the super-ior heroes

Women have the ability (if they so choose)

to cultivate small, tiny humans

inside their own bodies.

This is a super power.

super powers belong to Superheroes.

you would never disrespect or oppress

a superhero.

we worship and bow down,

before our super-ior heroes.

the crazy dreams

A big opportunity is skyrocketing towards me. Tomorrow is judgement day. I’m not nervous. I’m floating through a dream.


When I was 19 I was all over MySpace. Mainly because I had a crush on a boy in a band. Prior to that I remember being on the train at age 18 and listening to young teeny boppers discuss their vapid lives before validating it all with a ‘Myspace ya later’.

These words were foreign to me. I dismissed the salutation as child’s play.

And then of course, my overwhelming and inexplicable crush occurred and that was the end of that and the start of my burgeoning social media career and part time comedy routine.

At some point that whole crazy MySpace shebang led me to discover a casting call looking for presenters in a television documentary series. You had to be young, smart, interesting and have opinions. But the catch 22 was you had to create a video of yourself, answering some questions. I didn’t have the time, the resources or the confidence to do this, so I did a written application.

Out of thousands, they whittled it down to 25. I was one in a handful who had been chosen from a written application.

I was over the moon. The words had prevailed.

And then I lost my part time job the day before the audition, due to some shifty backstabbing and dodgy claims that I was ‘going to a competitor’ (I wasn’t, they were jerks).

So naturally I walked into the audition with the heaviest of stomachs. It didn’t help that prior to my audition I had met an attractive girl who hosted her own radio program for SBS (where the show was going to be aired). She was confident and knew how these things worked. The vox pops didn’t scare her. I didn’t even know there were going to be vox pops or, let’s be honest, what a vox pop even was.

I nervously told the producers that I had never considered myself for television, even if other people had declared with confidence that I should try it. I said I was not fit to be in front of the cameras, but behind them, writing the scripts, calling the shots (great way to start an audition).

They asked me why I had applied to be a presenter. They admitted my application was brilliantly written, one of the best of its kind. Why not keep at the writing?

I blanked. Pause. Awkward. Not sure what to say. And then.

‘Because something needs to change in our society and I believe I’m the person to elicit that change’.

And then.

‘I want to be scared out of my wits’

‘Are you scared now?’, she asked me.

I told her yes, I was petrified. I had only just learnt what a vox pop was. In the worst part of Darlinghurst.

I already knew on the car ride home that I didn’t make it. I had deliberately sabotaged myself and I wasn’t ready to be terrified just yet.

I didn’t know what I wanted then. Not many 19-year-olds do. But at 24 I’m wondering if the stars have realigned themselves to give me a second chance. If I’m ready to be terrified again but this time, nail the dismount coming out.



There was one other revelation from our fortune teller-house-party-shenanigans which I forgot to mention. It’s a small thing really. One of the housemates asked the fortune teller if any spirits dwelled in the house.

The question was prompted after one of the other female housemates had an experience one night where she woke up and knew someone was in her room.

The fortune teller said there was a spirit and it came from the ground under the house but tended to stay in the room belonging to the guy who was leaving the house. He apparently never noticed the ghost, despite her trying to get his attention, because he had no time for it and was too caught up in his own world (a visual art project he was working on). They asked the fortune teller what they should do and whether the spirit was menacing. The fortune teller said the spirit meant no harm to anyone; she dwelled in the house for healing but that the house had to be cleansed of the spirit.

Claire wondered if it was worth getting rid of her if she meant no harm. It was agreed that there was a nice homely and matronly presence in the house, which we quickly attributed to the ghost (or ghosty, as she has since been referred to).

The fortune teller shook her head and said that we had to do it, because actually the humans had come to the house for healing, and ghosty was taking up precious real estate by being there. She was taking their healing energy from them. She advised Claire to burn sage and clang pots while announcing out loud ‘Thank you but it’s time for you to leave’, perhaps in some kind of Big Brother-esque eviction but for ghosts (‘Big Ghosty’).

It was decided that someone would do research on the house to figure out who might have lived there previously. There was a shudder at the realisation that the history of Redfern stretches back into a past we cannot quite understand or fathom.

We thought we could make a party out of the ghost eviction ceremony – perhaps that was one way of not freaking out about it. The recounting of the ghost story had us both laughing and in mild shock with an eerie side serving of spine tingling fear. As the jokes ensued, we still wondered if it was even worth asking the ghost to leave. Then my boyfriend noticed one day when he was at home sick that his closed door just opened wide all of a sudden at 10am. He was convinced that it was the ghost letting him know that he should wake up now…

More stories began emerging about doors opening or closing at random. At the recent house party, songs would randomly stop playing for no apparent reason, indicating that perhaps the ghost did not like our taste in music. We were convinced that the ghost took over during our more fervent dance sessions. ‘Possessed by Maud’ (a new name we came up for her) became a thing on the dance floor.

I noticed when the new guy moved in the week after this revelation, and after the awkward conversation informing him of the minor matter of a ghost shacking up in his room and all, (Welcome to the house, PS. There’s a ghost in your room, kbye!) that as we spoke about it, he laughed a little sceptically, as though he found our enthusiasm for the matter and our sheer delight at the novelty of having a ghost, totally hilarious. And so he should, for this is clearly no ordinary house. But more than that, I realised that now, as I walk through the halls, or walk into a room, I always do so with a bit of trepidation, respecting that spirits may dwell here and maybe, just maybe, they don’t appreciate us belting out ‘the time of my life’ at 4am in the morning when they’ve clearly not had the time of their life or even after life.