of jeans on a Monday night, and having to wait until the weekend before you can show them off in public.

Sort of.

Stupid bitch of the week award goes to:

The stupid bitch who walks up to me as I'm riding a borrowed mountain bike, wearing a full-face mountain biking helmet, and says "Duuuuude! Just ride a motorbike you idiot!"

Me - "Do you think this helmet is a motorcycle helmet?"

Her - "Well DUH!!! Obviously!"

Me - "This is a pushbike helmet, made for cyclists, and sold in cycle stores"

Her - "Yeah? Well you look like a stupid fuck".

Me - "Glad that my attempts to avoid being fined by the cops, and keeping my head safe make me look like a stupid fuck to you. By the way, your ass is enormous. Have a great night".

*Lights change, i ride off, she gasps and looks over her shoulder at her enormous ass, before BREAKING DOWN IN TEARS AND HUGGING HER FRIEND*

My god that felt awesome!

Time to take my cock to bed now, with 2 fans on, and icy drinks too.

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Let's feel amazing together.

Maria was a DJ, and she was ahead of her time.

A natural blonde (gasp!), she had her hair cut into a shaggy pageboy style, with at least 5 different colours of dark brown and awesomeness.

She was all jeans, trainers, and tee shirts, and she was as close to New York City as the City of Wellington in New Zealand ever got.

When she walked into a room, the room stopped being a room, and became 'the spot'.

This girl was a knockout.

She didn't need makeup, she never wore any. Her mouth was so defined, it just made you a slave to the thought of a kiss.

And her eyes?

Don't get me started.

I met her when I moved into a flat she shared with a couple of guys I of whom used to be a taxi driver! Regular readers of this blog will know what the exclamation mark was for.

Mike and Sam are two of the most laid-back, good looking, talented fans of house music ever.

God alone knows why they liked me, but they did, and I *heart*ed them right the hell back.

They invited me to move in, just before I moved here to Australia, it was always going to be temporary.

They told Maria, and Maria said "If you guys like him, I like him".

So in I moved.

I brought my big screen TV with me, and moved it into the lounge room. Maria, who I had seen, and had an intense crush on for years, was sitting on the sofa, legs all over the place, talking on the 'phone.

It's just about never that I'm totally ga-ga-can't-speak over a female, but this was one of those times.

I loved it.

She hung up on her conversation, and offered me her hand, which I shook.

But let me break it down some more...

I reached for her hand, and I could feel its warmth before I even got there.

My fingers touched her fingers, and they slid over each other so slowly i could define every line of her flesh, while my calloused hands sent a shiver up her spine, and back down through mine.

She breathed in sharply, and I breathed out slowly.

Our eyes were locked.

I didn't do so well in High School, but I sure know chemistry when I see it.

"I'm Maria".

"I know".

Oh my god, that smile could break your heart. Men have fought wars for less.

A lot less.

"So, we're going to be living together, huh?" I said as cooly as I could under the circumstances. I was scratching my head at the same time, in anticipation of the enormous problem this scenario offered us both.

"I hope so" she countered, and I'm pretty sure my heart stopped for a second.

And we didn't leave each others side, except to go to our respective jobs, until I moved here to Melbourne.

She worked in a record store (of course) and DJ'ed every now and then (as little as possible).

I was a guitar tech, and had to go away twice on National Tours, for about 2 weeks each (NZ is a very small nation!)

But the times in between were filled with just the 2 of us, talking endlessly about everything, and never disagreeing, her riding on the rear freestyle pegs on my BMX, eating Mexican dinners every chance we got, and holding each other close, looking deeply into each others eyes, and thinking about giving up rock and roll forever, in favour of making babies and being a living, breathing Coke commercial.

We had dinner for 2 to celebrate my 30'th birthday, just 2 of us in the whole restaurant. It was the best birthday ever.

And when she took off those jeans and tee shirts, and dumped her trainers on the floor, and I was enveloped by the soft vanilla essence scent of her, and her skin was against mine, and that mouth was kissing me, then gasping as my fingers hinted at her folds...her total femininity and her softness and gentleness rocked my entire being like no other girl in history.

Her face was never turned away from me when we were naked together.
It was like her mouth had to stay on mine every second we were coupled, or she would die. I was her air, and I know she was mine.

She was perfect.

She was the untoucheable and perfect prize of that city...she didn't give it up for anybody.

And when I'd wake up in her bed, with the sun streaming through the window, and her perfect ass nestled up against my perpetually swollen cock, i can honestly say for the only time in my life there was nowhere else I wanted to be.


You see, I had this dream, and I still don't know if it was stupid, but I had to see it through, or I would never have been truly happy.

There would always be that question...what if?

I wanted to move to Australia, start a band, and take it on the road.

I didn't need to be the biggest band in the world, or even the land.

I just wanted to write and play music, and get away from being the guy who looks after every other shit band on tour.

Anyone who has been in a real band knows how intensely hard it is to make this happen.

You can have the best songs in the Universe, but if the band isn't committed, you're over.

Finding a committed band is rarer than rocking horse shit.

And even if you do get it together, there lie a thousand traps and conspiracies designed to make you fail.

It's easier to start a business and turn over a million dollars a year, than it is to start a band.

I know, because I left one behind for the other.


I had told her from day one that I had to go, and I guess she just assumed that as we got closer, that my mind had changed.

I wanted to, but like I said, I had to try.

And so, one morning at 5am, I kissed her beautiful sleeping face goodbye, and climbed in the shuttle.

I was in Australia 6 hours later, pulling up outside my new house.

It was pissing down raining, and the cab driver was an asshole. He took my pack out of the boot before I could get to it, and dumped it in the gutter full of water.

And it was so strange.

I was so full of excited optimism back then, like "this is it", and "this is where it starts!"

But it wasn't.

This place really opened my eyes to the harsh realities of music, and one by one all those juicy little morsels of excitedness have been replaced with a sad and heavy despondency.

I have utterly failed in my mission, and in the meanwhile, I was stupid enough to lose touch with Maria.

It was almost like New Zealand was no longer real when i got here, I can't really explain it. But I know a few of you will know this feeling too.

I was lucky enough to go back to NZ on a tour after a year here.

Maria still hadn't moved on, and she took me into her bed without a question, once all my work was done.

That sun through the window again. That perfect ass again. Me leaving again.

It hurt her, I know it did.

I know it did, because I was there too, and as much as I rail about people living their lives with their heads up their asses, I was the posterboy for the movement back then.

I know it, because I was there, and we both felt it.

It was love, it was the real thing, it was the totally unaffected, natural, perfect, harmonious coming together of two elements so disparate, that they formed a perfect seal around each other that kept the rest of the world outside.

In my defence, I was on tour non-stop for the first two years, and I didn't stay in touch with anybody.

But that's a shit excuse, and we all know it.

So now, it's 5 years later, and Maria has moved on (to Japan), and she won't reply to any of the emails I sent her when i came to my senses.

I don't blame her.

And while this story sounds like it has a sad ending, it doesn't.

I'm just hapy to know, that somewhere out there in the world, some lucky guy is waking up, with the sun streaming through the window, Maria's perfect ass nestled up against his perpetually swollen cock, and he's looking at the girl he loves.

And he's not going anywhere.

The Dynamics of Cowardice.

A lot of people live their whole lives in fear.

But the strange thing is, they are so out of touch with themselves and reality, that they have no idea anything is amiss.

I have a friend who is a social worker, and who used to work for child protection.

She is an incredibly strong and caring person, and we get to talk about life and the people who spoil it for us from time to time.

She wrote:

"I was thinking about your comment the other day, when you stated that ‘people very much disgust you’. You seemed disappointed and disheartened by people’s need to identify themselves within a superficial and social framework that completely denies them of greater wisdom and ‘realness’. I must say, I do agree with you and sometimes maybe this is yet another reminder to us, that we have mastered the concept of self actualization. By this I mean, we have heightened our own awareness to the factors that destroy our social fabric and in fact are comfortable to define our unique traits as individuals. Therefore don’t lose hope. This is clearly a time for you to celebrate your continued path of wisdom. At least we are not intellectually static but in fact are able to critique and self direct."

Just for the record, she talks the way she writes. It can be pretty funny if she's telling you what she bought at the shops today, with language like that. But she knows me better than anyone.

And she's right.

In order to cope, or in order to 'get along', or in order to 'fit in', most people emulate the behaviour of others (whether it's what to buy, how to dress, or what to watch on tv), and in some cases, they even emulate bad behaviour.

It's called peer-pressure, and people here in Australia suffer from it well into their golden years.

So when you see the boys, out on the town, and they're irresponsibly drunk, and pushing each other around, and being obnoxious, society says it's ok, because it's just 'the boys letting off some steam after a hard working week'.

But it's not ok at all.

These people are acting irresponsibly, and selfishly, and they are setting the example that it's ok for everyone to get tanked and holler abuse at passers by if you like.

We've all seen these people. You might be one of them.

Do you buy Levi's?


Do you have a big-name car?


Do you go out drinking on the weekends?


Have you ever even questioned yourself?


But it goes so much deeper than consumer behaviour, and mob-mentality social typecasting.

People have so many fears, as I mentioned, like not fitting in.

And being alone.

And not being accepted.

And even being wrong.

And it's these quiet fears, that really make a person who they's what subconsciously drives them, and it's what defines them.

For many, they never go past the boundaries of their fears.

And this is where gossip comes in.

It's very easy, to make up a story about someone, and set it loose.

It's incredible how quickly those lies grow wings and take on lives of their own.

And it's amazing how, for something so destructive, and so hated by so many, these lies are adopted by the same people who abhor them, when they aren't about them.

A rumour is a lie that anyone can create, they need no authorship to be taken in and accepted.

And they will live for as long as the subject does, sometimes longer.

Why do they exist?

That's easy.

Because someone out there, is too much of a coward to say what they actually think to your face.
They're scared of confrontation, and they have been injured by your rejection, or your honesty, or your indifference to them.

And so they hurt you with a rumour.

I have a rumour currently circulating about me, and that rumour is:

I beat women.

The real fact of the matter is, I don't ever care enough about any woman in particular to get fired up and abusive, not that I would anyway.

If I am close to someone, I am notorious for not having any buttons to push, in order to fire me up.
I don't get angry, or emotional at all. And that in itself has frustrated many of my partners, as some of them saw some kind of correlation between how angry/upset you get, with how much you care for them.

I find it incredibly easy to walk away from people.

I don't stick around to argue, I just leave.

And people hate that.

They hate it that I can just walk out of their world, and never think of them again.

It shatters their ego, and makes them scream for vengeance.

The main perpetrator of the dissemination of this piece of gossip is one of the most deluded people I have ever known.

We were acquaintances at one time, I would have called us buddies.

I used to see him out, mainly when I was on the town with the girl I was seeing at the time.

He was a perfect gentleman to my face, but i was shocked to discover he had gone behind my back and told my girlfriend she should leave me, and that I was abusive to women.

As soon as I found out, I walked up to him and told him that I knew, and that I didn't want to know him any more.

He denied it.

But it didn't stop there.

He kept spreading this rumour, and more and more people would come up to me and tell me, in total disbelief, that this individual had told them.

I approached him late one night, and asked to his face what his problem is, as in, what's it going to take for him to shut his mouth?

He denied any knowledge of the rumour, or any involvement with it. Point blank.

I was so furious, but i didn't hit him, as much as I wanted to.

He is a very sickly looking person, and frankly, I would destroy him.

I told him that he was lucky I'm not at all the way he paints me, or I would have taken him downtown in a big way.

He was terrified, and said breathlessly "If you touch me, I'm going to the police".

This is interesting to me- he can attempt to destroy my life and reputation, but if I acted in reality the way he was alleging I am, he would involve the law. Kind of contradicting himself.

Either way, it was only through my mercy that he didn't get badly beaten that night.

Fast Forward, to tonight, and he's at it again.

On a discussion board I log into when I'm bored out of my mind.

He said "I know he won't hit me, because he only does that to girls".

And I'm thinking "Now wait. This guy is basically crowing in my face, that I cut him a break, but also still spreading malicious gossip about me".

He is taking advantage of my good nature.

And that mouth of his is challenging me to knock his teeth down his throat the next time I see him (and I see him a lot).

He is hiding behind the fact that I told him he's not worth my physical attention, and taking advantage of that break, to insult me more!

What could possibly be short-circuiting in his head to keep pushing his luck like that, especially after getting punched in the face by someone else I know, just last weekend, for having a big mouth?

The answer: fear.

He has said a lot on discussion boards about me, and has always included the allegation that I contribute nothing to this world.

And that's the key.

He accuses me, of the thing he fears most.

I called him deluded before, and I meant it.

I meant it, because even though he is universally regarded as being so bad at singing, that the term 'singing' should no longer be used to describe it, he still maintains to all that his "music industry contacts" all assure him he has a fantastic talent, and that a record deal is just around the corner.


I like watching him 'sing' at karaoke, especially when it's a U2 song.

It's so painful, it's comedy gold, but the strange thing is, he's standing there, wine glass in hand, totally oblivious to the fact people think he's actually being that bad on purpose.

He's on top of his own personal mountain.

God, I wish I could do that guy in the Matrix, who cuts a deal with Agent Smith.

"Ignorance is bliss".

I have no doubt that he believes the things he says, no matter how untrue they are. he really does believe that deal is just around the corner.

But his subconscious knows better.

It knows who he really is, and the exact limit to his talent.

It knows that people don't respect him, and that he is considered to be pretty much worthless in the great scheme of things here in Melbourne.

It knows, and it is terrified.

It is terrified that he contributes nothing to this world.
It is terrified that he really is a talentless, bitter, deluded narcoleptic big mouth, who is too soft to ever back up his own words.

And it sees me on the TV, or on the radio (well, I was last year!), or being talked about by this girl or that girl who has decided I'm flavour of the month for that month, and it is jealous.

It sees me as everything it thinks it has an automatic right to be, and it wants to tear me down, with baseless allegations that in the end only serve to make him look bad in the eyes of all the people he has told, and who took the time to get to know me for themselves.

And it is that, which makes me not care what he says about me, or what anybody says about me in that regard.

If i actually did something, I would be very penitent, and I would do all I could to make up for it.

I am a conscious human being, and I don't let myself away with bad behaviour.

And I am aware there is a long line of people who have not measured up to my strict moral standards, and who I have rejected, that seek to "get me back" any way they can.

But there's nothing wrong with deciding to have nothing to do with disrespectful or dangerous people.

The irony of all this is, I saw this person in question one night, after he had shot his mouth off about a guy I know.

Let's call him Tony.

Tony was furious, and wanted to belt our protagonist right there in the bar.

Tony would have flattened him for ever.

But I broke up that altercation, when no-one else would.

The person that saved this idiot from losing his teeth was me, and you know what?

After that, he only got worse.

Dented pride can be a killer, oh yes it can.

But the funniest thing about all this gossip is this-

I have always had gossip about me.

It's what happens when you're not some office drone robot stereotype, when you live every day to create something, or to be yourself and fuck what the world thinks about it.

When you're an individual.

People say I beat women, or I'm dangerous and unpredictable, or...whatever, because they're a guy who is jealous, or a girl who doesn't want another girl to ever like me again.

It's always aimed at making girls hate me.

And the crazy thing i have found is, the more gossip you have about you, the more girls want to find out for themselves (they're very rebellious you know)

I get so much attention from girls who "have heard such-and-such" about me, that without it, I would be a nerdy geek who gets no luv 4 eva.

The more you gossip, the more you (would) get me laid (if I actually gave a crap about getting laid).

So by all means, keep it up. I know you're reading this.

You too idle, you pathetic little shit-stirrer.

I'm proud of who I am, and what I've achieved, and no jealous little cunt-rag that none of you would ever have known existed had I not brought him to your attention, is going to diminish it.

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Monday, January 24, 2005

Argh !!!

Talk about odd!

I came home from work just now, to find my Korean housemate pissing on my polished wooden floorboards.

Maybe you didn't hear me?

I came home from work just now, to find my Korean housemate pissing on my polished wooden floorboards.

My Korean housemate is over here studying English at The University of Melbourne, but at first I thought he was a member of the Korean Olympic door-slamming and never-paying-your-bills Team.

It's been a strange week for bodily excretions.

So I walk in, he looks surprised, i crack him across the back of the head with my helmet, and he goes running out the door and into his room, with his little penis dribbling a yellow morse code across the hallway.

Which, as always, reminds me of a story:

It is a little known fact, but it is a fact, that the Chinese Government hatched a secret plot back in the late 1950's.

This plot, involved popularising the term "little doodles", as in, sketches or drawings.

It was thought that if they could bring the term "little doodle" into popular slang, by both osmosis and the ripple effect, people would subconsciously associate that with having a little penis, and would therefore embrace the concept of little penises as being a perfectly valid and wonderful choice.

Clearly the Chinese had a great deal to gain from this.

Unfortunately for them, they didn't count on the 'Australian contribution'.

As we all know, Aussies are the most self-effacing and relaxed people in the world, and their use of language reflects this.

Secret Chinese Governement Agents were horrified to discover in the late 80's, that Australians had started to employ the term 'just' before 'little doodle', as in "Oh, that's just a little doodle I did while waiting for the train", thus retrivialising little doodles, and setting the secret Chinese Penile Empowerment Program back about 50 years.

Apparently Korea is suffering from the same problem/

I'm so tired I keep almost nodding off while I'm writing this, so I'm not really able to process logically why a grown man would feel like pissing in my room.

Was he marking some imagined territory?

Was he trying to get hit in the head with a helmet (if so, it worked beautifully!)

Is he trying to teach me a lesson for not liking him?

Is it some weird custom I have never heard of?

Maybe I'll never know...

I'm going to start locking my door from now on, and tomorrow, I'm going to throw him in a bath full of cold water, and show him what we do to grubby little c***s down here in Ostraya.

Maybe I'll even put ice in there, just to be totally asshole-ish.

Anyway, what I really wanted to say was, I am starting up another blog, strictly for art only.

Check it out here (the bare bones at least), and if you want to be linked to (you have to do some form of art that I like, please), hit me up (email is in my profile).

And don't be offended if I don't like your art, it's subjective, you know?

I don't like most things, so it would probably count as a badge of honour.

Sleeping now, pressing 'publish post'.

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Friday, January 21, 2005

The Girlfriend Auditions Continue...

So, if you read this or this, you'd know I've been auditioning for the role of 'girl who gets to have a lot of orgasms and be my woman'.

Big shouts to Jess at Ausculture for this post, where she not only wrote, recorded, and performed a song she wrote both for and about me, but she simultaneously made my day doing it. It's called 'knifey wifey'.

But as usual, nothing is simple in knifeyland, so here's my update.

Contestant Number One (Codename: One-horse Politico)...

...who had been previously eliminated for being down with one of my two non-negotiable dealbreakers, has been so totally reinstated, as I can't get her out of my freakin' head, even though all concerned know it will definitely end in tears (mine).

She's so back in the race, she'll need that Lamborghini she used to drive, just to keep me from catching her.

Contestant Number Two (Codename: Felice from The Middle East)...

...had been sick, and uncontactable, but she's better now.

As healthy as she is though, I haven't asked her out on any dates.
Why? See above...

Contestant Number Three (Codename: "I can't believe it's not Adalita!")...

...was going to visit me next weekend, but i asked her not to, after discovering her love for marijuana.

This is a love we definitely do not share, because, well, I think it's disgusting.

Call me a bastard if you like (I heard that), but I don't care how great we are together. If you're a stoner, you can do it someplace where I ain't.

We almost had a couple of new contestants also!

But I eliminated them on the spot, just because I'm crazy and spontaneous.

They were:

Contestant Number Four (Codename: "Cherry Pie")... a hot young filly who works the cash register at my local supermarket.

She reeled me in in that way that only young girls can, where they are so obvious and full of themselves, and totally aware of their sexual power, you can almost see the haze from your pheremones mingling and dropping to the floor to fuck each other. Hot.


  • Not a brunette. More sandy than brunette. Definitely not black.
  • I might get arrested for the priveledge.
  • Dude! She's a checkout-chick fer chrissakes!

  • That tongue stud has my name on it. Major tongue fetish over here!

Contestant Number Five (Codename: "Scat-orgy Vaneska")...

If you saw this post, you will already know who Vaneska is.

I haven't even bothered giving her a real alias, I don't really care if she finds out I'm writing about her.


I saw her feed one of my old friends her ice-cream consistency shit, straight from her ass.


There are no 'pros'. I don't care how intensely hot and fetish she looked. There's no coming back from that. The milk was a nice touch though...

But here's the dumb news:

You know what? I thought this would be a good idea, and we could all have some fun, and you could come on some dates with me, and we could laugh at how funny I am and marvel at how smooth I am with the ladies.

But the truth of the situation is, it's starting to hurt really bad, and I guess I've lost confidence in the idea that there is anyone out there I could actually like.

Yeah, yeah, I know I have a list of dealbreakers a mile long.

I know this.

But I'm just being honest.

The real fact of the matter is that people pretty much disgust me, and I will never get my head around the fact that I am so totally unbelievably different to everyone else I have ever met, I think maybe I'm from another freakin' reality altogether.

I like being by myself.

I don't like being around people really at all.

If I do like it, it's only for a very short amount of time.

I'm not sure I know how to love any more. It was so easy when I was 22. I'd just hand my heart over to anybody, anytime. I had a lot of heart back then.

But now I don't feel like there's any left, and all I want to do is hide away from this world and do dumb shit like draw pictures people will never see, and write songs no-one will ever hear, and when I die someone from a cleaning agency will come in and throw it all in a dumpster, and there's the entirety of my life right there.

This was meant to be a happy blog entry, and I wanted to hopefully make you laugh, or tell you something interesting, but instead I'm emotionally vomiting all over you, and I'd be amazed if any of you are even reading to this point.

So I guess this entry is for me, and it's saying

"knifey- give it up, man".

I don't know when I became this overly complicated and evidently unlovable 6'2" black hermit-crab, it snuck up behind me, and sucker punched me when I was looking breathlessly into the future.

And one by one all the fantasies you had as a kid, or as a young adult, they just get further and further away until you realise they were never going to be yours, that they were the scenery from someone else's life, shimmering majestically in the distance.

And the more you map your own emotional geography, the more you realise you can't, because all of a sudden, you're not a kid any more, and it's incredibly complex all of a sudden.

Oh well. If that's life, then that's how it is.

There's still plenty of beauty and wonder and fascination and interest and knowledge out there. I'll just keep looking to that, and hopefully add a little of my own to this cute little bluey-green planet, before it all gets swallowed by the sun.

If you want to see something really beautiful and simple and carefree and real, poke your head in here.

And leave her comments, and tell her she's beautiful.

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

De Stront Tuesday.

Last night won't be forgotten in a hurry.

My wingman Greg and I decided to go out for a drink after work.
It was one of those warm evenings where you feel like something cool is gonna happen, and you want to be on the street when it does.

And it did too, in a couple of different ways.

I got mad flirted with by the hot new checkout chick at the IGA in North Melbourne.
She wanted to talk about piercings, and took every opportunity to show me she had her tongue pierced, by playing with it while I talked with her.

I know it's cheap, but that action just blows my pants off, every time.

For once I did the right thing, and left without taking her number...she was 19 max. I'm trying to be good.

Anyway, I met up with Greg, and we went to St Kilda to drink cold drinks in the sun. I don't know what it is about St Kilda, but whenever we're there Greg and I fart like cows...we *heart* farts.

Anyway, after the sun went down, we stopped in at 7-11 to grab snacks, and on the way out the guy in front of us dropped $50.

I scooped it up, went outside, and handed it back.

He was really thankful, and shook my hand repeatedly, which was cool
But I was simultaneously concentrating on his girlfriend, who was engaging Greg with the biggest "come fuck me smile" I have ever seen, replete with hair twirling and eyelash batting!!!

The guy introduced them both as, well, let's call them
Andrew and Miranda, in case they read this. Miranda shook my hand without looking at me, because she was still looking at Greg. Greg was fine with this, he's very good at eye contact.
Then she shook his hand, and laid a kiss on the side of his mouth, like, really slowly.

Andrew just beamed at them, like a proud Father or something. Fuck it was odd.

They hopped in their car and left, and Greg and I just looked at each other, then burst out laughing. We read mindz.

We were walking to the car, and we ran into our friend Ian, who is a drummer like Greg is a drummer.

Ian and I used to play together 20 years ago, while we were both putting ourselves through High School by playing underage in jazz lounges and blues bars on weeknights...he's an incredible drummer.

He told us he was glad he ran into us, and that we had to come with him to this crazy party he had been invited to.

I figured the party must have ben pretty crazy, because they were having it on a Tuesday night, but OK.

Ian told us that he had been once before, and that it is guaranteed to blow our minds. He said he had the time of his life.

This is a pretty tall order, because my mind is totally bombproof, but "what the Hell?" we thought, and off we went.

The venue was one of the new apartment monstrosities at Port Melbourne, all wanting to be on the Gold Coast, but really all you see is the neighbours across the way fingering their pets.

Anyway, up we go to the 23'rd floor, and into a typical apartment complete with IKEA furniture and a BMW keyring on the kitchen counter.

No children, no pets.

The space was open plan, but a series of beautiful Japanese style screens divided the entranceway from the main living area.
They were all dark walnut coloured timber, with some cool Hokusai shit on the panels.

We were greeted by a girl of no more than 20, wearing a power-suit, and a permanent expression of shock from her severe black ponytail.

She had glasses and a PDA, and clearly i was in love right there.

She took our drinks orders with the PDA, and said "cute" when she asked my name, and I said "knifey".

As Greg wandered past the screens she took my hand and said her name was Vaneska. "We should talk later...after..." she said, actually, it was more like an order.

By this stage of the evening I was feeling like the worlds biggest sex machine, with pheremones the size of basketballs.

I said "I don't like talking about the future", and wandered off to find Greg.

I love saying obtuse, meaningless shit like that to girls. They love it too, because it's basically an open invitation to make up your own sentence and whack it in there in place of what I just said.

She probably heard "I need you tonight Vaneska".

Love it.

I rounded the screens, and there was Greg, glass of beer in one hand, jaw in the other.

I turned to see what the big deal was, and there, on the floor, was a wading pool.

"Now that's cute!" I thought to myself, and then I noticed it was full of milk.

I like milk, no problems there.

But it was also full of a man and a woman, licking, sucking, and entering each other.

I liked that too.

Hey guess what? It was
Andrew and Miranda, and Miranda was sliding her strap-on inside Andrew's anus.

"Where's my drink?" I thought.

Ian, fresh from parking the car, appeared next to us.

"What do you think?" he whispered conspiratorially, like a Turkish mans eyebrows.

"I think that's
Andrew and Miranda" I whispered back.

"YOU KNOW THEM???!!!" Ian hissed, perhaps a bit louder than was expected.

"Sure, I know everybody" I quipped nonchalantly, as Andrew and Miranda looked over to see what the fuss was about.

They saw us, and waved, like you'd wave at people you'd met earlier on the street, then again at a full-on voyeur party complete with strap-ons and milk.

At least,
Andrew did.

Miranda saw Greg and pretty much came, right there in the pool.

Greg turned and smiled at me, making me read his mind again.

"Yes Greg, that really did just happen" I assured him.

"Cool" he replied, "Just thought I'd check".

Can I just say that at this point i still hadn't received my drink, even though Ian was being handed his, and he arrived after me?

You're gonna love this part-

The action in the pool was hotting up, as a new couple joined Andrew and Miranda in the pool.

They had taken their clothes off and just walked on over and in.

"Now I know why my drink never arrived" I thought, "That's fucking Vaneska!"

Vaneska and...Ian???!!!

Sure enough Ian, was no longer at our side.

"Do you think this could get any more weird?" I asked Greg.

"No way..." he replied.

" fucking way".

"I think it can" I said, and by God I was right.

Vaneska and Ian both crouched over
Andrew and Miranda respectively, and concentrated hard.

And by 'concentrated', I mean they shat in their mouths and on their faces.

It was killer.

Andrew and Miranda not only let it go in their mouths, but ate it, gargled with it, and smeared it all over themselves, licking it up with their tongues, while masturbating furiously with the hand that wasn't propping them up.

"Shit!" said Greg.

"Exactly" I replied.

Both Ian's and Vaneska's shit was the consistency of a Mr Whippy ice cream, and it made me wonder what they had been eating.

"This is fucking crazy man!" Greg exclaimed, wiping his glasses with his tee shirt, as if that would return us to normality once he placed them back on his face.

"Do you want to leave?" i asked.

"No way".

God I love him, he's a good kid.

I wasn't really shocked, as I used to live in Holland, and had seen my fair share of 'de
schijt'. Still, it was interesting... shit and milk...and some girl i was gonna add to the knifey girlfriend comp, all naked, rubbing her puckered sphincter on Andrew the nice guys waiting and eager tongue.

Miranda had forgotten all about Greg apparently, because she had her tongue rammed firmly up Ian's asshole, and I think that's normally a good sign an infatuation is over.

Ian looked like a dog I had was...interesting.

I decided Vaneska and i didn't need to talk after...not even a little.

No-one else joined in, but the other 12 people in the room were all engaged in various forms of onanistic release.

It's the first time I have ever felt out of place standing in a room full of people and not jerking off.

We got out of there, but I made sure I left my name on the emailing list for future events.

Oh, glad I never got that drink in the end (so to speak).

i asked for a glass of milk.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Fuck You, You're not a Hero.

When will cops wake up, and see that they aren't adored by the majority of people, that we don't buy this "protect and serve" bullshit any more, and that most of us not only never bother reporting crime any more (as we have learned not to from our interactions with fuckhead police in the past), but we are in many cases terrified and oppressed by the very people that are employed to make our lives safer?

Yeah, yeah, I know..."typical lefty bullshit".

Whatever, asshole.

  • How many times have you been harassed needlessly by Police?

  • Have you ever had a Policeman visit you at your home, after earlier issuing you with a speeding ticket, using your private details, in the hope of dating you?

  • How did you feel when you saw Police in riot gear or with dogs, beating back peaceful protesters on the news?

  • Have you ever tried to report a crime, only to see that the bored officer could not be less interested or helpful?

  • Have they gone one further and told you there's nothing they can do?

  • Have you ever been sexually or physically assaulted, and been treated like a criminal by police in your hour of need?

  • Have you ever socialised with a police officer, who openly used drugs, and told you "It's ok, we all do it"?

  • Have you ever heard of the C.T.S.A. in Melbourne?

Let me share an experience from last night...

Riding home from work, at around 2.30 a.m, I was stopped by a van of 4 Police.
My bike was all legal and above board, no malfunctions.

My riding was consistent.

I had no drugs or alcohol in my system.

I was street legal.

Police: "Open your backpack for us please".

Knifey: "Do you have probable cause to request this search?"

Police: "Yes, we do. We have been informed that you may be carrying illegal drugs".

Knifey: "OK, here you go" (hands open bag to Police).

Police: "Where have you been tonight?"

Knifey: "At work".

Police: "Where's that?"

Knifey: "That's irrelevant. Either charge me with something, or wrap it up, it's raining, and I'm going to bed".

Police: "How about I charge you with having a big mouth?"

Knifey: "How about you try that?"

(All 4 police exit the van, and stand around me in a circle).

Police: "Show me your ID".

Knifey: (hands over a business card, with all relevant info).

Police: "Is this you?"

Knifey: "Clearly it's me. Now you can arrest me, or you can get out of my way, coz this bike is about to start moving forward".

Police: "You're not going anywhere".

Knifey: "So am I under arrest?"

Police: "Not yet".

Knifey: "Then check this out..." (rides off).

This happens to me all the time, and if I came across as arrogant or rude in the exchange, it is only because of that fact.

As a kid, I respected cops, just like most children do.

But over the years, the needless arrogance, the illegal behaviour, the assaults, the bullying and intimidation, the sexual harassment, the thin blue line, all of it, has made me despise not only the badge, but anyone who chooses to represent it.

Don't ever expect me to shed a tear for any cop that gets killed on the job.
You knew the risks, deal with them.

You're not a hero, you're so mentally unbalanced (or naive) that you'd take a job where more than ever before in history, the public either doesn't trust you, or downright hates you.

I'm amazed more of you don't die every day.

In order to be fully indoctrinated into the Police, you have to take on their gang mentality.

"We have the biggest gang" I have literally heard Police say.

And that speaks volumes to me.

Our police Commisioner is so overweight she couldn't take down a 5 year old if he was walking past. What a shining example she surely is.

I have to say, I just adore it when the closed, arrogant ranks of the Police, who do so much to galvanise public opinion against them, who make sure everyone knows that THEY are the law, and we are nothing in comparison, have to get off their high horses and appeal for "help from the public" when they lack information on a case.

I adore it more when the public close ranks, and don't say a damn thing.

I love it because it shows them that without us, they are nothing.

But they are quick to forget.

And then there's this-

Shots fired in city chase

By Sasha Shtargot
January 15, 2005

This taxi hit a tram safety zone, catapulted into the air and landed on its roof in the middle of Collins Street.

This taxi hit a tram safety zone, catapulted into the air and landed on its roof in the middle of Collins Street.
Photo: Michael Clayton-Jones

City workers and lunchtime shoppers scattered in terror as a high-speed police chase ended in a spectacular crash and arrest in central Melbourne yesterday.

In scenes reminiscent of a Hollywood movie, the drama began about 11.30am just off Smith Street in Collingwood when police, investigating a series of burglaries, approached a suspect outside an electrical wholesaler.

He hijacked a car and fled, leading police on a dramatic chase through inner-city streets and a shopping arcade, which ended when a taxi he tried to commandeer flipped over in front of the Melbourne Club on Collins Street.

Police Superintendent Mick Williams said officers were carrying out surveillance outside a building at the corner of Perry and Smith streets, Collingwood, when they saw the man step out of a taxi.

They went to apprehend him but there was a struggle, in which the man grabbed a detective's gun and fired a shot.

The man ran into Smith Street and, with police in pursuit, went into several shops before hijacking a blue Holden Commodore driven by a passer-by.

Shopkeepers in Smith Street said there was confusion as police pursued the armed man for several blocks.

Bryan Hogan said the man ran into into his gallery before taking off again.

"I was at the back of the shop and didn't see him, but there was a lot of noise. When I went outside, there were a couple of young people in Perry Street and they were a bit shaken."

The man forced the driver to take him into the city and police pursued the Commodore along Smith Street, Victoria Street and Spring Street before it crashed in Flinders Lane, hitting parked cars and motorbikes.

The man ran off, leaving the terrified driver shaken but unhurt.

Still armed, he ran through the Collins Place arcade into Collins Street where he jumped into the back seat of a waiting taxi.

The taxi driver saw police in pursuit and jumped out of the car. The fugitive then tried to take the wheel but as he did, a police officer got into the now-moving taxi, Superintendent Williams said.

There was another struggle and another shot was fired by the fleeing man.

"The vehicle then continued moving forward and we understand hit a tram safety zone and then catapulted through the air and landed on the roof," Mr Williams said.

Despite some witnesses saying they heard a number of shots, Mr Williams said police did not fire at the man as he attempted to escape in the taxi.

The man was taken to the Royal Melbourne Hospital with shoulder injuries, while three police officers were treated for cuts and abrasions at St Vincent's Hospital.

The taxi driver was unharmed.

Chris Nicholls, of MacLeod, was working in an office in Collins Street when he heard the commotion outside.

"I heard one shot. I went to have a look and I saw the car flip over and lots of cops. They smashed open the (taxi) window," he said. "It wasn't what you expect to see every day. It was an intense few minutes."

Voula Totikidis had just left a doctor's appointment in Collins Place when she saw the man run into the taxi.

"I saw the taxi flip over. There were gunshots and police running," she said.

Courier driver Raneet Bains said he saw police surround the taxi and the taxi driver flee.

"The police had surrounded him and he tried to speed off but the car just revved," he said.

Mr Bains said a gunshot went through the left passenger door and he heard bullets whiz past in the direction of Collins Place.

Mr Williams said it was amazing that nobody was seriously injured and praised the bravery of the officer who wrestled with the man.

Mr Williams said the arrested man was suspected of committing a number of burglaries and would face serious charges after being interviewed.

- with Jamie Berry, AAP


As far as I'm concerned, that guy should be given a commendation for showing how incredibly inept Victoria Police are (then sent to jail for robbing electrical shops).

Oh, and carjacking a taxi is just beautiful...I loved that part!

When 2 Police can't take down a suspect without having one of their guns grabbed?

That's just keystone cops-style comedy gold!

The officers involved are being touted as heroes after their daring pursuit. Say what?

They should be fired from the job with no pension for dragging the Police further into embarassment!

They not only gave this guy a gun, 2 of them couldn't take him down, and it led to a chase through the city in which shots were fired in public, from a police issue handgun!

If someone stole a gun from me and used it downtown, I know I'd be arrested for negligence!


Utter failures.

Utter, utter, shameful failures.

At least they didn't shoot him dead like every other time.

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Even in Dreams.

I had a crazy dream last night, where I was at Cherry bar, and this guy comes up to me and says "I am a physiotherapist".

I said "That's great man, congratulations".

He told me he was going to hurt me.

I said "We'd better go outside for that then".

So out we went, out into the alley, and he grabs me by the head, and makes my neck go "crack!", and I felt all the stress leave, and basically felt amazing.

Then he grabbed me by the wrist, and pulled it suddenly, then the other one.

And he did all these crazy judo/aikido/physio moves on me, until I felt totally rejuvenated.

I said "I thought you said you were going to hurt me?"

And he said "I am", and handed me the bill.

And I died.

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Monday, January 17, 2005

Oh Mara!

You all know Mara.

She's the hot serial-dater and furious rambulationalist, who stops by every now and then, lesaves a comment, then disappears back to her favourite bar for fun and goodtimes.

But today, in my usual blog-crawl, I happened across something so incredibly special, so moving, so god0damned lovely, I just had to post it here.

So here it is:

Expressions of Knifey Love from the Bar

When Knifey was bemoaning the fact that he's spent a bunch of money making CD's but hasn't sold as many as he would have liked to, I had to let him know how much we dig him here!

I bought my Knifey CD from this place out of Seattle. Came within a week. Well worth the $10 it cost me including shipping. Once I got the CD, I had to share a listen with some friends and some tequila. We say it's great music to have as a backdrop for a night of drinking and discussing timely world issues. Like is Petrone better than Tarantula?

If Jill didn't have her naturally-curly hair, she would have flown straight to Australia for the Knifey Girlfriend Competition.


Mara, I'm totally have blown me away.

That was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.

Thank you to all of your friends too, they are funny.

Special thanks to Jill for proving that even redheads with wavy hair can be utterly devastatingly hott !!!

Consider my day made.

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.