| 27 May | Feelings, Nothing More Than Feelings | stop, Hammertime!™ |
I have booked myself in a haircut for July the Third, a momentous date, perhaps not a May the Sixteenth but it will fill the void. Now if that isn't a craaaaaaaaaaazeh trivial detail boring narratorial essentialising skullbucket of a sentence what is? My dreams are truly haunting. Disarmed by my 8 year old sister she tears at my hair and it is pulled from my scalp in handfuls, and laughs gleefully. I retaliate, but she is already too brazen to fall for this. And then, the ultimate humiliation, halloween masks and the Pox returns. Alas! Alack! Is it that time of year already? Even the thought of it coming annually however in direct contradiction to existing medical knowledge and logic it is sends full body convulsions to my core... which could be anywhere, because the convulsions are full-bodied. Good bye gastric stasis, good bye cruel world. It's over. Walk on by. Rumination of the Moment™: Fuck off you moths you flying cockroaches you creatures of the night. Out!
| 24 May | The Depths I'll Reach Are Limitless | jammy old muppet |
Fragments of Love, Mostly just bollocks
and wet cunts moaning in the pre-winter heat
Desirous urges to be filled with tender love with
direst cruelty and fucked as custom
dictatés.
Supping from the big black radicle
thrust into the willing sheath of Mother Earth
they grow, they grow, they grow
And she reciprocates, ready to facilitate the
harmonious unity of Two parts made One.
The odour of The Yearning hangs thick in the air
bits of juice shall cling to the tongue.
One daren't lick lips of else Ultimate sin
of mind, Sex, will threaten reality, washing her
in a miasma of delicious thighs and swollen
breasts.
Which taken between teething gums will spew forth
blackest milk into innocent mouth. Questions,
again.
Who is this damnèd cherubic creature who
so presumptuously puts flower to lips and
tongue within, tasting fetid nectar to fill minds
with Woe?
Get out.
Get out,
Now!
Yes, I know what you're thinking. Tim, are you sexually frustrated? I blame this damnèd cherub (an entity which has held heightened credibility in my mind of late). Is this Poetry? Rumination of the Moment™: "To Wine!"
| 24 May | Now You Know... | jammy old muppet |
What am I doing? I should be watching the Ruggers - like a real man. Alas, I see no hope in sight for Auckland... now admittedly I haven't so much as looked at the score, but I'm sure we're being trounced... the problem is we're fucking heathens. We don't have God on our side, especially not the particularly violent, interventionalist God personified by the name "Crusaders"... now, if we were perhaps the "Auckland Persecutors", or even the "Auckland Witch-hunters" we might stand a chance... but how can heathen "Blues" possibly compete with God's messengers? We may as well be called the "Auckland Heretics". Either way, we are toast.
Getting pessimistic? Well perhaps I just dread my rude awakening tomorrow. I must apologise. Rumination of the Moment™: "Hey Sheckshy. Would ya like to have a look at me diddies?"
| 24 May | Appendix | mixmaster jams |
Well I'm sorry. Because this has made me somewhat of a "sadsack" tonight... struck down by interminable illness I could barely sustain conversation, let alone offer hearty encouragement to my pie-processing compadres. I want to reciprocate every last bit of enthusiasm and friendship two-fold, or at least offer some undue cynicism, but tonight was not the night for such proceedings. Alas, I am in direst pain, and I am coming around to the opinion that nothing can be done. Nothing will silence this abominable gut, or convince it to purify itself, or raise my body temperature below 38.5 degrees, or allow me to just return the fucking love. Rumination of the Moment™: "Black hands are coming for me." - Now I know how David Bain felt after massacring his entire family. Okay, no more bad taste remarks.
| 20 May | Fragments of Love, Mostly Just Bollocks | vomiting 64 |
Indeed, "pimpin Green Suits" are at a premium, but where is the "u. African" that by all accounts should fill this suit? Heresy! No white man should fill the fluffy contours of this stylish outfit, is there no justice in this World? Apparently not. However, this google image search had revealed that green pimp suits do, indeed, exist, and contrary to popular belief do not come exclusively in leopard skin and hot pink, but furthermore had revealed the existence of Pimp Suits.net - I was on the scent alright. But this was not the end of my adventure, and for a brief moment I believed my Quest was at an end, the BPiGS had shown their faces:
It smells like a BPiGS, it looks like a BPiGS - but wait - No... no it can't be. This is not a green suit! This is a lime suit! Oh God no! Despite this initial feeling of creeping sickness, I have come to the conclusion that perhaps I don't even really want a BPiGS - if I did, then I could surely just order a nice green suit from Pimp Suits.net and dress a friendly African fellow (hopefully known as Ntombe) up for my own sadistic pleasure. It's the thrill of the chase, and it always has been, that turns me on... but I'm not even going to start on my dreams of late *shudders*. Rumination of the Moment™:"No rest, motherfucker" - Indeed, gym taglines are the lowest form of human thought, but there you go.
| 18 May | Lilith's Vengeance | cynical pink |
My gods it is difficult to not be able to share with those who really love you... well some of them anyway. Tall glasses of Black Death a.k.a. "Dazza Cazza" and fond memories of those furious Februarian days. Perhaps its just the fact I've had less than 2 hours sleep, but I feel so funky.
Indeed last night we few worthy human beings(?!) travelled to Piha to the bach of a mysterious engineer. Uncharacterstically extroverted, huh? I even let them engage me almost immediately in a "funnel", a true initiation ritual for anyone wanting to "make it" with Engineering folks (aka Engineering Mates!). However, if it sounds like this sort of moronic behaviour characterised the night, it most certainly did not... for me anyway... there were a good 3/7 people throwing up by the end of the night, even to the extent of "Vomiting 64" (don't ask).
To me though, the night posed a few other questions to me about my life. And with my head pressed up against the car window on the way home I gave a little more thought to the distinction between "real tim" and "journay tim" - and basically, what you read here is never going to be a real, full, three-dimensional profile of me. I'm sorry, it just can't be. I try to let as much of myself shine through in places, but when I read my journay (on one of those rare occasions!) I realise so often I just don't get "Tim" right.. it's almost like playing a part. Which is not to say there is anything "false" about the Tim you see here... just all too often he is sleep-deprived, hung-over, excessively lonely (*shakes fist at the internet*) or very occasionally just plain hyperactive. The fact remains, I can't tell you who I am... there's no great rush to find out... and I don't want to inspire some kind of idol worship through this humble journay.
Any excuse for a ridiculous picture! But with that said I feel quite strongly about what I'm saying. I want to make peace with the idea of online pretention. I mean, I (and you too, I assume) have accepted it as part of this place, n'est-ce pas? Why, then, do I feel compelled to distance myself from this lecherous "Yes-Man", in the picture above? This is not how I am! Perhaps I've just had too much of The Wall, too many existential "possible Tims" type dialogues, either that or I'm just too tired to write on anything other than self-indulgent crap. Lap it up, scum. Rumination of the Moment™: "You Guys Have Really Mastered the Art of Harmony! Please Accept our Salutes!"
| 16 May | Friday Night Foresight | wilted rose dog face |
Perhaps it should be a marker around which everything is judged. I could pinpoint exactly when I first became aware of my entire life existing as a series of references, I could turn the finger on myself and just admit its been almost a year since I had any meaningful social interaction with a member of the opposite sex. I could be remorseful for all sorts of past misdeeds. I could just spend the rest of the night trying to nut out the Once Were Warriors theme.
I feel very bad. Memory is so often like a wall of brambles, and in the three counties known as Wookey Hollow, time stood still, and the gardener, Groundsel, grew fantastic plants all year round. That is, until Crackling Jack Frost came to visit and covered everything with snow. Groundsel then had to enlist the help of Father Time. What delightful adventures they shared!
Everything's on schedule so far. Though if you were looking for an image to stick in your mind, perhaps something to illustrate the Legal Doctrine of Passing Off - think 15 pieces of soiled toilet paper, taped together and handed in to pass as an essay. Rumination of the Moment™:Everything's fine now. I dreamt I was at the top of a tall skyscraper amongst the clouds and there was nay a human to be seen. But everything's fine now, everything's fine.
| 13 May | "My CrAzY LiFe" or "Shit Happens" | oid |
And that list isn't even exhaustive. The first time I've ever actually tried to list my commitments and it looks like I'm going to be quite busy, though whether it constitutes official "craaazeh-ness" or not is up for debate. Whatever the case, it fucking scares me, and if you want time with me, you had better give me weeks of notice in advance so I can "pencil you in". In fact, fuck that. Pick up your diary right now, and transcribe the entire entry... no fuck that. I want you to get this tattooed in your forehead, so I don't have to put up with your pathetic pleas to want to see me. Got it? Good. Rumination of the Moment™: "The fate of all mankind, I see, is in the hands of fools."
| 8 May | Caught in a Landslide.. | burnt |
WAHEY! Nothing to see here. Yes, yes my mind is fine just a little anxious and that is all... so much great stuff has happened, I could be at an all time high... possibly. A little request for those who are going to try and bug me about this: don't. You'll probably leave me in tears. Full body shivers will serve me well in the meantime. Much to do, many distractions, and if worst comes to worst, nothing can be done. Sounds good, eh? Rumination of the Moment™: "I don't wanna die... sometimes wish I'd never been born at all." - Bohemian Rhapsody themed issues, oh God. So yeah, you'll be seeing less of me and all that, and when you do it will be obsessing over irrelevant shit. But what is relevant, anyway? Godamnitall.
| 5 May | I'm so PoSiTiVe! (A Colourless Sky) | thrift-happy |
The day began with the arrival of my much-coveted Possible Worlds, doubtlessly my favourite of the films played at the Incredible Film Fest... it's kind of hard, in retrospect, to identify whether it's the emotional connection I feel to this film and what it represents to me, or its actual cinematic merits that made it the best "possible" (*shakes head*) start to my day. Pretty superficial happiness, I hear you cynics say. Well what came next certainly was not. Today was Graduation Day at Uni, and Albert Park was awash in Asians and cameras and victory hand gestures. Bountiful smiles of 4 generations cobbled together that even if they drove me off my "usual spot", provided me with plenty of internal warmth (I'm not even going to try and describe that teary feeling). Looking forward, now I guess potentially only 3 1/2 years to my own graduation, it was difficult to read the sorts of emotions these people were experiencing. Ostensibly jubilation, but there was an edge of uneasiness, which may have just been an offshoot of the formality of the whole affair, but if I look forward to experiencing this in my own life I just feel fucking scared. What horrors await these people in their professional lives? Just more meandering through life, justifying their existences, attaching worth to them by "succeeding" in society's eyes, but still unsure about their own worth in their own eyes? A terrible, terrible feeling to be sure.
But enough of this doubt, trying to conjure empathy for total strangers (if only to try and simulate what I may become) and feeling shit for it. I need to "live in the now". So what if I unexpectedly had the windfall of the Trigun soundtrack today (thrift happiness returns) in all its Led Zeppeliness. I need to be happy for who I am, to strive to come to terms with what I've done and try and moderate the impact it has on my sense of Self. I need to find new ways of justifying myself now, not just waiting for "pussy later"... I will learn from my mistakes, and you should too, O journay. Rumination of the Moment™: "This... should make you happy. If not go outside and play."
| 4 May | I Am So Dirty on the Inside | lecherous laughter |
No.
No!
Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!
I hate myself, and I want to die?
No, no.
I want the global network terminated, and sticky-pants bitches exterminated, the sickly-sweet after-dinner with-dinner witheld. I want night-time Mosques, I want chunder-covered jackets, I want to reek of putrefaction, to smell Godly in all aspects to die to die to die. I want to ressurect ghosts from the past and discover those who suffered silently. I want to lament at 6.6 million men, women, children to set myself alight and ascend at last, to just stop being such a fucking tool.
I think I'm the tool.
The one that just doesn't get it. That as great as women are, you have to adjust frequency to some extent. A well-placed source informs me that (through extensive experience of watching me during Bodrum Nights) I give off vibrations of sensuality, of lust indiscriminately. This is where misunderstanding occurs... this is why not all the oceans in all the world will free me of this damnèd spot. Wretch like the wretch you are, he who belongs to this élite flock, the Wretched. Yes, its me, and while I feel deeply and passionately and truly there is somewhere it must all come to a head, it may have already, a change is what is needed. So that is what must Be Done. So help me God! Rumination of the Moment™: "Justice, Liberté et Paix" - How pretentious, how will such make-believe materialise, how will it End?
| 27 April | I've watched this scene a thousand times... | ...Screaming |
| 27 April | Resumed and resolute | uncharacteristic |
On the other hand this has led to a rash decision... I'm quite certain I've explained my feelings on the writhing in despair state of the Gray family, perhaps "filled you in" on the history of my sole Auntie, suicidee and spawner of one adopted child at the ripe young age of fifteen. Well, since we all seem to feel so fucking displaced (including my Dad, who despite being married and having three children is one of the loneliest, most frustrated, depressed people I've ever met) perhaps I could go out of my way to trace my roots a little... find a Gray cousin... countless hours have I spent mulling this idea over in my head, and it was only when I read of Charlotte Dawson's (as a matter of fact, she is the right age to actually be the missing Gray cousin, but I have no delusions about the strength of my genetics) troublesome life did I feel absolutely compelled to seek out this missing Gray cousin, ye Gods willing, and try and establish a link with this currently anonymous, genderless individual.
This sounds kind of selfish, I'm aware my father is completely unwilling to seek out this person out of his unwillingness to deal with the possible emotional consequences (i.e. finding out his sole nephew/niece had the hereditary Gray Mindfuck Disorder which made them completely incapable of dealing with the World and drove them to prison/suicide) of my Quest... furthermore, who says this person wants to be contacted? Perhaps they feel just a tinge of resentment for being utterly closed off from the Gray family, after all, my Grandmother denied until her death that this person even existed when I inquired, and I'm quite sure there will be measures but in place to make contacting this individual impossible... I just have to go into this excercise with the lowest, lowest expectations...
I mean, I presume this person feels part of another family... they will have had a childhood as part of another loving (Gods willing) family, and feel quite detached from their biological roots. However, it's also highly unlikely this person ever had contact with their father (I would be surprised if my Auntie even knew who the father was since he knocked her up when she was at boarding school). Yes this person will be approaching their forties, yes they will almost doubtlessly be severely emotionally battered... but more than ever, I feel that I should at least try my damned hardest to see what has become of the Gray family... would this person have even ever seen a photo of their biological mother? I don't know, and while in the event that I did get into contact with this person, while I'm sure our friendship would hardly blossom (how many people are particularly close to their cousins?) I guess it would be a gift just to help them locate their whakapapa too... an exercise in mutual healing, Gods willing.
So there we go, Tim has finally cracked. Perhaps now I'm at a point of being so isolated that I'm ready to reach out to someone I don't know, who may not be alive, who will certainly be twice my age. I keep trying to assess and process and reprocess my motivations in doing this, to try and justify something that seems to me profoundly selfish... but I guess this is just one of those things "I have to do" (cheesy enough?) Rumination of the Moment™: "Jeez you're letting out some really crazy vibrations! Oh yeah, just as I thought, full-on psychic!"
| 26 April | No Understanding Spared | sensation? |
The infidel Americans, that's fucking who. And lets not even speak of tall poppy syndrome... I literally turned 4 pages of the newspaper yesterday without finding an article that didn't relate to the aforementioned topics... now there's nothing wrong with a media outlet following current events, but there's something deeply depressing about reading purely of woe or strife. Will light never be allowed to shine unpolluted again? Being assailed by articles on 94 year old senile-dementia afflicted golfers for comic relief and my inability to find this amusing really says something about my sense of humour. I'm just taking things too seriously, right? The World was always a place of killing, suffering and pain, nothing new, all bow down to the 11 miles to the gallon humvee, it's an act of patriotism just to drive this baby, didn't you know? All bow down, roast in hell, and hail your new God, beneath a steel sky.
With darkness, comes light, of course, and after identifying one of my various ailments, I feel like I belong to this World oncemore. Well I'm not sure if I've mentioned this particular affliction, but I have a tendency (about once a fortnight) to wake up completely paralysed, apparently unable to breathe, and move anything other than my eyes. I lie there, vibrating softly as I desperately attempt to regain some kind of motor function, moaning in frustration, often for up to a minute, slowly becoming resigned to my iminent death, would falling asleep oncemore be easier than this horrid struggle that is life? As all hope recedes my body will spring into action, my lungs will fill with a mighty gust of air and I will sit up in bed, breathing myself rapidly back into this World. Word is this happens to most people at least once in their life, although I'm one of the few that gets this quite regularly, as does my father. Indeed this is a case of Nocturnal Paralysis Syndrome, something that is loosely understood as purely chemical and related to various chemical processes during sleep cycles that immobilise the body... anyway, being able to put a name to this distressing experience, and find other accounts of this on the Internet has been quite liberating... no longer will reactions from others be limited to "Tim you freak!" from my 'friends', why if I were so inclined there are cyber support groups that I could turn to... could it be there is an upside to this global village.
I'm sorry if I misunderstand you, really. I hope noone feels obliged to act under pretenses of being anyone other than who they actually are when they're around me. I just want to dispel the idea that I require some sort of standard of "quirks" to enjoy someone's company... all I ask is that they be respectful of my ideas, so if you're reading this, you probably have nothing to worry about. It's natural for a loner to be incredibly wary of the behaviour of those that he accepts into his life around him, right? Yeah, this discussion belongs elsewhere. Rumination of the Moment™: It would seem nobody realises that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.
| 26 April | BPiGs, Illegal Right Turns, Fucked. | post-ANZAC |
You see, every so often I get trapped into a "Why am I doing this?" mindset. Given a little thought, the reasons are obvious, even if "circumstances" have changed quite wildly since mid-2001, I still need somewhere to make my mark. To call this journal the internet equivalent of a fire hydrant on which I routinely urinate would be a little harsh, and those dogs who come to sniff around and "get my scent" would probably tell a different story...
New paragraph now! That was getting ridiculous. I guess another function of this place is to build up similar such vulgar images...
Immobilising...
Depression...
Cremations arranged.
Rumination of the Moment™: "... ?!"
| 22 April | Clarification, Part II | concerned |
What really blows my horn though, is when I'm asked "So where did that quote come from?", when I write stuff that sounds... well... outside of normal diction. I'm sure I bring it upon myself, often writing stuff in italics even, illustrated just yesterday through "And unleash these ghosts that will splatter will fuck will blow a hole in your mind" - now I know it's pretty, but I didn't bring it out for air. This is where things become wildly confusing, because I have just quoted an original "Tim" turn of phrase, then elaborated on it through an (underlined) quote from Requiem for a Dream. Gah, I'd like to say there's a method to my madness, maybe I just make too many references for my own good? Bah, what am I talking about running away on the high seas with Mia's tight little ass, obnoxiously loudering the Council, scoffing my mp3 no. 7 milkshake before being struck off the list.
I do hope I have perplexed my readers, for I've certainly confused myself! Basically, it boils down to this. I'm quite upset when my original work that I have put some kind of emotional or mental investment into is mistaken for other people's work. Perhaps this is just some kind of declaration/affirmation I'll try to avoid quoting musicians/others in anywhere but the Rumination of the Moment™, or maybe not because I pretty much never do that outside of maybe the topic line... I can't stress enough, I am loathe to let this journal become a "boring narrative", it has always been one of my worst fears, spending my days describing and dwelling on my triumphs and playing up my life, no matter how different (craaaaazeh?) it gets. What did I want to clarify? That this journal isn't some kind of self-shaping objective standard whose obscure quotes/references somehow describe my life. Believe it or not, I don't judge my position in life purely by my proximity to different "packets of language", (but I was just wondering please...) why should this even have to be some kind of objective verification of my existence? Yes, it does remind you I'm not, in fact, dead, and yes, it is called the "Memoirs of a Madman Journal", but all the same, why shouldn't I be able to rant and rave and quote my confused angsty vulgar sickeningly-deranged abstract hypocritical verbose audacious toes off? Eh, eh? Rumination of the Moment™: "Well I work for Deep Space Engineering, we don't really run this place--but we have an understanding with those who do." That's the first and last computer game quote I make into a rumination.
| 21 April | Nights in Red Silk | After Saddam? |
Don't mind my wandering off into sub-lingual ranting, I guess I don't apologise for it enough. And while I seek to bring you all rich accounts of my exploits (no boring narratives here, really!) and their emotional implications, sometimes it's just too late at night for such carry on. I can't go on, I'll go on! But only for a while children, the pussy, the cunt, the queer comment should remain unexplained, subordinate to the tale of my father's 52nd birthday...
It was the pretty standard deal, a present had been bought from myself and stepmother completely without my input, and after spending over an hour looking for a card that I could present to my Dad while retaining the smallest pangs of self-respect, my Thursday afternoon searches were entirely in vain. Instead he was to receive something like the value of $1300 in Digicam and digicam-related paraphernalia, much to his disgust. "I don't have time to learn how to use this kind of stuff!", "I have enough shit on my plate already" type comments were heard, and while this might make him sound like something of an ignorant buffoon, the man is 52... give him a break? With my Christine's father on the mend, the show did go on... no tears, not even anguish at his complete ungratefulness, and given that moments later he produced this photo, the man must have some skill...
But the father-son love wasn't to stop there... bearing in mind that photo was taken at 8AM in the morning, my father and I soon headed off to the Waitakere Regional Park for some 3 1/2 hours of walking. Serious bonding? Maybe not, but I got to hear about my father's (wise?!) acquisition of a shitty old hall and cottage in a town of 75 residents in the Middle of Nowhere and his grandiose plans for it... he took to my suggestion of converting it into a cinema like a fly to shit anyway... let's hope those Nasebians are total cinephiles, eh? Whatever the case, as we left the Regional Park I couldn't help feel a slight sense of relief (not to mention fear and loathing) as I posed in distressingly familiar (and hazardously cheesy) environs:
Getting worse. Well, with an intolerable ringing now appearing in my right ear (could it be that 3AM Sabbath is not the way?) I guess it's time to go. A quick flash of CNN will reveal the sickest, most base function of popular media. "Open Forum" - letters from those few those fucked those doomed. Poetry, tainted now by obnoxious American accents and sanctimonious reporters. All embedded with their streaming video, their sattelite feeds, their shit they will eat before us. The end of Gulf War² (bringing it into the New Age, woh-yeah!) and our fear our terror our hiding? No! Think again motherfuckers, she's still here:
Rumination of the Moment™: But who will speak now?
| 19 April | A Truly Awful Experience | tired, oh so tired. |
I feel lucky to have got home at 3:15. Really. I guess two consecutive birthday parties is just too much for me. I think some kind of photographic account of this really will have to appear, because despite occasional angsty episodes, the evening in itself held some fascination, as did the day before it. Now that it's coming up 4:15 however, I guess I'm a little distracted, I shall take my leave... time to make a promise of some "really cool shit"? Rumination of the Moment™: "You boys going to come in and see some cunt or not? What are you, a pack of queers? Yeah, fuck off queers, there's a gay bar down the road, fuck off there you queers!" - Haha, I guess I can explain that later. Pussy later.
| 17 April | Late Seventies Blues | jam... bo? |
Abuse of power should come as no surprise.
Alienation can produce eccentrics or revolutionaries.
An elite is inevitable.
Anger or hate can be a useful motivating force.
Any surplus is immoral.
Disgust is an appropriate response to most situations.
Everyone's work is equally important.
Exceptional people deserve special concessions.
Faithfulness is a social, not a biological, law.
Freedom is a luxury not a necessity.
Government is the burden of the People.
Humanism is obsolete.
Ideals are eventually replaced by conventional goals.
Inheritance must be abolished.
Killing is unavoidable but is nothing to be proud of.
Labour is a life-destroying activity.
Money creates taste.
Morals are for little people.
Most people are not fit to rule themselves.
Mostly you should mind your own business.
Much was decided before you were born.
Murder has its sexual side.
Pain can be a very positive thing.
People are nuts if they think they can control their lives.
People who don't work with their hands are parasites.
People who go crazy are too sensitive.
People won't behave if they have nothing to lose.
Playing it safe can cause a lot of damage.
Private ownership is an invitation to disaster.
Romantic love was invented to manipulate women.
Selfishness is the most basic motivation.
And so now you understand. Now you see the way it is, the way it was, the way it will be. You see that your entire life was merely a series of contradictions building up over a series of years through a series of events, realisations and ruminations. Rumination of the Moment™: "You've been through a lot. But now you know. Now you know just how painful it is to live."
| 16 April | You should have talked to me more often than you did... | oppressed |
The Council is undecided.
Another successful bach trip? If we measure success in terms of nasty, nasty hangovers and sign stealing then I sure guess so! After the week of Hell (its no Month of Fury) experience last week it came as much needed rest... at least until the back-breaking physical labour required erecting giant "Bovine Exit Gesture Signs" for the cruel oppressors, those few rangers at the Tawharanui (sp) Regional Park.
Enough about that, did I tell you there were photos on the way? Could this be the beginning of another wildly successful photo journal? Not if my remaining FTP storage space has anything to do with it... I'm running helluva low... what about politics? What about politics? I wouldn't know, this self-imposed isolation has left me quite unprepared to make pseudo-informed biting criticism of Humanity. Alls I know is that the politics of groups and the semantics of friendship continue to prove themselves beyond my comprehension. "Have you finished tormenting me with your accursed friendship points?" To borrow a phrase from a great friend of mine, Rumination of the Moment™: "This is the Right Thing to do".
| 3 April | War! Friend Only to the Undertaker... | alien |
As it happens I came home and came on with a temperature and an awful headache... what sympathy was I provided when that festering lump of flesh was delivered to my door by my mother?! None whatsoever, in fact from the moment she could tell I was sick, she actively alienated me... car rides would be spent with the window down, she would hold a cloth over her face *breaks into chorus of "We are Faaaaaamily!"* and comment on my SARSness... I felt cool... real cool. I even actively made subtle quips like, "Yeeeah! Making me feel terrible!" (okay not so subtle) but she just didn't stop.
You see, this auntie is the one who "just can't accept" that her mother is dead... yes, the one that died approximately 3 weeks before I was inflicted with the Pox... she is a borderline alcoholic, chateau-cardboard guzzling fat slag. She's the type who insists that nothing be moved around in her dead mother's bedroom, who goes and lies on her bed for at least an hour a day and cries... who just doesn't get it. I sympathise, those are some pretty fucking nasty ways of grieving... she needs help, for sure. That is not going to make me feel any less offended when I am insulted by her... I mean jeez... maybe I just have stronger feelings about respect, but someone who is of the same parents as my mother shouldn't be so utterly worthless as a human being... really.
Anyway, enough of my furious napkin scrawlings and more on the eternal pain that is Life. I must say, a couple of displays of fatal irony this week have given life a hilarious new danger. I assume everyone has heard about the death of the World Health Organisation scientist that officially "discovered" SARS - his death, caused by SARS, is a sobering reminder that while this disease has a fatality rate of about 2%, it can kill even relatively young healthy people... with Ronnie Jay headed to Europe via Hong Kong tomorrow I can't help but be slightly anxious for the guy. Equally hilariously, Edwin Starr, the writer of the song "War" (what is it good for?) died today of a heart attack... I have to wonder if it has some deeper significance for the Peace Movement in general. Finally, just today, renowned actor Leslie Chung committed suicide, jumping off a building... now this will mean nothing to you, until I tell you that this Wednesday I discovered him for the first time, in a role in which he plays a guy who has been brought up in an Opera troupe, forced to play the role of a female concubine to a male King... as the story goes, he falls in love with the King (in both the opera he's performing and in real life) and the opera concludes with his suicide when he realises the King can't be his... then, the movie concludes with his suicide when the man playing the King finds a wife and he realises he cannot be his... THEN in real life, his life ends with suicide after (2 years ago) being "outed" by the media and his career being effectively destroyed by homophobic movements. Really sad opera/movie/life for old "Les". Anyway, that's the end of my little spiel, Rumination of the Moment™:
| 2 April | This is Where I Feel I Belong | introducing bloggers... |
Some of my sentiment wasn't so forced though... I guess I managed to vocalise some of my frustration (certainly regarding the lack of BPiGS in this journal) and at the same time reaffirming my desire to go after more time-consuming projects here... unfortunately given the multitude of assessments I have due at the moment, its not the ideal time to be spending hours mucking around in photoshop, even if I am routinely staying up till 1am... anyway, "laters" - Rumination of the Moment™:
| 1 April | This is the End... | ridiculous ruse |
I guess I'm disappointed this day has come so soon, when there is so much left unsaid, and so many far-fetched plans and schemes I've concocted over the years that as of yet go unfulfilled, that this should all come to an end at a time in which my life is still so filled with uncertainty. However, I shall press on without you, dear friends, and try to let this entry serve as a point of departure.
Even as I write the words, I want to believe they're not true. That I could go on, present you with many more an irrelevant commentary, a boring narrative or perhaps just some self-pitiful sentiment about how things have "turned bad". That perhaps through all this, the Black Pimps in Green Suits (BPiGS) are just around the corner, an elusive goal that perhaps one of these days might just appear from thin air.
Alas, these days, where life constrains me to beguile up to six hours a day of sitting in Albert Park, where home feels more like a place to sit in the living room getting drunk with my parents and watching war on television rather than a medium for personal growth, I 'gin to grow wary of this World. I am an escapist, and I know it better than anyone... sure, I have walls, barriers to protect me from those elements of life too much for me, but sometimes... sometimes you just have to turn tail and run.
Noone demonstrates this philosophy better to me than those I feel this diary is published for... my friends. Perhaps they started running long ago, I don't know... perhaps the World at large did. Many won't acknowledge there's a war going on, won't turn on television to hear the latest blunder in the ongoing series of atrocities. Maybe they're just in denial... maybe they've seen enough... maybe they just don't care. Whatever the case, I've come to the conclusion that this World has become far too dire a place for the existence of an hyper-cynical blog. This journal has finally felt the "terror" of knowing what the World is about, and rather than crunch under the pressure of these extraordinary circumstances, I feel it best to disappear into the shadows forever. I'll forego the monotony of "To an Athelete Dying Young" - consider yourselves spared.
Even as I conclude this spiel, the tears continue to well in my eyes. I dip the biscuit into the coffee, an action that will forever be associated with my experiences of updating this thing (I guess failing diary, journal, memoirs and blog, this is really what it is), but again something that can go on without. As you should, as I should. I guess before I leave, I should leave you with a new Messiah (hahaha).So, without dragging this out any longer (in standard self-indulgent Tim fucken grey fashion), goodbye. Rumination of the Moment™: I'm so very, very sorry. You know, a funnier April Fools joke would have been something like getting on an elevator greeting everyone with a warm handshake then asking them to call me Admiral... no, wait... oh dear... last time I turn here for humour.
| 29 March | Affirmations of an Eighteen Year Old, Part One | eighteen? |
Rumination of the Moment™: "War can't give life, it can only take it away".
| 23 March | the car's on fire and there's no driver at the wheel | osu |
You see, 24 hours ago we were told a dire lie, which is not to say this isnt happening constantly, but to pick at individual instances we were told that the "Coalition forces" (god this is SUCH a great euphemism for "unilateral action", bwahaha!) had secured the port city of Umm Qasr (which they need so they can send in humanitarian aid... shyeeeah!) - right now I can turn on the TV and watch American tanks fire on buildings in Umm Qasr trying to obliterate Iraqi resistance - in no unsimple terms we were lied to. Likewise on the status of the "advance on Baghdad", it seemed a little odd that early yesterday morning I was told the troops were halfway to Baghdad, yet today, they were over 100 miles away, and just under halfway... it simply doesn't figure. This campaign of lying may go under the flag of "security" and "witheld intelligence", but from another point of view, it is merely a charade to make the World at large feel that the American invasion is entirely unopposed in Iraq... bullshit for sure.
I've had a little tete-a-tete over "Coalition casualties" - personally I think casualties of the kind we've seen so far are invaluable to stopping this war, and I welcome them with open arms. Fact is, meaningless deaths like those in the so far 3 reported crashed helicopters are symptomatic of the pointlessness of war... those who died, their "war effort" signifies nothing... they dedicate their lives to military service and it ends up like that... tragicomedy at its best! Likewise, the "intrusion" into the American camp in which a grenade was hurled into a tent killing an American soldier (and injuring at least 13 more) - sure the media was the first to tell us it was an Arab that had somehow slipped in, an act of terror, but have lightened it to "an American soldier with an Arab-sounding surname" - classic. When all these body-bags are flown home and the Americans are faced with the toll of their warmongering, public support will disappear... sure, 1500 cruise missiles can be plunged into a city over 24 hours without a stir (does anyone believe there are even 1500 'military installations' in Baghdad?), but once G.I. Joe's coffin is draped in "'Ole Glory", the Coalition... haha, as I write it's revealed the "missing" British plane was shot down by a US missile, precise stuff to be sure!
Can you believe this? I can't help but let out a hearty laugh at such blunders... how can they claim they have such advanced military technology that their cruise missiles can't miss, yet they manage to misfire missiles in to Iran (hehe) and even their own forces... anyway, no more using this journal as a vessel for breaking news.
My weekend, if slow, unproductive and full of depressing war news and bloodshed, was amusing at times... I felt I really did some bonding with friends and am coming closer to understanding their own identities, which can only be a good thing... at its best it was Lion Red and Brandy, at its worst, it was full movie theatres and empty reunions... cryptic enough for you? Rumination of the Moment™:
| 22 March | Even Though We're Only Families Apart... | wata |
And some way up that street, as I thrust my fingers in the air for peace, screamed at the top of my lungs, and observed the passers-by, in "shock and awe" at what I was part of... some cheered and clapped to herald our advance, others seemed more non-plussed, but undeniably a statement was made. A call for peace, and as vain as some critics may find it, what it represents in my heart (and presumably in those around me) is some lighter side of human nature... even those who looked on seemingly embarassed would not deny that our gesture had impacted upon them. The march was great, sprawling down Queen Street, as we came to the rise I could finally appreciate the size of it as the thousands of people behind me, marching onwards, united for a cause. I was moved.
When we finally arrived in Myers Park I was both delighted and a little disappointed... admittedly many of the speakers make valid political statements, some relating to Palestine, and elsewhere in the middle east, some speaking of the New World Order, while others clearly sought to improve their standing of their own belief system or political party... perhaps this is UCGNHBMT talking, but after hearing the Auckland Anglican Bishop speak and a Greens candidate start shouting at me I felt compelled to leave... does this mean I'm not dedicated to the cause? Not at all... just excercising freedoms, right guys? Rumination of the Moment™: "Life after Bush and Gorbachev, the Wall is down but something is lost, turn on the News - it looks like a movie, it makes me wanna sing Louie Louie!"
| 21 March | The Post-War Dream | the mourner |
Congratulations on successfully subverting International Law, an irrelevant institution set up for a long-forgotten post-war world. Congratulations abound for your media, too, that can propagate such blatant lies as "New Zealand... has pledged support for US action in Iraq" (and by the way, congratulations are certainly due for your destruction of the Iraqi Television Network, doubtlessly an official "instrument of oppression".
Congratulations in destroying a young man in New Zealand's faith in humanity. Congratulations on securing those ever-precious oil reserves in Iraq - a 20% drop in price can only be a good thing - we don't need any internet petition when we've got a war! Congratulations on making such great television out of human misery - I must admit I'm glued to my couch in front of TV as I write you.
Congratulations on the surrender of all those Iraqi conscripts, after all, mostly young men of my age who I'm sure you'll treat with the dignity that any adolescent in the beautiful US of A might seek. Congratulations on taking out that fucking towel-head you're showing me on TV - you've given him something to think about! Congratulations on effectively becoming a God - you don't mind me saying so, I hope, I believe! Rumination of the Moment™: "Mr. Pilger, your entire book is a leading question!" [throws book across desk]
| 16 March | Where were you that September Day? | american idol |
I know my idol ain't American, so imagine my thoughts when I stumbled upon this TV show... it opens with huge chrome statues prancing around over a huge landscape and "tower"ing buildings, the female statuettes complete with huge tits, while the males exude a classical beauty... but wait, there's more, there's American flags flying everywhere! Yes! Apparently we here in New Zealand care about the process of selecting idols for a nation, pop stars to be, the worst thing being that they take themselves so seriously... live around the World... we can watch as it unfolds!
Fuck off, America... I don't want your "idols", nor my television screen polluted with your flag flying... we truly have entered a new age of subtle neo-colonialism when this shite splatters all over public broadcasting... smeared into my retinae forever will be the image of American statues, dominating over all... we've hit rock bottom, folks. And of course, for those of you who haven't already, go out of your way to pirate "Alan Jackson - Where Were You" - the concept that such a simplistic idea can be put to the most influential nation on Earth and have them swallow it like that is perfectly preposterous.
On another note, I've been returning to my origins with this diary... to the days of listening to The Downward Spiral and The Wall, back to back, like a beacon of light as I work through the menial task of archiving...
Excommunication [27 October - 29 October] The first few entries into the Memoirs of a Madman Journal. This was a time when I was struggling to get my journal back on its feet after it had been destroyed in its previous form on my computer. I'd like to think it set a precedent for other entries to follow, but to be blunt it was more just about showing off the extent of my HTML knowledge and "getting things right".
Smells Like Purification [31 October - 18 November] Some might call this the Golden Age of my Journal, but I'd tend to disagree. I mean, it quite nicely documents the end of my career at Auckland Grammar (well, the point leading up to it at least) and probably reflects the thoughts of someone wildly different to the person I am now. I'm quite proud to say it strikes a nice balance between hatred and self-loathing, but probably loses focus a bit when I dare to stray onto my own experiences (what was I thinking?!)
The Happiest Days of Our Lives [20 November - 6 December] A topical reference? I hope not. This angst filled little gem of self-discovery concerns my final days at Auckland Grammar as well as the rather unspectacular period of waiting that occurred before my Bursary French exam. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll blow chunks™.
Got that Festive Feeling [7 December - 9 January] Christmas is a joyous time, is it not? Well, while I start to feel the tremors of what will no doubt be another explosive Christmas (and a happy New Year!) I can only hope it will in no way resemble this "stinker". That's what I get? Whatever the case, this controversial little number is a tour de force (hahaha!) brutal in its honesty, and uncompromising in its ideas
The Long Sobs of the Violins in Summer [16 January - 22 February] Living in a doomed social existence of my own creation. Quite the prospect. Perhaps “burning bridges” is the appropriate idiom for this situation? Of course, with my friends heading back to school and my imminent arrival at University I had high hopes, and… dare I say… a “touch” of arrogance. These summer holidays had been characterised by social intrigue, and I guess this particular era was no different in that regard, yet I didn’t feel rejuvenated whatsoever… everything feels… [slowly] diffffffeeeeeereeeeent.
Provisional Entrance [23 February – 5 April] The transition from nothingness to employment, to University… boy was I getting ahead in the World! It would be a lie to claim it was tough, certainly not compared to those challenges I was to face later in the year. In a way, I was at my cool, calculated best… hopeful, but not so much so as to lose focus of the horror of existence.
Bodrum Nights [6 April – 13 July] I call it this because during this period my diary entries would be made almost exclusively after a night’s work at Bodrum… pretty sad Tim, pretty sad. Ripe with decay, a death thrown in for good measure, and plenty of old-fashioned confusion, this gave the Memoirs of a Madman a whole new direction – film reviews and personal angst are quite the combination!
Descent [14 July – 24 August] The start of all my troubles? Well, a period of my plight, to be sure. Struck by filthy disease and crushed confidence, self-pity reached all-time highs as I struggled to “live through” what was undoubtedly the longest period of severe depression I have ever suffered. Full of remorse and almost incredulous of my treatment by fate world-weariness glistens like a coat of glad-wrap to a corpse.
Death and Rebirth [25 August – 23 September] Well, noone actually died in this period, but I found myself looking for a new way to accept my life as it was. While it may sound terribly self-indulgent to say so, as a person I was equipping myself for the road ahead, and while the final entry of this era, “And Nothing Can Be Done” might sound a little down-trodden, it’s a philosophy that has served me in good stead recently, and one, I fear, that I will have to cling to for the rest of my life.
Silencio [24 September – 21 October] Deaths left, right, and centre. You won’t hear anything of it here. All hushed-like.
The Ruination of Sir Ajax [22 October – 1 December] Perhaps lacking the ‘gusto’ of Spring feeling, its silence serves to illustrate my mindframe as my second semester came to a close. In retrospect, I can admit to “feeling kinda low”, because aside from the return of Matt Dillon, my life heralded little but grief and disappointment. I was trying to recover from a daze which had consumed me since July.
What's All This About Magnetising Babies? [2 December – 28 December] The closing days of the Year 2002 – wasn’t it a cracker? Lamentably lacking that “festive feeling” it captures the sense of hope, yet at the same time, confusion as the holidays dragged on… I would struggle to call this a turning point in my life, but at the same time I genuinely did exorcise built-up horrors within my soul, something, I believe, that Christmas is all about.
| 12 March | "Just Drunk Enough" or "Biggest, Baddest". | american idol |
[standing ovation]
If the so-called "Communist News Network" (affectionately referred to by Americans, yet to my eye, entirely right-wing) tells the truth, then the World's oil reserves shall be depleted by the year 2015. Away with your petition, I assure you I won't be buying oil from BP. No, not BP, nor Mobil, nor Shell, Caltex, Challenge or "Gull". This is unfortunate, and would seem to pose some significant problems to the developed world... you people rely on this black gold, n'est-ce que pas? Those who will freely be raped of their natural resources in South America and Africa are fucked... sure... but you don't care, if you boycott BP, the oil will get cheaper, right guys? Sure, whatever, go for it... our Lady Venezuela will give until she has nothing more to give, and we will discard her... as we do. What about those that try to resist, to control the flow of the World's remaining oil reserves? No problem, you can just do over Iraq, oh civilised World... from there, Saudi Arabia will be in your hands and "hey presto", you control the oil... you can burn it up to your hearts' content.
But what about when we're done with that, O Civilised World, beacon for those in Darkness?. Turn to science, we'll be saved... what if science continues to fiddle as the World burns, if there is no solution? Then, we shall face a New World Order. Civilisation as we know it will crumble, the Civilised World will fall, making concessions to those countries who can still find labourers who work for dignity and their country... who will you turn to then? Nobody shall care for Capitalism then, an imperfect doctrine of a Civilised World that has since ended. I don't want to frighten you, O Civilised World, but we are in some serious shit. Rumination of the Moment™: there are they have done with crying. Have I?
| 9 March | And Underneath It All... | outlander |
The haze, the unbelieving, the hypotheses. All spiralling crazily into tiki torment, into floral dog necklace, into coconuts torn asunder. Isolation, jealousy but most importantly the parts in shades, in monochrome, in boredom, in believing. Dusk on Earth will surely be the loneliest period of human existence, sorry. Rumination of the Moment™:
or leave her she is paradise and then
plush hymens on your eyeballs"
| 5 March | Memoirs of a Madman | the jester |
| 2 March | Autumn | edited |
| 28 February | Meltdown | fetid tim of illness |
W-woaah!Becks Incredible Film Festival hurrah! Well, the movie listing was meant to be out by February the 20th, but there is promise of plenty of Asian New Wave and B Grade Horror, which gets my seal of approval. I can’t go on, I’ll go on. Rumination of the Moment™: “I’m sorry to report that a few Bible believing churches are still awake. However, Master, the majority of churches have joined our ecumenical movement… soon we’ll have our superchurch!”
| 25 February | On the Edge... | om.op |
Another well-known fact is that most “blogs” are run by insecure overweight American girls (largely self-proclaimed Goths) that need a place to lust over their last boy on boy anime relationship… a big call? ^_^
Evidence:
Want it All Back - Randomocity 7.0
Sanae's Weblog
The wax and wane of caravan populations
Darkness of the Heart
Sunspot cycles
Through the Darkness my Love will Shine... **Valinor 04**
The rise and fall of the Nile
A World You Didn't See
Mounting Passion
Mala No Ichigo Yaoi Blog
This list of google hits would drive most people (^______________________^) crazy
I'M SO SORRY! I make no excuses for these people, pairing together anime leads that have not ever had as much as a dirty thought and lusting and longing over them their whole lives.
So, let’s make Memoirs of a Madman more than a “blog” – you won’t find any hentai here (though black pimps in green suits are forthcoming) – I have “better” (but what is better? Certainly not “yaoi” anyway) things to talk about than Ash Katchum getting together with Gary, like my own angst, MY insecurities which I won’t make any attempt to escape through porn… right guys?
So...
| 15 February | Eons In Review | statitistatistatistician |
Before I launch into this though I should probably update "the happs" - the Lantern Festival last night was painfully disappointing in comparisson to last year, but I figure I'll give it another shot tonight... as I write, on TV we watch Team New Zealand bail water from their boat desperately as they sink into the Hauraki Gulf... would I still be Loyal™ if I said I had absolutely no confidence in Team New Zealand at this moment... ahhh Loyal™.. what a wonderful concept.
So yeah, Eons in Review, a few statistics to wet your whistle:
Ahh 2001, my first year of operation... starting on the 27 of October and spanning 65 days until December 31. In this time there were 37 entries made... why, "That's a fair few!" I hear you say... yup, I was averaging an entry for every 1.756 days! Spectacularrr!
As a point of interest, our boom on our Americas Cup boat just broke - a good ten minutes into the race - now... we are fucked.
Ohhh last year, how many problems you caused me! Well, I guess the death of both my grandmothers, my Chicken Pox and various other mis-haps are overshadowed by a fair few "good times" - No problems here... however, you'll notice that between 1 of January and December 31 only 49 entries were made, thats 49 entries in 365 days! Oh dear! Why, thats only an entry for every 7.448 days.. qué desastré! I could always analyse these statistic, perhaps try and offer reasons for why things have "panned out" as they have, but all I ask is that you don't assume this journal means anything less to me than it did the day I started it... I guess it serves a different purpose to which it was first intended, but as they say, a change is as good as a rest.
Now our headfoil has broken, and the replacement one broke immediately... so without our boom, our mainsail is flailing in the wind, our front sail (held up by the head foil) is utterly functionless and we are pathetically writhing in the surf. Jawsome.
2003... this year... drives most people... craazy. I guess it promises a lot... global conflict a plenty, the Americas Cup (which judging by our current position will soon be ripped from our desperate grasp), the Cricket World Cup (okay now I'm just sounding like some kind of sports jock)... this is quite atrocious. In the first 46 days of 2003 I've made a grand 7 entries including this one... wep-wow, this puts me on par for an entry every 6.571 days! Biting back? I can only chuckle to think about how irresponsible it is of me to present statistics I have no faith in whatsoever... School C Maths don't fail me now?
I cooked up a little "Investigation" to collate and analyse this information... believe it went a little something...
like this:
As you can see, I forgot to label the axes... 2 marks off!
Onto the interesting stuff? I cooked up a few more statistics that may or may not interest you, "check it!"
Longest Entry Ever: When the Tigers Broke Free (2 May, 2002, 1, 518 words).
Shortest Entry Ever: What has become of you? (20th November 2001, 10 words).
Most Picturesque Entry Ever: On Vacation (23 December 2002, 7 images displayed or linked)
As another mild point of interest, Team New Zealand has just withdrawn from the race... only having actually sailed a couple of hundred metres before the boat went "puckaroo"... we are being towed ashore with the boat looking an absolute mess, everything broken, leaving Alinghi to finish the race and take the win unhampered... I like it.
Finally, I thought it would be interesting as I examined the entries to create these statistics to consider what the greatest "fear" of New Zealand has been over the years... our hyperactive media cook up all kinds of scandals, and indeed it is an international phenomenon to keep society in check by filling life with irrational fears... these are fuelled and propagated by the media and I carry with me a mean collection of them today...
New Zealand's Greatest Fear (during my time on air): "Terror", "Rugby Terror", "The G E's", "The Leaky Buildings Syndrome", "Dog Terror", "The Axis of Evil", "The Boy Racers", "The Under-Eighteens" and of course the spread of the eeeevyill "Foot 'n Mouth Disease", despite the fact there has never been a single confirmed case in New Zealand... don't you love the society being based around fear? Whatever the case, surely the most hyped in New Zealand of these many horrors has been "The G E's" - endless media attention and scaremongering, boy they've got me frightened.
Of course I could go on about this stuff at length, there are hundreds of mildly amusing statistics and self-reflexive observations I could make, but as the old adage goes, Rumination of the Moment™: "99.9% of statistics are made up." - Hahaaaaa classsic.
| 13 February | Like a True Nature's Child... | significantly agitated |
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know.
I am in confusion.
I look forward to a day when it'll (but what is it?) make sense.. a moment of cosmic understanding and complete love for the world... perhaps some acid would have been a wise purchase in Raglan? It's hard to know really... alls I know is that there is an LLB Part 2 Orientation coming up, and I'm invited! I could go along and rub shoulders with well-dressed, well-educated law students, and perhaps throw my arms around them in a celebratory "I can't believe we made it!" fashion... or perhaps I could refuse to let myself be raped by the System, and carry around silent hatred and disdain for those obnoxious elite.
What is right?
What is wrong?
To change tune wildly (phew! *wipes sweat from brow*) I guess there are a few things these holidays to look forward to... hopefully more extensive and scoping filming, the Lantern Festival (commencing Friday) and even [dramatic chord] the return of my 'ole buddy Daryl Carr... that said, our friendship was pretty much struck off the list purrmanently somewhere in fourth form... oh how he abandoned me for my current group of friends! Rumination of the Moment™:
(Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the Virgin Mary)"
| 11 February | Be Excited, Be Be Excited! | mildly angry |
A World Divided - Excellent, a little too perfect in fact, is anyone else impressed by the idea of Germany, France, Belgium, Russia and China directly defying the US? Mad props. So the fucker may dismiss the UN as irrelevant, but surely the balance of power it is now *attempting* to provide is its greatest function and ultimate purpose? I think so... Peter Fraser gets my ultimate kudos and if indeed America do directly defy all these countries, at least they can do so with international disdain... could this lead to global warfare? Probably not, but what it demonstrates to me is that not everyone is sucked in by the United States. Faith in Humanity + plus +.
I would love to promise a photo journal for my recent trip to Raglan and the Soundsplash Music Festival but because my brother swiped the digicam for his wannabe-Acid Trip there'll be no photos! I guess at least hour I can manage a basic rundown and comment on the novelty of 24 hours of music... coolness... sleeping 2-3am then getting up again and dancing is quite an experience... there were many drugs circulating but disappointingly little consumed, and despite my month of fury it seems I managed to get a good $60 spent ($40 debt) for various purchases. Bugger. I guess awesome weather, good company and a nice atmosphere can't have a price put on it.
In terms of the Month of Fury slip-ups are still confined to a bite of Rum Ball (which was spat out and washed away with water) and an entire Mintie... it seems the most obvious things are what slip one's mind... checking every packet I eat out of for refined sugar in its various incarnations (including "Raw Sugar" funnily enough) didn't seem to dissuade me from a traditional Alan's Car Road Trip Mintie™... *regains composure*, still, I must soldier on, and attack culture oncemore. And, I shall offer you something I overheard from another table at Frasers because of its complete and utter relevance to todays world, Rumination of the Moment™: "It passes through the lips and straight to the hips, as my mother would say" - *standing ovation*
| 3 February | War! What is it good for? | (absolutely nothing) |
Why do we assume the US has any accountability to the U.N.? I mean, weren't the attacks on Afghanistan more or less unilateral? I certainly don't remember any process of America actually justifying their "retalliation". They can, in fact, do anything they want without just cause... do we actually believe the UN will impose any kind of punishment on the US for their maverick bloodshedding? Fuck no... the US would probably immediately withdraw from the UN and make enemies of the Security Council (China, France, Germany: A new axis of evil?) if it came to a matter of placing sanctions on the US...
The worst thing is, it takes bloodbaths, like that which occurred in Afghanistan, and that which is occurring in Iraq to alert the people in general to the fact that the system is broken. As individuals, we have no power... the US has done its damned best to make sure they never have another country with military might comparable to their own, and have entirely succeeded... is there nothing to be done? I don't want to be some kind of "Prophet of Doom" (actually that is an incredibly cool sounding title) but my Month of Fury will no doubt see some of the greatest injustices of modern times brought to fruition, all in the name of freedom... and that's a helluva travesty. Rumination of the Moment™: "When wee-sah gonnah get to Flo-ree-dah?" - Okay, incredibly obscure reference. I apologise.
| MONTH OF FURY | Join Us In Creating Excellence | [knowing glance] |
Number One: No Refined Sugar: Well, they put refined sugar in pretty much everything. The most obvious I guess being soft drinks, down to stuff like white bread (oh god), to chocolate, to sauces, to everything. This (over the last two days) has severely restricted my diet... think pita bread and vegemite, and greek salad... I'm not quite sure if I can pull through for 30 days with this one, but the occasional slip up has to be rejected (think today when i put a large rum ball in my mouth then had to spit the whole thing out on the grass at Summer Series... que desastré!)
Number Two: No Red Meat: This is something I've always wanted to try... red meat, and certainly by-products of red meat occur everywhere (next time you're eating that hash brown, think of the beef fat they coat em with) and while I don't live on red meat, I'm going to miss it... I have never been a huge fish fan, and hopefully I'll slowly move into the Realm of the Fish in the next 28 days... hopefully. [wretches]
Number Three: Ohhhhh number three... this one drives most people... craaazy. NO ORGASM - Again, this is something I've always contemplated (hell, I have friends who claim to have gone years without these) and it fucking scares me... I am loathe to do something like this (I guess it removes a lot of security, and dare I say potential pleasure from my life) but for the sake of following the every word of Tappy Tibbons, I will see it through... no voluntary orgasm anyway... [wipes sweat from brow and shifts eyes around uneasily]
I have some cold comfort... I can still eat nuts, and plenty of it... if the urge took me, I could fry up a meal of bacon, eggs, and cheese (why the fuck not?!) to feast upon... I should stress this is not a diet, I am not unhappy with my weight, I just really like the idea of following a crazy concept that is presented to me as truth and mayhaps leading to my ruin... who knows? It's the University holidays, I've already declared myself "fucking lost", I will do as I'm told (by Tappy of course) and should I be a gibbering mess by March the third (day Uni resumes incidentally) then so much the better!
Today yielded an extended period in the sun which may have brought on horrible "Pox Burn" (which it has come to be known) as well as Meaningful Social Interaction™ - I guess it's always good to get a different perspective on what you accept as "truth" - perhaps we can just leave it at "Challenge your conceptual framework!... Nope, that ain't going to do it... Rumination of the Moment™: "Please don't turn back. Please be committed. Please keep that passion for life growing. Because I'm living proof that it works." - That little gem of wisdom by my new Messiah, Tappy Tibbons - I gotta believe!
| 27 January | I read the News today, oh boy. | tah ma sei |
I did it, I accepted my admission into LLB Part 2, and you know why? Because fucking intellectual elitists convinced me that it's a good thing to be part of a crème de la crème society of lawyers... they convinced me that attaining the heights of LLB Part 2 was something out of reach to all but the best, that it would "open doors", and from where I'm standing it seems so empty. You see I didn't end up here through tireless hours of study or honing my skills of logical reasoning, no... I got here like I get everywhere else... by taking an easy route (which is by no means to discredit the Arts degree) and just breezing through... I've tried to tell myself that there must be a better way, but can find no fault in the life of a "lazy delitante" doomed to "die in poverty" - I guess the old phrase "If it ain't broken, don't fix it" comes into play.
All kinds of fears still haunt me, what if I am swallowed into the belly of this horrible machine? What if I'm convinced to practise law? I have only the assurance that less than a third of those with law degrees practise law... of course I'll fit into that majority... no problem. Nothing to be done? I have aspirations for things other than law, will this be enough? To go to Japan, to teach English, but then what? Perhaps fall back into the security of assured wealth and social acceptance? I don't need this, but if that is true, then why am I so tempted by the sheer stigma attached to having a law degree? Why else would I spend another two years at University? Something better will come along! - and from that very Christian viewpoint, I shall live my life. What if there is nothing else? Rumination of the Moment™: And nothing can be done. [Not this again! - Ed]
| 19 January | The Sunburn Memorial Entry | resolute |
On the 28th of December, in a foolish move I decided to take advantage of the emptiness of my house... feeling the dire need to "burn out" these fucking chicken pox scars and remembering (from Fear and Loathing) that beer could indeed expediate the tanning process, I set about destroying the blotchy marks left on my inner thighs and more sensitive regions with the aid of (what I assumed to be my friend) Ultra-Vazza Mc Lazza (ahh fuckit, UV light)... donning a small facecloth which would double as a loin cloth, I bravely charged outdoors and set my naked body upon a deck chair, occasionally taking the time to pour intimate quantities of Lion Red onto my body and work them into my skin, particularly my inner thighs and more pasty regions... little did I know not only would this expediate the tanning process, but also be the gateway to the most painful experience of my life...
Innocently I sat out back reading my bumper crop of Christmas books and listening to some Crimso, vaguely aware of my neighbours prying eyes out their back window, yet somehow taking perverse pleasure at my utter lack of concern for their mental integrity... "that lonely old bitch will enjoy it anyway", I told myself, a turgid grin extending across my face. A good hour and a half passed, I suppose, before the phone rang... good God, how long had it been ringing for? Was this the first time I'd heard it ring? With 3 Lion Red "down the hatch" I ran for the phone, discarding my loin cloth, and battling the head rush that comes from sitting down for too long in the sun consuming only alcohol... urgh... missed it, by mere seconds. There were, however, messages on my answering machine... to my disappointment, they were not threatening messages left by paranoid schitzophrenics... I was in Epsom in Ronnie J's household... that doesn't happen here... oh no, this was a Jewish housewife (my neighbour in fact) who had left 2 messages over the last hour along the lines of "Umm... Maureen... I have a... problem with my drains on my roof... and I'll be having a tradesman come over soon... I just wanted to tell you he'll be coming onto your property to get a good look... thanks a lot, bye!" - Read: Get your pasty naked body out of my view now, Tim! You're challenging my sexual repression and it's making me sweat! - Okay, perhaps I flatter myself a little, but this message was not genuine. OF course she did know that Maureen was indeed away for a good ten days, addressing this message to Maureen was a waste of time... furthermore, her voice... the uncertainty, the stutters, the pauses... it gave it all away, and despite my disgust at her Epsomite courtesy, she may have saved me from another good half hour out in the sun and possible worse sunburn (although I assure you this was the worst sunburn I've ever had!) And (as if it had to be said) no tradesman did come that afternoon... I guess her roof drains unclogged themselves. Rumination of the Moment™:"Together in Electric Dreeeeeeeeeams".