Addendum

I've got Queer as Folk on the telly on mute. I hate the dialogue, it's terrible, and so are the stereotypes, but I think my brain is hanging out to see some gay sex. Not for arousal purposes but... I don't know... childish curiosity?



I'm sorry I flushed the toilet while you were on the shower. I'm sure it didn't burn you too bad. It was quite necessary.

Surely it's too late now to rant on about APEC.

No, it's never too late to rant. While I'm at it, I might share my thoughts on how stupid it is for newspapers to actually write articles on the Prime Minister falling over on wet tiles. Or maybe I already have... meh...

Yeah. So. APEC was shit. It was so shit, in fact, that I don't care that there's probably as many blog entries on the net right now about APEC as there are crappy Mac vs PC ad parodies on YouTube.

I am glad I didn't end up going into town for the protests. I mean, there were snipers on the roofs. Fucking snipers. Men with long-range weaponry, with scopes and shit, highly trained in the art of killing people. People with better guns and better skills than Lee Harvey Oswald probably. Not that Lee Harvey Oswald ever tried out his skills.... or did he? Point is, I don't care who they're trained by or what uniform they're wearing. I'm not comfortable walking around in range of a SR98. The military don't seem to like private school turned lefty pinko scum like me. Best not to tempt them.

Oh yeah and it cost a lot. And no one really seemed to want it. Well, no one that wasn't in it. Like all of Sydney who had their week fucking re-arranged for a big bourgeoisie wankfest. Or even business owners who had to dish out extra time to employees on the Friday or just suffer lost business. And then there were proles like me who ended up working anyway, and only at time & a half. I've said it numerous times since last week, but that means that everyone else at work that got a bludgey day-off, while I only got half a day's extra pay.

Shit, I always have to work on public holidays that mean something to me, but nothing to the people who get the day off. Like the time I was rostered on for 10 hours at the call centre on May Day. May Day being significant for commemorating the struggle for the 8 hour working day, for which a few people actually died. Fucking rainbows and lollipops and baby birds chirping all round.

I did like that the guy who was behind painting "No War" on the Opera House organised for a mass mooning of the convoys. People always bitch about direct action being too violent and disruptive. The same people who wouldn't notice these things unless Channell asiNine news reported about the violence of protesters. Well this guy seems to know how to bring attention to a cause without violence. Still not good enough for people though. Showing your arse may not hurt anyone or any property, but it's "indecent" and "crude". Trespassing into the Opera House is also not on, graffiti is bad because it changes the appearance of property you don't own but have to pay for and look at, and nowadays you'd probably be taken out by a sniper before getting up there.

The best non-violent protest of all was of course The Chaser's expedition into the Red Zone. They didn't even intend to get that far. Never underestimate the lacodaisical ignorance of police. If you're not coloured, wearing Adidas or driving a Nissan Skyliner, of course they don't care. The cops at Burwood station seem to pay more attention to detail to me and my boyfriend passing through on invalid tickets than they do to a convoy that looks important enough. But again, despite being harmless, cut short by the pranksters themselves and a lot better than real terrorists getting that far in, people reckon they should go to gaol. For what? Who's ever gone to gaol for doing what the police sanction? If a cop tells you it's okay, aren't you supposed to follow without question? I think they were just being good citizens.

Most of all, APEC sucks because it's about, as apecsec.org.sg puts it, promoting "liberal trade & economic policies" while invoking oppressive police powers and new "anti-terrorism" practices, and collecting together some of the most un-liberal world leaders when it comes to social policies and personal issues... like gay marriage, the war on drugs, immigration, y'know, stuff to do with the daily life of us little people. A bit unbalanced isn't it?

Okay I'm spent. Dear diary, see you in another 6 months. Love, spider.




WTF? --->
Chaser Team Charged - Sydney Morning Herald, September 6, 2007
Wiki...wiki... wikipedia entry on APEC

Waxing lyrical

Damn fucking creative people with their creative lyrics. Damn them to hell.

I can't possibly come up with anything very beautiful or eloquent. But seeing as these other jerks are so prolific with it, I'm going to just quote them. Not all of each song, just the highlights.

The Modern Things by Bjork

All the modern things
Like cars and such
Have always existed
They've just been waiting in a mountain
For the right moment
Listening to the irritating noises
Of dinosaurs and people
Dabbling outside

Chaææ
Enginn fylgist alveg _{Nobody really follows}
Chaææ
Sólin sekkur _{The sun sets}
Chaææ
Enginn sér við mér_{Nobody gets the better of me}

Það er sól þegar hann_{There's a sun when he}
Andar inn í mig_{Breathes into me}
Hann bítur mig_{He bites me}
Hann bítur mig
Já, hann kemur með _{Yes, he comes along}
Fylgir eftir mér _{Follows after me}
Telur mig _{Counts me}
Siglir eftir mér _{Sails behind me}

Does Bjork write her own lyrics? I'll just believe she does. They're fantastic. They sound like a 8 year old kid's picture of a unicorn pissing rainbows on leprechaun. Singing in Icelandic makes me want to wet myself. I want her to father my children and roll my burritos.
The english translation is in italicised subtext.

Twenty by Klinger
Got a hot and heavy teenage romance with my hand.
Growing old is easy, it's growing up that I can't stand.
And I know, that I know, that's uncool.
To admit that I still miss high school, high school, my school.

Twenty is so close, and it terrifies me, it terrifies me.
No more dreams of Molly Ringwald and me, in a teenage movie.

By the finger nails I'm hanging on but may now,
Cause hanging on is easier than getting down.
Saturday is the day when I grow up.
If I think about it too much then I'll throw up, grow up.

It's over now.

Somehow a fairly insignficant flash-in-the-pan Melbourne band with some very run-of-the-mill "alternarock" lyrics managed to predict an impending truth about "growing up". As my time being 19, the best year of my life, was drawing to an end, I listened to this song, and pretended to be worried about getting old. Secretly, I thought the fun times would go on for a few years yet. BAM, motherfucker.

As a side note, I was at a couple of their gigs where I saw them making a point of acting like they were completely above it all. What a joke. Who's Klinger? Exactly. This just proves that a shit band with shit music can still write things that you'll "identify with". No, they're not idiot savants, you're just really easy to figure out, you stupid little teen-angst consumer groupie.

Mistakes & Regrets by Trail of Dead
If I could make a list
Of my mistakes and regrets
I'd put your name on top
And every line after it

Because every inch of hope
Becomes a world of shame
I've had to walk through
Each and every day

And if I screamed "you were wrong"
At the top of my lungs
It would never return
All the faith that I've lost

Because there is nothing left to say
That has not been said
If I shouted, would you listen
I don't think it'd even sink in

If you forget how to feel
Reach inside your chest
Is there a heart beating?
Is there just emptiness

I listened to their CD in utopia when they'd just released Source Tags & Codes, because I thought that "And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead" would be a hard-as-fuck war metal band. They were awesome, possibly my favourite band, but they really aren't hard or metal at all. Apparently the name is from some ancient Mayan and/or Egyptian texts.

This song is the kind that you associate with someone you harbour resentment against almost to the point of pathology, but were previously or even currently romantically involved with. COUGH COUGH JONES COUGH. Sorry, man.

This is the space where I'm supposed to post At the Drive In lyrics. If that's what you're expecting, then fuck off.

It's like contemporary art. It takes a yob like me to point out that it's meaning, as profound, significant and relevant as it may be, is completely lost on 98% of the people exposed to it.

A lot of pretentious people, probably half my friends, will say their lyrics are the shit. They serve their purpose, yes, they fit together well, but what do they mean? I see from the vacant expression on your pompous face that you can see that At The Drive In don't write the kind of lyrics that even by reading them on paper are going to make you remember the time you hung out with a Russian tourist you'd never met before in Hyde Park who let you smoke all his weed.

If I want to do a post on At The Drive In, I'll do one on what I understand in James Joyce's Ulysses at the same time.

Aenima by Tool

Some say the end is near.
Some say we'll see armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will.
I sure could use a vacation from this

Bullshit three ring circus sideshow of
Freaks

Some say a comet will fall from the sky.
Followed by meteor showers and tidal waves.
Followed by faultlines that cannot sit still.
Followed by millions of dumbfounded dipshits.

One great big festering neon distraction,
I've a suggestion to keep you all occupied.

Learn to swim.

Fuck L Ron Hubbard and
Fuck all his clones.
Fuck all these gun-toting
Hip gangster wannabes.

Learn to swim.

Cuz I'm praying for rain
And I'm praying for tidal waves
I wanna see the ground give way.
I wanna watch it all go down.
Mom please flush it all away.
I wanna see it go right in and down.
I wanna watch it go right in.
Watch you flush it all away.

Time to bring it down again.
Don't just call me pessimist.
Try and read between the lines.

I can't imagine why you wouldn't
Welcome any change, my friend.

Tool. There's a reason that every man and his dog has Aenema in his CD collection, whether it's sitting next to Insane Clown Posse, John Farnham or Gene Pitney. It's because Maynard is the single exempted prick around here who has reason to be arrogant and annoying. He's not being pretentious. He really is that superior to you.

And this song is not just about LA. It's about any place you live in that's populated by undeserving overpriveleged ignoramuses. Like Sydney.

Lustmord And Wargasm (The Lick Of Carnivorous Winds) by Cradle of Filth

An Archangel in bondage
Bediademed, souled
With a murder of ravens
But no less Astarte to behold
Abandoned by Heaven
To the dead, dark and past
Cast Her dispersions
On life's brittle glass

And though Her eyes still held fire
As stonewalls caged the beast
'Gainst the lassitudes of Death
She fought but fell to greet
And midst lies in collusion
She was martyred to teach
That "Divinity and Lust
Are forever forbidden to meet"

But I swore that they would
Before the veil could part our embrace
Twixt Her cold, silent hips I kissed
And promised Christendom in flames

Gravid with madness
Like a feculent dirge
That obsesses the heart
I am covened by words

To avenge Her
Ebon splendour
And surrender
My soul to the dead to achieve
Prophecies of libidinous scourge
Horripilation braying o'er carious herds

How they plead to the skies
But this is mere foreplay to war

Scar-riddled saffron eves bleed like the conjugal
Vestal daughters giving throat to the priest
A psychophant, the despoiler of faith
Now His skinless crucifixion feeds a winged diocese

So came the night
Its obsidian light
Is a master whom disasters
Suck upon like concubines
And under black skirts
That whisper of delight
Darkseeds near fruition
Darked deeds to marry mine

The breath of the storm that begins
By forcing its Herod tongue in
The womb of the holy virgin
To taste of immaculate sin

Commemorating sickle moons
The pack are poised to reap
A scythe of white roses in bloom
Whose twisted thorns will keep
A crown upon a dead man
Daylights crucified in sleep
And lives that hide in scriptured lies
To the memories of a scream

"What the fuck barbeque?" you will be saying. Lighten up, guy. Everyone would masturbate to Cradle of Filth if they would just let go. Liberate yourself. Danni Filth obviously has. Maybe your ejaculate will land in the form of neo-gothic poetry that you can make money off.

It was the best of oatmeals...

... it was the worst of oatmeals.

I still get occassional moments of inward panic as I forget why I get out of bed in the morning, and search unsuccesfully for something to look forward to. Wait, no, panic sounds too interesting. It's more like a hollow, despairing feeling that nothing but boredom and disappointment stretches out before me endlessly.

I'm slowly realising I'm not alone. It's very unexpected that so many people would seem to have a mid-life crisis in their early 20s but that's what seems to be happening now.

But then I get these weird periods of euphoria, these zen moments, a feeling of neither particular excitement nor dread, just content with the bubble of reality I occupy at that moment. It's not really nirvana or anything, but it is a weird detached acceptance of the universe that buddhism talks about.

Sometimes I get it when I think about religion and spirituality, even if I think about gasp vomit christianity. Could I be bipolar? I do associate christianity with bipolar disorder for some reason. Every second ex-Christian deconvert on the atheist forums seems to have had it or has christian family members who are bipolar. I have sent away for some free booklets on Who Is The Antichrist? and12 keys to Answered Prayer. I struggle to justify why. I'm not trying to convert or understand it anymore, I just wanted the literature. I think that it's a symptom.

Also, what does it mean that I usually feel this way on the bus home? I get travel sickness if I read or play DS, so it's the one time of the day I can force myself to sit down, shut up and just stare out a window. Perhaps that's it. It's my meditation time. The worse the traffic, the closer to the Buddha within I creep.

Here's a tip for enduring public transport. If you manage to get a seat, it's fun when looking out the window to imagine that your eyes can shoot laser beams and cut trees in half as you whoosh past. Sometimes an unfortunate car gets in the way, however, and some poor family or businessman is seared in half. Oh well.

Killing Myself Softly...

... with this intestinal cleansing fast.

What is it? 10 days fast on a special mixture to flush out the bowels. No food.

Why? Everyone at work is doing it. Well, they were... now it's just two of us. Anyway, the challenge intrigues me, I'd like to see how long I can go without solid food ("but I love solids!" ).

Also, I've become obsessed with calendars, such as the Mayan calendar, and want to create my own calendar cycle with my own festivities. Catholics have Lent, Muslims have Ramadan, Jews have Yom Kippur, Hindus have... lots of them.... I could have my own 10 day annual bowel cleansing festival.

How? Just a breakfast of salty water, followed by 2.5 L throughout the day of a strange lemon juice - maple syrup drink, topped off with a herbal laxative at night. I've added my own twist with some Mylanta (mmmmm... fibre...) and Centrum multivitamins.

Where? Where? What sort of question is that? In my abdomen, that's where.

Last night I had the herbal laxative. It was just a teaspoon of herbs washed down with water. I nearly threw up. This morning I had the salt water flush. It was luke warm. I nearly threw up.

Then I took Apple Passionfruit juice to work instead of the mix by accident because they were kept in identical bottles. I didn't notice the difference because I hate apple juice and I've never drunk Apple Passionfruit juice.

So I sat there like a dork saying how nice the mix is, and how the lemon tastes stronger than the maple syrup, which I couldn't taste at all, and how the cayenne pepper wasn't spicy at all. Then Jones rang asking where his apple juice had gone and it clicked.

IDIOT. Oh well, KFC mashies for lunch for me I guess. Cleansing fast starts tomorrow.

Apathy ==> Antipathy

I nearly cried at work yesterday. Why? Because I used the word "action" as a verb. The corporate zombies are eating my brain.

I've discovered that if you say something enough times it becomes true, even if it starts off as a joke. Like "I hate everyone" and "I don't care what people think of me" and "deep down inside, everyone around me is a soulless douche". There is not a single human being in sight, especially not one that I don't want to do grievous bodily harm to. I can't talk to people. They talk bullshit. It's all gibberish to me. It's just random sentences, most of them quotes from something or in-jokes that make no sense to all but 3 other people. There's no topic of conversation anymore. It's all just an asinine attempt at being post-modern. I can't stand it.

But that used to me, right? I used to speak incoherently about nothing and everything and giggle constantly while doing it. Right? Look at those sentences! Incoherently! Asinine! What are these fucking words? This is why there is no conversation! These words are from non-fiction novels by evolutionary biologists commenting on religion in the modern world, they're not things you actually say or think in your head! No one talks to text books. No one even looks at them. They just pretend to flick through them when they feel obligated.

Let's just think logically about this. Is it really that everyone else has slowly become intolerable, and that somehow I'm the only sane person left? Is anyone really doing or saying anything different to before? Who is it here that is being anti-social? Show me who is causing this calamity, I'll bash the living shit out of them...

Is this maybe... my fault? =gasp=

Choices and consequences. Choices. Consequences. First you make a choice. Then there are consequences. Choice. Then consequence.
Oh. I see it now. Oops.

How do I undo it? Where's the rewind button? Cntrl + Z... cntrl + Z!! CNTRL + Z!! Fuck. It's not working. It's irreversible. I'm stuck with it. Arg.

So this is what the word "alienation" means.

Dave Montomery

If you've ever set foot in the area from Berowra up to Turramurra, particularly around Hornsby RSL after 10pm, then there's a chance you've met Dave Montgomery. You know you've met this guy because he'll introduce himself with his first and last name, then request your full name too. He's lived here for a long time. In fact, Jones' granddad says when he was younger, he'd have dinner with Dave Montgomery up at St. Ives shops on regular basis.

He likes to ask me if I have brothers. He then pretends that my surname is familiar and that he thinks he knows my brothers from rugby results in the local paper. At first I took him for real, but then I remembered that my brothers have a different surname to me, and don't play Union. So now I know he's full of shit. Oh well. He's just a bit funny in the head.

I've met many people from my area who know Dave Montgomery, either by name or description. He even came up and started talking to me in Turramurra Video Ezy once, when picking out videos with my family. My brothers found it kind of weird.

The first time I met Dave actually links in with another interesting anecdote from my past. This is one of those stories that starts "when I was 19". When I was 19, I was waiting at Hornsby for the Nightride bus. Dave Montgomery came up and introduced himself, as already described. He then started talking on with his signature craziness.

He was interupted by another guy sitting on the same seat as me. "Oy Dave", he said, as if he knew him personally. "Dave, do you have any money?"

Dave said "No." The guy said again "Dave, I'm broke, give me some money". Dave and I both thought he was just playing silly buggers, but then he said "Dave, you're going to give me some money or I'm going to have to hurt you"

Fucking great, I thought. Why do I have to be around this? If Dave gets rolled, I'll be next. I was a broke uni student at this point, so this prospect didn't thrill me much. Well... actually... I guess it wouldn't thrill me now either. Some other guy behind the bus stop who seemed pretty off his face and bleary-eyed found it hilarious. Good for him.

Dave was a bit shaken by all this, and after the guy repeated himself a couple of times, he quickly left the bus stop. I felt that it would be a good time for me to follow suit, but the guy on the seat just said to me "Don't go, I was just joking. Don't worry, I'm not dangerous. I just don't feel up to listening to Dave harrass another girl at a bus stop all night with his stories"

I sat back down and started to talk to him. The bleary-eyed high-as-a-kite guy joined in. These guys were really funny. Despite the three of us being strangers to each other, we got on really well. We got on the bus together, I even had to borrow money off them because the cunt driver rejected my concession card.

The weird sense of deja vu set in when the drugfuck guy started to tell an awesome story about him spilling hash oil on his jeans. He got off the train at Hornsby station, right at the end of the school day when the sniffer dogs are rife around the station concourse. The sniffer dogs got a whiff of his illegally stained pants and went nuts. The cops started hassling him and did a full search.

Then he came out with the immortal line "How were they expecting to arrest me for that - cut the stain out of my jeans and weigh it?".

I suddenly realised I'd met these two guys at least twice before, at the same bus stop, and that I'd heard this story as many times before, including that line. In fact, I can't be sure if I'd met them a thousand times, but apparently our weekly routine of being mashed on public transport late at night in hornsby was a ritual we all shared, along with a dislike of Dave Montgomery, and we'd gotten to know each other all over again several times, only to forget it with the next morning's sobriety. It's kind of buddhist ... almost. You know - past lives and reincarnation, being reborn only to repeat much of the same bullshit next time round, with the same unenlightened souls.

Or perhaps that's just reading too much into it.

Losing Touch

So I completely forgot that May 1st has been and gone. Well, not forgotten. I remember getting to work and figuring out that there is no such thing as the 31st of April, but it didn't click with me that May 1st is one of the most important days of the year - it's Labour Day.

I realised this during my 3rd hour of unpaid overtime tonight at work. Some would call that irony. I wouldn't, because that's not what irony is, but you get the idea.

People died for causes I actually consider worthy, and I'm too busy slaving away to remember. I'm completely out of touch with my own ethics, my own interests and passions. Thanks to work. It's taking over my fucking life. I'm moving to government accounts, which is a Great Career Opportunity, but that scares me more. I don't want this to be my career. If one day I actually started making more money for all this extra workload, then I might decide to not change jobs. That would be a disaster of my own making.

Agh. If only I didn't owe the socialist cult $100, I'd just join up again. Hell, I could go to Melbourne again, to billet with rampant marxists and pretend to go to conferences on socialism.
Hmmm, I wonder what the membership fees are like for anarchists...

Super Stalin Bros.

It's not original, but I just wasted a huge chunk of my evening on this. And I used MS Paint. Why, I don't know. I should take the time to learn how to use photoshop to fix it up.

looking for purity

I like Buddhism.
I'm going to join a ... sangha... or whatever they're called.

I've drunk a lot of water lately.




Yep.

FUCKING TRAITORS (i hate humans and most animals)

There's two super ex-best friends that will be hung up on Monday if they call me. They don't know I have a blog, so this is largely a pointless rant, but aren't they all? Yeah, they're so barred. Sick of unreliable people. To anyone that's ever put up with my constant unreliability as a friend: you're pathetic, you shouldn't put up with it.
Oh wait.. you don't... okay so that explains a few things.

**processing thoughts** Perhaps... call me crazy if I sound like it... but cutting out more friends would be a ... bad decision? I seem to have painted myself into a corner, socially. By that stupid metaphor, I mean I've systematically become detached from everyone and lost all confidence to talk to anyone but my increasingly small inner cadre.

I have thought of ways to be less obnoxious and enjoy social interaction more, such as a brain injury or lobotomy. However, if I think about it closely enough, douchebags only like douchey things so trying to be less douchey is actually self-defeating. And I'm convinced now that EVERYONE is douchebags.

Don't correct my fucking grammar while I'm talking. Sit the fuck down.

My New Year's resolution to quit all drugs and alcohol for a year is the worst decision of my life. Scratch that, that's just melodramatic hyperbole. I WISH it was the worst decision of my life - ha!
But it's not going well in any sense but that I've only broken it once... since January 5th. I will stick to it, because it is only for a year, and it may be one of those things that you need to ride out to get to the good part. However, next year, my resolution will be to spend as many waking hours high. Seeing as I prefer teh amphetaminez, there'll be plenty of waking hours.

Hmmm... I've quit smoking for such a long time that I didn't put smoking into my list of things not to do. I mean I couldn't ban all substances. I need antihistamines for my hay fever and panadol for stress headaches. So I never mentioned nicotine or smoking. **eyes light up** I always make friends with cigarettes!

What the fuck are these entries? I don't know. It's not on myspace, this blog gets next to no traffic, pfft. I don't care anymore. Shame that my new found candour hasn't really improved the quality of my blog.

Anyway, back to the point. Bridget and Lisa, you're not my friends any more. I won't invite you to any of my parties, you're fired, you can't get into the club house any more. I'll change the secret super best friends hand shake just to make sure. It's just me and Rammsteinn in my club now.

Suck eggs, gaylords.

D.B. Himmersbach is not a man to make idle threats.

Why does it seem that everyone else is crazy but me?

My work laptop screen is cracked so long time no post. I've discovered that doing my work instead of posting on forums does not actually get work done before quitting time. It actually creates more work.

My boss has cut my bonus in half for not uploading an order because there was already an order in there under the same name (I thought it was that order). He tried to console me with "hey, out of like 80 orders you've only screwed up one". So I said something like "well, maybe we shouldn't bring that up seeing as it's much more than 1/80th of my bonus that you're cutting". He didn't seem none too impressed. Started to back off when I began ranting about unpaid overtime.

Gary, one of the blind guys at Pizza Hut call center once bitched about the union to me. He said he could negotiate a better agreement on his own, because he could drop parts of the agreements he didn't need to get other things he really wanted. I can now say from personal experience that Gary don't know shit about what he's talking about. With no bargaining power, they'll get rid of those "superfluous" bits alright, but they won't give you anything in return. I never really needed the union to intercede before, but suddenly in a unionless workplace, I do need them. It's very hard to protect both your job AND your interests when you have to go into bat for yourself. Not to mention the fact that I can't find my copy of my contract, and my requests to be given a copy have been ignored, so having someone who can inform me of my actual rights would be better than me just cowering away, assuming the worst.

If Blind Gary was here right now as I think about this, I'd punch him until he bled. I don't care if he's blind. I'll put a bell on my wrist so he can hear it coming. I'd punch him repeatedly. It's what I'd do for anyone else, so I guess it's part of having an Equal Opportunity attitude. His poor little guide dog would probably be cheering and egging me on anyway.

If everyone else is crazy, I thought I might just jump on the bangwagon and take up an evening position that work is offering, 5 - 8.30pm Mon - Fri for a few months for extra cash. It better be good cash, considering how the tax rate is going to jump.

Wow, yet another post entirely about work. FUCK. That makes me angry.

Gee, I wonder why. Maybe because my life has become incredibly boring, lonely and uneventful. Whatever, fuck people.

Oh, and the title of this post? That's just what I heard on the TV just now, as I sit at home on a Saturday night because I have no fucking money left to go out.

I'm a violent monster, lock me up

I beat my wife.

I beat him for not getting me a drink quick enough. I beat him for making the same boring dinner all the time. I beat him for not agreeing with me.

Look, here's the evidence:

¡SELBBUB!

The universe has conspired against me again this weekend. Not only did it give me the flu right as I had to go on a bridgeclimb with my team from work, but to top it off, it began raining only hours before our bubble party.

Oh noes rain you might say, but in the middle of New South Wales' worst drought in 100 years‽ And influenza in February‽ When will I learn not to look forward to anything?

Anyway, surprisingly enough, people still turned up. I didn't get to enjoy things or talk to people as much as I had hoped because I felt rather shit and the weather made me rather strange. My efforts to make talky-talky with people ended with me being a right dick so I avoided too much interaction and pissed everyone off by taking photos with my HORRIBLY ineffectual digital camera.

I like my photos, because unlike all you arty ponces, mine are badly focused, terribly framed and aren't of interesting or relevant subjects.


Here's Jones and Mikey testing the bubble mix the day before the party. Quite impressive, yes?







The bubble quality held out at the party as well, even though we were forced to have them inside, which had certain consequences...









... such as making food nearby soggy and soapy.


At least the carpet is getting a good wash from it.







Big bubbles amuse small minds.






Here's a bunch of people being

couch monkeys, to capture the atmosphere.




















Yeah, it's a blurry pic, but it's funny to see people's faces when Jones is talking to them.






Hey, you damn kids!! Get out of my kitchen!!!






That's enough Mandreano for one post...






"This is my 'NO' face"
Did I mention I'm sick? Only like 50 times in one evening.








See that yellow thing on the bench? Look closely. That's the bubble machine that inspired this party. You can see some small bubbles floating around it. Many of which stuck to the Palex's toys below.

Hi Alastair!!

Holy crap! How many photos do I have to post here?

Oh, I think I'm done. So yeah, that was the party. Apologies to anyone on dial-up or whose download limit I just completely raped.

P.S: It's still fucking raining!!

Forky forky forky

I want to be a fork lift driver. This is my new career plan. We went to the warehouse today for a tour and I saw the forklifter drivers zipping around. Such a better job than what I have.

First of all I have to save up for a motorbike to improve my employment options.

Then I'm going to go to the gym to improve my upper body fitness (among other things). Women can more easily develop good lower body strength (ie: thighs and legs) but aren't as naturally strong in the arms, back and chest as men, so I need to do some work to match the fitness of other workers, as forklift drivers may also have other warehouse duties.

Then I'm going to get my forklift license and apply for jobs.

Why? FOR A KAJILLION REASONS:

1. They get paid better than me. Jones says so.
2. No customers
3. They get to drive around all day in a forklift, which looks really fun
4. No customers
5. No corporate bullshit
6. No customers
7. No more listening to managers bullshit on about Prada or Louis Vuitton or whatever while leaving their kids with other people for most hours out of the week
8. No customers
9. A more unionised workplace
10. No customers
11. Less stress
12. No customers, no cusomters, no customers

I want to be a fork lift driver la la la la!

Merry Frummas

Today is the day that John Frum might come back.


The cargo cult of Tannas, New Hebrides, believe that one day a messiah will come back, bearing gifts and prosperity. He will take away all pain and suffering. He'll send all the annoying white people they've had to deal with off the island.

He will come February 15, but no one knows the year.

This cult is clearly influenced by christian missionaries but damn, how it's backfired. John Frum hates the missionaries. He will send them away like Jesus dissing the pharisees. In fact there's a lot in common between John Frum and Jesus, such as the fact that they may or may not have been a real living person, but who knows anymore now that so much bullshit and mythology surrounds their name.

As pointed out by the Cargo Culters of the New Hebrides, their cult is actually less silly than Christianity, because they've only been waiting a couple of decades - Christians have been waiting a couple of millenia.





Don't believe me? Here's a link bomb to convince you:

• John Frum: A Millenarian Movement in Tanna, New Hebrides


• WIKI WIKI WIKIPEDIA! on John Frum


• Smithsonian: In John They Trust

Oh noes... was that culturally insensitive?

Feb 14 = Invasion Day

No, I know it's not Australia Day. This is a different kind of Invasion Day.

February 14 is St. Valentine's Day: the day we celebrate the invasion of someone else into our life and our reciprocal invasion into theirs, or we spend the day miserable, wishing that we could be annexed.

The US invaded Iraq to "liberate" it. That is, Iraq had many faults - y'know, torture and oppressive dictatorship and so on - so like a meddling girlfriend or controlling boyfriend, they tried to change them for the better.

The result: the place is going to shit. Same thing goes for trying to "save" someone from themself. It only causes problems. Just as a people can only emancipate themselves if they are to be truly free, no one is really changed unless they have some epiphany and change themselves. The US government should hardly complain about the shit it has to deal with as fallout from this disastrous war - they put themselves in that position. See where the analogy is going?

I won't harp on anymore about it, but the mantra for the day that I meditated upon was this:
MONOGAMY IS DICTATORSHIP

MARRIAGE IS SLAVERY

sorry... i just haven't used marquee in such a long time and felt like adding that little spice of annoyingness

Jones. On the interweb. No, really.

My boo, whatever the fuck that is, now has a fagspace profile and a flickr account. Of course, knowing how slow he types and how illiterate he is - both with technology and just in general - I had to set it all up for him.

myspace.com/fidertown - username is Joe King, because that's the stupid name he wants to one day change his to, legally
RSS feed: http://blog.myspace.com/blog/rss.cfm?friendID=154309238

flickr.com/photos/fidertown - mostly for his art only, rather than baby photos, which I usually horde. Not much on their now, just some of his minor works which rely heavily on appropriation of other artists, but soon we'll scan some of his original works and take photos of some figurines he's working on now
RSS feed: http://api.flickr.com/services/feeds/photos_public.gne?id=85218317@N00&format=rss_200

However, I refrained from taking over completely and faithfully typed up whatever content he dictated to me, only using my brain for the hax0ring of the layout. That's why the CSS is so pro (ha!) but colour scheme is so unbelievably gross (true). I recommend reading his FagSpace profile for some mild hilarity, especially the section where he lists his heroes. His background for his FagSpace profile is a pic he made himself, by the way.

Yeah, so go to his flickr and myspace to encourage him or pass on the urls to other people who are interested in art so that he can make some good contacts and converse with people with a similar brain mutation to him.

Whaaaaat? Say Something!

You know those talking smileys that invade your browser via stupid banners on sites like Fagspace? "Whaaaat?" "Say something!" "Whaaat?" "Say something!"

DIE ALREADY
you may well say.

BUT! perhaps they are already dead.

Stay with me on this: maybe when tortured souls pass on to the next world, they become MSN animated smileys. They are trapped in cyberspace, unable to communicate in any other way than their programmed "Whaaaaaat?". Every "Oh my god! No waaaaay" has the voice of a tortured net-bound soul behind it, just screaming to get out. Think about how much torment that would be - the hatred spewed forth from people who forgot to mute their computer at work, and had it made bleedingly obvious to the whole floor that they were procrastinating, with their unwelcome catch phrases of eternal doom.



Alas, the more they try to break out, the stronger they are held in by shitty coding - the kind that turns MySpace into a quagmire of 404s.

That's right, you heard me. The interweb is Hell, and Microsoft is the devil. It's all so obvious.

Working Woman for Satan

I was reading this other random blog called "College Girl for Christ". It was, obviously, by a college student who is a born-again Christian. She's pretty much my opposite and her positive attitude kind of makes my cynical, sarcastic, constantly-bitching-about-everything personality look pretty sucky. A couple of her posts have been a bit more negative, but then in her last one, her college room mate has moved out. Her room-mate sounds like she could be me:

She was messy, I was neat. She was a night person, I wasn't. I'm a Christian, she's an 'everything'. And we basically crashed. She let her boyfriend and friends use my stuff and left me with nothing to drink during finals week. And so I let her know in no uncertain terms that you just don't do that. I agree that we are roommates and things are shared...but she never let me know. She never said, "Hey, Steph. I let Taylor have a Cherry Coke." No. She tried to hide it.

A lot of the time when I read the thoughts of Christians like this girl their delusion becomes attractive to me. It seems like if I gave in and somehow believed in what they do, I could have a sunshine-lollipops-and-rainbow sort of life, where moral decisions are simple & dichromatic and where I'm expected to strive everyday for the powers of goodness and morality. So ... like.. everything I'm not. The earlier posts of hers talks about some people she'd just met in Bible study and how much she "loves" them already. I hate everyone, including myself. I don't hate the Palex, but if the only person I don't hate is a 2 year-old, I don't know if that counts.

I think that the christian belief would bring somewhat of a comfort to me, in that I could believe in Divine Justice even when there is seemingly little on earth. It's frustrating and depressing to think that shit happens to good people for no reason, and arseholes have awesome lives with no accountability. They talk about the changes Jesus makes in their lives. Well I'm dying for some change. If talking to an imaginary friend can do that, I'm tempted to sign up.

Could it be that I'm being called to Christ? Bah. There's a fantastic article^[1] on the psychology of this on exChristian.net by John Blatt that hits on the head exactly why I feel this way:

Evangelization, generally speaking, is psychological warfare of the mind. It is designed to confuse your current non-belief with a powerful, authoritative message of tremendous weight - eternity. Those who are in a weakened emotional or psychological state (from some inner turmoil, external stress, or even being lonely or homesick) are much easier prey to this psychological bombardment, and when it is masked with the guise of spirituality it becomes a serious burden to the Self.

When one undergoes the "born-again" experience and feels like a different person (and psychologically is) this is the mind succumbing to the psychological warfare and tremendous emotions of relief are felt and "renewal of soul" are felt because that burden, in a sense, falls through the mind of the person and is now free from it by being taken over by it.

When I read this it all made sense. I really do feel like there's a battle in my mind between logic and the desire to be released from guilt and fear. To give in would be a great relief, and my brain feels battle fatigue quite often. Unlike Catholicism, Born-Agains use guilt and fear in a way that makes their belief look like a refuge. Catholicism, or at least, the catholicism I knew, felt more like having a gun to my head, where as this newer kind of Christianity is more like the chance to win a holiday or 1 of 50 Myers vouchers.

The Amish are the Christians I'd most want to join. I don't know if they count as born-again, though they are Anabaptists (baptism is a choice for them made after teenagers experience freedom in the outside world, and are given the option of leaving the fold to live out there). Their simple way of life is arranged around keeping the family together - they farm so that fathers will still be at home too, even as they work. I do yearn for a life less complicated than this where my direction and purpose are easily mapped out before me. I don't aspire to fame or success, because I don't see how those things would make me happy. I don't care if I'm remembered when I die because I won't be around then anyway.

Although, I wonder if I wouldn't yearn for adventure. I do wish I could go off adventuring tomorrow, but I always thought that was to do with my dissatisfaction with life how it is.

However, I am well aware that no one is a Christian in deed but in belief. While the same old thought processes from days of being a Hell-fearing Catholic still go on in my brain, there's still some territory in my brain that hasn't been annexed yet, a part that sees Christianity as nice idea (except for all the OT smiting and the firey vengeance of the Last Days) but not a reality or a truth in itself.

Maybe it's just a long time since I've had an adventure or done something new. Maybe I need to go travelling to remind me that the world isn't as small as it feels right now.

Interesting reading:

1. The full article that I quoted, called "Why Atheistic Arguments Cannot Work Against Christian Fundamentalism": Why Atheistic Arguments Cannot Work Against Christian Fundamentalism - ExChristian.Net - Articles

That article was posted on the web by this guy: myspace.com/psychicevolution whose myspace blog is full of interesting articles on similar subject matter, that is worth having a look through.
If you want to discuss this article, I suggest going to the Why Won't God Heal Amputees.com forum topic on it

I miss her

One of my best mates ever, Alex, went overseas about a year and a half ago. We've been mates since Year 8. We've spent entire weeks in the summer holidays just going around doing our usual summer holiday stuff together. We'd spend months apart. Either way, nothing much changed.

Anyway, she has a FagSpace (fuck, I just realised how many times FagSpace gets mentioned and linked to in my blog... I'm supporting the whore), and recently she put some of her songs up. See, she went to Canada, then Europe and is currently in Ireland for her singing career. Hearing her voice is weird... it still sounds so familiar but it's made me remember a lot. It's made me feel really sad about the fact I'll probably never see her again.

No, I don't give a shit at all about how soppy this crap sounds. I really don't. Maybe sometimes I'm allowed to stop ranting about the fucking bourgeois, or making lame jokes about petty petty things. Maybe sometimes I am a person and not a caricature of myself. Oh fuck, now I'm just another emo blogging cunt. So much for the caricature thing. Shit.

I don't think I have any of the same level of friendship as I used to have with people like Alex. It wasn't just her. It was a few people. And this is just making me remember the past and realise what I've fucked up. So many people have moved on to bigger and better adventures, or just don't know me anymore. When I say "I miss her", it's really a whole collection of random people I miss, male and female.

In fact, it's more the old me and my old life that I miss. Not that other people don't matter to me, but if I'm to be honest about what it is that makes me miss them, it's not really their voice, or their jokes or whatever, but the things I did with them and the person I was with them. Having people who are important to you and to whom you are equally important. Knowing that people would notice in less than a day if you'd died in your attic. When losing your phone for 3 days leaves you with more than 2 missed calls and 1 SMS.
Free drugs.

OK just kidding about the drugs. But that is a perk too.

I think that's why I'm a really fucking nasty bitter misanthropic shithead now. I'm not that close to people anymore. I don't speak to people for weeks. A couple of people I would say I was as close to as with Alex these days make me feel sort of annoyed when they talk about trivial things and I get pissed off if they ask questions about my private life. Some people I stopped talking to when I was at Ryde in my little year-long drughole - boy do I know now how much happens in just one year. To their credit, a few of them made a fair effort to keep me as a friend, but it's pretty frustrating to do so when the other person is oblivious and completely unappreciative. They all might still be in the country, but they're worlds away from me nonetheless.

It's supposed to be some shame to admit you have regrets. Fuck that. I have regrets. If I could go back 5 years, change everything that's happened but have no memory of my alternate future, I'd do it in a heart beat.



Well, this is awkward.

Um... ah... I hate... traffic lights... or something...

spiders on drugs

An info link on spiders on drugs of a different nature: http://www.trinity.edu/jdunn/spiderdrugs.htm

Living in a Sauna

It's 9:30pm, or thereabouts. It's extremely hot and there are fires not so far up north. We can hear fire engines all around. I'm still sweating. It's sooo hot, and our fan is broken. Hey, what's a fan going to do anyway. Yeah, enjoy your air conditioning, fuckers, you're only making it worse.

Look, bushfire. Mikey's friend has taken photos of the fire up near the freeway at Mount Colah tonight. It's creeping south at a pretty fair speed.

Weatherpixie lies. That stupid whore says that it's 27^oC. I think that's taken from Sydney airport where it's closer to water. Olympic park, out at Homebush, has it at 32.8^oC. That sounds more like it.

These fires could cut power to us tonight but then the lappy would have about 3-4 hours battery life (the lappy & her battery are almost 3 years old now). Thank Jah for mobile technology.

Oh fuck I'm melting. This is ridiculous. I can't sleep. I should get a sick day tomorrow for heat stroke or something.

Projects

I've realised that Spod - the Sydney band - doesn't have a Wikipedia article, but does have a reference in an article about a technical term "spod". So I'm going to write one for them.

Also, I have a fat-arse essay I'm writing about public reaction in Australia to criticism, dissent and unpopular opinions. It focuses mostly on Germaine Greer and Sheik Hilali as case studies. Yeah, I know, boring for everyone else but me. It's more a writing exercise for my own amusement. I'm also doing a shorter and less researched piece on the right-wing conservative euphemism of "pro-family".

Add to that I have 3 books to read right now: The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins, Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson and Philosophy for Dummies^TM. And I've just sent us broke (almost literally) by buying up some beads & elastics for making bracelets.

Other "exciting" stuff I'm planning:

• Finding good bushwalking tracks (mostly for cooler weather though, I would get heat stroke if I went bushwalking on day like today (it's 27^oC / 80.6^oF now but feels hotter, check the current temperature in Sydney here)
• Thinking up and researching more essay topics
• Getting the Palex a toy box
  
• Lacquering his easel so he can do fingerpainting and drawing outside on the balcony
• Finding a nice big cheap outdoor table for our balcony (it's a big wide balcony, more like a terrace I guess)
  
• Organising and throwing out and selling stuff so we have more room
• Fixing my typewriters and getting back into letter-writing
  
• Trying to figure out where I can study when I start TAFE... if I get in...

Speaking of TAFE, it starts in February. I hope I can find my old HSC documents in time so I can get in. But if I do, when will I have time for any of this stuff? I'm going to be doing a Certificate III In Mortuary Practice. I can't wait.

Oh well. Keeping me occupied is very important for making sure I don't get too neurotic and annoying. If I always have something to do then I won't go craaaaaaazy.

Jesus. This is the worst blog entry ever.
Meh. I don't care.

J'en ai marre - ça suffit!

People are such complete douchebags.
I'm convinced our brains are over-developed.We now are a bunch of self-aggrandising spoilt brats with unrealistic expectations of life. I look at my dreams and I'm almost 100% sure I'll die disappointed. Cue song: Everybody wants to rule the world.

The fear of disappointment and not getting our way causes us to do strange and extreme things to get our way. Like stalking. Yeah, the fucking stalker AGAIN. **rolls eyess**

Last night, I heard a twig snap outside the fence. It was quite loud, which leads me to believe it was a fairly strong stick that required a bit of force to break it. Force is a function of mass, so I think it was something bigger than a cat or possum. My suspicions were confirmed later when Mikey saw a light behind the fence. He went out to see who was there but couldn't find anything - it was very dark.

SCARIEST BIT: After I went to bed, Mikey went upstairs to his room, and from reading his blog this morning, it seems that he called the police that night, because he saw a green light - a laser beam - on his bedroom wall. That means this fucker isn't just hiding behind our fence - he's coming into our estate, and lurking around the driveways.

Who could be bothered to sit in itchy scrub, with mozzies and spiders and pointy sticks, and risk arrest, rather than any other option. When I'm pissed off at someone, here's the ideas that run through my head:

1. Launching a sit-yo-ass-down STFU tirade at them, preferably in front of other people, so that my moral victory is known by all
2. Beating them up. No weapons, not Sagara style, just a good old-fashioned punch-up.
3. Talking to them directly about it, usually when it comes up in conversation
4. Making comments about it to people I know will pass it on to my intended target so they know what I'm pissed about and preferably just drop it
5. Emailing them, writing a letter, or some form of visual communication from afar
6. Boycotting all their social events and not replying to their attempts to contact me
7. Whining like a little bitch about it without ever intending to take action or find a solution

See what's missing from that list? A lot of these options are about me avoiding confrontation, but the worst psychological warfare that is there is ignoring them. Beating them up is not something I'd actually do, I just imagine it - it's cathartic, but probably only worsens my sentiments towards them.

Only recently I rang someone about something that was bothering me. From getting more information and discarding misinformation that I had taken for granted as true, I realised the situation wasn't how I thought. Things always seem worse when they're left to fester in your imagining and worst-case assumptions. That notwithstanding, relieving myself of the burden of anger and hurt was well worth it. That's because I actually just wanted to sort things out. I didn't want to punish anyone or torment them, otherwise I would've gone about it another way.

Either this person is a really damaged, scared, weird little person, or they don't want to actually solve anything that's bugging them, they'd rather draw energy off those problems so they can keep tormenting their "enemy". Which then leads to the question: what on earth could Mikey have done for such punishment to be proportionate?

Methinks that this petty fuck is overreacting big time, and needs to get a life, or at least just another hobby.

Haven't You People Ever Heard of Finishing a Goddamn Song?

Know what sucks about PANIC! At the Disco?

They're songs start off great, but then they die. Like they have a great idea when they're stoned, but 3 seconds later they've forgotten it. Like they get bored after composing the first minute of song and just "auto-fill" the rest. Like they come up with a concept, and 2 short verses with a chorus, then fit it into a pop-hit template to work out the rest.

Don't get sucked in by their avant-garde titles, like "There's A Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey You Just Haven't Thought Of It Yet" There's a pedestrian lurking behind each one.

I Write Sins Not Tragedies:

"Haven't you people ever heard of / Closing a goddamn door"

Oh what a great chorus. And the verses have a little story going on. Well the first one does, the second one is half a verse that is repeated and doesn't really tell you anything at all. As for the third verse - what do you mean third verse? There is no third verse? These cunt run off with the last phrase of the chorus "poise and rationality" and just float off into a foggy middle eighth refrain (more like a middle thirty-second) that repeats and repeats and repeats, with a chorus thrown in there for good measure.

So if you like the verse and chorus, the band basically says "tough shit... 80% of this song isn't going to sound like a song at all, it's going to punk version of ambient music with some emo wanker cooing over the top".

Listening to this song is like wading through mud.

Lying is the Most Fun A Girl Can Have With Her Clothes On

"Let's get these two hearts beating faster faster"

Starts off intense and serious and personal. It sounds like a song about sexuality and jealousy. Sounds hot. Like it? Wanna hear more? Tough shit. AGAIN.

Did their constant repetition of "poise and rationality" make you want to die during I.W.S.N.T? Just wait until you wake up screaming at 3am, sweating, with "dance to this beat, dance to this beeeeat" on constant loop in your head.

What the fuck does that mean: "testosterone boys and harlequin(?) girls / dance to this beat and hold a lover close"? Fucking hell. The only time a song can address its audience as a large collective mass is in hip hop and rap. "B-boys" and "fly girls" have no place in rock. It doesn't work. That's why people who like hip hop think rock is corny: because it does shit like that.

My god. Would you ever hear Kurt Cobain sing "Everybody in the house, put your hands up in the air"? NO? So what gives PANIC! the chutzpah to do the equivalent themselves?

---

WHY AM I SO ANGRY? Because if there is a God then he has really fucked us over. It should be the 4th law of thermodynamics that you can't give someone the ability to do something proficiently, without creativity and imagination to make it enjoyable for others. It's like God gave them the talent, and I got the ideas, but without both in the one person, they're each useless.

Why God? Why give my talent to those air-head art-punk-emo fuckwits who think that a simple key change will make the song sound a bit more varied? Did I offend you in the womb?! Are there some in utero sins I have yet to pay off? Did I worship my umbilical cord as a false idol?

PANIC! At the Disco are no more than a dressed-up, over-glorified Blink 182. In fact, the only real difference is that PANIC! know more than 3 chords and don't sing songs like "shit piss c*nt f*ck cocksucker motherf*cker" and if you really think about it, that actually makes Blink 182 better, because at least they're honest about the purility of their work.

Yes I feel like shit today, as predicted

My mouth tastes like carpet cleaner.

Everyone says I look really tired. Probably because I had two and a half hours sleep.

Right now, I value sleep higher than the interweb. Almost.

Spider Park

Mikey and I stayed up last night making South Park versions of ourselves, Shadi and Jones on some german website called Plenearium. The results are bowel-destroyingly funny. See for yourself:

Here's Mikey. Actually, one of Em's sisters made this. It's quite accurate though.

Here's Shadi - Mikey logged into her Lankyland account and use his admin priveleges to change this to her avatar. Then I fucked around with her signature. lolz0r.

She's a fucking dune coon. Look at her hiding in Afghanistan. HAHAHAHA. And all the icecream on her face.

Here's Jones. We tried not to make him look too stoned or give him a joint in his hand (but then he edited his own picture) or pay him out too much, because he's quit weed and is actually doing quite well at it. Despite what some idiots think, idiots who like to sit down with a joint in their hand and say "Jones, we really think you should lay off the drugs...." Fucking hypocrites.



Oh, oh and I made one of Waz, our other flatmate, and also of Mandreano. Mandreano is a pedophilic sado-masochist. I tried to capture that essence about him. And his long shiny shiny hair. No bald spot, sorry.

And finally, here's me.

paranoia paranoia

I'm way too paranoid. I wonder if there's anything I can do about it. Like a lobotomy or something.

I feel okay today, but on other days and particularly at night, I feel very alone and a bit depressed, but most of all, I feel scared of nothing. My brain likes to generate worst case scenarios and disasters just to make things better. Worst of all is a pervasive feeling of impending doom, like being cursed or hunted down by something evil. At these times, I'm convinced that I'm destined for a horrible end, and then possibly an eternity of torment in the afterlife. And I'm supposed to be a freaking atheist.

This stalker creep isn't helping. In fact, everything is causing an overreaction of emotions from e me. I watched the 2nd Ghost in the Shell movie, and couldn't sleep that night until about 3am. The shadows that the trees make on my curtains look like evil faces. One night, there was this giant grinning evil face, and even Michael could see it too.

I'm like a little kid. Everything scares me.

The other night I was out to dinner and I felt all fine. I was talking to everyone there and doing well at pretending to be sort of normal. We went to a Vietnamese Vegetarian restaurant, whose entire menu is made out of meat substitutes, like mock lobster. Perhaps the soy-induced overdose of oestrogen stressed me out, because afterwards I got really angsty. I got on a train home, and suddenly my brain started thinking about children in third world countries dying in gutters and bullshit like that. Crazy images just tore through me, and I couldn't stop them. It felt horrible. I got home and watched Rage until Mikey came home - via the back door, which scared the shit out of me, because the backdoor is right next to the TV.

I'm going to avoid alcohol and drugs for as long as I can, as per my New Years resolutions (that had to be reset after the first week of January). Maybe that will help. I haven't been doing enough lately to really justify my random bouts of paranoia and depression, but who knows. Comedowns are obviously the times I'm most susceptible to these stupid moods. However, it is an irrational fear, and while I rationally don't believe in supernatural psychic powers, part of me worries that this is all a premonition of something horrible that will really happen.

I'll just have to wait and see. If I'm going to die young and painfully, then I'd like to spend my last days not flipping out and worrying over nothing.

Cornish Alkal-eye for the Metal Guy

My flatmate is being stalked. Further details on his Fagspace blog.

Who the fuck has the time, really? See, in theory, I'm the perfect candidate for a stalker-type. I hate everyone: there'd be openings for new stalking victims everyday.
But I am full of hate because I see everyone else as boring, self-absorbed one-trick ponies. I'd never waste anymore time on them than I have to.
Then again, I guess I shouldn't hold stalkers and other humanoids to the nose-bleed heights of my own standards.

Stalkers have a lot of misdirected creative energy, I'll give them that. This stalker uses a cryptically named email address (cornishalkali@gmail.com... perhaps misspelt as cornishalkalai@gmail.com... yeah there's the email for you to spam and harrass if you like, oh non-existent reader.), and writes cryptic emails and even may have been lurking around behind our back fence a couple of times, shining a torch or pen-light through the thatching. Oooooohhh sppooookky.

It seems very alarming at first, until you consider that 99% of people who get this worked up about things that other people don't even realise they've done to them, and if they do, the adult thing is to confront people about it. . They can't even take it face-to-face, mano y mano. And they can't even just argue it - they have to stalk them and pretend to be out to "destroy them" with "retribution" and other "stupid shit in quotation marks".

Yep. I don't understand stalkers. I don't even get people pretending to be a stalker as a joke.

My Apathy Finally Pays Off

Haven't resigned. Haven't bothered to hand in the letter. And the Business Manager I have to give it to is on holidays until the 18th. Figures.

But we might be creating a new position in the team to do all the admin side, order uploading and marketing calls (which is like 6 a day at the moment). My team manager and I were discussing it and throwing in some ideas, and I remarked that I'd find it a sweet job, so to my surprise he responded "Hey... well, you know you could... how about it?"

Now it just has to get funding and I don't have to talk to stinking customers all day. I'll still have quite a workload, but it's the kind of workload I prefer, and I feel very confident fixing up other people's mistakes. It's fixing up my own mistakes that gives me the heebie-jeebies.

w00t. Now to post about something other than boring stinky work.