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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Banana splits

Have you ever slipped on a banana peel?

I haven't. I'm pretty sure most people I know haven't.

So why does it always happen in cartoons? Where'd the idea come from if people generally don't slip on banana peels?

Are they really that slippery? I'd go test it, but I hate bananas, and the palex is sleeping & I can't wake him and forcefeed him one to justify the wasted fruit skin. Not even in the name of science.