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About Deviant Susannah31/Female/Australia Recent Activity
Deviant for 11 Years
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Spinal Roll :iconhalohid:Halohid 5 7
Gozleme Man: a poem of uncertainty
I bumped into a man coming out of the gozleme shop.
He said "sorry", I looked awkward and I knew it was on.
Knew that I was going to marry him.
You know?
It's that certainty, that inescapable truth
When you lock eyes with a stranger on the train and realise you already know exact shape of their tongue.
But Gozleme man wasn't like that. It wasn't a sex thing.
It was a wedding, white and terrifying
Cocktails in jam jars
Flowers from my mum's garden
A seat for my grandma right up near the action where she could see my shock
My 'how did it come to this'
I'm not a romantic
I don't believe in fate
I know we're going to marry, Gozleme Man and I
But I also know we're going to divorce
Four years in
About four years in.
We'll hate each other for as long as we loved and then, somehow, wake one morning in our separate homes to find that the hatred has disappeared and things
sort of
Are fine.
Gozleme Man and I will get a drink from time to time
Maybe once every six month
:iconhalohid:Halohid 10 11
Trophy wives, refugees and multiple Jessicas
Two days ago a memory crept out of some abandoned back corridor of my brain and planted itself firmly behind my eyes. It is still foggy and there are gaps and non sequiturs but I’m going to write it down and see if it makes any more sense on paper.
I was in Year One. I was playing with my friends Jessica and Jessica. To differentiate them we’ll call them Jessica the Quite Beautiful and Jessica the Not So Beautiful. You’ll see why shortly.
Jessica the Quite Beautiful, as our (beautiful) leader, organised a competition on the school oval: the boys would race. First prize? They would ‘get’ her. I remember the wording very well. It wasn’t that they would get to be her boyfriend or get a kiss. They would get Jessica the Quite Beautiful. What does this mean for Year Ones? I was second prize and Jessica the Not So Beautiful was third. The three of us sat on our wooden stumps, arranged in order from most to least beautiful, and eight little boys set out on t
:iconhalohid:Halohid 7 8
Fly me away by Halohid Fly me away :iconhalohid:Halohid 50 23
Delays on the Sandringham Line
I grumbled with the rest when they announced it: delays on the Sandringham line. They said someone had died and I believed them. I stopped grumbling and felt the familiar guilt settle into my chest. That guilt you feel when you cry over a chipped iPhone screen and then remember starving Kenyans.
When they said that the body on the track was mine, I believed them. My mouth filled with cotton wool. I blinked very hard at the world, memorising its curves; the exact texture of chewing gum under foot; the way the oily air shimmered, rising off the hot surface of the road; the glint of the sun on the glistening train tracks, snaking off to infinity.
Family called.
They said, ‘I don’t know why I’m doing this.’
They said, ‘I wasn’t expecting you to answer.’
They said, ‘Muscle memory.’
They said, ‘I guess I’m just in shock.’
I said the feeling was mutual.
They asked what happened and I couldn’t answer. ‘Guess it
:iconhalohid:Halohid 7 10
What he saw
I keep thinking about the bike rider
The one who rode past the night we kissed on the street corner
I never mentioned this before
I didn’t want to admit that I was kissing with my eyes open
I’m sorry
I was trying to live that moment to the fullest
Or something
My memory
My sensorial memory
Places that kiss on a summer night
It sets the light at dusk
The temperature in the high twenties
The pavement as cooling
My sensorial memory exposes skin
A strapless dress perhaps
A light shirt
Half unbuttoned
Out of character for us both but
That’s what my memory says
My calendar says different
It places that kiss in mid-winter
We were both tipsy so dusk was long gone
And yet
And yet
My fingers remember the greasy film of sunscreen
My memory is
Not to be trusted
But I believe in the bike rider
I felt him pass with every inch of my skin
Every guilty eyelash shifted with his breeze
I wanted to run after him
To stop the spinning wheels and demand
Could you tell?
:iconhalohid:Halohid 12 19
Melting Away by Halohid Melting Away :iconhalohid:Halohid 31 11
Mature content
Of sex beneath the stars :iconhalohid:Halohid 9 25
Cocaine Socialism by Halohid Cocaine Socialism :iconhalohid:Halohid 8 10 Waiting for my man by Halohid Waiting for my man :iconhalohid:Halohid 15 9 We took the town to town last night by Halohid We took the town to town last night :iconhalohid:Halohid 10 11 I'm in the garden by Halohid I'm in the garden :iconhalohid:Halohid 13 6 In Powder And Crinoline by Halohid
Mature content
In Powder And Crinoline :iconhalohid:Halohid 48 35
Mature content
A love letter/multiple choice questionnaire :iconhalohid:Halohid 5 9
November to January
November 19th, 2012 to January 21st, 2013
-Unicorn, driving to Kit’s father’s funeral (a bit that was cut)
KIT  We paused for three hours for mum to nap with her head lolling back against the seat.  Without the car engine, the landscape was filled with the loudest silence I’d ever heard.  Insects and tiny creatures, seduced each other with chirrups and pheromones.  It was a sex-filled night.  A virile night. Two dark little rodent things chased each other across the car bonnet, their rice-grain claws sounded like the world’s tiniest rainfall on a tiny tin roof.  They fell off the edge in a bundle of fur and squeaking and passion.  ‘That’s it,’ I though, ‘that’s what God intended for dads: just one tropical night of frenzied lust and then they were meant to disappear back into the jungle.  If we knew this was the deal from day dot, we wouldn’t be here now.’
-Unicorn, after Kit has become a girl
Cut to
:iconhalohid:Halohid 2 9
Now for the violins by Halohid
Mature content
Now for the violins :iconhalohid:Halohid 91 19


Hello lovely deviants, 

I just thought I'd let you know that the podcast I've been working, Audio Stage, on is up and running. It is very much a theatre podcast but the conversation is very engaging and I'd love you to check it out. Our most recent episode with Angela Conquet is my favourite so far and, if you've ever wondered what I sound like, I'm the one that doesn't have a French or Croatian accent and talking about how great wine is at the top of the episode. You can find us on iTunes  or at our website. 

Now, some writing for you:

One day, when I was fifteen, I attended an event ran by an organisation which provided legal aid to asylum seekers. At the end of the talk, I walked up to them and asked if there was anything I could do to help. It turns out there was. A week later my dad took me to their office where we picked up a dictation machine and three cassette tapes. As the lawyer handed them over she paused and looked at my dad. “I hope your daughter is open-minded,” she said. “She is going to hear some very extreme stuff.” And I did.

These were the tapes of asylum seeker hearings and every hearing I transcribed ended with asylum being denied, which was why this group now had the tapes, so as to assemble a defence for a re-hearing. (They could not be called ‘re-trials’ because, apparently, the refugee was not on ‘trial’ despite all evidence to the contrary.)

Look, the horror of the individual cases does blur together. The voices were coming from a compound in the middle of a desert via webcam, through a translator sitting in a room in Adelaide with a thick Middle Eastern accent, through a tape recorder and into my ears. I know there were rapes, death threats, dead families, torture and humiliation. What I remember more clearly than the terror was the bureaucracy. We were swimming in it.

“Please place your hand on the Quran and swear – ”

“I can’t.”


“He says to me, ‘you know! You are a Muslim. You tell them!’”

“I’m sorry?”

“He has not washed. He cannot touch the Quran when he has not washed.”

They tried for quite a while, these men in Adelaide, to wash the hands of a man in Woomera but in the end the request proved too complicated for the system and they had to proceed without an oath. He was handcuffed, you see. For the whole five hour hearing. This was not usual practice but he was ‘a trouble maker’.

This exchange has stuck with me for twelve years. The irony of expecting a man to be devout enough to swear an oath on his holy book without taking into account the needs of a devout man. A devout, hand-cuffed man in the middle of a desert. And yes, there were moments of humanity. Moments when men pleaded for their freedom and safety but it was the bureaucratic inhumanity that I most clearly retain.

And in the end, appropriately enough, my job vanished in a cloud of bureaucracy: the group lost access to tapes. New rules dictated that, instead of being given to the defence team, they would be sent to Sweden (I think Sweden, somewhere a very, very long way away) where an accent analyser would determine that perhaps the man came from a town two towns over from the town he said he came from. That he was a liar because his accent told a slightly different story than his words did.

The morning after Howard was re-elected for his third term I went for a walk. I wandered through the suburbs and asked, “Who are the people voting for this system? Do they know? I hope they don’t because what does that say of my countrymen and women if they know and still say ‘do it.’”

This is from a blog post of mine. I post regularly at Again, it is mostly theatre but I've been told (by a non-theatre deviantart friend actually) that it is extremely accessible writing and I have plenty of non-theatre people read it passionately. I do things like grab random audience members straight after a show and interview them about it. My favourite of these resulted in me getting both a young couple and the guys parents talking about a show that involved a man sodomising himself with a microphone live on stage. It was actually wonderful having two generations talk about the show with depth and respect and just a touch of horror. 

This post was in response to a show by MKA: Theatre of New Writing called 'The Grace of Officials'. 


I grew up in the driest state in the driest continent in the world and yet my neighbour still watered her concrete driveway every night in summer. I suppose she must have found it soothing; her and the hose and the hot night air.

But this is no way to introduce myself.

I am a theatre director, award-winning playwright and chronic story-teller. I'm a scruffy red-haired hippy and full-time artist. I was a photographer first, then a model and then a photographer again. I shoot self-portraits, am a prolific playwright and theatre-maker and a passionate loud mouth about politics, humane treatment of refugees, gun control, sexual freedom, LGBT youth and mental health. In 2013 I will be completing my Masters of Performance Writing at the Victorian College of the Arts, where I previously undertook Post-Grad studies in theatre direction. Because this is the main part of my work, I post here less than I used to but I love your company here on DA.

I tell stories to anyone who will linger long enough to hear.

Note: I don't tolerate sexist or demeaning comments and will probably mock you publicly if you leave sexually explicate comments. I take my art seriously.

Thank you.

Current Residence: Melbourne, Australia
Favourite photographer: Eckyducky, AlexanderB
Favourite style of art: Contemporary theatre
Personal Quote: 'Keep Left and be considerate' Australian road rules but I think it applies to all manner of things.



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tonepainter Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy Birthday.... I miss your posts, the writing, the modeling, the photography, all of it. I hope you are doing well. 
Alembic-Lynxx Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2017  Professional Photographer
Wow blast to the past as far back as 2005 when I first started watching your earliest work I don't even know if you come here anymore but since I saw your name pop up on the birthday list I thought I would say hello and happy birthday... Our summer was very hot or Autumn was very short we had a heavy rains and now we're heading into the colder approaching winter weather. And lucky you you're coming into summer there in Australia have a wonderful and happy birthday
GabrielBB Featured By Owner Oct 29, 2017
:icontransparentplz::icontransparentplz::icontransparentplz: Happy Birthday by freemax  


:icontransparentplz::iconsparklesplz:  :iconhappysunplz:    !!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY !!!   :iconhappysunplz:  :iconsparklesplz: 


:icontransparentplz::iconbouquetplz: :iconbouquetplz: :iconbouquetplz::iconbouquetplz: :iconbouquetplz: :iconbouquetplz: :iconbouquetplz:

timemit Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2016  Student Digital Artist
Have a good one :iconchampagneplz:
Alembic-Lynxx Featured By Owner Nov 1, 2016  Professional Photographer
:party::party::iconmedicakeplz::party::party: Happy Birthday
GabrielBB Featured By Owner Oct 30, 2016
:icontransparentplz::icontransparentplz::icontransparentplz:Happy Birthday by freemax  


:icontransparentplz::iconsparklesplz:  :iconhappysunplz:    !!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY !!!   :iconhappysunplz:  :iconsparklesplz: 


:icontransparentplz::iconbouquetplz: :iconbouquetplz: :iconbouquetplz::iconbouquetplz: :iconbouquetplz: :iconbouquetplz: :iconbouquetplz:

phydeau Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2015  Hobbyist Photographer
Not sure if you ever come around, anymore, but happy birthday!
OrdinaryBiker Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2015
Happy Birthday!  :party:  :cake:  :llama:
WS007 Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2015  Professional Photographer
Happy Birthday!
tonepainter Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy Birthday, Susannah!
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