Sunday, 23 December 2007
There's probably at least one character I'd like to have sex with.
Shit, there's probably dozens.
Maybe my memory has been blocked by an horrific childhood sex act that has forced me to block out everything. I don't remember.
I don't remember anything.
What was a cartoon again?
Anyone remember what happens with sex?
She's smart, she's cute, she wears glasses and she isn't real.
Everything a man could want in a woman.
And a wit so caustic it can destroy entire cities.
See the thing is I want to fuck her. Really. Deeply. Passionately.
But I've never actually pictured the event in my mind.
I can't describe the scene to you because, in truth, I have no idea how it would play out. All I can say is that without a doubt in my mind, I want to fuck Daria. Hard.
True, she may not have the most attractive physique. However, I think my attraction is firmly one of the mind and not the body. If I could fuck her brain, I probably would. But I would gladly settle for her two-dimensional vagina. Settle? Shit, I'd consider it an honour.
I would gladly go down on her all night, regardless of the amount of paper cuts I received. It makes me wonder what cartoon cum would taste like? Like candy perhaps? Or ink?
Monday, 17 December 2007
I don't know why I find her attractive. Normally a chick who is all green probably has some type of STD or gangrene. But for some reason she has nice curves to her. I dated a girl who was taller and a lot stronger than me. It wasn't too bad besides the physical abuse she laid on me.
Although I find She-Hulk hot I am afraid that she might have a similiar trait to female bodybuilders: an oversized clit. I worry about it being so big that she might sodomize me with it and seeing as she has super strength, I couldn't fight her off. Then again, I worry more that I might like it.
Thursday, 29 November 2007
Jeff: Hey man, have you ever thought about shit in life that will never be explained?
Jake: Do you mean like the pyramids and aliens, that shit?
Jeff: Nah, I'm thinking about something involving Jess.
Jake: Fuck, not again. You know she's a dyke right? You've seen Chasing Amy and listened to that Weezer song. There's no way you can make her straight dude. It's mission impossible.
Jeff: Ya i know that... I just mean last night I was at her house and we ended up sleeping together?
Jake: WHAT?! You were able to fuck her?!
Jeff: Nah, I didn't even try.
Jake: Then what the fuck is the problem?
Jeff: Well I know she's a lesbian and I have no chance so I don't even try.
Jake: Go on...
Jeff: Even knowing all this I woke up beside her with a bad case of morning wood...
Jake: That will never be explained dude, never will it be explained.
Wednesday, 28 November 2007
"All of human civilisation, is based upon the pursuit and veneration of the vagina."
"All of it?"
"Yes, all of it."
"Well think about humanity for a second. About the civilisation that we've built here for ourselves.
Miracles of science and technology. Always pushing the limits of human knowledge and endurance.
Most of the people who made those advances were men. Men with penises.
As you may be aware, most men with penises have an overwhelming natural desire to insert their penises into the vaginas of women, in order to produce offspring."
"And this leads to civilisation how?"
"Well in order for the offspring to be produced the male has to find a female willing and able to accept his penis. This leads us to the notion of male reproductive competition. Men with penises are required to compete in order to differentiate themselves from the rest of the men with penises. Thereby earning the attention of females with the vaginas.
So some will became strong mammoth killing warriors. Others will be stargazing astronomers.
Whatever they can do to individualise themselves and make themselves special enough to be noticed by a woman with a vagina."
"So that's all there is to it?"
"Basically, but there is more."
"Well, generally speaking, over the history of the human species more females have been breeding compared to males. Virtually every female with a vagina is guaranteed a partner if she wishes. You yourself have more female ancestors than male."
"Wait. How is that possible?"
"I don't know I read it somewhere, you figure it out. But that's not the point.
The point is that at any given time, in any given human settlement you will almost always have a population of males with penises (of child bearing age) who have no vaginas to insert their penises into.
No breeding plus no partner plus no offspring plus no responsibilities equals lots of spare time.
What do these men do with all this spare time?
They create civilisation.
They invent the wheel. They discover new lands. They split the atom."
"You're totally generalising now."
"Yes. Yes I am. But I'm talking about every human being that has ever existed. Over the long span of time, this is how it went down. Has gone done. For millenia."
"Civilisation, based on the vagina."
"In a manner of speaking, yes."
"No wonder the modern world is such a cunt."
Sunday, 18 November 2007
Tuesday, 6 November 2007
"How's it going?"
"Not too foul. How's you?"
"Pretty fucked actually. I feel just about ready to start cutting myself."
"Why? What happened?"
"Well my last trick beat the shit outta me and then rammed it up my arsehole."
"Fuck. I hate it when that happens."
"He bruised my cock too, the motherfucker."
Saturday, 20 October 2007
The smell is familiar. The taste is too.
Salty, slightly bitter. That aromatic mix of pheromones, urine and vaginal fluid.
The bane of my existence. My panacea.
Right now, she means everything. The entire universe and all of existence are found within those sugar walls. All I have and all I want is right here. Right now.
I keep my eyes closed. I keep myself as concentrated as possible.
If she has a good time, I have a good time. That's how it works.
I can feel her moving.
Her thighs press in on my temples.
Her hips shift upwards towards my tongue.
I pull back.
I spread her lips apart and blow softly on her clit.
I look up at her.
I take a breath, close my eyes and get back to it.
Licking, sucking, kissing.
Fingers. One, two, three.
Shouldn't be much longer.
She usually takes around five minutes.
Her moans get louder.
I pick up the pace.
Faster. Harder. More intensity.
She grabs the back of my head with both hands and slams my face into her.
I can hear her groaning. Loudly.
Suddenly she arches her back, lets out a scream and squirts her love all over my face and in my mouth.
I smile at her as she lays there panting softly.
I look over at the bedside table and check the time.
Thursday, 18 October 2007
Its doors appeared to gape open almost welcomingly, assuring me it was ok to pass through. The amiability of the doors, however, was of a cheap and insincere variety. Kind of like saying "good morning" to an asshole boss or customer. To maintain relations with the door, one has to produce $2.50. These same doors would gladly slam shut with a vice-like resentment if you couldn’t pay up.
Good morning sir, said the driver.
I dropped the coins into the slot of the moneybox at the front of the bus. 5 quarters, 3 dimes, 9 nickels and 2 washers.
Off we drove.
I looked for a place to sit down. The bus was completely empty. Talk about “freedom of choice”. I sat down, stretched my legs and opened my book. Page 1- “ The main purpose of assessment …”
The bus began to slow down. I looked up.
The bus came to a complete stop.
A girl got on, paid and sat behind me.
I resumed my reading, starting at the beginning of the opening sentence. “The main purpose of assessment is…"
A shrill little voice rose up over the seat.
What are you reading?
I turned around.
A book on constructing achievement assessments.
Oh, sounds exciting.
I began to read again “The main purpose of assessment is to…”
The sound of her voice pierced the air like reveille.
I almost missed the bus just now. I had to run to get to the stop on time.
I turned around.
Good thing you made it.
I began reading again “The main purpose of assessment is to enhance…”
Oh, great now my...
I looked down at my book lustfully, wanting to pounce upon that first sentence. To capture its full meaning. “The main purpose of assessment is to enhance student…"
The voice arose again.
Damn it! This is just awful. Can you believe it?
I pulled the yellow cord, which hung loosely along the top of the windows of the bus like powerlines in summer. It made a short, sharp buzzing noise. I looked out the window. Oak Street.
The bus stopped and I got off stepping onto the sidewalk.
Opening the book, I smiled reading the first sentence “The main purpose of assessment is to enhance student learning”.
The pain shot through me instantly while I sat in traffic. It tore at my insides and I could hardly bear it. I was a few minutes from home and I knew if I could make it there would be no serious accidents.
My eyes shot over to the cd player to see what time it was. 5:23. Fuck, I'm late getting home and this is why this is happening.
A greenlight flashes in front of my eyes yet the assholes in front of me are inching forward slowly. I can't honk at them, it might make things worse. My sides are aching with pain and I am trying not to double over. Fortunately the rest of the drive is trouble free.
I get to my block and speed down towards my house. The clock says 5:26 and I can't take it anymore.I jump out of my car while unfastening my seatbelt and run to the door of my house. I fumble with the keys and nearly drop them trying to unlock the door. It finally opens up.
I rush downstairs, open the door to the bathroom and drop my zipper.
What might arguably be heaven appears before me as I finally am able to piss and eleviate the pain. As I am finishing up I think to myself, "this may be better than an orgasm".
Tuesday, 16 October 2007
A punch in the chest with a warm creamy centre.
They tell you that when you die your whole life flashes before your eyes.
I'm guessing that bit will come later. Or maybe I'm not really dying.
Or maybe "they" are full of shit.
'Cause right now, all I can think of is the pain in my chest... and the creeping cold.
There's no time for nostalgia right now.
Sunday, 30 September 2007
I’m going to attempt to write my thoughts and my conversations of yesterday.
Not all of my thoughts will be written though, people need their secrets.
-I can’t get hold of her, maybe she doesn’t want to go anymore, don’t be stupid we paid a hundred bucks for these tickets ring her boyfriend and get a number for where she’s at-
I rang nick, but his phone was switched off, and had a little bit of a panic so I thought I should go potter around the house a bit. I rang him again after eating a handful of pills that are attempting to keep me healthy as I effectively starve myself day to day in order to become one of the thin happy people, though don’t worry it has come to my attention in the last couple of days that all this is doing is making me generally more nervous and a lot more simple, I haven’t stopped it yet though, because I’m not sure if I’m just trying to make excuses to be fat or whether this diet is actually affecting me mentally. Any way Nick’s phone was on and he picked up.
“Hey Nick its Sarah, could I get a number for Atalya her phone isn’t working” “Yeah she’s with Jack, do you mind if I ring you in a second with the number?”
-Her phones probably dead that’s cool it’s already 10 though, doesn’t it start at 10? Oh I don’t know, Gah stop thinking about it, the day is young it will be ok. Look nick is ringing back it will all be sorted.-
“Hey Sarah, the number is *********, could you ask her to give me a call when you get in touch with her?” “Sure man, thanks for that, see ya later”
-no answer, how many times can I ring in a row? Why am I so impatient? Message bank again, shit-
At this stage I looked around my room and pondered cleaning it, Instead of cleaning it I decided to look for my blue singlet that has coloured dots on it, I couldn’t find it though, maybe I should be cleaning my room rather then writing this. Anyway after searching my room around 10 times I gave up and tried to ring Jack again, he picked up.
-Hey Jack, this is Sarah is Atalya there?” “Sure I’ll just grab her for you” “Hey, I went swimming with my phone, I was gonna call you in a second” “that’s cool, whats happening?” “Um I have to go home shower and get dressed, do you want to just meet me at home?” “Yeah I have to shower too” “Ok, cool, just get there as soon as possible”
I showered and got dressed. Then realized I hadn’t eaten yet, I was doing pills at park life so I needed to eat something, I quickly looked in the cupboard and couldn’t find anything I particularly wanted to eat, so I settled on eating a space food stick, whose high sugar and low nutritional value would most certainly give me the required energies needed for the day. After consuming the almost chocolate flavored texture dump I thought that maybe I should have a protein shake as well, and then I would have a few nutrients running around the blood circuit for the day.
On the way to Atalya I listened to Ben Lee’s new album “ripe’, and fully connected with everything he said, even though I have never been in love or had sex, I concluded that maybe I was an idealist, and that maybe the world had no room for idealists.
Atalya was almost ready when I got to her house, her boyfriend volunteered to drive us due to the fact he probably didn’t want us driving home high, on the way there I dropped into a servo to get some sunglasses, which turned out to be rather un necessary because I bought them to shield my eyes from the light while I was pilling, turned out I rather liked the brightness, but at the moment that’s irrelevant.
On the way there it was brought to my attention that we couldn’t take water bottles into the venue, which is stupid, so I tipped the water out of my bottle on to the road and decided if they didn’t let me take a empty bottle in there to fill I wouldn’t be going in. On after thought I thought I should have just drunk the water, tipping the water on the road is just a small taste of how rash I can be.
We got to park life and nick dropped us off at the main gates, there were a lot of people holding signs asking to buy tickets.
-Maybe I should just sell the ticket I don’t really want to go anymore-
For some reason my mind was slipping into depression rather fast, Atalya could sense it and kept telling me to calm down and that everything would be all right, but we were standing in a huge crowd of florescent people in broad daylight, this wasn’t really a comfortable outing for me. I was also going to be doing drugs around these people, people I severely didn’t trust, even though I didn’t know them and perhaps they were all nice, I’ve been wrong many times and wouldn’t presume I was right about the untrustworthiness of this florescent crowd but a feeling isn’t always logical.
Anyway we got in and I must admit I felt a little excited, there was music everywhere and people looked awesome, and there was lot of people who had taken to many pills at once flouncing around with their jaws jutting forward and the extreme washes of utopia swelling over their bodies. It was amusing to watch, especially one guy in a pink shirt, I was a little scared he was going to break his ankles with the way he flounced around but he seemed to be enjoying him self so much that I doubt that would have even stopped him.
Atalya and I went and scoped out the entire park, mainly so I could know where all the ambos and toilets were, my brain needs safety and in some strange way knowing these things sets me to ease.
We found some cigarettes, well not so much found, we bought some cigarettes from a small cigarette kiosk we found outside a DSA, which stands for designated smoking area, when I worked at Warner, we called it the dosa. There was a man in the kiosk that was rather perturbed by my cardigan and begged me to remove it.
I find it strange how people are so affected by the clothes I wear, day to day I am harassed to remove clothing, not in a sexy way, but in a they can’t handle the fact that my modesty is such that covering up entirely is what I do.
I made the mistake of picking up the phone when my best friend James rang, or perhaps I made the mistake of telling him where I was and what I was doing, after getting off the phone to him I started getting messaged like –don’t be a loser Sarah-if you die on drugs I’m not going to your funeral-and-I’m not going to watch you become the person you were when you first got back from Sydney, and so on.
We hadn’t taken any drugs yet though we were just floating round the place enjoying the music because it was enjoyable not because we were off chops.
2 or 3 hours into the festival our drugs arrived, I was going to take a half, but after getting my arm twisted quite severely I decided I may as well take the full, mainly because I’m a destructive idiot, I know full well that I never handle taking a full one, but I always do anyway, people say to live is to learn, but that is so untrue!! I nearly always bring that up though,
In year 2 I remember trying to spell –A-R-E, I knew there was 3 letters, so I spelt it RRR, and then when I saw the actual spelling I remembered I had already known how to spell the word so I turned to my friend Rebecca and said, “as you get older you must forget things”, because as far as I was concerned I knew everything. She looked at me a little confused and said “no as you get older you learn more” Bah, what did she know anyway.
Any way within 20 min the pill hit me, which is super fast, as always I experienced the nervous onset, I worry about losing control, about embarrassing myself, I worry as if I am the leader of the world and any weakness I portray will destroy the fragile make up of this planet, this is the stage where I disappear for a while into a toilet to gather my thoughts, my friends call it the Sarah is acting a little strange stage,
I went off and I sat in the port-a-loo until the rushing started, I don’t know how long I was in there but I had sweated up a storm and came to the resolution that if everyone in this park had the same contempt for me as I had for them then I didn’t really have to worry about their thoughts, when I walked out of it into the open air a breeze hit my sweat drenched body and it felt like an awesome wave of goodness.
I got the head wobbles straight away and went and hugged my friend, who pointed out a hot guy with dreads who reminded me too much of a guy who recently rejected me, which has messed with my head for the past couple of months, then a girl was punched and the good feelings ended. I think it was the combination of remembering how unworthy of this guy I was and seeing a random act of violence that killed it.
This is where I would write all the reasons I started to fixate on why the guy that I had liked didn’t like me, but I’m not going to write them down because they are rather harsh and fucked and I don’t actually think he would have thought such things.
I went a way from my friend to fill my water bottle then came back, my brain was still dwelling and the crowd was making my chest hurt, so I said “sorry I have to go”, she kept me there long enough to contact her boyfriend to pick me up though, which on hindsight was awesome, and a bit of a struggle because I really wanted to leave. I started making a move for an exit, the crowds where closing in, they where laughing, perhaps at me, perhaps because they were happy, both ideas were existing in my head at the same time.
I saw the sign EMERGENCY EXIT, the guard tried to stop me but he had no chance I was out of there, I was free.
-Shit there is no pass outs-
I was free but I was feeling better, so I kind of wanted back in, but if I got in I would want back out, so I had to deal with the fact I was out and not getting back in. I was walking through some gardens without realizing until a lady in an orange vest asked me to move to the foot path, I was perhaps too apologetic, she didn’t really seem to care.
I rang James to apologize and explain that he was right and that I was an idiot, and that I had run from the park, and was now walking in circles around the park, I like walking though so it wasn’t that bad, but every now and then I would come across a group of people laughing and the two separate thoughts of “they are laughing at me” and “they are laughing because they are happy” would come back into my head, and the weighing up which was the correct thought always took to much effort and made me nervous because being right or wrong was all my choice, because it was all in my own head, I had the choice to be happy or paranoid, and instead of choosing I was hanging in limbo letting them both exist..
Then I thought it would be cool to ring Zoran because I like nothing better then unleashing the crazy on him.
Then I was passing the same place we were dropped off and a very concerned Nick was running for me he then steered me towards his car, I was pretty frightened about getting in his car, I was scared I would need to pee, and that my body would decide that because it was sitting, that it was on a toilet and that I would pee in his car, I didn’t discuss this thought with him though, because the counter thought was there telling me that I didn’t need to go to the toilet and even if I did there was muscles I had to choose to release in order to do so, so I sat in his car, half at ease half freaked out to the maximum capacity a person who had two hemispheres to their brain can be.
I don’t really remember the conversation on the way home because my brain was fighting over whether or not I was going to pee, then half way though the trip it decided to fight over whether or not I had pee’d. Luckily on leaving his car there was no wetness left upon the seat so now my positive brain was 1 and my negative brain was 0.
Regardless of what either side said though I went and sat on the toilet, I thought maybe reminding myself what it was to pee would help the situation, I don’t know if it really helped that much because as I did it, I realized I knew what it was to pee all along.
Nick left the house for a while and I went and sat on the front veranda, it was getting dark and their cat kept hitting me with its head in an affectionate way which was nice, I figured it knew my brain was struggling with itself at the moment and it did its best to tell me that I was ok and all would be good.
I saw James drive past and remembered I had asked him to come pick me up from nicks, so that was a cool surpriseless surprise, though the sour cats bum look on his face was not very good for me, he took me for a drive, and out of no where I started thinking about how ugly my vagina was and how I would like to get plastic surgery on it, James asked me what I was thinking about at precisely this point and I shared, the next hour and a half with him was spent mainly dwelling on how ugly it was, but also on the fact that no genitals where all that pretty anyway, and why should mine be an exception, I decided it was my duty as an artist to be as esthetically pleasing as possible, and so far in my life I was failing dismally,
I also started to ponder whether or not maybe I enjoyed misery? Because pills are supposed to make you happy but whenever I have one I dwell on the most awful things. Maybe I actually liked doing that, maybe running around being happy and hugging people was something I didn’t like to do. I tried to assess myself emotionally, and I seemed pretty relaxed, my negative brain was just winning at the moment, it wasn’t actually making me sad though.
I asked James to drop me back at Nicks; I liked the couch there so I figured the positive brain would start winning again if I went there. When I got there though a third brain appear, the brain was the manipulator, it manipulated me into thinking I had come down, which in turn made my mouth convince the boys that I had come down so nick gave me my keys and I got in my car to go home. I said goodbye to James who told me he needs to have words with me later, and then I started my car.
Nick ran up asking if I would drop him in the city, I said sure, he invited me to go to a thing with him but I started to realise that I wasn’t actually down yet and I didn’t want to hang out with anyone, so I said no and dropped him off and started driving home.
The traffic was so slow it was bugging me out, I put my car into 3rd gear, it screamed, and screamed, until I realized the traffic wasn’t slow I was just being impatient, I don’t have a Speedo so I had no idea what speed I was doing the whole way home felt like I was doing around 40 kms, it was hard to concentrate on the road, but I knew for the safety of my life and all the other peoples lives on the road that I had to forget about all the interesting scenery on either side of my car.
I got to the roundabout that takes me to my house, and realized I wasn’t ready to go home so I went to and awesome out door spot up a mountain that was completely dark, I turned my car off and stumbled around in the dark getting further and further away from my car, then I actually needed to pee, which was ok because I was in the dark and in the bush, and I had even taken the liberty of grabbing a handful of toilet paper from a port-a-loo just incase they were all out of toilet paper later on. I don’t think peeing has ever hit me so spiritually before, I squatted there peeing while looking up at an almost full orangey moon which out of the corner of my eye I could see reflected on a lake, I appreciated every second of it.
After I finished my spiritual toilet trip I decided it was probably best to get back to the car, because I wasn’t all that steady on my feet, maybe that wasn’t exactly a logical thought looking aback on it, but it worked, I then drove back to the round about and went around it a few times trying to decide what to do next.
So I messaged Zoran, then I rang him, I don’t really remember the conversation with him though.
I got off that round about and started heading up the mountain again, but while I was driving my brain decided I was on another road, so I was driving to a destination I wasn’t actually driving to, which became increasingly stressful and puzzling. But with a series of left turns I found a sign that pointed me back to home.
I was ready for home now.
I got home and everyone asked me about park life, I told them how great it was then went to the bathroom to wash my face and put on moisturizer.
I then spent two hours telling my family all the fears I had about my future, and how much I hated being an artist, and how much I needed to be an artist, and questioned whether or not I would ever find myself worthy of a partner, my family took all of this fairly well and no real questions were asked, well there was questions asked but about the topic, not about why I was talking like this.
I then settled in bed and read the rest of “breakfast of champions” which I think has affected this blog rather dramatically.
Tuesday, 25 September 2007
I know thats not really much to ask for, I should ask for lots of money, success and I guess world peace.
I don't really care about them, I just want a date.
What I want in a date-ee is important to I guess.
I would like him to be tall, addicted to a whole range of substances and come from a fairly broken background.
My theory behind this, well not so much a theory as a fairly twisted want.
I just don't WANT to be the fucked up one.
Plus broken addictive men have some of the most interesting stories, and I just love stories.
Where do I want this date?
I want it walking.
Anywhere as long as we are walking.
What menu do I desire?
Entree: Snow peas in a plastic bag from a coles express.
Main: Kebab from a corner shop.
Dessert: Magnum Ego from seveneleven.
Finnished with an awkward kiss.
Thats all I want in the future.
Monday, 24 September 2007
people will pay a subscription fee to watch increasingly traumatic events happen to someone else picked at random in a lottery which they will be unaware of.
each subscriber will get a different 'entertainer' although compilation tapes will be made available.
it will be sickening but unavoidably compelling.
Saturday, 22 September 2007
Well? Tell me? Don't just leave me hanging like that!
A wise man once said that the future doesn't exist. It's not real. There is only this moment. Right now.
So why all this hype over the future? Why has so much been written, done or said about it?
The future equals hope.
There is so much potential wrapped up in all our ideas about the future. Our desire for something better. Our fear of something worse.
But the future never comes.
If you feel pain, you're gonna feel it right now. If you're gonna have any pleasure in life it'll be at this moment.
I'm not telling you anything you don't know, or anything you haven't heard before. There is nothing new under the sun. But sometimes it's a good idea just to be reminded of some things.
Planning for future events is one of the things that distinguishes the human species from most of the other creatures on this pale blue dot of ours. So there is that. But life has a way of fucking up even the most well laid plans.
So once more into the breech dear friends, once more...
Thursday, 20 September 2007
since there's been a dearth of posts on this month's topic, and since i can't write just yet, i thought i'd post this little poem about the future:
See You Next Tuesday,
Tuesday, 11 September 2007
When I was in grade one my parents, sister and I went on a two week summer vacation to British Columbia. Although I remember a few events of the trip the most vivid memory I have is something that wasn't important. This memory is of the fact that my parents bought a big box which contained individual bags of potato chips, ketchup flavored. I also remember this is around the time the movie Dick Tracy came out. The chips had a promotion where there were scratch and win tickets inside each bag of chips which you could win prizes if certain Dick Tracey characters showed up.
This was not a huge event that occured during the vacation but it makes me think that maybe in the future I will have a vivid memory of writing this while I am washing the cum stains out of my girlfriends' sheets.
Saturday, 25 August 2007
Something happens, you get fucked over, you learn a "lesson".
If you don't learn then that's when the shit starts to suck. The more often you ignore these lessons, the sooner your life starts to fall to shit.
Eventually, if you're not a moron or completely retarded, you begin to learn.
Look before you leap. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. He who hesitates is lost. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
Shit's gonna fuck up. You live long enough and something is bound to go wrong. The trick is to try and walk away from the experience with something more than a bruised cheek and a battered ego.
Friday, 24 August 2007
Thursday, 23 August 2007
Little Billy was a good boy. He always listened to his parents, attended his Catholic Church regularly and knew that when danger was spotted he should tell someone he trusted. However, he was raised on a steady diet of "Stranger Danger" tales and did not trust anyone he did not know.
One summer day, Little Billy was playing with his toy cars in front of his house. A car drove up to his house and a man motioned for Billy to come over. Little Billy carefully walked over to car. The man in the car asked Billy a question. "Do you know how to get to Apple Street?". Little Billy knew what this man wanted... he wanted to kidnap him!
Running and crying, Little Billy ran into his house and told his parents of the man's plan. They sat him down and told him that this man probably just wanted directions. Little Billy thought to himself that his parents did not believe him.
A few months later school had started. Little Billy was walking home from school one day and noticed he had a few dollars in his pocket. As he was bored and had some money he decided to stop at the video rental store to see if they had any new movies for him to rent. He wandered the store for quite some time until a store clerk approached him. "Do you need some help?" she asked. Little Billy knew what this lady wanted... she wanted to rob him!
As Little Billy's parents did not trust him, he ran to the police. The police are your best friend he was always told. He went to the police station and told the officer his story. Hey looked at Little Billy and laughed. "Young man, I believe they were wondering if you were looking for a certain movie and were trying to assist you". Little Billy had enough of this, no one believed him.
That Sunday after Church, Little Billy felt he only had one person left he could talk to: the priest. He was taught that the priest is one of the closest people to God and Little Billy felt he was the only person who would listen and understand of his problems.
Little Billy approached the priest and asked if he could talk to him. "Why of course!" the priest replied.
"Father, no one listens or believes me" exclaimed Little Billy, as he told the priest the prior instances where he was not believed.
"Little Billy, you can come over to my house and we can eat cookies and you can talk all about it" the consoling priest replied with a mischievous grin on his face...
A Few Hours Later...
Little Billy left from the priest's house with tears running down his face. He ran home to tell his parents what had happened.
"Mom, Dad, I went to the priest after church and... and...", Little Billy paused...
"Yes?" they both questioned.
"He touched me!"
His parents did not believe him. Where did the boy come up with these wild ideas? Was it the movies and television he watched?
"Go to your room! How dare you accuse Father TingleFingers of doing such things!" his dad yelled.
Little Billy refused to go to his room and ran out of his house. "The police will believe me!" he though to himself. But when he arrived at the police station and told the officer of what the priest had done, he did not believe him. Only a few days earlier Little Billy had told this officer of how a store clerk wanted to "rob" him, so obviously something was wrong with the boy.
Little Billy realized no one would believe him and walked home. On his way home Little Billy realized that no one would ever believe him ever again.
The moral of the story: Don't go to a Catholic Church, a priest might molest you.
Sunday, 5 August 2007
On the front of the paper were stories and pictures of a bridge that fell down in Minnesota. NervousMan wondered how such a thing could happen. Weren't there people out there who were taking care of the bridge? Wasn't that their job to do that? Perhaps, thought NervousMan, those people were nervous too and didn't do a very good job and then the bridge fell down. NervousMan looked at the pictures of cars strewn about in the water like so many kids' toys in a mud puddle. The pictures made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan left his home and walked to the store. On the way there, he decided to buy a sandwich so he would not 'shop hungry'. If he were hungry he might buy too much food and NervousMan didn't have much money. However the sandwich would cost money too. Maybe the amount of money he would save by buying the sandwich was about the same as the sandwich. NervousMan hesitated nervously outside the door of the sandwich shop for a few minutes, wondering if he should go in.
The lady at the cash register rang up NervousMan's sandwich and he ate it by the window of the restaurant. He thought about how the lady didn't really look at or talk to him when he paid his money to her. Everything seemed so mechanical. Maybe she was nervous doing her job, he thought. NervousMan was nervous too.
Sitting at the window, NervousMan watched the people pass back and forth outside the place. Back and forth, back and forth. Some of the people looked mean. Others looked tired. Some looked nervous, but not as nervous as NervousMan.
Arriving at the store, NervousMan walked through the aisles. In the produce section, NervousMan looked at all the bright colors and held his breath. He could feel the cool air of the refrigeration on his skin. They were having a sale on strawberries. Two bushels for three dollars. NervousMan got one of them. NervousMan liked strawberries. He also needed to get some salad, and some milk and some bread.
The aisles of the store, NervousMan thought, were very close together. Sometimes he would reverse his direction and go to another aisle if someone were in the aisle that he wanted to go down. NervousMan didn't want to make anyone else nervous with his nervousness.
NervousMan thought to himself (which was his favorite way to do so) "It seems like they are all looking at me. Logically, I know that they are not. But it feels like they are".
NervousMan imagined what it would be like if the store were being looted. Like, if there was some sort of emergency in the world and things in general broke down. Like the bridge had. Then, NervousMan thought, if that happened, the mean people would come and get all the strawberries and things like that first. They might even beat up NervousMan. How could NervousMan ask the mean people for strawberries after the looting? They would laugh at NervousMan and beat him up again.
The thought of being beat up by the mean people made NervousMan nervous. So NervousMan tried not to think about it. But in order not to think about it, he had to first think about not thinking about it, and that meant thinking about it.
NervousMan stared at the canned beets. Did he want canned beats? Why was it so hard for NervousMan to figure out if he wanted canned beets or not? Other people around him did not seem to have that trouble. They just walked in to the store, got what they wanted and walked out. What was the problem? What was wrong with NervousMan?
NervousMan was nervous.
Glancing to his left, he watched a woman in a green apron stocking shelves very quickly. "She sure seems to think fast" thought NervousMan. NervousMan looked back at the canned beets and regarded them. What if he worked at this store? he thought. What if he had to stock shelves like that very very quickly or else he would be fired and not have any money? What if his boss were mean?
At the checkout counter, NervousMan nervously put his items onto the conveyer belt. The checkout person was a good looking young man who did not seem nervous at all.
"Hey man. How's it going?" said the man.
"Fine, thank you" said NervousMan, forcing himself to smile slightly but looking away from the checkout man. He seemed to remember reading somewhere that smiling at other people put them at ease, and also looking at them too.
"I should look at them and smile, pleasantly" thought NervousMan. But NervousMan did not want to look in the eyes of the checkout man too much or else the man might think that NervousMan was nervous. Then, he might seem suspicious and he would ask for NervousMan's I.D. when he tried to use his ATM card, and that would make NervousMan even more nervous.
Was it best to look away from the checkout person or look at him? Which would seem less suspicious? NervousMan thought about this as he slid his card through the reader. NervousMan's hands shook nervously. The checkout man said something to him.
"Excuse me?" said NervousMan.
"Paper or plastic?" the checkout man asked NervousMan again, smiling.
"Oh... Uhm... plastic please" NervousMan said.
NervousMan always said please and thank you.
When NervousMan's groceries were bagged he told the checkout man 'thank you' yet again.
"Sure man, take care," the checkout man said and he smiled at NervousMan again.
It seemed like the checkout man was thinking something about NervousMan but NervousMan did not know what that something was. Maybe it was something pleasant.
NervousMan didn't mean to, but as NervousMan reached out to take the bags from the checkout man, NervousMan's thumb briefly touched the back of the checkout's man's fingers as he did so.
Then, without a word, the checkout man turned to help the next customer.
Later, as NervousMan walked home, he felt the rays of the hot yellow sun beat down on his arms and neck. NervousMan sweated.
"That man at the checkout counter was nice," thought NervousMan. "Much nicer that the lady at the sandwich shop".
As Nervousman ate his strawberries at home, he thought it was nice that there were nice people in the world. People who were nice, and not mean. People like the checkout man.
And thinking this thought made NervousMan feel a little less nervous.
NervousMan thought: As the world becomes a scarier place, then must I too become scarier in order not to fall victim to it?
Perhaps, Nervousman thought, the challenge is to love, as much as one can, in the face of fear. To hold onto one's heart. Maybe that is the greatest challenge, Nervousman thought.
And without knowing why, NervousMan wept.
Thursday, 2 August 2007
The keys to my truck were... wait, where did I put those damn things. Not in my pockets, always put them on the little table by the door... they're not in their place... that’s weird. CHURCH PANTS! Of course, left them in my church pants. Great service last night, I wasn't really paying that much attention but that's not the point. As long as I keep going and I’m straight, I got a one way ticket to those pearly gates. I'm really glad about that too 'cus my buddy Bill dead a few weeks back and I’d love to play poker with Bill again, he was a good guy, all the guys held a big wake for him. I got so drunk I ended up fucking that one legged girl who lives outside'a town. Sally her name was... or Sarah. Nothing' funnier than watching that little stump flicking all over the place while she's bent over the hood of my truck, tight little ass on her too. Had to try really hard not to laugh though, you know what these cripples are like, all "I love you" and "You're different". They eat it up every time, you know like "eat it up" Git er done!! Haha, I love that Larry the Cable Guy, he's a funny sumbitch.
Anyway, big meeting tonight, gotta be careful not get my robes dirty. From what the guys were telling me last week the Grand Dragon will be here tonight. Apparently something's going down, not sure what but you always know there's gonna be a big turn out when he shows up.
Fuck me, there's a lot of people here tonight, the chants have started already... "Who do we hate? NIGGERS! When do we hate them? NOW!!" I sometimes wonder who writes these chants. Some of them are pretty lame, I mean I aint gonna say nothing, but I bet I could come up with some better ones. Like... i dunno... "Hey nigger you're so black, you’re so black you blow my mind. Hey Nigger!!" although I might have heard that somewhere before... Anyway the Grand Dragon has taken the stage, he looks nice.
I'm gonna be grand dragon some day, all my friends laugh at me but if I keep going to church and hating coons REALLY hard, it'll happen, I know it. Wait what did he say? I missed that. Man, I shouldn't get so caught up day dreaming... Everyone's running back to their trucks. Awesome!!! Jimmy just told me were going lynching!! This is awesome!!! I always keep my extra thick hanging rope in my truck just in case.
Only about a 5 mile drive into town, really exited now. We used to do this kinda stuff all the time but since the police got all liberal and stopped taking our money we have to keep it on the down low. We've stopped... everyone’s getting out... over there, three of them... dirty motherfuckers. Wait hang on a second, the one in the middle... he looks...white...
I was a little confused. Jimmy grabbed the rope out my truck and they started string all three of them up. I mean fine, string the two darkies up there, no problem with that... but the white boy? Maybe I should say something. No, bad idea... I don't want to come across as some bleeding heart pussy. We stood there for a while... bout and hour. It's strange being stood there watching these three bodies just swinging in the breeze.
I turned to Jimmy and whispered to him... I asked him why they'd strung the white kid up there too... he turned to me and said "The moral of the story is that associating with bad companions will lead everyone to believe you are bad yourself."
Saturday, 28 July 2007
Part 2 of Heather Lawson’s previous story.
One of the lines that often echoed through Ophelia’s head during the darker hours happened to be a line that never actually belonged to her.
To sleep, perchance to dream.
Because for Hamlet sleep was all about death.
If Ophelia had ever bothered to stick around for the entire play she would have known that Hamlet was wrong and that he to was one of the many characters who died.
Unfortunately Hamlet only ever died at the end and there was an entire act in between and Ophelia had always been impatient.
When Ophelia dreamed her thoughts were filled with the fish in the stream where she had drowned. There has one been one at the time but in her subconscious it multiplied by the hundreds and thousand until all she could see were shiny silvery scales.
All she could smell was the choking rotting scent of dead fish.
“Don’t be ridiculous Bella these dreams they do not have smells” Juliet said indigently as they buried the body in a rose garden behind the theatre. Well to be fair it was Ophelia who buried the body Juliet just supervised her eyes occasionally flickering onto her fingernails.
“I know what I smell and it’s a rotting fish stench ok? Like this body” Ophelia snapped back her face bright red and flustered.
Juliet just stared at the body barely interested.
“He doesn’t smell that bad, more like wine then anything. Who was he?” she asked and as dirt showered through the air.
“The director of the play” Ophelia grunted, it was difficult attempting to dig a grave with a prop spade.
“I don’t see why we cant just dump the body behind a dumpster” sighed Juliet.
“This production happens to have the best Ophelia madness scene in over two decades Juliet and its not going to close just because the director killed himself with the bottle! The body will be buried and hopefully no one will search for him until tomorrow nights performance” Ophelia said wiping a streak of dirt off her chin.
“Oh and what about you Juliet? How about we talk about the time you hid the body of half a cast when they all died from the bubonic plague?” Ophelia asked and Juliet rolled her eyes.
“Can I at least kick the body down the hole?” she asked nudging it with the toe of her satin slippers.
“Have fun” Ophelia replied as Juliet giggled before kicking the body into the hole.
It made a faint splattering sound and then there was silence.
A few seconds later they heard the patter of footsteps and a small intake of breath.
“How did he die?” Desdemona asked quietly.
Ophelia glanced up irritably but then sighed when she saw the tear stained face and disheveled hair.
“Oh alcoholism, the usual” she replied.
“Then why is there blood all over his pants?” Desdemona asked and Ophelia’s hand clapped over her mouth.
Desdemona was right of course, when you spent your time skulking about shows it was hard to tell the prop blood from the real and Ophelia had ignored the stain seeping through the front of his shirt and the trousers.
The smell now however made sense, the horrible rotting fishy smell.
It was the smell of blood and dirt.
“Murder Murder Murder” Juliet cackled gleefully as Ophelia felt sick.
“Remember the last murder Des? When the jealous stagehand killed the man playing Othello because he was banging the seamstress? That was poison though so very dull,” Juliet added leaning over the crudely dug hole her pretty brown eyes lighting up with interest.
“Careful Juliet or your tits will make you topple over” Ophelia said snidely, still annoyed at her for bullying Desdemona.
Juliet made a huffing sound and crawled backwards her infamous cleavage now covered in streaks of mud.
“If it’s a murder we should bury the body, what if a talented actor did it? The last thing we’d need is for a talented actor to waste the next five years in prison” Ophelia said firmly.
“You’re absolutely right darling the show comes first” Desdemona agreed with her and Juliet just flicked a blade of grass of her left bosom with annoyance.
“I wonder what he dreamed about last night,” she said gruffly before her eyes trailed upwards locking with Ophelia’s.
“Don’t,” Desdemona warned her.
“Lets hoping it was fish” Juliet said her lips curling into an almost smile.
The last thing you dreamed about would always be the thing you dreamed about during death. If you were very lucky the night before you died you would dream of lands filled with chocolate or walking into a story where everything is free.
However if you dreamed while dying well then….
The scales were pressing against her skin yet again the slimy wet grazing her lovely white skin. The stench cloyed through the velvet of her dress as she struggled to swim upwards.
It was an accident she wanted to scream needlessly, it was never intentional. But instead she sank deeper and deeper until all the sunlight disappeared and there was nothing but an almost silvery darkness.
Then the dream ended the way it always did.
With complete and utter silence.
Ophelia’s eyes snapped open and instead of silvery scales she saw the slightly bumpy ceiling of the schools theatre.
Her body lay sprawled across the catwalk perfectly still as she waited for the smell to leave her nostrils.
The dead dreamed every night because even their subconscious needed to metaphorically deal with things.
Friday, 27 July 2007
……………as I was saying……………………. blackness. Not like …. sleep, …… more like I’m conscious with my eyes closed. But somehow I know that I’m asleep and I’m dreaming. And then before I can start to analyse the situation I see them.
…………….. I see is tiny points of light. Kind of like a field of stars only the dots of light are smaller and more uniform, no variation and over time………. they start to get bigger.
………………………………………they move like shiny silvery fish ……….. deep black sea and as they get closer they start to look like fish too. Only they never get close enough for me to be sure. I can never make out any details or any source of illumination.
It’s happening every night. It’s starting to freak me out.
…. how many ‘fish’ are there …….. dream? Milli….., dozens?
Exactly one thousand?
Yep. Implant, remember.
Of course. ………………… what do you think it means?
I don’t……………………… that’s what I pay you for……………………………………
Tom, do …….. remember why ………………..came to me?
`Cause I had too much money and you needed a new boat?
Besides that, what brought you to therapy?
The implant……………… brain……………………… emotions………………
Right……………………. let’s talk about that. How long has it been now?
Def…………………. on the whole, I would say yes…………but……………….. moments when all I wanna do is find a sharp knife and jam it into my skull.
Why is that?
Well it’s kinda like having another person in your head. Once it’s activated I can’t stop the signals coming in. I can control the output. But the input has no filter. I am the filter. But then, that’s kinda what it was designed for.
……… you want… removed?
No. No. best thing……. ever………to me. My research. My………. problems. Everything is better. It’s just I have these moments, you know. I get overwhelmed. But those moments pass………… the dream, what do you think it means?
What do you think it means?
Haha. Nice one doc. Get your patients to do your work for you. I’m not letting you off that easy. I pay my bills, enlighten me, please.
……………. I think the dream represents your feelings of isolation. You are suspended in a black void, all by yourself, no warmth, no light, no love…………... The points of light, these ‘fish’ represent the rest of humanity. Together, moving in unison. Basking in each others warmth. And far far away from you………………….. Your distance from humanity is so great that you can’t even make them out clearly. They’re just points of light in the distance. ………………………………………………………………………
But then again, it could just be a dream.
No actually, I don’t. The fact that you’ve had the same dream every night for the last two weeks means something. What exactly that meaning is, who knows.
……………… six months doc. Every night. Tiny glowing fish……….. I think I’m ………… go insane………. scared………….. sleep. I’ve been taking every stimulant I know of in an effort to stay awake. You gotta help me. I gotta get this outta my head.
Are you talking about the dreams or the implant?
The dreams have to stop. I don’t care how.
……………………. tell me, is it the same dream every night? No variation?...........
………………………… formations change, slightly…….. same fish filled darkness. A few times I’ve noticed small coloured lights, kind of in the background. But essentially it’s the same dream.
When was… last time………. appeared? What colours? Describe them………………….
…………………….. this week……. a small greenish………………….top right quadrant of my vision…………………………. Last week it was a larger green light. But the ‘fish’ are always the same.
You’ve kept track of them all then?
Of course. Every details been uploaded. I’ve gone through……… can’t make any sense of it. Sometimes no other lights. Sometimes several. Sometimes just one. But always the fish. Exactly one thousand.
Are you sure they’re fish?
No………………………. that’s what they remind me off… school of fish, moving together…………… collective intelligence. It would be beautiful if it didn’t terrify me so………..
Tell me about this terror.
…………………… hard to put my finger on……………… sort of nameless, shapeless fear. Objectively speaking there’s nothing about the dream that would terrify a person…………….. it petrifies me. Initially the beauty of it balanced out the fear but it’s always been there, from the first night…………………………………………………….
The records you’ve kept, would you mind if I took a look at them? Maybe try an objective analysis.
Sure thing. I brought them with me. Here take a look.
Do you mind if I keep these?
Go ahead. I’ve got plenty of copies.
What is it doc? Why’d you call me in?
………. been analysing these dreams of yours and I think figured out exactly what they mean………….
So tell me. Am I crazy?
Judging by the dreams? No. Although other evidence is still open to interpretation.
Haha. Okay…………………….. tell me about my dreams.
……………. the lights…………. the “fish” as you call them are alien spaceships………………an armada…………………………. the coloured lights in the background are various stellar phenomena that these ships have been passing on their way to this planet…………………..
Hahahahaha. Wow doc, you really are in a mood today……………. just your way of breaking the bad news……………….. Trying to liven up the moment before the death plunge?
No. I’m being quite serious. They’re coming.
Aliens? Coming here?...............................................................
…………….you deciphered………….. this from………………….. dots of colour in an otherwise……………… dream?
And how, pray tell did you manage that?
………………… Tom it’s a kind of code…………… the armada…… been broadcasting to that implant in your head………………… sending updates of their…………. travels to this solar system.
And you cracked the code?
And you………………. how?
…………..I had the key to the code Tom, that’s how…………….
Where……………… this key?
They gave…………. me.
They gave………………….Why would they………………………………
………………how else would I know they were coming?
You………………………………. expecting them....................you’re an alien then? ………………………… advanced scout?
Something like that……………… sending them intelligence for the last 50 years…………………… you have that implant in your head……………… because…….. needed a way to transmit…………… to me so………. make the appropriate preparations.
What kind of preparations?
……………………….. every global satellite system is crashing…………….. defence system will go down all over the world…………………… weapons and munitions………………………………………………. will be less than effective, to say the least………………….. no mercy……………………………………………………..
Why? …………………………….. purpose would it serve to travel light-years across space just to destroy one insignificant planet?
Insignificant? …………have no idea how lucky you are………………. A planet like this one is so ………………….. lucky we got here first……………. over……….. farewell…………………………………………………….
…………. final transmission…………………. too late for us……………………… save you………………………….. my name is Tom……………………. vigilance……………………………………………………………………………………
Saturday, 14 July 2007
Not everyone goes the same way in reaching a goal or objective. From point A to B may be the most common and possibly the quickest way but are we missing something by not looking at other points on our journey?
Thursday, 12 July 2007
A DREAM OF A THOUSAND FISH EH?
For some its cracking a beer at the end of a working week and watching the sun go down knowing that they have provided and cared for their nearest and dearest. For others its jumping out of an airplane and careening towards oblivion. And yet others feel it when they simply wipe the arse of their ailing grandmother, supposedly understanding the ironic nature of oroboros. For me, the feeling of fulfilling my souls purpose is escaping the fixed confines of a corner of my perception and ravaging the purity of formlessness with my own delusions. This I do after 3 and a half pills and enough psilocybin to freak the fuck out of Dr Zeus.
There was this one time when my motor skills had failed me and I was experiencing an extreme case of glossolalia that I stumbled upon an ocean. I had been wishing my friends from all over the world a happy new year. Escaping the confines of time and space I was able to be there and embrace them with as much love and happiness on New Years Eve as I could mustre. There really is nothing like exploring ones transcendental nature. Of course, I could not have let my friends know it was me hugging them so I wore a mask of hazelwood, peacock feathers and glitter so that at the stroke of midnight they would only know that as the strong embrace of a stranger made them reminiscent of me.
Turning away from an ex-girlfriend in Norway I fell into a warm and finely illuminated sea. Luckily I seemed to have fallen onto a naturally formed sandbank as the water only came up to my knees. It was trully amazing. Standing up and viewing a 360 degree veiw of an ocean, I was drowned in a feeling of gratitude. The sight before me was quite a gift. It was calm and the moon engulfed the northern part of the sky, its wavering twin looking back at it from beneath the waves. The stars seemed to be moving faster than usual, yet the moon itself held sway over this place. A flicker of irridescnece drew my attention to the water directly surrounding me. Beneath the waves swam a school of fish. The way they moved were so synchronised I marvelled at the way their collective mind allowed them to move with such cohesion.
Fantastical as it may seem, I then noticed that the glowing aquatic residents of the sea were circling me. Again I felt my heart hum with love and gratitude. What a gift to behold! Even the fish of the sea are expressing their unconditional love of me in their own way. This is surely going to be the best year ever!!! I simply stood there vibrating away in ecstatic dreaminess.
It was as I marveled at the beauty and grace of this experience that the warmth of the water, so grasciously bestowed on me, withdrew. It was not until I could feel the cold biting into my shins and the painful tightness of my calves that I regained some composure and cleared my vision. The fish had stopped circling. The fish had lost their lustre. The stars had disappeard and the moon had grown hungry and swallowed up half the sky. For a second my bliss indulgent heart imagined the stars in the water´s surface. But there is nothing more reason defying, and therefore horrendous to the human ego, than a thousand fish raised up out of the water. Their black eyes and scales lending the illusion of cold false stars.
Before I was swimming in their love. Now I was drowning in their unimaginabely cold stare. I could feel the contempt and hate gouging its way into the very pores of my skin that constricted in vain to keep me warm. Words like revulsion and cold bile crept into my mind.
'Our sacrificial pig is come. Our sacrifical pig is come. Our sacrificial pig is come. Our sacrifical pig is come. Our sacrifical pig is come. Our sacrificial pig is come.'
A marauding horror began to find its foothold in me. This deep violation would not be held back by the light and warmth of my heart. It began gaining momentum.
'We thousand dream. One will come. We thousand dream. One will come. We thousand dream. One will come. We thousand dream. One will come. We thousand dream. One will come.'
Their mantra hummed and throbbed, squirmed and writhed. The air around me seemed to stir and pulse with the same tenacious energy. The words themselves having an aliveness that poked and prodded the atmosphere of two worlds. For even as this sensation nailed part of my fixation in this watery horror, another part was being visciously abused by the cold blackness that was devouring me from the inside.
'Decieve, peirce, rip and gut. Be devieved, peirced, ripped and gut. Decieve, peirce, rip and gut. Be devieved, peirced, ripped and gut. Decieve, peirce, rip and gut. Be devieved, peirced, ripped and gut.'
I could not hope to contend with the torrid despair that had all but nearly consumed me.With my last spark of hope I turned and went with the tide of darkness. Knowing that there was no longer any resistence, the vile icy blackness swept over the last remnants of whatever was left of my bleak inner landscape and cut to my core.
It was in this moment that lasted a forever that I realised what my driving force in life was... Sadness, grief and despair.
With that stark realisation came the most visceral of perception jarring sensations as I vomitted all over myself.
Sunday, 1 July 2007
I spent the day how I spent everyday of my 12hrs of employment a week life by doing absolutely fuck all. Wake up, look at some strange pineapple fetish ass fucking porn whilst kidding myself that I'm watching it for a laugh not because I get a raging hard on for this kinda shit, have a wank, smoke a joint and settle down for some hardcore Dick action... the daily 2.10pm showing of Diagnosis Murder.
The credits of Neighbours are rolling and I'm waiting in eager anticipation for some OAP friendly medical sleuthing and then it happens.
"BREAKING NEWS - THE WORLD TRADE CENTER HAS BEEN ATTACKED BY FLYING FISH"
I was appalled. How could our stupid aquatic friends launch such an attack at this time? Do they not realise this a televisual holy time? Shouldn't they be busy luring dolphins into fishing nets?
Questions just kept going round my brain like sardines herded into a bait ball. I just couldn't make gills or fins of it. All I knew was I had to find out the truth so I marched onto down to my friendly Asian fishmonger because really who knows more about fish than the orientals?
He was quick to put my fears to rest, this wasn't the beginning of the feared Human-Fish wars, this was just an attack by fish extremists who have had enough of being used as food, sport and trapped in glass boxes for our own amusement.
They didn't understand how we could treat fish like this without a ounce of compassion when we had given black people all these civil liberties.
Even worse than this were the so called Vegetarians. They walk around talking about how heating animals is bad and throwing buckets of pigs blood on people but they'd go home and tuck into a love piece of cod. Are the fish not animals too?
We should've seen it coming, our fish policy smacked of hypocrisy and elitism.
They had named themselves "The Jews Of The Sea" and were lead by the menacing looking cleric Abu Herring who was instantly recognisable by the hook sticking out his jaw, a reminder of his foiled suicide bombing when he tried to take out a group of English anglers.
I thanked Mr Wong for his help but passed on his offer of Sushi, it just didn't seem right given the new climate.
I was unsure if this news made me feel safer or not. Sure, the thought of all out war with the fish was scary but knowing we're dealing with suicidal guerrilla fish was a different kind of fear. The rules of engagement had been thrown out the window. There was no battlefield and no soldiers, Just billions of potential victims.
The government needed a response because if they did nothing public outrage and vigilantism would be rife with thousands of innocent fish slaughtered for no reason. But if they did too much they could risk alienating the rest of the fish world and driving them into the hands of the evil clerics like Abu Herring.
Sadly, our leaders were not sympathetic to the plight of the fish and began to bomb them out of the water forcing them underground where the hatred spiralled out of control.
There have been attacks all around the world since this fateful day, it was only yesterday that a school of Salmon set themselves on fire and dive bombed a Glasgow airport reminding us that regardless of how much you batter the fish they will never go away.
Be brave my brothers and sisters. Just don't look up.
Wednesday, 27 June 2007
"Can you do this?" ... 5 minutes... "have you done it yet?
"Are you coming round?" ... 5 minutes... "When are you coming round?"... 2 minutes... "Coming yet?"
I really don't understand it, everyone is in such a fucking rush to get their pointless shit done and for what? To do more pointless fucking shit that doesn't matter. If they would actually bother to take their time they might just begin to appreciate things instead of constantly pushing for the next 5 minutes of interest.
It won't be long before us premature ejaculators will be the hottest commodity because nobody is gonna have time to fuck properly. We'll just be wanking in a corner and summoned over when it looks like we're about to cum so we can deposit our meagre load in some whore's cum bucket so she can get pregnant and farm out her kids to the test tube company who'll then grow it to the age of 16 for her and fill it full of 'knowledge' to help it work better. We don't have time to raise kids anymore y'see. Better they get stuff implanted in their brain than neglect them so they turn into junkies.
Even stoners are in a rush these days. "Skin up maaaaann.... you take aaaages maaaaaan" Fuck's sake, you're meant to be fucking stoned, chill out you prick.
What makes it worse is people don't even know why they're rushing. Nobody wants to work for a living yet they'll work so hard and fast that they're just gonna be given more work to do, they'll talk about wanting to retire early when the average person gets bored out of his fucking brain just sat about on a weekend and has to fill it with hangovers and shopping trips with the missus.
Not a single cunt in the world has a clue what they're doing, why they're doing and where its taking them but they know its gotta be done fast so they can do more stuff.
As many of you may already be aware... Chris Benoit of the WWF, WWE fame died over the weekend. I understand the topic at the moment is "things that really piss you off" so i'm going to run with this one.
Not that I’m pissed off that he's dead, far from it. One less meathead steroid junkie running around can't be a bad thing. I know loads of people think he's a great guy and did a lot for the "sport" (the same way Desperate Housewives is considered a sport), but I really couldn't give two short fucks. Now the story we are being force fed on the issue at the moment is that he basically went a bit fucking OJ and suffocated his kid with a garbage bag, choked his wife with a telephone cord and then hung himself with his rowing machine or something. To me these seem to be the actions of a complete prick. Don't get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against complete pricks. God knows a lot of my friends are complete pricks. I also know that if any of my complete prick friends did something like this they would be instantly vilified in the media as murdering cowards... so where the fuck are the headlines "Chris Benoit - Murdering Coward" ?
Not that I agree this is true, I’m just looking for a little consistency here, I know it hasn't been formally proven that he killed them and blah blah evidence etc... But you know he fucking did it! Too many steroids, bad day at the office, kid won't shut the fuck up about his day at school... for anyone who knows any meathead steroid freaks, you know full well it doesn't take a massive amount of poking and prodding, to push them into a full blown fit of muscle-bound rage. You should try it some time; it's funny to watch, kinda like watching a blind man with his arm on fire trying to find the extinguisher.
I've completely lost my point... as anyone who's read anything I’ve ever written knows I’m extremely prone to. I'm sure I’ll be proved completely wrong as the story develops and it actually turns out 3 murderers, completely oblivious of each other, and by a complete stroke of chance, broke into his house on the same weekend and killed him and his family in utterly separate events. But in the grand scheme of things... who fucking cares... it's not even a real sport.
Friday, 22 June 2007
I hate you and I hope you fucking die.
If I believed in a god I would pray for him to smite you. Smite you so hard they'd have to use tweezers to collect your body parts.
Every time I see your face it's all I can do to stop myself jamming your nose up into your cranium.
Maybe you don't really deserve it, objectively speaking, but I honestly don't care. The negation of your existence would be a semi-nirvana for my soul...
... and then the moment passes and I can breath. I can accept your continued existence for another day.
I still can't stand you. But the flame dims and your idiocy is forgotten for the day. I have other things to think about and your death is not exactly a priority.
I hate you, this much is true. But what I really despise is the hate you bring out of me and the way it makes me feel.
You make me feel less than human, and for that I will always hate you.
Tuesday, 19 June 2007
"Oh my god I am so pissed off" a voice cried melodramatically bouncing merrily across abandoned walls. The voice was far more impressive then its surroundings a chipped and neglected theater which still bore the signs of its previous engagement. Elegant shoes made of sky blue velvet and silver stepped over the chip packets that had been left abandoned in the aisles. They made a faint squelching sound as they moved and muddy water oozed from the seams before they stopped right in front of a half melted ice cream.
"People have no respect what so ever for the story! chips being munched away during my demise and iced sweets being left to melt like a lackluster corpse in the melancholy light of a dying night" the voice continued this time ending in a self pitying wail.
"Desist with the angst darling Ophelia it was a high school performance what do you expect?" another voice this time some what coy and seductive flirted from the stage. A young woman was sitting on the edge her legs swinging to and throw and she was smiling down at Ophelia with the air of someone who could never be called a maiden again. Her hair fell in messy brown almost black curls to her torso and she was wearing nothing more the the simple shift of a white night gown already slipping down on one side revealing the hint of a bare shoulder and the promise of full adult breasts.
This was a woman who knew things Ophelia reflected, this was a woman who had actually been married.
Only the welting bruises around her throat ruined the affect Ophelia noted they were a hideous shade of black and yellow and if you were clever you could see the finger marks.
"Come to see me triumph Desdemona? after all hardly anyone watches you die these days" Ophelia snapped irritably and Desdemona merely crossed her ankles cocking her head to one side.
There was something almost feline in the way she moved and the way her eyes crinkled.
Then again felines were well known for being adulterous Ophelia reflected.
"My death was added to the end of a recent period movie actually, Claire Danes played me" she said airily then she coughed once before taking in a deep gasping breath.
"I prefer the immortality of the screen its far more relaxing, poor Ophelia you must be so exhausted having to attend so many performances of Hamlet" she sighed with sympathy and Ophelia shrugged her shoulders making a non committal noise.
Ophelia had seen them all ranging from grand performances in London to dramatic readings that tended to get a little carried away in high school English classes. No one ever noticed the young woman skulking about in the back her white blond hair wer and straggling down the back with the damp patches on what had once been a beautiful silver wedding dress.
"I'm the one that should be exhausted" a third voice this time in a strong Italian accent screeched dramatically as another dead girl emerged from behind the wings.
"Oh not her again, I wish you wouldn't encourage her" snorted Ophelia.
"Encourage me? I am forced to spend all of eternity without my darling Cara mio and listen to one drowned fish and one slut every single day" the voice screeched dramatically again.
And then there was Juliet.
Most people when they thought of Juliet tended to conjure up images of a wispy nymph like girl with pale skin and long limbs. They tended to forget that Romeo was a seventeenth century Italian and his idea of an angelic woman would verge on pornography. Juliet was no older then thirteen but she was one of those thirteen year olds who well developed early. Her figure exploded from the top of her restoration period gold and orange satin gown and her hair pinned to her skull in a series of ringlets and pearls was a deep midnight black with an extra shine of gloss.
It was her face however that was unusual, it was painted powdered white and her lips were stained faintly green black with the poison from Romeo's lips.
Along one side under her left breast a wound would always seep drops of blood leaving an old brownish trail down her bodice.
"Slut? at least I wasn't so stupid I killed myself over a boy who was in love with another girl two hours before he met me" Desdemona snorted.
"And I didn't drown on purpose! I slipped!" Ophelia shot back and Juliet merely smirked.
"I really did!" she insisted and the two other merry dead women shared amused glances before Juliet chortled with mirth.
"At least when I killed myself I was a married woman and my husband loved me" she finally sighed putting a hand over her wound for dramatic effect.
"That is true dear, our husbands loved us and what were you?" Desdemona asked innocently and Ophelia glanced at her feet.
"We were engaged" she protested.
"For political reasons" laughed Juliet cruelly.
Ophelia knew she was friends with Desdemona because of a technicality when it came to the rules of the living and the dead. They had all met during the restoration period when the theaters were finally reopened and after years of nothing they finally had something to do.
"I'm rather relieved about this women on the stage thing" Desdemona said when they finally met during a duel performance in the court of King Charles the Second. Before then during the early days of sweat and blood Ophelia had always been alone . She was dead after all and those were the words written across parchment in home made ink. The living could not see the dead and the same went for theatrical characters, well unless it was written into the plot. After the first performance and the first time she drowned Hamlet stopped seeing her. At first after the play he'd look for her his face faintly puzzled but soon he forgot. Ophelia trailed behind the others from performance to performance, from actor to actor always in the form of a speckled skinny boy.
Never heard from.
It was quite a shock when Desdemona spoke to her, a slutty common woman amongst all the nobles wearing her night dress.
"You're the Ophelia aren't you?"she asked snatching a drink from a serving boys tray, the serving boy didn't seem to notice the practically naked woman and continued on his way.
Ophelia just made a faint spluttering sound.
"Oh don't look so surprised, we've just seen a duel performance of Othello and Hamlet and in the middle of the room I find a dripping wet girl dressed like a princess of course you're the Ophelia" Desdemona said gulping down a heavy mouthful of wine.
"I'm Desdemona, the Desdemona" she said with a regal wave of her hand and that was the first time Ophelia noticed the bruises.
"The Desdemona? ..I'm sorry that your husband well" she began and Desdemona gulped the wine again.
"His sorry as well I'm sure, when was the last time you ate princess?" Desdemona asked and Ophelia shrugged.
"I've never eaten" she admitted and Desdemona clucked her tongue.
"You are a dead character not a dead person princess you can eat whenever you wish! let us enjoy the banquet and then there is some one you really must meet!" Desdemona smiled.
"It wasn't for political reasons" Ophelia continued her voice completely devoid of any real emotion, that had burned away centuries ago. Juliet just walked across the stage in a shimmy of hips and fabric before standing next to Desdemona.
"For she is the east and Juliet is the sun" Juliet finally said and Desdemona almost smiled.
"Tell me darling Ophelia, beautiful tragic Ophelia has any man ever called you the sun?" Juliet asked and Ophelia trembled.
"Has any man ever touched your bare skin while he shuddered inside you spilling his seed? did your Hamlet ever cling onto you knowing fully well that soon oh so very soon he would have to tear himself away? did you wish for him to hold you so very tight that you would stop breathing? because to be dead would be better then having him let go?" Juliet asked placing a hand on Desdemona's shoulder. Desdemona's normally playful expression hardened and she shrugged off the hand her skin growing ash gray.
"Stop it" she whispered but Juliet just wrapped her arms around Desdemona's rigid neck her cheek pressed against the top of that messy hair.
"Poor sad little Ophelia, tell me did Hamlet ever love you at all? even for the tiniest fraction of moments?" she asked and a tear trickled down Ophelia's cheek betraying herself.
Ophelia irritably wiped it away and Juliet smiled.
"No I didn't think so" she said simply.
Desdemona pushed her aside and fled the stage her form disappearing before it even reached the wings.
Ophelia met Princess Cordelia during her first meal which was a rather enjoyable experience until she discovered the entire toilet thing a few hours later. Cordelia was sickly sweet despite the fact she was dressed in a leather jerkin and battle armor.
"Put the salt on the meat it ain't nothing without its salt" Cordelia advised her and Ophelia sprinkled a tiny amount on like dust before eating a suspicious mouth full of lamb stew.
"This meat tastes rotten" she finally said diplomatically and she wasn't quite sure how she knew what rotten things tasted like.
Actually she knew what many things tasted like although she knew perfectly well she'd never eaten a mouthful of anything.
Must have been because it had been written or something similar she reflected...
"Course its bloody well rotten this is the seventeenth century girl everything here rots! we've got poor old sods outside rotting from the black death"Cordelia said shoving a piece of black bread into her mouth.
"Cordelia and I met when the same actress Mrs Sedley played both of us during one night, I followed Mrs Medley because I had no other performances to keep up and I ran into Cordelia" Desdemona smiled drinking this time ale.
"Brilliant that was, course I'm better off then you two because nearly every one dies in my play you see" Cordelia explained before crossing herself.
"Everyone?" Ophelia cried with disbelief.
"Almost everyone" Cordelia corrected her.
"Of course that means my family can still see me which means putting up with my darling sisters Gonerill and Reagan, you got any sisters?" Cordelia asked and Ophelia shook her head.
"Only Hamlets family died and well his friends, I used to talk a bit with Rosencratz but then well he fell in love with me and went all pathetic" Ophelia reflected and Cordelia shot her a sympathetic look.
"I'm sorry to hear your separated from your family dear heart, course I only stick around for my dad he couldn't cope without me the old bugger" Cordelia explained using the rest of her bread to mop up the gravy.
"Stick around?" Ophelia asked doubtfully and the two older married women exchanged knowing looks.
"You don't have to trail around London with the other characters anymore Ophelia dear, our stories are being performed in new countries in new languages! why just last week I traveled to France" Cordelia explained an excited smile on her face.
"Ophelia isn't Hamlet love, she doesn't have to be in every performance just the right ones" Desdemona continued to explain.
"She seems kind" Ophelia said when they left the inn stepping out in the busy night time streets of London.
"I could be nice if I was penned that way " Desdemona said wryly and then she took Ophelia's hand.
"Still it was a nice lesson wasn't it? You don't have to go where the hero goes, you can chose your own performances to inspire" Desdemona grinned spinning Ophelia about. Ophelia giggled as water shook off her dress splashing onto the cobblestones.
"How did she die?" she asked breathlessly and Desdemona shook her head.
"Not like us, she didn't die violently for love she just well stopped living for well no actual reason" Desdemona explained and Ophelia wasn't quite sure what to make of that. It seemed like a bit of an easy way out.
"I cant imagine some one like her giving up on life" Ophelia finally said her voice quiet in the cold night air. Desdemona just squeezed her hand.
" I would have said the same about you" Desdemona replied.
The next morning Ophelia returned to the theater this time dressed in a gown made of deep rose pink velvet her hair dried and brushed but her face still pale. Outside the theater sat the cast, not the cast of actors but the real cast the living moving amongst the dead.
Rosencratz just stared at her with his thick almost featureless face practically blending into his pale washed out doublet.
"Thats not your death dress" he finally said and Ophelia quickly glanced down at the pink velvet that was already gathering wet patches.
"I was getting tired of wearing white and silver Rosencratz" she merely said flipping her wet rats tails over one shoulder. Her hair splattered droplets of water across the coble stones and the living members of Hamlet looked about briefly wondering where the sudden shower of water came from.
"I'm leaving Rosencratz, Othello is being performed as an Opera across the continent and Desdemona has asked me to be her traveling companion" she said a little too firmly and his lips puckered his eyes almost verging on something not unlike annoyance.
"And what of you? you haunt Hamlet" he pointed out.
"There will always be performances of Hamlet with traveling troupes or in taverns I'll find a place to haunt" she said trying to sound brave and she reached into the front of her bodice fishing about for the letter she'd written with Desdemona's assistance. It would have helped if she actually had a proper sort of bodice, the sort that were made to hide notes in the cleavage. Instead she had almost next to nothing and the note had wriggled half way down nestling in the strings of her corset.
Rosencratz was watching her fishing about with intense fascination and when she finally retrieved the note he licked his lips.
"This is for Hamlet" she said thrusting the piece of paper towards Rosencratz who just eyed it warily.
"I'm dead how exactly am I supposed to give him that" he pointed out and Ophelia rolled her eyes, one dimensional characters were so unimaginative.
"Hide it and then tell Hamlet's father where it's hidden and ask him to tell Hamlet, Hamlet is allowed to see his father" she said and Rosencratz snatched the note before bowing his head.
"Consider it done your highness" he replied with a small weary sigh.
But Hamlet never read the letter, at least thats what Ophelia told herself.
"His not coming" she whispered to Desdemona as they watched tiny boats cross the river Thames.
"It's not as if he can see you dearest" Desdemona pointed out placing a hand on her shoulder.
"I bet Rosencratz tore the letter up its the sort of spiteful thing he'd do" Ophelia hissed furiously and Desdemona squeezed her shoulder.
"Come sweet girl the curtain will be opening in Brussels within minutes" Desdemona said meaningfully and Ophelia stepped into the river the trail of her pretty new dress instantly sinking in the water and mud.
"I didn't drown on purpose you know" she said quietly and Desdemona knew better then to say anything.
The two figures slowly disappeared in the dying sun as they walked into the river.
Some where else Rosencratz would hide the scrunched up piece of parchment under a loose stone outside the theater and during the next performance Hamlet's father would whisper to him of a letter written to him by his one true love.
Hamlet would just snort and eventually the hidden letter would just rot away eventually returning to the earth.
Ophelia liked to pretend that she'd never penned the letter. It was all maudlin rubbish really although it did have perfect rhyming scheme stolen from the mind of her creator. Juliet was still standing on the stage a positively delighted expression her face, Juliet was the inspiration of one of the worlds greatest love stories but she was also at heart a twelve year old girl which meant she was a well brat. One of her hobbies tended to involve finding new ways to make Ophelia or Desdemona cry and after almost two hundred years she was getting very good.
"Silly Desdemona always taking things far to seriously" she cackled gleefully and Ophelia just snorted.
"She'll be sulking for weeks Juliet I hope your happy" Ophelia pointed out and Juliet merely fanned her expansive bosom.
"I'm ecstatic my darling dear sad little Ophelia now have you finished here? you must come and see me being played two towns over the girls as ugly as sin but she gets my sigh just right" Juliet said and then sighed placing a hand to her forehead demonstrating her obvious sighing talents.
"I'm not in the mood to watch you giggle over your suicide pact" Ophelia replied shaking the water from her skirts. It had been a long and exhausting run at the Newtown performing arts high schools theater. There Ophelia had been brilliant but the rest of the cast was cringe worthy and Ophelia had to stop herself from storming out when Hamlet starting humming the South Park theme when he forgot his lines.
"You're always in the mood for suicide" Juliet screeched with annoyance as Ophelia stormed out of the theater leaving streaking marks all over the carpet.
Outside the air was warm and dry with a hidden dusty smell almost like smoke, so very different from England Ophelia reflected.
Ophelia had been there the first time the play had been performed in this brave new world by criminals rather then actors.
The entire cast of Hamlet had come for the occasion and it had been the last time she'd seen Hamlet, well Rosencratz wasn't there she remembered but she was still furious with him and besides he was hardly important.
There was no such thing as an actor needing to be an inspired Rosencratz.
There was a faint gurgling sound behind the theaters giant metallic bins but Ophelia ignored it the way she ignored most things that didn't concern her. In fact she would have cheerfully walked on into her next performance if a hand didn't reach out from the darkness latching onto her ankle.
No one touched her accept for Desdemona, even Juliet knew better. The hand was bony and pale and its cracked nails dug straight through the velvet of her shoe almost assaulting her fragile skin.
"You can see me" Ophelia whispered and a face emerged from the darkness, eyes wide and dancing blood trailing down from the corner of its mouth.
"Ophelia" a voice harsh and unforgiving whispered before the hand released her falling slack onto the Ophelia stooped down anxiously and saw what appeared to be a dead body.
"Goddammit this is really pissing me off" she muttered.
End Part 1.
(This was written by Heather Lawson, check her out at: http://www.myspace.com/hezzabeth) (also, if anyone has any idea why we can't add her as a contributor let me know, the blog is being a bastard)