Really.  You can’t.

Imagine if you did.  Imagine if you were just allowed to make music and videos and put it on TV and the radio and the internet with no restrictions and anyone could just listen to you as you spoke about half the planet as bitches and whores and how they needed to appreciate your sexual prowess more but keep the talking and the ideas down.  Imagine.  That would be pure insanity.  Imagine the damage that would do.  It would have the potential to vandalise the perceptions of all young people as they grew up: boys and girls and those not sure which they are or if there really is just two types of anything.  That would be terrible.

Much better for society to say, “um, no, it doesn’t reflect your upbringing, it’s not your autobiography of the streets, because – even though I’ve never met your mum – I’m pretty sure your mum would have given you the death stare hard out if you had you ever showed up home late one night and called her a bitch or a ho.  Pretty sure.  So, yeah, you’re not allowed to say all the crap because actually it’s a kind of hate speech.  It really is.”  And then we went right ahead and we didn’t listen to all your nonsense about free speech.  No one is free to say what they want.  No. One.  Grow up.


That was an excerpt from one of my policies.  The one called: “FFS are you still being an arse about women?”

“You can’t do whatever you want.”

It’s Lonely On My Soapbox, 2017



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I wrote a book called Kaitiaki o te Pō