The Real Deal

Do you even know who you are behind your mask?!

27 January 2019, @ 4:53pm; I cannot let this go. I no longer give a fuck about “what is proper and acceptable” behaviour for the fucking internet.

I’m going through my old blog posts and am laughing at my incredulity. I caused the apocalypse – I caused MY own apocalypse, the end of my world as I knew it. And because I never think about how my actions may impact others, I tend to initiate a domino effect…

Well if that’s the case. Why stop now?!

I’m digging up my old posts from the grave (draft folder) and I will be releasing them. Some stuff is deleted (migrated to a private blog) and there of course are my paper journals and shit.

I mean, if I’ve burned all my bridges correctly, everyone is dead to me now. Just as I am dead to them. And if I am the Queen of the damned, married to Hades, and herald of my self, then what have I got to lose?

I don’t have any self respect.

There once was a girl named Sara. She was pretty much my only true friend growing up. She was fucked up and so was I. Pretty much nearly everything on my blog has been about love. All I knew about love was from people around me.

My love for her was that of a sister I never had. She was like another half of me. I wrote a piece of fiction last year, it was about the fall and rise of Adam. I’ll find it and post it later.

But anyway. Sara was the best writer and most creative and artistic person I ever knew. I was jealous but not jealous. I admired her ability, but I saw us as complimentary rather than in competition. She drew portraits, I did landscape. She played guitar, I sang. She wrote, I spoke. We were a fucking dynamic dramatic duo. No one could stand against us.

She wrote the script below. I kept it because I was like her super number 1 fan. She wrote that back in 2002.


I come from a broken family. Broken only because the 3 brothers that were holding us together all died in 1999. Mummo (paternal grandmother) died 3 years ago. I don’t see any of my cousins. The ones I genuinely get along well with live in Queensland. But they’re like 10 years older than me.

I don’t like the cousins my age only because there is so much drama and arguing and infighting amongst themselves. And between them and the other cousins.

I was caught between the two warring sides at mummo’s funeral. Their bullshit petty civil war was also the reason none of my family (except my mum) attended my wedding in 2006. Because they didn’t want to see each other. But really, I didn’t get to see any of them.

Left to right: Peter, me, Paul.

Back row: Matt, Sarah, David.

Front row: Kaylee, Melissa, me, Daniel, Lawrie, Hayley.

17th November 1991. Hmmph. The number 17 again. Ladytron. They only want you when you’re 17, when you’re 21, you’re no fun.


I called myself the metatrope because I am not a trope. Am I a real fucking person. I can’t help it that so much of fiction and legend mirror so much of my life.

But it certainly fits into my personal theory about what really is a god.

Gods are deities only because they are archetypal memories. The closer to real life they are, the more fucked up shit happens. And then you realised that they’re not perfect. They’re just “larger than life”.

They grab your attention and you want to do it be or whatever the fuck.. just to be closer and nearer to them. Hoping they’ll touch your life and bring light to your otherwise grey and dreary world.

I want that far away from me, thanks. I have enough fucking drama without their bullshit. I’d rather have my close circle of close friends and trusted family… and be “magicians” amidst the mundane.

Much more preferable than the enslavement and rigid rules that you must bow and bend and bend and bend lower and lower until you break.

No thanks. Love. Freedom and love. Choose who you chain yourself to. Make sure they want you chained to them.