Story 1: Patrick White  

 

Being a celebrity is like being in the mob. This guy, this guy, he’s a made man. He’s made his bones, but being a backup act with a father who sings in clubs for free makes him a joke among musicians. It’s his attitude. He tells me that people say that he is just like his father. That he’ll never be signed as a solo act. He’s an insider’s joke. He wants to be the star. He wants all the attention. He committed fraud for it. He wants to “own” people. He demands that people worship him. They hide his true nature because he pays them to. Once upon a time, I used to make up PR stories for him. I guess he pays a Burson Marstellar-type company for his optics. He’s Jekyll and Hyde, but you can’t rip the mask off, because too many people are complicit. He said he would steal more money to buy a be-er team.

Psychopaths are only nice to people that they need something from; well, they’re only nice at the beginning. Once they’ve got you in the back of the van or held in the basement or in a back room you start to see who they truly are. Most people don’t get to see it.

Psychopaths are literally the nicest people on earth. I don’t like psychopaths. I think he is a psychopath, so I don’t care about his fame. I didn’t even know that he would be in the back room when I walked in there. He would walk in later or be there to pounce and to try to dissociate me to force me to stay. Or he would follow me back into the other room.

His fake redemption arc was planned from the start, so that people would think he had changed. Dumb people. The unsophisticated. After he had killed my chance for kids.

Some of the worst people I have ever met are celebrities. Celebrities have a mob mentality, and some of them think that they have to hide the crimes of other celebrities. They pour water on controversy and make it like seem like something it is not. They need cronies. They put the fires out. We light the matches.

I cut my teeth in London, I even made my bones there, but the work was taken. They said Australia didn’t matter and that it was British writing now. Colonials.

I cut my teeth in the pool and not the pond. If I didn’t want to be in the pool. I certainly didn’t want to be in the pond. They have weaponised celebrity to get away with criminal activity. They have flexed against the wealthy with their celebrity. They try to make the pond and pool sound like the best thing in the world. That we all must emulate them; they flex against billionaires because they think that fame and not money make them important. They weaponize their celebrity. He is always trying to put me into another category, to trope me incorrectly. I ask why billionaires and celebrities almost never marry each other. It’s 1995 and wealthy women like me won’t marry male celebrities, they are not even interested in them.

I tell him that he will never get an American audience because Americans don’t like people like men like him. I say they don’t like heroin, and they don’t like hypersexuals. They don’t creep easily.

Girls in the pond love to be nice to the guys in the pool because you never know if one of the guys in pool can fish them out of the pond. I was in the pool, but when I went back to the pond, he said he would put me in a fish tank with a shark.

And sometimes, just sometimes when people have “come up” in the pool and not the pond and somebody from the pond thinks that they can overrule somebody in the pool or harass them or bring them under their control. That “somebody” in the pond doesn’t know about the pool; they haven’t cut their teeth in the pool but in the pond. I don’t know what that other person’s done in the pool; there’s no way to check the veracity of my word, there is nothing on Google, no IMDb. It’s been done on purpose. You don’t advertise a crime when you commit one. There are people who are hard at work washing the internet, but you’ve got to know where to find those people. They work hard at cleaning the optics, changing dates and figures.

So, I just pretend I don’t know what they’re talking about. They are in the pond and not the pool, and they don’t want me to be paid for my work, or to have someone from the pool charged, because that person will be “real nice” to them, if they stalk me and harass me.

Sitting there with that producer, I kept wondering how we were going to make this person appear likable, and why we were creating a character for him. Who are they, or who am I, for that matter, doesn’t matter; they’re just people who had £7 million who stole more money. I’m just a person who didn’t want to be in the industry, who kept trying to call the police and Australia House. In fact, I did call the police at one point when I was being held hostage in Brixton in the middle of the night. I didn’t know where I was. I called 999.

Isn’t it terrifying for people to know that they can just disappear into this system if a celebrity wants something, they demand not to be held accountable to any laws of any state. Hey, they just fly to a private island with no paedophilia laws, and women held in basements. Anything could happen to someone who doesn’t want to climb the celebrity ladder. They can be held hostage by a celebrity because celebrities expect no laws to be enforced. Is that where all the disappeared women are?

I knew that I was in trouble when he started investigating who I am, who I knew and how easy it would be to get away with the crime. He yelled at me when he found out that I grew up in a small leafy street, with dressage arenas, polo horses, and racing identities. Everyone but the Closed Brethren White Supremacist lotto winner was on horseback and a thoroughbred. I had a Disney Life, Grand Homes Edition, Forbes Christie’s Auction house, in the same small cul-de-sac as one of Australia’s five High Court Judges, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. He yelled at me because the head of the NSW State Bar taught me to ride when I was 7 years old. The girl who was raised in the Closed Brethren informed him that I grew up in the same street as a High Court Judge. It is not something I would mention. I was hiding our wealth there, so I wasn’t used or in even more danger. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. Who but a criminal gang would bring up that I was raised on an Avenue with a High Court Judge? He accused me of it. He yelled at me about it. Like it was a bad thing. That was the first time that I saw him for who he was. He started swearing at me because I was raised in the same street as a judge. He said that he didn’t want any from the judiciary, politicians, police or lawyers near this, or he could “get into a lot of trouble.” He said that I was in trouble because I grew up in the same avenue as a High Court Judge. I think that he brought the scum who had won the lotto over to England to find out that there was literally no dirt on me to be found. He brought the lowest person over in Australia, a Closed Brethren (they are all Anglo-Saxon, they don’t like ethnic or people of colour) who didn’t have any political connections, no good reputation, no friends of billionaires, no they needed the White Supremacist who used to sit outside my house and yell the N word. The Closed Brethren are nothing in Australia, an oddity, they needed an oddity. They always say egregious things about normal Australians including the High Court Judge. I had to explain to her not to yell at them as they are more important than the Closed Brethren.

“If she knows anyone important, I can’t get away with fraud,” he yelled, ignoring that I was in the room. That’s why they needed her. They would always converse as though I were not even there. “What are we going to do? We have already signed fraudulent documents.”

I suggest that they pay me and NDA me, but he says he needs to pretend that it’s his work and not mine, and he can’t permit a paper trail. That he can’t get the big money unless he pretends that it’s “his work.” They were arguing about whether to, “put me in the orgies” or not. Other women there were being trafficked for sex. He says that no, I am too special, and that I would, ‘have paws all over me.’ The Closed Brethren was having the time of her life after being considered too vulgar and being turned down by all GPS, Dural and Kings Boys. She later boasted about being on Rumspringa. But she is known for making up lies about people and lies to steal a huge sum money to help someone who she regarded to be her husband. He doesn’t own his copyright. He took down a public company. I warned him that you can’t defraud a public company, and that he should at least be paying gift tax.

They got Capone on tax fraud.

I will never apologise for not being a beautiful celebrity. I am forced to wear a skirt every day that exposes my backside. As I am walking along, being forced to go over there, people snigger as a man behind me walks into a pole. They said that they would weaponise Australia’s racism of not liking olive skin and ethnic women against me. This was a room predominantly of men of colour, so I was told that they liked my look and my body type. They like to have Anglo-Saxon men preside over what is regarded to be beautiful though.

I was being forced to go into the back room, thunderous Drum and Bass Jungle music played over the yelling. No one could hear them. I was being held under duress, forced to walk over there, but he consulted a lawyer about how to commit fraud, and he said if he held me under duress but kept the door ajar, he could claim it wasn’t coercive. He could threaten a rape tape and tell me, ‘What would happen to me.’ He just had to threaten and dissociate me. The other women couldn’t earn him money. They were a cost centre, I was a profit centre.

He assumed that he was the most important person that I had ever met. He was wrong. He was the least important “important person” that I had ever met, and I said so. I said, “Everyone I know is richer than you are. But they are nice to me. This room has the poorest men that I have ever met in it. I’ve never been treated with disrespect before.” It was new to me. He said to get away with this, he had to pretend that I didn’t know anyone important, otherwise people wouldn’t help him, because they don’t want to go to jail. He said they can only do things like this to people who don’t matter. He asked me directly, “Who is the most important Australian that you’ve got a photo of you standing next to?”

“Prime Minister Bob Hawke,” I reply.

I don’t realise that they are talking about fabricating a story about me having taken drugs in England, not to take away my good reputation, but to have an option of “sticking a needle in my arm and forcing the appearance of a heroin overdose.” They ruin my reputation and my families anyway. There is a modest area to Dural, and a dressage and gymkhana area to Dural. The Closed Brethren live in a small single-level house with an illegal leaking basement, and a tiny tennis court squeezed on top of a creek. I point out to her when she boasts,

“look around as you drive back home, everyone here has tennis courts and no one boasts about that type of thing here.”

I was streets ahead of everyone in the room. I was the only one who owned property.  I was 24 and I already had a property portfolio, and we had multiple holiday homes. The sublime Quay Apartments with the best view of the Harbour Bridge, Opera House and Botanic Gardens in Sydney, you know the building, it’s right in front of the Intercontinental blocking the view of the lower floors. I lived there with a Tara when we were both at Sydney. Where the Sydney elite decamp to in the summer, our summer home is on the same street as Nicole Kidman’s. My friend from Abbotsleigh brought her sister over, as we are about the same age. We all had bonfires on the beach. The Gold Coast apartment is a who’s who; they had to take the Surnames off the front bell system as too many top 200 Australians lived there. I already had a degree, and I was going home to do two more Master’s degrees, plus I was the only person dating somebody in that stratospherically different wealth of hundreds of millions of dollars. I was the only one in the room in a cap and gown. I had just met the person who was the owner of a French champagne brand, but he left to go to Sardinia. My family mixed with the moneyed classes of the world, and not of Australia, and they didn’t mix with the celebrity types or royalty in London at the time; that all came later. All this put me in danger because he committed fraud against an important person.

The men were worried about the billionaires’ club stopping them and forcing them to pay tax, suing them, charging them, and reporting them to the authorities. He said that he would have the Australian media “eating out of my hands”, “easy peasy”. Nice as pie. An important man like me. They get overly excited about celeb-rit-ees from overseas he said. They don’t have to report the truth; they report what I tell them to report and do what I tell them to do.

His gay paedophile hooker kept saying he comes to Australia to sleep with Australian female celebrities that he women he feels sorry for, those women are devoted to him because he felt sorry for them, and now they’ve slept with a big celebrity, they had a ride on the roller coaster and now his hooker who was waiting on a different floor, swans back in once they leave the building. He pimps himself out. They have spent the night with someone in the pool and not the pond. His favourite hookers are waiting on another floor for when his now sexier namechecking ‘colonial’ leaves the room with a swagger.

They don’t know how they talk about the Colonials. We are pitied, silly, inferior art, there to belittle, and use, and he says his trick in life is to know how to make people who are lower down feel important. We write bad lyrics and terrible music, not at all like his, he says. He feels sorry for us. He belittles them and then makes people feel important if they touch him. I would never allow him to touch me or to sleep with me. I was devoted to the success of other men. Keeping them safe and away from being ruined by his fraud against me.

He told my friends from the pond, that I am a liar and a terrible person and that he would ensure that my word lacks veracity, because he would lose too much money, and the money would go to me and not him, my descendants and not his descendants, he specifically made a point of saying in 95, his children, we he had them, would need to be thought of and as capable of producing my level of work. But I had a degree in literature, I promised my Slavic gentry grandmother, and she implored me to read all the Russian greats. I read a book a day as a child. I learnt soliloquies every month or so for Speech and Drama. I liked improv.

When I next saw my naturopath in Manly, she said they’re saying terrible things about you in England. I know they’re not true. I know they’re not true, and now my celeb clients won’t be the same with me again; they’re all treating me differently. What happened over there? Why are they lying about you? Why are people saying nasty things about you? I guess he interfered with their treatment so that he wasn’t caught for fraud.

You know what you do when you’re escaping being trafficked to work against your will, do you know what you do? Do you cut and run? Do you flee? Like we did when the Royal Court of St Petersburg collapsed? Do you sneak off and buy a ticket home when your minders aren’t observing your every move? You don’t want to stay in contact with anyone, and you go no contact, and I went no contact, and I asked not to stay friends with anybody, and I left.  I was being trafficked and forced to work against my will. Force Majeure.

I didn’t want to be famous or well-known; there was no ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you.’ I kept saying, “why stay, I am richer than you are. Practically everyone we know has more than 7 million pounds. That’s not a lot of money.”

I wanted to fall in love in my own pond. But I was in the pool and not the pond. The rules for the pool applied, and they would belittle and condescend to the pond, lying to it. The pond wouldn’t realise, and no one had their teeth cut to see what had been done. I cut my teeth in the pool, not the pond. They send stalkers from the pond. They could be charged, or charged interest. I am not sure that they understand. Some people in the pond are bedazzled by the pool. I don’t want to be in the pond or the pool. They want to be in the pool and they want me behind them in the pond. Harass me and maybe they could be in the pool and not the pond. Get in line behind us they say.

In Australia, they didn’t see any of the White Australia Policy racists as being better than me. Only the racist and the fraudulent saw them as being better than me, no, they needed to create that. They yelled at me in the school hall. I was never bullied; I was stalked. I was well-liked, I threw huge parties, I suggested that I bring the daughters of politicians over, but I didn’t know that I would be inviting them to an orgy or to be trafficked. No, I didn’t know that. I suggested that I invite the friends of a top local politician over, his daughter lived near me and visited me at Avoca. I suggested that I invite the friends of the daughter of the Australian Attorney General from school. They didn’t play his band on Triple J Some of those girls liked pop music. I didn’t; I liked alternative music. The bands that played the union building, level 3, on Wednesday at lunchtime, at our much maligned Sydney University were more my type. I tell another band that they are just like men from Sydney Uni.

The Closed Brethren won the lotto, she didn’t finish school, she wasn’t raised being allowed to listen to music, she was despised and a vulgar, racist outcast, she didn’t fit in because she wasn’t raised in society. She couldn’t write lyrics, she had not played an instrument. She told me to kill myself so that she could pretend that there were hundreds of songs about her. She said that she had already told people …so now I had to die. So they couldn’t find out. She threatened me at the mall with her disgusting sister. Both said they were paid with celebrity sex for lies. They told me that they were supposed to try to get me to commit suicide. So no one found out how many millions were stolen.

His fraud has been on full display for people. Not one of those women could date in the moneyed classes…they viciously attacked me for hire because they said that I knew too many important people. They couldn’t swim in the pool; they had nothing to offer to the pool or the pond. They were egregious for hire and jealous. They don’t write music or books.

The White Australia Policy stalkers were paid to attack someone for fraud and asked to racially vilify the daughter of a Ukrainian refugee. They will never dissolve the joint racist society of men who hide plagiarism and fraud against a woman who has dated men even richer than they now are. There is no higher ground, only hiding larceny, racketeering, embezzlement, and grand theft. It’s practically treasonous and based on racism, and the paid false witness of social pariahs from the Closed Brethren, they have defrauded Australia and disguised a massive Australian tax fraud for treason. I don’t think that they believe in taxes or in multiculturalism. I can’t understand why she called my grandmother and I the N word. She marched around saluting Hitler.

It’s funny that after so much fraud and plagiarism, and it’s funny that after so many illegal things and so many crimes, he thinks that he keeps everything just because he outlasted the statute, and people have helped him to do that. I don’t need the men in the room, I know better ones at home, but the White Supremacists do. The White Supremacists are not artists or creatives. He said that he is safe now.

People who cut their teeth in Australia and not in England don’t understand this room. This room is for cutting your teeth for worldwide success, and it’s brutal and for brutes. I try to explain it. I learnt to sledge there like a pro. I can sledge almost as well as Shane Warne. They tell me the uneducated Brits find the Australians to be boorish and twee. Only we are exciting, they say. But they are just narcissists, and what they do is boring, but it has the optics of excitement. But not me, I fought to the death.

When they mentioned the High Court Judge, I raised them the friends of the Attorney General’s daughter. It was hot-poker Chess for people who were just thugs with baseball bats and baseball hats on backwards. This wasn’t poker; it was Texas Hold ‘Em, and he made up the rules. He was the croupier, and Vincent sat there shaking and rocking back and forth in tears, sobbing like a child, his inner child on display.

From the slums of Britain, he said that he would rise to the monarchy. Anesthetized people check the internet for their facts, but they are not true. He pointed to his character arc, which would be a fake redemption arc; he was going to steal and pretend to be nice and sorry later. He said he had to steal to be an aristocrat. Just like an aristocrat would.

My sister had a boyfriend just like him, with piercing blue eyes. He was a psychopath. But this one, this one was good-looking due to surgery. He quite literally slept with anything, not in a consensual polyamorous way; he said he was going to force the male band members to satisfy him so that he owned them. That he would own them for good. He said that he wanted to own people. He did, so far, he owned me, and he purchased a prostitute that he liked from a high-class brothel; he pimped her out for favours. People didn’t know.

They would say when someone couldn’t make the grade, “it’s not going to happen for him.” They wanted to rape and kill the best, the most gifted; it was a mob mentality, and they could just slaughter a man for being too gifted. The more gifted they were, the more powerful they could become.

There are sledging matches, punch-ups, there is physical violence, women are held under duress, sexually assaulted, and the lowest-class women from Australia are transported back to Britain to knowingly help with grand larceny. Wait, we need them back for a minute to help us to commit treason.

They are the very, very worst, and the very lowest Australia has to offer. He said he needed the lowest. He said that the way to get someone to do what you want is to take the very lowest of people and make them feel important. That was his best trick in life, he said, and why he is so successful. They told him that a Ukrainian refugee, even with the equivalent of 200 million, and yes I had stalkers, like the rich do, they imported my stalkers who wanted to ensure that I had no additional money. “You have too much money for a refugee,” they used to say.

The gay male hooker and paedophile lied to my family when I returned home/ Closed Brethren outcasts lied to my school, and now they all defame me openly, saying that the rich girl must have taken drugs and heroin in London. But I didn’t, the only difference was trauma. But she’s just the front woman for fraud. We can take their houses due to the egregious things that they say. Not to mention the amount of money, interest and tax that she agreed to help steal for them. That’s why you need a phony drug story.

There is a woman who was prostituting herself in the room and there is a woman who is held captive as a sex slave after being “bought” free and clear from a brothel. The celebrity sniggers and chortles, saying, “I had to buy her, she was the best, I had to give the brothel some money for her.” She was their best, and now she has to do exactly what I say. Snigger.

He said that he had to “give the brothel some money for her, of course, because they were going to lose money after training her so well. Isn’t she the best you’ve ever had?” She’s be-er than all the models. She was a white skinned captive. Yes, she was prettier than I am. Her skin had to be extra pale and unmarked. She was also prettier than the White Supremacists. He couldn’t stand moles and said that he “didn’t really like sleeping with black women”. He gave a model a 4 out of 10 in bed for having a mole near her breasts. He said, “It were disgusting, it just ruined everything. She’s supposed to look like she does on the pages of magazines.” Then he rated her vagina. If you know the type. I heard all the ratings and took offence on their behalf. I am a feminist after all, and they were rating well-known women in bed. No piece of me wanted that, I made sure that I wasn’t going to be his piece of “axx”. Sex couldn’t be a cover story for fraud; I am too clever for that. He said that he was worried that his fans would find out that I said “No”. I had delicate ears then, but I was never short of a quip. I know when to stay quiet. I was from the GPS system, but they didn’t want any wealthy elite women there because the celebrity said that they “would talk down to me, like you do, and I need people who tell me I am good all the time.”

When he said that he wasn’t going to permit “his whore” to go out into the sun because he and the men that he forced her to service preferred “very pale skin”, I thought about quipping, “Oh, for all the times that you fly her overseas.” Oh, right, but that would be trafficking, though. So I didn’t say it. Trafficking.

Before I knew about the orgies, I wanted to bring my mixed-race friend over, whom I had visited Paris and Italy with the previous summer. She had family in London. The men of colour, 20 to 30 rappers and celebrated DJs had asked for some “sisters” with whom to fraternise, but he said that he didn’t want any women with freckles, moles or dark skin there. That he was in control. That he wanted white skin. He didn’t want any marks on that skin. What he said goes. Skin fetish. It was a great room before the celebrity came in and took control, and before he wanted to own my work and rule the situation.

He said that the more he stole the more likely it would be that he would get to keep everything. He could hire better lawyers and a better PR team. He said he would clean his optics with the royal family and important people, and then he would be bleached as white as snow; he said that they would unwittingly wash his optics for him. Then, when he was seen with them, they could never be charged.

You know what I say, if you commit a felony, go and stand next to Oprah. If you steal work from a woman and breach copyright law, go and stand next to Taylor Swift. If you sleep with someone underage try and find a Prime Minster, or a President to stand next to. I will soon have my MA in PR, but you don’t learn this at university. I learnt it in the room.

I cut my teeth in the pool, not the pond. He’s a phony, a fraud, a fake. He’s got squibs on pretending that he’s been hit. The fraud worked so well that they don’t want it to end. He said that he would marry someone one day who was happy to risk being indicted and charged with tax fraud. I said don’t bring down an A-lister, they’ve worked too hard.

He said he needed someone who wouldn’t draw attention away from him. He thumped his chest, screaming, “It’s my fame, it’s my fame. And no one! No one! Is going to take my fame away from me!”

He said that if she agreed, fraud would have her and their princely children ensconced with the royal family. The fraud was worth it, he said. He said that he would be “stupid to not take the chance of stealing work and money to get his children into the monarchy.”

He says that he is only a fraudster if people know he is a fraudster and what he did. That’s why he was so careful not to leave a paper trail. He said that he wanted me dead.

“I want your children dead, I want anyone who helps you dead, I want your animals and anything you love dead.” He sent the gay hooker from the King’s School to lie to everyone. He said that is why he needed a paedophile for his situation, that paedophiles “always help with situations like this.” He said that he would introduce him to the famous upper-class paedophiles so that he had more power, not me. He weaponised paedophilia.

He told me to never have a husband or he would destroy him. He told me to never have sex again. I was dating someone whose family had invested in Microsoft at startup, and knew the Gates family. He said that from this moment forward, my life would be forever changed, that he was going to force me to sacrifice my life for his life. He said that he owned me and my work. He said that he wanted to rule Brittania.

I am from a one-degree-of-separation family, and sometimes I attend one-degree-of-separation parties. Some guy who was from a band with a needle sticking out of one arm and who had two prostitutes stuck under the other wasn’t someone with whom I wanted to be associated. Plus at Sydney Uni we just didn’t like or respect that style of music. This was an indie and alternative scene. I told them that they would have played there. No one respected manufactured pop; we all listened to Triple J, and one of the announcers was in our Patrick White tutorial. They were all tutorial classes for Nobel Laureate Patrick White.

Chapter 2: “Mary Shelley”

I’ve been making monsters. Sometimes I wish I could go to another planet. I don’t like this one anymore. I’ve been told there are three heavens. They say that the first will be last and the last will be the first. I hope there is a heaven without celebrities.

Life is not a beauty contest, is it ? Is it ? It’s not a brothel down here, is it? Is it?

But some celebrities and their friends are a bit like the Illuminati. They have a permit to commit crimes and even to force child sacrifice. They need a communication breakdown and to triangulate; otherwise “everyone will know that the lyrics aren’t mine.” They put babies outside the city. They prevent the inured from having children. Women know how to manoeuvre away from powerful men who think that they can have any woman. That I didn’t sabotage everything on purpose. Celebrities know how to put themselves first and how to stay first.

If there is one thing I know about him, he takes away every No, especially a hard No that had veracity. He’s a not a consent man. He is a “forcing” man. Everyone knew, that’s why no one wanted him. No, I wasn’t allowed to shower, was forced to have sex, wasn’t allowed to do my make-up or my hair.

My grandmother said to the Closed Brethren girl, “you are not a Dural girl, you are not like the girls from around here. They speak well, they stand up straight.” She was spitting and cussing and using racist words, and screeching slurs at my aristocratic grandmother. She went crazy inside our mansion. The white trash racist lotto winner. My grandmother said, “Get away from my granddaughter.” She politely requested that she leave and not come back. She sat out the front stalking me, driven to harass and vilify racially.

So, what did she do? She stalked me, she stalked us, the unwelcome visitor revving her loud quadbike engine at the top of our driveway. No one wanted to call the police on a 14-year-old, who was struggling to fit in after being raised in a closed sect with access to any pop culture, entertainment or music. She told people that she was my friend, but she was my stalker. She just wanted to be like the other girls. There were only white Anglo-Saxons in the Closed Brethren; she seemed to be unaware of ethnic people, and they were taught to feel superior to the rest of society. That they knew things that we didn’t, such as special messages from God. She was raised without music, movies, television. I gave her a Cars tape because we all felt sorry for her. By then, I was playing Here Comes the Sun on my guitar and Chopin on the piano. I had been raised on music; my grandmother, Lucy Rachmanioff, insisted that I listen to symphonies, and I overplayed The Cars until it wasn’t complex enough for me anymore. It lost its alchemy. I gave her the tape.

It’s “Ugly” ethnic to Anglo-Saxon, educated woman to dumb woman, old to young, bad to good, smart to dumb. Blue eyes to golden eyes that flicker with flames. Simple minds believe in juxtaposition. Tropes.

Don’t go around helping monsters. Don’t be complicit in lies. It’s caused more crimes.

Men take women’s work for granted. They put their name on it. I want to challenge Shelley, Keats and Byron to a lyric’s competition one day. I’ll outdo them. I will win. They rest on their creative laurels in their life of ease.I wanted to be Mary Shelley. I wanted to challenge them to a lyrics-writing competition. I didn’t intend to be a co-creator of Frankenstein. There are screws in his neck, and he hears demonic voices. He can see dead people. I wonder if her words were mixed in with his, but he took credit. Everyone knows Shelley was an Ahole.

I’ll be like Mary Shelley, helping to create a monster. I’ll help to create Frankenstein. Take the best and sew it together into a terrifying character.

Don’t be tempted to sabre rattle. I’ve been sabrage rattling. You’ll have a thousand recordings with truths that “don’t scare easy” when a sabre is rattled. I made those recordings so no one could scare me. The strange thing about the truth is that it doesn’t change. There is background noise. Pierce Morgan, CNN, CBS, NBC, ABC. The news of the day is in the background.

Those good ole boys and their white trash racist girls. They can’t drink anymore. They can’t feel joy anymore. They’ve worn out their pleasure centres. All they can do now is to raise hell.

Chapter 3: Edgar Allan Poe

 

You can’t force something to love you.

I am that leaking tap.

That ticking clock under the floorboards.

It’s a bit like a snake swallowing it’s prey whole. You can clearly see the outline of a dead body inside the snake. The snake is choking on its prey. The chalk line is visible. The snake isn’t fooling anyone.

He’s always extorted me with the threat of a pile on. Never be a part of a pile on. Never be a part of a gang rape. They are one and the same. No one wants to set the captives free.

They had multiple trips to Byron after having helped to set this in motion. No one cared about being set up and all the rapes. They are fakes too. They are phoney. When no one believes you about lyrics, no one believes you about rapes.

I was over Byron when the Mosmans moved there and grew dreadlocks as a veneer. It’s a cop out. The Mosmans became prostitutes. They said that it was for easy money; they said ‘normal people’ money isn’t good enough for narcs, so they just became Byron Narc hookers.  Everyone thought they were pathetic. Everyone. A Byron address doesn’t make you cool. They just want to be looked at. Everyone thought they were uncool. I pointed out that you could see Balmoral Beach from their childhood bedrooms.

Have you met Wayne, the guy who claims he can levitate? Go ahead Wayne, levitate.
Where are you from in Sydney Wayne?

“Sorry I can’t divulge that.”

“Why?”

“My parents are in the CIA, so it’s confidential.”

“Ok Wayne. I’m not going to believe you can levitate unless I see it with my own eyes.”

He offers to teach me to levitate for a small fee. We all know a Wayne.

I always double down. I pirouette around those Byron’s. They are not sophisticates. They regurgitate things they have read in books and things other cool Byron’s say. Ok, I’m going to move to Byron and quote other people and pretend I thought of it. My word, the spiritual narcissists all move to Byron, don’t they? Or they start churches. Or become celeb-rit-ees.

I’ve got their measure. I’m so disappointed in them. It’s unhealthy. Everything is from his perspective. POV. Where is that mean boy and his co-conspirators? The issue didn’t go away because you ignored it. It inured someone. What do abusive men do?

Do they fabricate, pay for, accumulate and disseminate egregious defamation on their target? Do they exploit, target, eviscerate their prey? Do they swallow them whole?

The most telling thing is that when the first 5 or 6 tranches ran out, he couldn’t replicate it.

Love because you are a trauma survivor, don’t think I won’t have them force you to break. And later. He said that me being raped was the best darn thing that had ever happened to him.

He said that people who don’t want to be famous or who don’t have the safety of public fans trolling other people for them just don’t matter. They weaponise their worshippers. You can just pay to be worshipped he said to me. He said that he wanted to choose who is worshipped. That’s why he must force the band to sleep with him. Idol.

He said that he just didn’t want to have a reputation as a lunkhead anymore. Lunkheads don’t get the big bucks he said, creatives and artists are paid more than singers, he said. Pretending to be a creative who can write increased the money he would be paid. He said that he wanted to pretend to be a clever man. He said that he would weaponise his fans against royalty and that he would turn the monarchy into a democracy.

The point was to make it too difficult to fight back to fight for justice, and to have all the money and credit taken from that time. Everything is a lie, and every verification was thwarted.

He’s the most egregious man in show business. Look at the high and mighty and how egregious they are to people who criticise what they do, their egos, their self-serving navel gazing. Why would they disseminate egregious things?

I didn’t want to have to have sex with any of the men. I was disgusted by the racists and their acceptance of the racism. I couldn’t wait to escape that room. Unlike them I wasn’t there of my own free will. How egotistical to think someone like me would sleep with men collaborating, complicit and passive while people stole, raped and coerced. Having that lovely Anglo-Saxon skin and blue eyes, not golden eyes and skin like mine. Oh well, no harm done checking on what the sociopath wanted carried out for him. It only took a lifetime away, a generation, and a life. My eyes are golden like flames and lick with fire.

Good works don’t mean they are good people. Jimmy Saville. Virtue signalling.

Tell me? I always knew I wasn’t writing lyrics; you should sue him so you are held as complicit. Of course, I knew everything; I know more than you do. It’s a rort, a scam. With death threats. Can’t wait until you try to brandish racist whores from your orgies and their racist claims. Ick girls. What is it that makes you guys so self-assured about not being held complicit? Everyone always knew, you guys must be straight off the turnip truck like your racist white trash orgy whores.

On the way to Glastonbury, I had to start a fight on the bus. They were coming for them, as they say. They were “taking them down” at Glastonbury.

“I don’t want to do it.” The rapper said. “I don’t want to do it, but I have to, they are too gifted, and a lot more gifted than I am, and I have to stop them before they become more powerful, or we are all going to jail. I have to stop his career before it starts. We’ve got no choice.” I wasn’t permitted to bring my skirt or my good clothes. I had to buy things to take to the festival because I was travelling and I had limited clothes with me.

The other Antipodeans, the New Zealanders called me “Princess”. In fact, everyone lied, because they were committing crimes to make money, so I became the target. To give the impression of little money or fashion sense, they used Coercive Control techniques. A reverse make-over. I was forced to wear the same outfit every day, I wasn’t allowed to shower at the apartment, to do my hair or to do my makeup. I snuck out daily to work out and use the facilities at the gym, as they couldn’t afford the gym, I was safe there. They said that I was totally against working out, looking nice or going to the gym. I worked out more than all the men. I dressed differently when I wasn’t forced to go and see the men. I dressed in the ever present 90’s slip dresses that I still adore. They skimmed across my body, hiding a tiny waist and the exaggerated waist-to-hip ratio that I was so self-conscious about. I thought my little hipster skirt hid the dramatic sweep from my tiny waist down my body. They forced me to wear a skirt that exposed my buttocks. To me I was hiding my body but to them I was a piece of axx.

In the lead-up to Glastonbury, I was harassed around the clock. I was yelled at and berated; they had figured out that I was in a fairly constant state of trauma and that with abuse, control, and harassment, they could control me. They could control what I wore, what I said, if I showered, if I wore makeup, if I had nowhere else to live, and if I had nowhere else to go, so I slept on a yoga mat on the floor. I couldn’t get away. I was worried that they would destroy him at Glastonbury.

I had a year-long relationship and I had been pressured to break up with another man the week before I met them. Maybe he could have been a mainsail. With a man I was safe, without a man I was in the hands of criminals. They were breaking British laws; they flouted them. They don’t care about Australian laws. They have a network of paedophiles to lean on.

By the time I got to Glastonbury, I was a survivor of abuse, and I just wanted to hide, but there was no way to get home, even though I kept asking. The more they tried to help the more I was attacked. I was in danger because they were trying to help me. I wasn’t living in a real apartment; I was just sleeping on a floor without a kitchen. It was terrifying, I had to start a fight to save them. Stay away, or they will harm you too if you find out about all the crimes and try to stop them.

I had never experienced bullying before but a racist from school who became my stalker and who tried to have me knocked from my perch lied, and said I was racially harassed, unpopular, and bullied at school. They had more value than a now-inured Eastern European girl who was a long way from home. Everyone told me that my ethnicity and olive skin was ugly. But not in England, a little like Megan Gale, my looks were not considered to be too dark there; it was multicultural in England.

I was told that my skin tone gave me a lower class than other women, and they did everything to make me appear to be lower class, right down to not being allowed to wear the clothes I wanted, to be able to do my hair and use my bags of makeup. I was forced to have sex, I was forced to be the inferior ethnic girl, even though I was the only woman there who was descended from European aristocracy and a top one per cent family. It is easy to ignore women who appear to be Eastern European, and they capitalised on Australian racism. For trying to take down a social network, for sociopathic behaviour, they told me to go back to where I came from, to give Australia all its money back. They were an ideal choice to use to withhold money.

Narcissists have no issue with other narcissists or sociopaths; in fact, their lack of conscience and desire to be the centre of attention and to gain supply attracts like-to-like. Together, narcissists are a match made in heaven. They love to form a group to make each other look good. There are few greater shows than a celebrity couple who are both narcissists.

Celebrity is a hotbed of narcissism and attracts hopeful young narcissists who lack talent and who have earned themselves few other chances in life. Narcissists don’t earn; narcissists take. Narcissists are not that creative; they don’t possess a creative soul. For a narcissist, they create things to help them look good and not art; to them, art doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t matter whose art it is.  People without a conscience, who cannot create their own path do well in the music industry. It was not until he had to write his own things that the lowest level of talent was exposed. From lying and saying he wrote his own things, and then being put on the spot and having to “suddenly write for himself’ it was at that moment that they knew, that people had been telling the truth all along, that he didn’t write his own things, and now the critics were laughing at him and wondered where the magical pithy lyrics had gone. He writes limericks. He doesn’t have a conscience. The redemption arc was written when he stole his work in 95.

To get away with fraud and stealing, he needed every enemy, every racist, every sociopath, everyone who had exhibited stalking behaviour. He needed every psychopath. Every sociopath, every narcissist, every desperate, every racist.

The first day that I met him I was told to dress well but I forgot. I arrived wearing my little skirt with a swimsuit underneath. I had dresses, but that mistake was a big, big mistake. From then on, I was stuck like that, in that skirt. A Cinderella in a short skirt and no makeup attending a party every day who wasn’t allowed to wash her face, wash her hair, wear her makeup I was forced to look inured and poor, so that they could continue on with the inurnment.

The first thing he said to me was, “She’s f-ing ugly. Why did you bring me this f-ing ugly chick. On and on with the vitriol, spouting poison. Then he hissed at the producer. “What is this place? Look at this f-ing place. What if I am seen in a place like this.” “Look at all these f-ing ugly normal people, look at them.” “What the f**k? What if I am seen with these f-ing losers.” They were upper-middle-class and looked cool, hip, and fashionable. They looked like they were going to a rave. The producer and I looked at them, and back at the little man in the Desert Boots and shorts. He looked like Fred Savage but he had a vicious mouth. It wasn’t the Slip Inn, and this wasn’t a meet-cute. Turning on a dime, his mood was domineering and tyrannical; everything beautiful had to be presented to the king on a platter, especially heads that had to be severed for him.

“I chose this place because it’s nice,” he said. “I thought you would like it.” He was in shock and fumbling. Later I saw him make the producer cry a few times. He didn’t stop until he made him cry. He got him under control. Because I didn’t like him, want him, and rejected him on repeat, sometimes just in front of the producer, other times in front of everyone his narcissism made it even more mortifying for him. He was always the most vicious after suffering a narcissistic injury. It’s a wonder psychologists don’t analyse the interviews he gives.

Many other times he had tears in his eyes. He berated him. The tiny empty celebrity ego monster next to the big man. He had to kowtow, he could ruin careers, inure women, he could force people to do anything, and did. He owned a sex slave. The bar wasn’t elegant but it was slick and cool. I had body dysmorphia and at just 57 kilos and at around his height of 5’7 I wasn’t at all fat, I had a low BMI.

“This is the lyricist; this is where the lyrics are coming from,” he said. “She’s got a degree in literature.”

“Look at all these ugly F-ing normal people in here,” he fumed. “What if I am seen with these ordinary f-ing people he said, what will people think of me, it looks bad and I don’t want these ugly people in my line of sight.” He got up and told people to the front and the right to “F**k off,” and then stormed out. I was in shock and dissociating, as a survivor of a violent crime, I just wasn’t OK. Hey, wasn’t that such and such, that joke from the band, they said in shock. Good riddance. I’ll tell him to F off if I see him again they quip.

In Britain, almost every narcissist dreams of getting their family members into or near the royal family. People are lovers of self, lovers of their own reflection, and lovers of self-service. There is no greater magnitude of fame than being a beloved public figure.

He had a sex slave hidden away in a flat who wasn’t for his “use” exclusively. He pimped her out. The poor sex slave. She was as we say in Australia “bunging it on”. She had been trained by a high-class brothel to appear to be upper class. She had been taught every trick in the book. She was the best of the best. He told me that he had rescued her, but she was still inured and had to sleep with people so he could “have a favour done,” here and there. The men she was sent to see probably didn’t realise that she was an inured sex slave, and indentured servant. Beware of men bringing gifts; beware of men bringing you a sex slave.

She was more beautiful than any model and could have almost been a supermodel. Dripping with jewels, she had pale milky skin; she wasn’t allowed to get the sun on her skin, so it stayed soft and pale. She was forced to wear special perfumes, clothes, and lotions and got into trouble for not looking immaculate. She could be called upon like a Sultan in days of old, beckoned to a man that the Sultan wished to impress or have something on, she could be called to sleep with anyone at any time. I felt immensely sorry for her. I don’t think she understood what was happening. You can’t put a Jeanie back in a bottle. She wasn’t privy to the conversations he had about “his whore” behind the “door that was slightly ajar.” Because the “door was slightly ajar” I could technically walk out anytime that I wanted to. So could she. I walked up to her, young Sydney University feminist that I was to suggest she leave and just get a job as a shopgirl. When I approached, she hissed at me. She was decked out in runway clothes and Van Cleef and Arpels. I had no makeup on, my hair hadn’t been blow dried, I was in a little skirt. She slashed at me with her talons.

She was an inured woman, and the thing that irked me the most was that she wasn’t allowed to get the sun on her skin. In Britain. Because Britain is known for its sunshine. It’s right under the hole in the ozone layer.

The Ekphrastic poetry tutorial I had in Dan Anderson’s office in 1990 had taught to write about great works of art. The Birth of Venus, a 30,000-year-old painting on a rock wall, or the statue of David. In my mind, those statues come to life and live as immortals.

He said he had died his eyebrows and hair to make himself appear to be less threatening to little girls. His label wanted him to appeal to teenagers and the very, very young. The industry had so many overtones of pedophilia at the time, and because some got away with it, others just thought they were above the law too, as it appeared as though everyone was complicit in what was going on in plain sight.

“Honey I am not rank and file, I can slip right back into Australian society.” In fact, I don’t want someone like you.”  He turned to me and threatened me seething, later saying. “We tell journalists what we want to them to think, they can never know the “real” person.” “They have to say what we tell them, or we shut them down.” Back then, that was true, but I had an inkling that we were on the cusp of the democratization of the media and of information. This all happened before, right before the internet. He did it when he thought that he could control all the information forever.

“I am going to make it so that it is impossible to survive and no one will believe you.”

He gave me no right to resign. No right to leave. No right to say no. He said that he would never allow me to possess my possessions, and he would never permit me to be paid for the lyrics. That’s how you know my relationship is on the rocks. A guy from the pond can’t handle a woman who’s been in the pool. Thoroughbred, almost, Slavic gentry. Royal court. 37% pure northern Petersburg. 12.5 % general Petersburg. That DNA has been manufactured over millennia. I am the very last of them. The last to exist. Bloodlines don’t matter in music. Rachmaninoff. I said my children would write symphonies. It showed up in the next generation. Grandma said it would. She gave me the Beatles Ballads and told me to learn to write like them. 7 Up. She schema’d me.

Because you refused sex with me I am going to say that you relish being ugly and that you want to be an ugly nun-like feminist.

“I want my children’s children to be in the royal bloodline of this country’s Monarchy, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.

“Some people matter, and some people don’t, and I will make you out to be someone who doesn’t matter. People only care about beautiful women, and they won’t give a damn about what a man in music does to someone who doesn’t matter from the colonies. Some colonial little poet, no one gives a shit.”

“You only have to treat the people that matter and who can tell people what you have done well. We control the media love and we control what the media say; they have to do what we want or we won’t speak to them.”

“You could walk right into Fleet Street love.”

“Well, I think that I should be allowed to say anything truthful now, as you are committing crimes, and being abusive so you can steal you are a scab and you won’t allow me to join the union and you are Coercing me and forcing me to sleep on the floor.

Another man came in and said,

“ Why haven’t you unionised her Why did you say you were not going to.

“Who discovered her ?”

All the men are being paid. The women who are being paid are hookers. “I’ll give you an apartment but it has to be where I say.”

The hooker and I visit the apartment. It has polished floors, it’s neat and tidy. It’s not a slum.

You will have no money, you have to do everything that I say. Once you walk in you can never walk out. No men will be allowed to visit you there.

Why should I stay there?

“Where is the harbour bridge, where is the Opera House?”

Why would someone who has lived at 2 Philip Street, Sydney 2000, 14B Quay Apartments live in a little cage for you.

“Well, you are not getting any money, I can’t afford to have a paper trail.”

“Stay and social climb with me love”, he said.

I said that I don’t need to, I can slip right back into the top of Australian society. I already date men with hundreds of millions. Why stay here when I can live in the Quay Apartments or my own Harbourside apartment. I am from the moneyed classes, the sex workers from the Western Suburbs are not, they can’t even aspire to date the people that I date.

“Can I choose my own flatmate ?” “Can I bring my shelties over?” “Can I have a male flatmate?” “Can I have a garden?,” I say.

“Once you walk in you can never walk out the door again.”

I just don’t want to sleep on a floor in a slum with a hole in the floor anymore. It’s dangerous. Everyone there begs for money. I’m scared. I’m being forced to do things and forced to have sex. The elevator smells like urine.

“No, and you won’t be allowed to have any money, I’ll pay for everything. Otherwise, you won’t have to work for me. You won’t have to do what I say. People will find out that I can’t write. No, you’ll spend it on other men. You won’t be allowed to have any men over, you won’t be allowed to have anyone over at all, only me. I don’t want anything in writing so that you can disappear.”

You have to live with the hooker. We will get her some work to reward her, she won’t have to do the orgies anymore, she can always be a wardrobe mistress or we will get her a job handing awards out at the Britts or some shit.

“I never want you to go outside again. You can never leave the apartment once you walk inside”, they said.

“I am going to give pretence that you wanted to be here and near me love. Almost everyone does if they aren’t famous. Everyone loves me love. They will believe me and not you.”

“I despise you and can’t stand being near you. People don’t like you, just what you can do for them. Nobody here likes you.”

“No one is allowed to say that to me, and no one is allowed to say no to me.”

I was surrounded by DJ’s and Rappers at Barfly and told what they were going to do to me if I didn’t leave immediately.

“Some people matter, some people don’t, and you only have to treat the people that matter and who can tell someone.”

But what about when the lyrics run out?You will be too old and disgusting for anyone to give a shxt. I’ll hire pretty women to stand next to me and they will just look at your looks; I’ll say you were too ugly to pay and too ugly to stay. Halo Effect.

Whatever people want their stars to be that’s what I’ll be. Virtue signalling.

I told them to never come within 100 kilometres again.To avoid charges, they all needed the statute for forced labour and tax fraud, and inciting violence, harassment and racial vilification to pass. They are trapped in their own trap of trying to keep the truth from people. No one will have charges laid against them. They ground bones together demanding suicides with false accusations of drug taking.I’ve never loved them. I’ve never wanted them.I guess they had to pay people to lie about that too. That was to steal millions.

Chapter 3: Johnathon Swift

He’s been given an honorary doctorate for lyrics that aren’t even his. Oh well, he can’t be regarded as Jonathon Swift anymore, can he? In the other room we are discussing Ulysses, with the men of letters, they are at university. I say that I give a nod to other songs in my lyrics or that I use them as a springboard. He says that he despises Bob Dylan. He laughs when I mention him. I mention a Space Oddity. He tells me that I am Paula Yates not Helena. That I am Fergie not Diana. He says that he is just like Princess Diana and that he wants an Helena. That I am neither Marilyn nor Madonna.

I say that I like Paula Yates. But I don’t want to be famous. I am not even interested but he can’t force me to want to with him or near him. I have to be marched over there against my will and forced into that room. Pretty soon he will have me belittled everywhere in that room and I have to hide the carny folk from the next men that I date. They are rich and they disparage the famous narcissists. I give a nod to other lyrics in my lyrics. In the other room the men who are reading Latin start to believe the lies. I am exasperated who has time to study Latin when they are being forced to sleep on a floor, unpaid, and they are not allowed to register with a union because then no one commit fraud.

He made me hypersensitive about my looks. He weighed in on body dysmorphia. I wonder if I am listening to a psychopath or a paedophile discuss my body. Now I am fine-tuned to notice moles, imperfections, and he so heavily scrutinised my looks that he said that to be an acceptable woman in the world that I needed 100,000 pounds of plastic surgery. Was I listening to a paedophile discuss my body? Later some women from the pond, who aren’t even in the industry tell me that their friends told me that I am just too ugly. Because I said no, I am not a serious person who tries hard in life. I am an inferior, ugly woman. Without it he can’t change me into an Anglo-Saxon man’s ideal woman. Because that’s what all women should be. Ethnics go home, refugees go back to Kyv. We can only do this to foreigners because they have no one to reach out to. Every avenue of help was shut down. He told me to get 100,000 pounds of surgery to be just like Katie Price. That I could be a Katie, if I tried hard enough. That everyone wanted a Katie. Except people in political circles. I could be on Page 3, he said. That I should do some lingerie modelling like some of the hookers. I had Double D breasts but he needed me to be hypersexualised and a Double G. I said that I wanted to be in or near politics, advocacy and journalism. That no one I knew wanted to be a page 3 girl. He said that every woman dreams of being a page 3 girl. That it is respectable.

“Don’t you think that size Double G breast implants would look silly near parliament?”

Honestly does everyone around you desire fame?” Yes, he answers. Oh, you haven’t met any elite people yet I quip.

When I suggested that he should listen to and read Bob Dylan to become a better lyricist. He laughed and said he didn’t like Bob Dylan. I said, “Don’t laugh, his lyrics are studied at university, he is studied as a poet.” He said that he wanted his lyrics studied at University someday. I said, but they would be my lyrics, wouldn’t they? He has a one-track mind to fame with a father who is a lounge act. I tell him that my family and our friends can’t be handled. He is racist and he thinks that he can make light work of colonials. He says he wants everything for his family that our family and friends have, he hisses at me and says that is why he has no choice but to steal. He is the world’s worst Nepo dad. He has children killed so that his Nepo kids can’t have their spotlight and money stolen.

Back at home, just afterwards, I dated men who also had big futures; they knew bigger names, names beyond his wildest imagination. He could have been Prime Minister in his country. But now I had been in this room, and this room is designed to take away futures from bright young things. Women have to do what the rappers and labels say even if they are held hostage to be there. They could technically kidnap a Ukrainian refugee who can write music and then hold her hostage, pretend that her music is theirs, and then sell it and commit fraud. That’s tantamount to what they did.

Elite business and political realms, that was where I was more comfortable. I’d been raised to be the wife of an elite but discreet man. But there, I was in danger, unable to verify anything with ready made lies from dog boy. He didn’t have our powerful friends and family there. I had the scum of the Antipodes ready to obscure who they were plus I was in danger from a man who stole to get a “good” payment from a label. He was desperate to be signed and had been without a contract for a year, even with work he portrayed as his.

After that, I just had to die, disappear and cease to exist. It was necessary to traumatise me so heavily that I could no longer write, that I could no longer remember them. It didn’t suit them to be the formidable woman I could be and that I was raised to be. Amnesia.

If I had a bigger boyfriend, he would throw a narcissistic tantrum, an “owning” tantrum, and an owning of work tantrum. He wouldn’t allow me to go unfettered. I half ignored him. He couldn’t touch me here could he? He didn’t want a boyfriend or husband to demand payment for my work. He said that the lawyer that I was dating would own my work and not him. Here they are starting up their showbiz circle about what they think trying to corral public opinion and to fool the judiciary. Apparently, all judges and surgeons actually want to be hypersexual, narcissistic singers at heart. They want the stage, not the theatre or the courtroom.

He loved withholding money and seeing me squirm and raped. I was worried that people could find out that I was near the music scene and think that I took drugs or was in the party scene. I wasn’t like him. I was ashamed of some of them and tried to keep the worlds separate. I tried to hide that I was even there. As I said to someone I met straight after who was very entrenched in the industry, I liked the ones who weren’t famous.

Some famous people are terrible people. They say you never want to meet your heroes. I cut my teeth in the pool and not the pond. I didn’t know who he was because they don’t play pop on Triple J. He just forced someone under the threat of trauma and abuse to write for him so he could give the pretence that he, too, is a writer. Forever afterwards, I had to be ‘disrupt-able’ and there were many pre-emptive attacks. He sent people who were stalkers and psychopaths to do the job that other people would not do. Once he committed fraud, he told me he couldn’t take it back, “I told everyone they are mine, and now I have signed contracts and accepted money for it.” He told me that he had to change my destiny.

He said to me, “I can make look crazy.” “Nothing good for you love, tell anyone and I will deny it, I will have you destroyed for it. You know what will happen to you, you know it will, because of the way you are, people won’t believe you. I’ll make sure of it I’ll send my new paedophile mate from Australia. He weaponised my ethnicity against me.”

You know that part in the movie when they say too much in front of you and you just know Through bared teeth he said “I don’t want it love, I don’t want that to happen to you. But tell anyone and I’ve set it up so it will.” “I can’t have people know that this is where my work is from. Dog boy will sort it all out in Australia for us and we will make him a roadie.”

But what is going to happen when the lyrics run out? Limmericks. Words on repeat. I don’t watch. I don’t like narcissists. You don’t watch people who have traumatised you. You tell them not to come within 50 kilometres of you.

Not all were famous then, and they were the best ones. When I returned home, I said to a man who was in the music industry in my MBA. I said this famous man was calling me and bothering me, “I tell him to stop, but he just keeps calling.” I say to him that we are both MBA’s and that we should start a label. He laughs at me. I say well if those morons can do it so can we.

“He calls and tells me to stop dating anyone powerful, from a big firm or wealthy. “Nothing good for you love. Nothing good for you. You can’t be with someone like that, not now, I will ruin his life too.” “Don’t date anyone who knows billionaires.” “I am going to force you to sacrifice your life for me,” he said. His threats were imbued with that in England too.

The truth sets people free. What is done in the dark is seen in the light. Bleached carpet.

He seemed to have a short circuit in his head. He hadn’t finished school but wanted unlimited power so he was thug-like to some women and polite to others. Very charming, on the borderline of smarmy. He considered himself to be of that class of men to which laws simply do not apply, a bit like some of the paedophiles. Hence why so many inured and forced women and men were in his circle. If he made the right moves, and finagled access to unlimited power, he could buy, shyster, and force his way into that elite group of being beyond police questioning and that of judges. He said people never question public figures. He would happily sit there and perjure himself if required. Nah I’ve never tried to rape a man.

“How dare you suggest it!” No conscience means no problems.

No one was ever going to be brave enough to give evidence to the contrary, and besides, he could just use blunt force and the media loved him, as a media darling, he could get away with any rape, any inurnment, any fraud, a serial plagiarist, and forcing anyone to do anything at anytime. That’s why he curried favour to be a media darling.

Imagine for a minute in theory, the most popular or most powerful man in the world. If he forced or coerced someone to have sex. Slept with someone underage or did something illegal. If he is good-looking and of good standing and seeks out the right people to stand next to, the police will never even take a call. He knows how to shut people down, how to rattle the sabre. How to flex, how to psych people out. How to look straight down a barrel. Guys like these just involve innocent people in making them untouchable. Wise guys. Optics.

What he did confide in me though, was as that he lacked the nous to be in politics or to be taken seriously by the British upper classes he wanted to be around royalty. It was the most famous that you could be. he said, in the simple way that he communicates. My words make his way or speaking sound more complex and like he has a complex thinking process.

He was tantalized by fame and refused to accept that there are people who choose to live discreetly wealthy, “stealth wealth” lives. I tried to explain it over and over again.

Case in point, the university I was at, he was very jealous of the next man that I dated. He was able to spend more on toys at 21 than he could. Everyone in his class knew billionaires, they flew private, knew lawmakers and judges. They didn’t fly private they owned their own planes. They had their own jets. He was excluded from that world that he was chaffing at the bit and willing to steal from to get into, then he would be unstoppable. He would be the most famous that he could be if he stole, he said to me.

“Why have money unless you can show it off love.” He was upwardly mobile and hankering to go on first private jet, I wondered if he would be taking his hooker on the jet overseas.

The university attracted very wealthy people from around the world. Kids flew in on their parents’ private jets, they drove Ferraris or Lamborghinis, everyone was well-heeled, and no one discussed money. Without their cars, they just looked neatly dressed. I had a different set of clothes and a different wardrobe at university.

When I suggested he go to university he said “I haven’t finished school love. I won’t get in.” “It would be good for you I said.” I thought he needed some critical thinking skills. To come back down to earth. University is a good place to learn how much you don’t know and how much you don’t matter.

The men there would not have liked him; he was their opposite. They threw dog boy out of the frat house. He came to check up on me to see that they would get away with fraud.

I relished being back around the safety of polished men like that. No one discussed money, no one was trying to be in the media or to be famous, and no one worried about how things would look in the media every second of the day. If you own media you don’t want to be in it.

I just didn’t matter how many times you told him that not everyone wanted to be famous, he couldn’t seem to accept it. I despised being the centre of attention; I realised that so many creatives are also like that. We are shy and retiring; we just don’t like it. I said you’re your art should make you great, it should make you known, and many people say it just comes with the territory of acting, performing. I pointed out that those people knew that I was quoting Shakespeare. He tried to Shakespeare too. The greatest plagiarist of our time. The thing is so many people get there due to their creativity, the fame comes second and not first. For him it was fame first, it didn’t matter where his words came from. He wasn’t a reader, a thinker, a man of deep thought. But now he has lyrics with complex thoughts and Noam Chomsky references in them. Ask him about it.

He offered me the world on a G string. I just knew too much though. Apart from being told to go from 56 kilos to 43, (we negotiated and it became 47) I needed breast implants. At that time, I wondered if I could perhaps write a dissertation on celebrity PR, switch to law school, and be a lawyer or in politics. I still wanted to go home and to hide that I was near these musicians. It was bad for my reputation with the wealthy. Elite people know that.

He seems to be behaving according to a pattern, and the pattern is becoming easier and easier to predict, but he thinks that I can read his mind and see dead people and aliens.

I don’t like narcissists, and I can’t stand this person and what they think what they do and what they say.

He says no one in Australia can stand me because I’m ethnic and that refugees are the very lowest people in Australia so that’s why it’s alright to steal from me, he could always swing the crowd because I’m just a daughter of a refugee and ethnic. He’s been told that ethnics are under the desperates that he imported back to England specifically for fraud. The desperates told him so. But that was their purpose. They had the best hookers in that room.

Behind the scenes, he is maligned, but the narcissists love him. He’s good at optics.

Narcissists still support him, and people think that it’s okay for celebrities to be above the law. No one will ever catch him because narcissistic women will always stand next to him and say what a nice guy he is, we don’t care about the fraud we need to mitigate his bad, PR he’s just a fraudster, he held someone captive but he didn’t hold me captive so I don’t care about other people.

We want him to keep all the fraudulent money because now he is such a successful fraud. The success of the fraud makes it impossible to stop. He was right, stealing more and taking royalties for my work from other artists has made it impossible to stop him.

Some of them love to stand next to a successful fraud, and if they lose their successful fraud optics, then they won’t be nice people. They could lose their good reputation. They will be “somebody” who stood next to a fraud. That’s why paedophiles wash their optics.

They think they have to hide crimes for male celebrities to be good girls for the men. Was their safety with paedophiles in wanting to be famous and famously self-serving.

These women know that he’s mean to women and mean to people. They are just so special that he isn’t mean to them. When they tell you that he is nice they infer how special they are. Referential treatment.

The arrogance of celebrities thinking that they can stop charges being laid and that it’s not conspiracy to commit fraud.

These women know he’s a terrible person they know that he’s forced me to try to sleep with him they know that he’s committed fraud. Your Honour, Mr Policeman he was very nice to me please don’t charge him. They want someone to be raped for him and to not have children for him. They are complicit in that.

I quip that a person like him can’t get into royalty. What not with all the heroin. I quip that when he has 11 children by 7 different women like half all the other bands that he won’t be able to force his way to have a child marry in. He said that he didn’t want “normal band children”, or “normal musician’s children” that his children had to be the most special people in the world and they had to be imbued with special powers and qualities. It would appear that they have the DNA and creative gifts of 4 people. The producer, me, him and the woman who wanted to give birth to princes or princesses. It was all a plan. He knew the right time to manufacture the redemption arc.

It was 1995 but he said that he needed to wait until the Princes had their children to conceive. He said that his children will be raised without a conscience. He said that he would raise them to “not care that he committed fraud” to ensure that they were the most famous. That he would imbue them with “special abilities” that no one else has. That he would discuss their special abilities. He said that people who are of a better class than he is like his white sex slave have to seen be lower than he is. Otherwise, he can’t trick people into thinking that he should be royal. They go to slavery charity parties together.

It’s funny that when royalty was only open to the gentry, you didn’t have lower-class people killing people to be in the royal family. Yes, being a celebrity is like being in the mob.