Sorry for the mass posting tonight, but suddenly I have a lot of stuff to say about nothing in particular. Due to a decision by the suddenly old and embittered Mr Alex Daw, this week is "Tell it like it is week". Therefore, this week, myself and the good Mr Daw will be telling it like it is. This event was kicked off by Daw approaching Benny and stating "Hillier, You are Fucking annoying!". After he presented this idea to me, I jumped on the band wagon, and kicked my week off by telling Daw himself to "Get a fucking hair cut, its hideous".
So there it is, Telling it like it is.
Join up kids! Tell everyone like it is!
Don't eat the yellow snow
Monday, June 30, 2003
I just noticed that my hands look really cool in the reflected light of a computer screen. In normal light however, they are as ugly as ever.
Oh well.
Oh well.
I have re-discovered first person shooters, and there is nothing I love more than scrambling around with some sort of massive gun reducing German, Russian, English and American terrorists, soldiers and civilians to torso form by blowing off limbs and so on. Its a fantastic way to de stress! It's fantastic, believe me!
Daw has decided that its time for a "ALEX DAW RANDOM QUESTION MONDAY!"
And here is your one random question. Feel free to answer it other bloggers!
Disscuss your beliefs in fate, destiny or choice etc. include observations about a "God's" master plan for the universe and why we are all here. In essence, explain your perseption on the meaning of life.
Well, It's a corker all right. But here goes.
As far as fate goes, I dont particularly like to subscribe to that notion, I dont like to think that there is someone or something controlling everything that I do, as if i were to fit into some crazy master plan. And if there is this super master plan, I dont actually see how me sitting around , masturbating, playing guitar and eating pizza is actually going to help anyone. If this is my part in the plan, then the plan is REALLY fucked up.
I would like to believe everything I do is my choice, and my choice alone giving the suggestion that I am free to think and make my own decisions. However the easiest way to make someone satisfied with existance is to make them think they are free. God is smart like that I guess. I don't know what the meaning of life is, and I dont think anyone can claim to. Why does there have to be a meaning? Can't we just have fun with it? I know I am!
And here is your one random question. Feel free to answer it other bloggers!
Disscuss your beliefs in fate, destiny or choice etc. include observations about a "God's" master plan for the universe and why we are all here. In essence, explain your perseption on the meaning of life.
Well, It's a corker all right. But here goes.
As far as fate goes, I dont particularly like to subscribe to that notion, I dont like to think that there is someone or something controlling everything that I do, as if i were to fit into some crazy master plan. And if there is this super master plan, I dont actually see how me sitting around , masturbating, playing guitar and eating pizza is actually going to help anyone. If this is my part in the plan, then the plan is REALLY fucked up.
I would like to believe everything I do is my choice, and my choice alone giving the suggestion that I am free to think and make my own decisions. However the easiest way to make someone satisfied with existance is to make them think they are free. God is smart like that I guess. I don't know what the meaning of life is, and I dont think anyone can claim to. Why does there have to be a meaning? Can't we just have fun with it? I know I am!
Its time for another Saturday morning Rove rip off Musical microscope!
This time I don't hate the song, I love it, cause as far as songs about kinky sex and voyeurism go, this one kicks ass!
You've got your ball
you've got your chain
Tied to me tight tie me up again
Who's got their claws
in you my friend
Into your heart I'll beat again
Sweet like candy to my soul
Sweet you rock
and sweet you roll
Lost for you I'm so lost for you
You come crash into me
And i come into you,
I come into you
In a boys dream
In a boys dream
Touch your lips just so i know
In your eyes, love, it glows so
I'm bare-boned and crazy for you
When you come crash
into me, baby
And I come into you
In a boys dream
In a boys dream
If I've gone overboard
Then I'm begging you
to forgive me
In my haste
When I'm holding you so girl...
close to me
Oh and you come crash
into me, baby
And I come into you
Hike up your skirt a little more
and show the world to me
Hike up your skirt a little more
and show your world to me
In a boys dream...In a boys dream
Oh i watch you there
through the window
And I stare at you
You wear nothing but you
wear it so well
Tied up and twisted,
the way I'd like to be
For you, for me, come crash
into me,
crash into me
crash into me
crash into me
crash into me
I'm the king of the castle
You're the dirty rascal
Crash into me
Oh see you crash into me baby,
'Cause I am swimming in your seas
And in your ocean
And I feel your waves come and crash into me
Oh yes I see the waves come and crash into me
Oh yes I feel the waves come and crash into me
I will be your dixie chicken,
If you'll be my Tennessee lamb,
We can walk together
Down in Dixieland
Crash into me,
Crash into me
hey hey yeah
Crash into me
Crash into me
oh, and you come crash into me.
-Crash Into Me ; Dave Matthews Band
It really is a kick ass song. And its one of those songs that you listen to, but dont actually realise what they are about until you have heard them about 90 times, and you are sitting there on one idle tuesday.
Personally, I noticed the strange sexual connotations within the lines "Hike up your skirt a little more
and show the world to me,Hike up your skirt a little more and show your world to me.In a boys dream...In a boys dream". Once that thought is embedded in your head, you realise that there is also the line "Oh and you come crash into me, baby And I come into you", Which when you think about it is quite dirty. Then you have the whole notion of the Ball and Chain, and the fact that Dave has them apparently "Tied to me tight" and wants the mystery woman to "tie me up again", which sounds like quite the hardcore bondage adventure if you ask me. This theme is revisited later on where Dave states that he is "Tied up and twisted, the way I like to be". Dave Matthews into hardcore kinky bondage games, Who knew? It also appears that he is fully into dirty role playing , because he states "I'm the king of the castle, you're the dirty rascal" and "I will be your dixie chicken, If you'll be my Tennessee lamb". Which is not only beastiality, but also, very very strange.
There is also a rich strain of voyeurism prevalent when he says "Oh i watch you there through the window And i stare at you. You wear nothing but you wear it so well". Hmmm, Thats fairly creepy.
At least, however Dave is apologetic "If I've gone overboard Then I'm begging you to forgive me In my haste. When I'm holding you so girl..." Making sure that his mystery woman doesnt kick him out of bed or something dirty like that.
Songwriters nowdays! Yeesh!
This time I don't hate the song, I love it, cause as far as songs about kinky sex and voyeurism go, this one kicks ass!
You've got your ball
you've got your chain
Tied to me tight tie me up again
Who's got their claws
in you my friend
Into your heart I'll beat again
Sweet like candy to my soul
Sweet you rock
and sweet you roll
Lost for you I'm so lost for you
You come crash into me
And i come into you,
I come into you
In a boys dream
In a boys dream
Touch your lips just so i know
In your eyes, love, it glows so
I'm bare-boned and crazy for you
When you come crash
into me, baby
And I come into you
In a boys dream
In a boys dream
If I've gone overboard
Then I'm begging you
to forgive me
In my haste
When I'm holding you so girl...
close to me
Oh and you come crash
into me, baby
And I come into you
Hike up your skirt a little more
and show the world to me
Hike up your skirt a little more
and show your world to me
In a boys dream...In a boys dream
Oh i watch you there
through the window
And I stare at you
You wear nothing but you
wear it so well
Tied up and twisted,
the way I'd like to be
For you, for me, come crash
into me,
crash into me
crash into me
crash into me
crash into me
I'm the king of the castle
You're the dirty rascal
Crash into me
Oh see you crash into me baby,
'Cause I am swimming in your seas
And in your ocean
And I feel your waves come and crash into me
Oh yes I see the waves come and crash into me
Oh yes I feel the waves come and crash into me
I will be your dixie chicken,
If you'll be my Tennessee lamb,
We can walk together
Down in Dixieland
Crash into me,
Crash into me
hey hey yeah
Crash into me
Crash into me
oh, and you come crash into me.
-Crash Into Me ; Dave Matthews Band
It really is a kick ass song. And its one of those songs that you listen to, but dont actually realise what they are about until you have heard them about 90 times, and you are sitting there on one idle tuesday.
Personally, I noticed the strange sexual connotations within the lines "Hike up your skirt a little more
and show the world to me,Hike up your skirt a little more and show your world to me.In a boys dream...In a boys dream". Once that thought is embedded in your head, you realise that there is also the line "Oh and you come crash into me, baby And I come into you", Which when you think about it is quite dirty. Then you have the whole notion of the Ball and Chain, and the fact that Dave has them apparently "Tied to me tight" and wants the mystery woman to "tie me up again", which sounds like quite the hardcore bondage adventure if you ask me. This theme is revisited later on where Dave states that he is "Tied up and twisted, the way I like to be". Dave Matthews into hardcore kinky bondage games, Who knew? It also appears that he is fully into dirty role playing , because he states "I'm the king of the castle, you're the dirty rascal" and "I will be your dixie chicken, If you'll be my Tennessee lamb". Which is not only beastiality, but also, very very strange.
There is also a rich strain of voyeurism prevalent when he says "Oh i watch you there through the window And i stare at you. You wear nothing but you wear it so well". Hmmm, Thats fairly creepy.
At least, however Dave is apologetic "If I've gone overboard Then I'm begging you to forgive me In my haste. When I'm holding you so girl..." Making sure that his mystery woman doesnt kick him out of bed or something dirty like that.
Songwriters nowdays! Yeesh!
Saturday, June 28, 2003
Labelling, Labelling, Labelling My CD's
Its taking a long ass time to do. Anyone who knows me knows I love my music. And what I love more than music on CD is FREE music on CD. I have been downloading music for YEARS now and as a result, have about 8 million burnt CD's sitting around my room. So I decided in my infinite wisdom, to Label them all, so I would never ever again have to guess what is actually on the CD.
I started Wednesday. I am about a quarter of the way through.
Sigh
Its taking a long ass time to do. Anyone who knows me knows I love my music. And what I love more than music on CD is FREE music on CD. I have been downloading music for YEARS now and as a result, have about 8 million burnt CD's sitting around my room. So I decided in my infinite wisdom, to Label them all, so I would never ever again have to guess what is actually on the CD.
I started Wednesday. I am about a quarter of the way through.
Sigh
Time for a belated Friday Five
1. How are you planning to spend the summer [winter]?
Rugged up at home, finishing some holiday homework and hanging out with friends.
2. What was your first summer job?
Probably Mowing lawns or lifesaving
3. If you could go anywhere this summer [winter], where would you go?
Uhm, Dunno, Somewhere cool no doubt!
4. What was your worst vacation ever?
Any number of driving holidays when I was a kid, which involved my entire family packed up in a car and listening to like, the black sorrows for 8 hours a day.
5. What was your best vacation ever?
Couldn't tell you, none have really been that exciting. Although it wasnt a holiday, Nepabunna was pretty damn cool
1. How are you planning to spend the summer [winter]?
Rugged up at home, finishing some holiday homework and hanging out with friends.
2. What was your first summer job?
Probably Mowing lawns or lifesaving
3. If you could go anywhere this summer [winter], where would you go?
Uhm, Dunno, Somewhere cool no doubt!
4. What was your worst vacation ever?
Any number of driving holidays when I was a kid, which involved my entire family packed up in a car and listening to like, the black sorrows for 8 hours a day.
5. What was your best vacation ever?
Couldn't tell you, none have really been that exciting. Although it wasnt a holiday, Nepabunna was pretty damn cool
Thursday, June 26, 2003
If I was God for a week
Right off the back of the movie "Bruce Almighty" starring Jim Carrey, I got to wondering about what it would be like if God decided in his infinite wisdom, that it would be a good idea to give me godly powers for a week. Ok, ok, I know it would probably be a grave oversight on God's behalf, Giving godly powers to someone such as myself and all. However, I would of course kick ultimate ass. I would never have to stop and wait for smelly year 8's or 9's blocking the corridor ever again, Wave of the hands, and they would part like the red sea and allow me to walk through without being touched. I would also enjoy the ultimate power of being able to smite people. I would smite smite here, smite smite there, here a smite there a smite everywhere a smite smite. I would keep smiting until everyone is smoted and my smiting finger is smoted out and sore. People on my to smite list? Bad drivers, Stereotypes, people who smoke around me and people who wear pants who are way way too big for them all of them would feel my wrath, and probably wind up with a lightning bolt jammed sideways up their ass for pissing me off.
Also, I think it would be cool to give people orders in that fucked up deep booming godlike voice and make them scurry to do my bidding. Creating new commandments would be soooooo sweet too. Such as “Thou shalt not give god the shits”. And then, create commandments that contradict other commandments, so that the Christians would be like “Damn, which commandment should we follow” and then they would follow one, and I would say it was the wrong one and then smite them. Anyone that week who made the mistake of saying “I wish the earth would just swallow me up” would have to suffer the earth actually swallowing them up. Traffic lights would all be green for me, It wouldn’t rain on me, but I would be able to conjure up little rain clouds to follow people around. And everyone would be like “Man, I wish I was as cool as god” and I would be like “No way dude” and smite them.
Hehe, being God would totally kick ass.
Right off the back of the movie "Bruce Almighty" starring Jim Carrey, I got to wondering about what it would be like if God decided in his infinite wisdom, that it would be a good idea to give me godly powers for a week. Ok, ok, I know it would probably be a grave oversight on God's behalf, Giving godly powers to someone such as myself and all. However, I would of course kick ultimate ass. I would never have to stop and wait for smelly year 8's or 9's blocking the corridor ever again, Wave of the hands, and they would part like the red sea and allow me to walk through without being touched. I would also enjoy the ultimate power of being able to smite people. I would smite smite here, smite smite there, here a smite there a smite everywhere a smite smite. I would keep smiting until everyone is smoted and my smiting finger is smoted out and sore. People on my to smite list? Bad drivers, Stereotypes, people who smoke around me and people who wear pants who are way way too big for them all of them would feel my wrath, and probably wind up with a lightning bolt jammed sideways up their ass for pissing me off.
Also, I think it would be cool to give people orders in that fucked up deep booming godlike voice and make them scurry to do my bidding. Creating new commandments would be soooooo sweet too. Such as “Thou shalt not give god the shits”. And then, create commandments that contradict other commandments, so that the Christians would be like “Damn, which commandment should we follow” and then they would follow one, and I would say it was the wrong one and then smite them. Anyone that week who made the mistake of saying “I wish the earth would just swallow me up” would have to suffer the earth actually swallowing them up. Traffic lights would all be green for me, It wouldn’t rain on me, but I would be able to conjure up little rain clouds to follow people around. And everyone would be like “Man, I wish I was as cool as god” and I would be like “No way dude” and smite them.
Hehe, being God would totally kick ass.
Sunday, June 22, 2003
Saturday, June 21, 2003
Senior social last night, Everybody had a rocking good time. The theme was 70's and 80's so everyone was dressed suitibly, namely badly.
They played a good range of music, even if there were some really shit songs in there. Still, everyone had lots of fun.
We had bubble machines, disco balls, coloured lights, the whole shebang. However, we did blow out two speakers, and the jukebox crashed with ten minutes to go.
But yes, Fun yet tiring. I need sleep now
They played a good range of music, even if there were some really shit songs in there. Still, everyone had lots of fun.
We had bubble machines, disco balls, coloured lights, the whole shebang. However, we did blow out two speakers, and the jukebox crashed with ten minutes to go.
But yes, Fun yet tiring. I need sleep now
Bah, Friday Five is late again, cause I was busy, get off my back!
And they are crap anyway this week, So who cares
1. Is your hair naturally curly, wavy, or straight? Long or short?
Uhm, Straight, and Messy, Short, but it grows, like most hair does!
2. How has your hair changed over your lifetime?
It has gotten longer, messier and lighter
3. How do your normally wear your hair?
On my head generally, I tend to spike up the front, but more and more I have been sticking with the bedhead look
4. If you could change your hair this minute, what would it look like?
Uhm, I'd probly make it green, I'd look sweet with green hair.
5. Ever had a hair disaster? What happened?
Not really. Im not sure what a hair disaster actually is.
And they are crap anyway this week, So who cares
1. Is your hair naturally curly, wavy, or straight? Long or short?
Uhm, Straight, and Messy, Short, but it grows, like most hair does!
2. How has your hair changed over your lifetime?
It has gotten longer, messier and lighter
3. How do your normally wear your hair?
On my head generally, I tend to spike up the front, but more and more I have been sticking with the bedhead look
4. If you could change your hair this minute, what would it look like?
Uhm, I'd probly make it green, I'd look sweet with green hair.
5. Ever had a hair disaster? What happened?
Not really. Im not sure what a hair disaster actually is.
Thursday, June 19, 2003
REVENGE OF QUIZZILLA QUIZZES!
Hmm, what matrix persona am I?
I am me.
me too
You are Agent Smith, from "The Matrix."
No one would ever want to run into you in a
dark alley. Cold as steel, tough as a rock,
things are your way or the highway.
What Matrix Persona Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Hmm, what matrix persona am I?
I am me.
me too
You are Agent Smith, from "The Matrix."
No one would ever want to run into you in a
dark alley. Cold as steel, tough as a rock,
things are your way or the highway.
What Matrix Persona Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
What would a bored student with a white out pen do with this line:
"No Vuelva este Pagina hasta que se lo autorien"
Hehe, Im so immature.
"No Vuelva este Pagina hasta que se lo autorien"
Hehe, Im so immature.
Wednesday, June 18, 2003
So what's in the news today?
A container load of 8000 Harry Potter 5 books was stolen in the UK. That's a lot of money. I figure for advanced copies of the book, people would pay a pretty penny.
Closer to home, They decided to imprint the road near school with paving to make it look classier. Its about as convincing as the lines on Macdonalds grilled chicken.
On another note, The Environmental protection agency has put out an APB for one Mr Kevin "Kev" Larkin in connection with the de-forestation of the amazonian jungle. It is believed that Mr Larkin took the trees and made them into his IB Physic's Exams which were approximately the thickness of your average yellow pages.
Mr Larkin was unavailable for comment.
Cloudy skies are forecast for tomorrow with a 70 percent chance of chem. exam failure, and chances of Indonesian related thunderstorms in the afternoon.
Goodnight Australia
A container load of 8000 Harry Potter 5 books was stolen in the UK. That's a lot of money. I figure for advanced copies of the book, people would pay a pretty penny.
Closer to home, They decided to imprint the road near school with paving to make it look classier. Its about as convincing as the lines on Macdonalds grilled chicken.
On another note, The Environmental protection agency has put out an APB for one Mr Kevin "Kev" Larkin in connection with the de-forestation of the amazonian jungle. It is believed that Mr Larkin took the trees and made them into his IB Physic's Exams which were approximately the thickness of your average yellow pages.
Mr Larkin was unavailable for comment.
Cloudy skies are forecast for tomorrow with a 70 percent chance of chem. exam failure, and chances of Indonesian related thunderstorms in the afternoon.
Goodnight Australia
Monday, June 16, 2003
There was nothing in my horoscope this week about money!
But anyway, for those of you out there in TV land, I inherited $10,000 today.
Thats right. I shit you not.
Auntie Kay died. And no, she's not my actual aunt, She is the sister of my grandpa's best friend. She used to stay with us all the time when I was younger.
But still, I dont know why she left me money.
Anyway, $10,000 each to my sister and me. Some paintings for my dad.
Can't Touch it till I turn 18, but thats like what? 6 months away Tuesday week.
So yes.
But anyway, for those of you out there in TV land, I inherited $10,000 today.
Thats right. I shit you not.
Auntie Kay died. And no, she's not my actual aunt, She is the sister of my grandpa's best friend. She used to stay with us all the time when I was younger.
But still, I dont know why she left me money.
Anyway, $10,000 each to my sister and me. Some paintings for my dad.
Can't Touch it till I turn 18, but thats like what? 6 months away Tuesday week.
So yes.
Sunday, June 15, 2003
By now most of you know of my strange admiration for John Mayer.
I cant explain it, but here are some lyrics
There's a new sensation
Sweeping all the nation,
and they're calling it bare ballin it, bare ballin it.
Well i seem to have forgotten that crucial layer of cotton
I'm ballin it, we're all in it, we're bare ballin it,
There's nothing that you don't see,
After my jeans it's only just me.
Call me a "Fleshy Fernando",
I'm goin commando!
I'm ballin it,
There's a new sensation sweepin all the nation,
and they're callin it (they're callin it)
they're callin it (they're callin it) bare ballin it
Bare ballin' it -John Mayer
'nuff said
I cant explain it, but here are some lyrics
There's a new sensation
Sweeping all the nation,
and they're calling it bare ballin it, bare ballin it.
Well i seem to have forgotten that crucial layer of cotton
I'm ballin it, we're all in it, we're bare ballin it,
There's nothing that you don't see,
After my jeans it's only just me.
Call me a "Fleshy Fernando",
I'm goin commando!
I'm ballin it,
There's a new sensation sweepin all the nation,
and they're callin it (they're callin it)
they're callin it (they're callin it) bare ballin it
Bare ballin' it -John Mayer
'nuff said
Bah!
I am so sick of study already. Heres to hoping I pass all my exams. The focus at this stage is on world lit and Extended essay anyway.
Last night I went to Daw's, We watched "Jay and Silent Bob strike back" it was funny. Celebrity guest appearances rock.
Coming home later than I planned, I was made later by some guy in a Camry who wiped out head on into a Four wheel drive on James road. It looked nasty, Two cop cars and an ambulance in attendance. I was trapped for about 15 minutes while they dealt with it, then had to navigate my way carefully through a maze of wreckage and cop cars. Nasty indeed.
So for all the rest of you year 12 students who are studying your asses off to pass this set of exams, I'm not with you, cause I'm lazy, But I wish you all the best of luck.
Just remember, when you get into that exam room, relax, and dont think about cherry pie.
at all.
Cause that would just fuck with your head if you are trying to write about Ionization Energy in your Chem Exam and all you can think about is cherry pie
It will drive you nuts
Cherry pie that is
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, Pie.
I am so sick of study already. Heres to hoping I pass all my exams. The focus at this stage is on world lit and Extended essay anyway.
Last night I went to Daw's, We watched "Jay and Silent Bob strike back" it was funny. Celebrity guest appearances rock.
Coming home later than I planned, I was made later by some guy in a Camry who wiped out head on into a Four wheel drive on James road. It looked nasty, Two cop cars and an ambulance in attendance. I was trapped for about 15 minutes while they dealt with it, then had to navigate my way carefully through a maze of wreckage and cop cars. Nasty indeed.
So for all the rest of you year 12 students who are studying your asses off to pass this set of exams, I'm not with you, cause I'm lazy, But I wish you all the best of luck.
Just remember, when you get into that exam room, relax, and dont think about cherry pie.
at all.
Cause that would just fuck with your head if you are trying to write about Ionization Energy in your Chem Exam and all you can think about is cherry pie
It will drive you nuts
Cherry pie that is
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, Pie.
Friday, June 13, 2003
1. What's one thing you've always wanted to do, but never have?
Play guitar to a huge audience somewhere!
2. When someone asks your opinion about a new haircut/outfit/etc, are you always honest?
Yeah, I try to be, Unless they are a crier.
3. Have you ever found out something about a friend and then wished you hadn't? What happened?
Yes. My brain was broken from picturing mental images for ever more
4. If you could live in any fictional world (from a book/movie/game/etc.) which would it be and why?
I dont know. That is a gay ass question
5. What's one talent/skill you don't have but always wanted?
I want to be able to play the piano. And speak russian.
Play guitar to a huge audience somewhere!
2. When someone asks your opinion about a new haircut/outfit/etc, are you always honest?
Yeah, I try to be, Unless they are a crier.
3. Have you ever found out something about a friend and then wished you hadn't? What happened?
Yes. My brain was broken from picturing mental images for ever more
4. If you could live in any fictional world (from a book/movie/game/etc.) which would it be and why?
I dont know. That is a gay ass question
5. What's one talent/skill you don't have but always wanted?
I want to be able to play the piano. And speak russian.
Study study study.
My boots are ruddy. Outside it's muddy, The weather is cruddy!
The dishes are suddy.
My teacher is a fuddy duddy, tch, bloody
It's ok buddy,
We all know that study is cruddy!
My boots are ruddy. Outside it's muddy, The weather is cruddy!
The dishes are suddy.
My teacher is a fuddy duddy, tch, bloody
It's ok buddy,
We all know that study is cruddy!
Thursday, June 12, 2003
In typical mother logic, My mum gets us to clean before the cleaning lady gets here. I dont quite get it. Something about making it easier for her to clean so my mum doesnt waste her money. Damn right it makes it easier for her! if you clean first she gets cash for NOTHING!
Bah!
Bah!
Tuesday, June 10, 2003
I just noticed I have a fucking lot of archives!
I have also noticed that I have started swearing a lot more again.
I need some form of preventing me from doing it.
I have also noticed that I have started swearing a lot more again.
I need some form of preventing me from doing it.
Don't you just love it when you lend a teacher a book, or they mark an essay or something and it comes back smelling like it has been rolled up smothered in a rich layer of tar and bacon grease, and then marinated in the smoke of about 80 packets of cigarettes?
I know I dont!
Cause I fucking hate smokers.
The reason I fucking hate smokers (Besides their attitude)
The fact that they belch foul smelling clingy smoke from their cavernous rotting mouths into the world.
Heres something more to hate, the fact that the smoke sticks to everything.
So, One liberal dousing of deoderant later, my books, essays and room now smell like normal.
And not like sickening smoke
I fucking hate that.
grrr
I know I dont!
Cause I fucking hate smokers.
The reason I fucking hate smokers (Besides their attitude)
The fact that they belch foul smelling clingy smoke from their cavernous rotting mouths into the world.
Heres something more to hate, the fact that the smoke sticks to everything.
So, One liberal dousing of deoderant later, my books, essays and room now smell like normal.
And not like sickening smoke
I fucking hate that.
grrr
Monday, June 09, 2003
Miss Universe 2003
For starters, for a Miss Universe Competition, there sure were a lot of humans, I didnt spot one contestant who was from anywhere else in the Universe.
However, PHWWWWWWWWOAR! Fine form, fine form indeed, specifically fro Australia, The Netherlands, The Ukraine, Costa Rica, South Africa and Canada.
The introduction had all of the competitors dressed in outfits that looked like they were probably made by blind monkeys out of bad bad 1980's curtain material.
The saddest part about this? They all still looked REALLY hot. Depressing I know.
Then again, most of these women could wear a potato sack, and still look painfully hot. Sigh.
First up, National costume. Miss America dressed up like wonder woman, that was exciting. But there were lots of feathers and crap around, it was pretty scary. Miss Japan had a big ass samurai sword. Didn’t manage to see Miss Australia, but rest assured she was wearing a singlet, boardies, thongs and carrying a tinnie or two.
I do think however that the whole thing is a little bit stupid. I mean, they have these cheesy smiles practically stapled to their face and they have to walk out. Walking is a very self-conscious thing when you think about it. They are obviously putting so much effort into trying to do it properly. Its like when you have to go up to collect an award on stage at like an assembly. And you put SO much effort into actually walking up there and concentrating on not screwing up. Another example is when you’re buddies get the car and come past your house to pick you up, and you have to like walk down the driveway to meet them. You try SO hard to make it that “hey, I'm cool, this isn’t a big thing’ walk.
As far as breaking the tedium goes, they have some really bad acts. If you have ever wondered what the spanishy love child of Michael Jackson in the 80’s and Ricky Martin would have looked like, check out the first music act. To quote Dutchy “This singer guy loves the cock, clearly”
Anyway, Evening gown competition, two people took a trip and rolled their ankles coming down the steps, which I am sure are incredibly embarrassing. Miss Canada had a slit up the side of her evening gown that finished somewhere below her chin, Miss Japan just took it way out and just wore a bikini top and some poor attempt at a dress.
Swimsuits are swimsuits. They ALL look good in them.
I missed the questions, but Daw assures me they were all dodgy. You know, in the league of “Which would you prefer to be, Fire or Water?” To which the response was “Neither, Because I am a Human Being with emotions”
If I were the judge, I would have just gone. “Boooo! We gave you two fucking options biatch! Pick one! None of this gay hippie crap!”
Anyway. Someone won, Miss Dominican Republic I think. I cant remember who won Miss Congeniality but they were asked “So, have you always been nice?” Which was answered with, “Yes, I have always been nice”
I love the way they don’t call the loser like “runner up” or “person who came second” they are the “First runner up” to make them feel important.
For starters, for a Miss Universe Competition, there sure were a lot of humans, I didnt spot one contestant who was from anywhere else in the Universe.
However, PHWWWWWWWWOAR! Fine form, fine form indeed, specifically fro Australia, The Netherlands, The Ukraine, Costa Rica, South Africa and Canada.
The introduction had all of the competitors dressed in outfits that looked like they were probably made by blind monkeys out of bad bad 1980's curtain material.
The saddest part about this? They all still looked REALLY hot. Depressing I know.
Then again, most of these women could wear a potato sack, and still look painfully hot. Sigh.
First up, National costume. Miss America dressed up like wonder woman, that was exciting. But there were lots of feathers and crap around, it was pretty scary. Miss Japan had a big ass samurai sword. Didn’t manage to see Miss Australia, but rest assured she was wearing a singlet, boardies, thongs and carrying a tinnie or two.
I do think however that the whole thing is a little bit stupid. I mean, they have these cheesy smiles practically stapled to their face and they have to walk out. Walking is a very self-conscious thing when you think about it. They are obviously putting so much effort into trying to do it properly. Its like when you have to go up to collect an award on stage at like an assembly. And you put SO much effort into actually walking up there and concentrating on not screwing up. Another example is when you’re buddies get the car and come past your house to pick you up, and you have to like walk down the driveway to meet them. You try SO hard to make it that “hey, I'm cool, this isn’t a big thing’ walk.
As far as breaking the tedium goes, they have some really bad acts. If you have ever wondered what the spanishy love child of Michael Jackson in the 80’s and Ricky Martin would have looked like, check out the first music act. To quote Dutchy “This singer guy loves the cock, clearly”
Anyway, Evening gown competition, two people took a trip and rolled their ankles coming down the steps, which I am sure are incredibly embarrassing. Miss Canada had a slit up the side of her evening gown that finished somewhere below her chin, Miss Japan just took it way out and just wore a bikini top and some poor attempt at a dress.
Swimsuits are swimsuits. They ALL look good in them.
I missed the questions, but Daw assures me they were all dodgy. You know, in the league of “Which would you prefer to be, Fire or Water?” To which the response was “Neither, Because I am a Human Being with emotions”
If I were the judge, I would have just gone. “Boooo! We gave you two fucking options biatch! Pick one! None of this gay hippie crap!”
Anyway. Someone won, Miss Dominican Republic I think. I cant remember who won Miss Congeniality but they were asked “So, have you always been nice?” Which was answered with, “Yes, I have always been nice”
I love the way they don’t call the loser like “runner up” or “person who came second” they are the “First runner up” to make them feel important.
Friday, June 06, 2003
Blogger has been slutty to me the last few days. I dont know why, It does it to me far to often. Its just a biatch in general.
Anyhow, Just a quick update to everyone, I have had plenty on my mind lately, and as a result, Have really not being sleeping very well. Which is pretty much why I feel like shit warmed up. THe worst thing about this is that I get pissed off and then I am forced to jump out of bed and get ready for school in about 10 minutes.
Which explains to everyone why I havent done my hair all week, and have been sort of crabby.
Friday always means a lesson 5 free in my timetable, and without fail in this free a certain teacher always manages to see me when I'm not working and gives me a lecture.
Todays was while I was at my locker talking to Sonya and getting books out.
"Year 12's wasting time again I see"
Stupid snide remarks! Im getting my books so I can do work! and besides! By this time on a friday, Most of my peers are already at home watching daytime TV! At least I have the courtosy to stay for the whole damn day! AND another thing. How much work do you actually expect me to do in the last 2 lessons on a Friday! Are you kidding! Besides its my bloody free! Ill do what I want with it!
BOO!
Might I make a point! YOU teacher get PAID to be here, shouldnt you be, say TEACHING YOUR GODDAMN CLASS instead of wandering round the school looking for ME SPECIFICALLY and then giving me shit! I'm not getting money based on how much work I do. Im paying YOU! So why dont you just have a coke and a smile and shut the fuck up!
Had to get that off my chest,
Bye
Anyhow, Just a quick update to everyone, I have had plenty on my mind lately, and as a result, Have really not being sleeping very well. Which is pretty much why I feel like shit warmed up. THe worst thing about this is that I get pissed off and then I am forced to jump out of bed and get ready for school in about 10 minutes.
Which explains to everyone why I havent done my hair all week, and have been sort of crabby.
Friday always means a lesson 5 free in my timetable, and without fail in this free a certain teacher always manages to see me when I'm not working and gives me a lecture.
Todays was while I was at my locker talking to Sonya and getting books out.
"Year 12's wasting time again I see"
Stupid snide remarks! Im getting my books so I can do work! and besides! By this time on a friday, Most of my peers are already at home watching daytime TV! At least I have the courtosy to stay for the whole damn day! AND another thing. How much work do you actually expect me to do in the last 2 lessons on a Friday! Are you kidding! Besides its my bloody free! Ill do what I want with it!
BOO!
Might I make a point! YOU teacher get PAID to be here, shouldnt you be, say TEACHING YOUR GODDAMN CLASS instead of wandering round the school looking for ME SPECIFICALLY and then giving me shit! I'm not getting money based on how much work I do. Im paying YOU! So why dont you just have a coke and a smile and shut the fuck up!
Had to get that off my chest,
Bye
Friday Five
Fuck, couldnt have come at a more appropriate time.
1. How many times have you truly been in love?
Uhm I dont know, Once? Maybe
2. What was/is so great about the person you love(d) the most?
They are just someone who is comfortable to be around, trustworthy and lots of fun.
3. What qualities should a significant other have?
They should be funny, good sense of humour that is, beautiful, yet flawed, Just enough to have those funny little quirks that make people interesting. They should be smart enough to have reasonably intelligent conversations with, but not so smart that they spend most of the time with their head up their own ass. Someone who is not scared of showing their intrests and not scared of listening to someone else's point of view. Mostly really someone who just clicks and is willing to put up with my personality
4. Have you ever broken someone's heart?
I dont know, maybe
5. If there was one thing you could teach people about love, what would it be?
Look, and look well, before you leap
Fuck, couldnt have come at a more appropriate time.
1. How many times have you truly been in love?
Uhm I dont know, Once? Maybe
2. What was/is so great about the person you love(d) the most?
They are just someone who is comfortable to be around, trustworthy and lots of fun.
3. What qualities should a significant other have?
They should be funny, good sense of humour that is, beautiful, yet flawed, Just enough to have those funny little quirks that make people interesting. They should be smart enough to have reasonably intelligent conversations with, but not so smart that they spend most of the time with their head up their own ass. Someone who is not scared of showing their intrests and not scared of listening to someone else's point of view. Mostly really someone who just clicks and is willing to put up with my personality
4. Have you ever broken someone's heart?
I dont know, maybe
5. If there was one thing you could teach people about love, what would it be?
Look, and look well, before you leap
Monday, June 02, 2003
Why the internet is spoiling porn for everyone
A lot of you have gone "WHAT! Lucas! you are crazy!" (Probly the guys)
I like porn as much as the next guy, not that I'm addicted or anything (As you people seem to think)
Now there are two classes of guys, those who have seen/own porn, and those who lie through their teeth.
But back in the day, you had to EARN your porn, It was practically a right of passage to maturity. Like back with the indians, where they sent the young men out into the desert with nothing but a knife. It was a right of passage, to show you are a man.
Thats what it was like with porn. You had to find it or steal it from either a newsagent or older sibling.
It was great. But slowly this time honoured tradition is dying out. Why?
What fool is going to go out searching and stealing porn when you can sit down at any computer and have a world of porn only a mouse click away?
Not me! This is why the kids of today are getting lazy! Instead of going out and searching for porn, they are handed it on a silver platter.
So, heres what I want everyone to do, Go out, buy like a hustler or a penthouse or something (or go and get out one of your old ones from under the bed, or behind the bookcase or wherever you choose to hide them), then take it, and throw it around, tear it up a little, roll it in the mud, get it wet, then take it and put it somwhere that someone horny youngster will find it.
You are doing the public a service. It will stop fat kids.
Keep the tradition alive!
A lot of you have gone "WHAT! Lucas! you are crazy!" (Probly the guys)
I like porn as much as the next guy, not that I'm addicted or anything (As you people seem to think)
Now there are two classes of guys, those who have seen/own porn, and those who lie through their teeth.
But back in the day, you had to EARN your porn, It was practically a right of passage to maturity. Like back with the indians, where they sent the young men out into the desert with nothing but a knife. It was a right of passage, to show you are a man.
Thats what it was like with porn. You had to find it or steal it from either a newsagent or older sibling.
It was great. But slowly this time honoured tradition is dying out. Why?
What fool is going to go out searching and stealing porn when you can sit down at any computer and have a world of porn only a mouse click away?
Not me! This is why the kids of today are getting lazy! Instead of going out and searching for porn, they are handed it on a silver platter.
So, heres what I want everyone to do, Go out, buy like a hustler or a penthouse or something (or go and get out one of your old ones from under the bed, or behind the bookcase or wherever you choose to hide them), then take it, and throw it around, tear it up a little, roll it in the mud, get it wet, then take it and put it somwhere that someone horny youngster will find it.
You are doing the public a service. It will stop fat kids.
Keep the tradition alive!
Sunday, June 01, 2003
Story time.
Enjoy
INSOMNIA
It is a plague, a sickening disease that serves only to strike down the unwary as they least suspect it. These were his thoughts as he tossed and turned helplessly between the sheets. He clenched his eyes tight, and then opened them. The only discernable difference was the muddy blood red glow of the numbers on the clock providing the only light in the room. The night was cold, but black as pitch and soundless. Starlight failed to penetrate the thick blankets of cloud. With no moon to speak of, the night was dark, dark like the depths of the tomb itself, no wind to provide sound, just perfect silence and blackness. He rolled onto his back, staring once more at the ceiling he knew lay above him. Insomnia is the most destructive of all human afflictions. Taking advantage of humanities insecurities, fear of desolation, fear of solitude. On a night like this, one could not help but feel adrift in a sea of peaceful souls. The world is sleeping, for now.
A warning siren cuts the still night air, suddenly, and without warning. He takes solace in the fact that he is not the only one awake in the small hours. Too soon the siren fades, and with it his reassurance. The silence envelopes him, so perfect and yet so flawed. The sounds of the silence assault his ears. He tries unsuccessfully to shut them out, but fails dismally. Every tiny sound he makes seems amplified to extremes. The rustle as his toe twitches beneath the sheet, the gentle liquid sound of his swallow, the faint murmurs of his heart. Even the house begins to aid him, faint creaks and rustlings however provide fuel for his imagination, and paranoia kicks in. The questions start. “What if?”, However gradually become more refined, more direct “Who are you?” “What are you doing here?” “What are you going to do with your life?” “Where are you going?” Do you know who you are? Does your life have purpose? Or are you merely a vessel, cast out into the oceans of existence with no definite point or purpose, merely to exist? The harangue seems real, like a small child being lectured by an irate parent. No, he rejects this analogy, like an interrogation. So real he can almost feel the heat of the lamp on his face. He begins to yearn for the silence that seemed so loud minutes before. Minute before, he corrects himself as he looks towards the clock again. The red number mock him, happily flicking away, shearing seconds, minutes, hours, days, months and years off his meagre existence with no thought, and no sign of ever relenting. A terrifying thought.. “Am I doomed to die alone?” “To live out my existence and eventually expire in my solitude? Only to be discovered two years later when my corpse is so desiccated that only the rats that fed off me will mourn my passing? The voices start again, he recognises them. They are all his own. Different variations. But essentially the same. The questions come again. Faster than before, Angry, Sad, Melancholy, all the voices meld into a hubbub till he can no longer discern the words. Mentally he screams out for them to stop, but they are as unrelenting as before, attacking his weakest attributes, his insecurities, his fears. It is in the depth of night, when man is isolated and alone that he becomes his worst enemy. Comfortable within the light of day, the bustle, the distractions, something always happening, sound, light, colour that we are distracted from our own worst enemy. At night however, the stillness, the dark, the silence. Loneliness, isolation, fear of the dark, terror at things that go bump, All of humanities fears compounded into one horrifying experience. He reflects. Mankind’s greatest attribute is its imagination. The ability to create, dream, sculpt pictures in the mind and make them tangible. Everything from the most breathtaking Cathedrals to the most horrifying weapons has be spawned from the minds of men. Which is why imagination will be humanities biggest downfall. It can never be trained. Never can it be shut off or locked away. It can be ignored for a period of time, but rest assured, when tossing and turning on a silent night like this, it would return. He shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs and cursed the sandman for his tardiness. He turned on his side, teetering on the edge of consciousness, waiting for the night to claim him. He felt himself slipping, only to be jerked back by his tether to the mortal world, in much the same way a bungee jumper is snapped back up when they run out of rope. It was infuriating. Again the silence became deafening. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. He wanted to curse the silence, Curse the night and curse whatever God would allow this nondescript form of psychological torture take place. Realising the futility of these thoughts, he sprawled on his back again, letting his eyes gently flutter closed. He regulated his breathing, and attempted to relax. He used an old technique taught to him of conjuring an image to mind, and concentrating on it until it permeated every fibre of his being, and then slowly erasing the picture, and clearing his mind until he thought of nothing. He strove to attain this condition of relaxation. He envied the monks who could make their minds a blank slate. He tried conjuring many images. Nothing worked. He was still haunted. Faces appeared to him, smiling faces, happy faces, the sounds of tinkling laughter. Images he couldn’t deal with right now. He pushed them to the back of his mind, and locked them away again, hoping they would not escape anytime soon. He wondered, if it were possible for him to just blurt everything out in an uncontrollable torrent one day. If he could pour out all his emotion, all fear, all hate that is locked away within his mind. If that were possible. It seemed like an unobtainable dream. And most probably was.
Nonetheless, it was more food for thought. He imagined what the conversations would be like, when he told people what he knew, what he felt, what he dreamt. He was not comforted. He suddenly remembered an incident that day. An unrelated incident, to anything he was turning over in his mind. But a cup of coffee, upset by a careless elbow tumbling end over end and splattering the dark brew as it fell. He was puzzled. Why is this relevant? Coffee should be the furthest thing from my mind. It contains caffeine, and that is a stimulant, not conducive to sleeping well. He wondered how much caffeine he has had in his lifetime, and was nauseated. Barely a day passed where another mug of that delightfully strong home brew was passed down his gullet to keep him alert. There was probably his downfall. He recalled the lines of a poem he once read “I have measured my life out in coffee spoons”. He empathises with this situation, realising that the notion rings far too true in his own life. T.S Eliot penned those words he recalls. Do I dare disturb the universe?
At this stage, he feels like he would, if only to commit himself to oblivion for the next three hours before he needs to awake.
Two and a half, he corrects himself.
Sleep, seems like such an essential thing. A natural function, as simple as breathing, or digestion, which should by rights come naturally to him. However for another night it eluded him and left him grasping at straws yet again.
Somewhere in the distance a car squeals its tires, faintly, yet audible. Sound travels far on a still night. He tries to predict its location, but gives up. A dog yaps, somewhere nearby, but it too eventually succumbs to the lures of dreamland.
For no good reason he thinks of marriage. And a solid commitment to a single person. It seems unbelievable to be able to bear ones soul. Time seems so precious, and so wasted.
He turns and re turns with frustration. He tries to rationalise. Da Vinci rarely slept, and he was brilliant. You are neither brilliant or Da Vinci his mind replies. Edgar Allen Poe said on the topic of sleep “Those bizarre slices of death, how I loathe thee”. Suddenly he can understand the predicament of the poet, and why his writing is so tortured. You cannot hide anything from yourself. Maybe you can convince yourself for a time, but it all too soon bubbles its way back to the surface, and re groups for a psychological battery of megalithic proportions. He rubs his eyes. He lies still, thoughts still yammering backwards and forwards in his head, but like discussion in a crowded room, he hears nothing. Only noise.
A sigh escapes his lips.
Sleep stubbornly refuses to claim him.
He sits up, pulls back the curtains. The sky looks bruised. As if mother Earth herself is hurting. Faint pinpricks of streetlights glimmer from far away. Their sickly sodium glare only serves to make him scowl in contempt. Thankfully, trees shield most of them. His imagination rears its ugly head again, letting him see things that aren’t there, things in the shadows. Silhouettes of the people he cares for, outlines of the most inhuman monsters imaginable. He pulls the window open slightly. Frosty night air rushes in. It feels good, crisp and refreshing. It tastes sweet, like biting into a ripe piece of fruit. He inhales deeply. His lips are chapped, his mouth dry. As if the sandman he cursed earlier took offence, and deposited his nightly share of the dust into his mouth. A water bottle sits on the sill. Uncapping it, he swears he catches the lingering aroma of mint, which only serves to stir up new memories, open old wounds. He gulps the water. It is cold from its proximity to the window, but tastes faintly stale. Stagnant. He struggles to remember the last time it was changed, but can’t recall. Defeated he collapses back to the mattress, but does not draw the covers over him. He realises that he felt hot, suffocated even the whole time. His eyes close again, but to no avail. He becomes cold, drawing the covers tight around him. The rends in his soul torn open by memories are flowing freely. The emotion is destructive; he curses himself for being so feeble, so weak-minded.
“What is love?”
The voice surprises him, so innocent and childlike, is undoubtedly his own. But it is a voice he has not heard for a long time. It is full of the innocence, the childlike exuberance that he once had. Once when he still had hope. Once when he still had dreams. Once upon a time when his biggest night-time fear was the bogeyman. Still, he is taken by the simplicity of the sudden query, but more taken at his inability to answer it. Faces fly at him in his minds eye, Friends, family, lovers. He still struggles to quantify the emotion.
“Have I ever felt love?”
The voice again, Infuriating him in its innocence, its hopefulness. In light of it he feels six again. Back before the world broke him. He turns the question over in his mind, in much the way a connoisseur of fine wine would turn the liquid thoughtfully in his mouth before swallowing.
One face springs to mind. And a thousand words. He blocks them out.
“Will I ever feel love and be loved in return?”
The notion of answering in the negative to this question is heartbreaking. He ignores it. Questions keep coming. The child laughs. The high tinkling laughs of a child, Carefree and unburdened. His spirit broken, he sags, letting the laughter taunt him.
”SHUT UP!” He screams within his mind.
The laughter collapses into broken sobs. The sobs are that of the child. Himself. They gain volume, until they reach fever pitch. He tries to block his ears. Nothing will stop them. He cries out feebly.
And then they are gone.
Silence once more.
The voices are quieted. No more questions. No more mockery. Noone to be angry at but himself, and the war being waged inside his head.
He realises the futility of trying to claim sleep
Kicking back the covers he turns on the computer.
And turning his back to the clock and its subtle mockery.
He turns his back on the slumbering world.
And he writes.
Enjoy
INSOMNIA
It is a plague, a sickening disease that serves only to strike down the unwary as they least suspect it. These were his thoughts as he tossed and turned helplessly between the sheets. He clenched his eyes tight, and then opened them. The only discernable difference was the muddy blood red glow of the numbers on the clock providing the only light in the room. The night was cold, but black as pitch and soundless. Starlight failed to penetrate the thick blankets of cloud. With no moon to speak of, the night was dark, dark like the depths of the tomb itself, no wind to provide sound, just perfect silence and blackness. He rolled onto his back, staring once more at the ceiling he knew lay above him. Insomnia is the most destructive of all human afflictions. Taking advantage of humanities insecurities, fear of desolation, fear of solitude. On a night like this, one could not help but feel adrift in a sea of peaceful souls. The world is sleeping, for now.
A warning siren cuts the still night air, suddenly, and without warning. He takes solace in the fact that he is not the only one awake in the small hours. Too soon the siren fades, and with it his reassurance. The silence envelopes him, so perfect and yet so flawed. The sounds of the silence assault his ears. He tries unsuccessfully to shut them out, but fails dismally. Every tiny sound he makes seems amplified to extremes. The rustle as his toe twitches beneath the sheet, the gentle liquid sound of his swallow, the faint murmurs of his heart. Even the house begins to aid him, faint creaks and rustlings however provide fuel for his imagination, and paranoia kicks in. The questions start. “What if?”, However gradually become more refined, more direct “Who are you?” “What are you doing here?” “What are you going to do with your life?” “Where are you going?” Do you know who you are? Does your life have purpose? Or are you merely a vessel, cast out into the oceans of existence with no definite point or purpose, merely to exist? The harangue seems real, like a small child being lectured by an irate parent. No, he rejects this analogy, like an interrogation. So real he can almost feel the heat of the lamp on his face. He begins to yearn for the silence that seemed so loud minutes before. Minute before, he corrects himself as he looks towards the clock again. The red number mock him, happily flicking away, shearing seconds, minutes, hours, days, months and years off his meagre existence with no thought, and no sign of ever relenting. A terrifying thought.. “Am I doomed to die alone?” “To live out my existence and eventually expire in my solitude? Only to be discovered two years later when my corpse is so desiccated that only the rats that fed off me will mourn my passing? The voices start again, he recognises them. They are all his own. Different variations. But essentially the same. The questions come again. Faster than before, Angry, Sad, Melancholy, all the voices meld into a hubbub till he can no longer discern the words. Mentally he screams out for them to stop, but they are as unrelenting as before, attacking his weakest attributes, his insecurities, his fears. It is in the depth of night, when man is isolated and alone that he becomes his worst enemy. Comfortable within the light of day, the bustle, the distractions, something always happening, sound, light, colour that we are distracted from our own worst enemy. At night however, the stillness, the dark, the silence. Loneliness, isolation, fear of the dark, terror at things that go bump, All of humanities fears compounded into one horrifying experience. He reflects. Mankind’s greatest attribute is its imagination. The ability to create, dream, sculpt pictures in the mind and make them tangible. Everything from the most breathtaking Cathedrals to the most horrifying weapons has be spawned from the minds of men. Which is why imagination will be humanities biggest downfall. It can never be trained. Never can it be shut off or locked away. It can be ignored for a period of time, but rest assured, when tossing and turning on a silent night like this, it would return. He shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs and cursed the sandman for his tardiness. He turned on his side, teetering on the edge of consciousness, waiting for the night to claim him. He felt himself slipping, only to be jerked back by his tether to the mortal world, in much the same way a bungee jumper is snapped back up when they run out of rope. It was infuriating. Again the silence became deafening. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. He wanted to curse the silence, Curse the night and curse whatever God would allow this nondescript form of psychological torture take place. Realising the futility of these thoughts, he sprawled on his back again, letting his eyes gently flutter closed. He regulated his breathing, and attempted to relax. He used an old technique taught to him of conjuring an image to mind, and concentrating on it until it permeated every fibre of his being, and then slowly erasing the picture, and clearing his mind until he thought of nothing. He strove to attain this condition of relaxation. He envied the monks who could make their minds a blank slate. He tried conjuring many images. Nothing worked. He was still haunted. Faces appeared to him, smiling faces, happy faces, the sounds of tinkling laughter. Images he couldn’t deal with right now. He pushed them to the back of his mind, and locked them away again, hoping they would not escape anytime soon. He wondered, if it were possible for him to just blurt everything out in an uncontrollable torrent one day. If he could pour out all his emotion, all fear, all hate that is locked away within his mind. If that were possible. It seemed like an unobtainable dream. And most probably was.
Nonetheless, it was more food for thought. He imagined what the conversations would be like, when he told people what he knew, what he felt, what he dreamt. He was not comforted. He suddenly remembered an incident that day. An unrelated incident, to anything he was turning over in his mind. But a cup of coffee, upset by a careless elbow tumbling end over end and splattering the dark brew as it fell. He was puzzled. Why is this relevant? Coffee should be the furthest thing from my mind. It contains caffeine, and that is a stimulant, not conducive to sleeping well. He wondered how much caffeine he has had in his lifetime, and was nauseated. Barely a day passed where another mug of that delightfully strong home brew was passed down his gullet to keep him alert. There was probably his downfall. He recalled the lines of a poem he once read “I have measured my life out in coffee spoons”. He empathises with this situation, realising that the notion rings far too true in his own life. T.S Eliot penned those words he recalls. Do I dare disturb the universe?
At this stage, he feels like he would, if only to commit himself to oblivion for the next three hours before he needs to awake.
Two and a half, he corrects himself.
Sleep, seems like such an essential thing. A natural function, as simple as breathing, or digestion, which should by rights come naturally to him. However for another night it eluded him and left him grasping at straws yet again.
Somewhere in the distance a car squeals its tires, faintly, yet audible. Sound travels far on a still night. He tries to predict its location, but gives up. A dog yaps, somewhere nearby, but it too eventually succumbs to the lures of dreamland.
For no good reason he thinks of marriage. And a solid commitment to a single person. It seems unbelievable to be able to bear ones soul. Time seems so precious, and so wasted.
He turns and re turns with frustration. He tries to rationalise. Da Vinci rarely slept, and he was brilliant. You are neither brilliant or Da Vinci his mind replies. Edgar Allen Poe said on the topic of sleep “Those bizarre slices of death, how I loathe thee”. Suddenly he can understand the predicament of the poet, and why his writing is so tortured. You cannot hide anything from yourself. Maybe you can convince yourself for a time, but it all too soon bubbles its way back to the surface, and re groups for a psychological battery of megalithic proportions. He rubs his eyes. He lies still, thoughts still yammering backwards and forwards in his head, but like discussion in a crowded room, he hears nothing. Only noise.
A sigh escapes his lips.
Sleep stubbornly refuses to claim him.
He sits up, pulls back the curtains. The sky looks bruised. As if mother Earth herself is hurting. Faint pinpricks of streetlights glimmer from far away. Their sickly sodium glare only serves to make him scowl in contempt. Thankfully, trees shield most of them. His imagination rears its ugly head again, letting him see things that aren’t there, things in the shadows. Silhouettes of the people he cares for, outlines of the most inhuman monsters imaginable. He pulls the window open slightly. Frosty night air rushes in. It feels good, crisp and refreshing. It tastes sweet, like biting into a ripe piece of fruit. He inhales deeply. His lips are chapped, his mouth dry. As if the sandman he cursed earlier took offence, and deposited his nightly share of the dust into his mouth. A water bottle sits on the sill. Uncapping it, he swears he catches the lingering aroma of mint, which only serves to stir up new memories, open old wounds. He gulps the water. It is cold from its proximity to the window, but tastes faintly stale. Stagnant. He struggles to remember the last time it was changed, but can’t recall. Defeated he collapses back to the mattress, but does not draw the covers over him. He realises that he felt hot, suffocated even the whole time. His eyes close again, but to no avail. He becomes cold, drawing the covers tight around him. The rends in his soul torn open by memories are flowing freely. The emotion is destructive; he curses himself for being so feeble, so weak-minded.
“What is love?”
The voice surprises him, so innocent and childlike, is undoubtedly his own. But it is a voice he has not heard for a long time. It is full of the innocence, the childlike exuberance that he once had. Once when he still had hope. Once when he still had dreams. Once upon a time when his biggest night-time fear was the bogeyman. Still, he is taken by the simplicity of the sudden query, but more taken at his inability to answer it. Faces fly at him in his minds eye, Friends, family, lovers. He still struggles to quantify the emotion.
“Have I ever felt love?”
The voice again, Infuriating him in its innocence, its hopefulness. In light of it he feels six again. Back before the world broke him. He turns the question over in his mind, in much the way a connoisseur of fine wine would turn the liquid thoughtfully in his mouth before swallowing.
One face springs to mind. And a thousand words. He blocks them out.
“Will I ever feel love and be loved in return?”
The notion of answering in the negative to this question is heartbreaking. He ignores it. Questions keep coming. The child laughs. The high tinkling laughs of a child, Carefree and unburdened. His spirit broken, he sags, letting the laughter taunt him.
”SHUT UP!” He screams within his mind.
The laughter collapses into broken sobs. The sobs are that of the child. Himself. They gain volume, until they reach fever pitch. He tries to block his ears. Nothing will stop them. He cries out feebly.
And then they are gone.
Silence once more.
The voices are quieted. No more questions. No more mockery. Noone to be angry at but himself, and the war being waged inside his head.
He realises the futility of trying to claim sleep
Kicking back the covers he turns on the computer.
And turning his back to the clock and its subtle mockery.
He turns his back on the slumbering world.
And he writes.