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I had a blog from 2013-2016. It sort of consumed my life in a way that embarrasses me now but I'm so far removed from that person (child) so it doesn't really matter. I wrote about books and internet fandom. I wore button up tops and drew cat whiskers on my face. Perhaps it would be better for everyone if we all took a leaf out of her book.

I can't write unless it's for something. I'm not a for pleasure sort of person. The ether is my audience now. 

 I keep seeing tweets about how the Australian media scene is now so dismal if you're young don't even think about trying to break into it. Someone kindly telling you to go fuck yourself, or move to England or something. Copywrite for the New York Times. Or stay here and make TikToks for The Guardian about how 9/11 happened. 

This is my defeatest blog. It is the weakest act of resistance to a dying national independent media scene. I am my own conglomerate. This is the new Media Empire. I am like Rupert Murdoch to a lot of you. 

I will leave you with a thought: We need Stacey Dooley and Louis Theroux to go toe to toe. I'll adjudicate. 


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