Friday, June 27, 2008
Friday, January 11, 2008
Two weeks
Actually more like 13 days. Very early on Friday morning, two weeks hence, I will scrape myself off the ground, lock up the house for the last time and take a final walk through Adelaide on my way to the interstate train station. From there I will ride the rails to Melbourne.
Between now and then, I have to sort out some final matters, clean this house, pack and give away (or throw out) almost all my stuff. I don't have any other work to do, so I can do all this at an easy pace.
Tomorrow I'm going to do a little exploring around the western city along the banks of the Torrens. It occurred to me that I hadn't been there in years, and last time I was there I didn't take much of a look around.
Between now and then, I have to sort out some final matters, clean this house, pack and give away (or throw out) almost all my stuff. I don't have any other work to do, so I can do all this at an easy pace.
Tomorrow I'm going to do a little exploring around the western city along the banks of the Torrens. It occurred to me that I hadn't been there in years, and last time I was there I didn't take much of a look around.
Friday, January 04, 2008
A strange dream
It seemed like more of a frenzied race than a party – a throng of people, sweating in the stagnant air of a late-summer night, trying to reach some ill defined end – or ends, I should say, as few of us were attempting to reach the same thing. Many were going down, clambering out windows and cellar doors onto the street – a few were hurriedly searching through the rooms on the level they were on - slamming doors open and shut with a violence, running into walls- still others were heading upwards, taking every stair and ladder they could find, climbing out windows and clambering across roofs. I don’t know what I was doing, and as I sweated and tried to make sense of my actions, my clothes sticking to my back and the world reeling around me – as I stopped others and spoke to them – it rapidly became clear that all was in a state of confusion – no one could tell me where they were going or what was happening or even who they were, only that it was a party and that there was some pressing need, of what kind they weren’t sure. At some point I bungled up a staircase, out a window, across some roof and up a ladder into some rickety tower from which I could see all this chaos from on high – it reminded me a bit of some thriving night time insect life outside the bright lights of an outback rail station in the humid depths of a tropical summer, but all of a sudden I wasn’t sure if all this inhuman bustle and feverish motion wasn’t all entirely contained within myself. I found myself on the way down again, heading for the interior of my house and my bed where this monstrosity would cease and I could wait out this fevered heat, and found myself assailed by a desperate climber who demanded to know how I had gotten to the tower and what I was supposed to have been doing up there.
I told him that there was nothing special about the tower and that I couldn’t see the appeal to him. It was, after all, not easy to get to, and would have had little significance to anyone who wasn’t entirely myself. He went on his way, grumbling, pushing past me to search for a window to climb out of or a wall to scale, and I lurched through a gap in a wall and slid down into a beckoning abyss that promised a soft landing far below in its whirling depths.
I suddenly awoke in my bed, fully clothed and covered in sweat, the fan spinning wildly overhead at some indeterminate time in the midst of an Adelaide summer night.
I told him that there was nothing special about the tower and that I couldn’t see the appeal to him. It was, after all, not easy to get to, and would have had little significance to anyone who wasn’t entirely myself. He went on his way, grumbling, pushing past me to search for a window to climb out of or a wall to scale, and I lurched through a gap in a wall and slid down into a beckoning abyss that promised a soft landing far below in its whirling depths.
I suddenly awoke in my bed, fully clothed and covered in sweat, the fan spinning wildly overhead at some indeterminate time in the midst of an Adelaide summer night.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
...and again
I survived Tuesday (just), but once again was forced home early from work today by a feeling of utter drainedness and nausea. As soon as I got home I collapsed and didn't wake up until about four hours later. It's impossible to work at my job unless you're able to concentrate, which I can do while hung over but not in the state I was in today. Luckily there wasn't much going on and the boss let me off with an assurance that I could make up some hours on Saturday if I wanted to.
I feel fine now (although ready for bed), especially as today has been the first day of eating more or less properly, with fruit and juice for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch and a meal at the appointed time of dinner. I felt well enough for a walk after I woke up, so I did that and went down to the river and back. Later on I felt like a run, so I did that too. I'll sleep in tomorrow and should be feeling fighting fit for my job in the afternoon.
I'm declaring that I've won the Saturdays. I put this declaration off pretty late because I wanted to see how things panned out, but I believe everything is working out pretty well. More news as it comes to hand.
I feel fine now (although ready for bed), especially as today has been the first day of eating more or less properly, with fruit and juice for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch and a meal at the appointed time of dinner. I felt well enough for a walk after I woke up, so I did that and went down to the river and back. Later on I felt like a run, so I did that too. I'll sleep in tomorrow and should be feeling fighting fit for my job in the afternoon.
I'm declaring that I've won the Saturdays. I put this declaration off pretty late because I wanted to see how things panned out, but I believe everything is working out pretty well. More news as it comes to hand.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Matter over mind
The election weekend, starting from Thursday night and going until very early on Monday morning, was one of the most physically harrowing exercises I have undertaken. I am used to forcing myself to do difficult things - I lost 25 kilograms by forcing myself to walk three hours a day and subsist on Lean Cuisine for several months - but this is the first time that events got on top of me. In effect, my body stopped listening to commands from my brain.
"NUP. SLEEP." - said my body, and I basically fell over where I was and woke up several hours later. When I tried to get up I was shambolic and drained, and it took me a while until I was no longer the walking dead. I could have slept right through but I would have woken up at 5am, which is a pesky thing, and I would have missed Shameless also. In the event all I missed was a few hours of work.
I can feel the old corpse rebelling again, and having experienced the power of matter over mind already today, I'm not inclined to ignore it again. Bed for me. I will do a solid writeup of the events surrounding the election within a few days, probably by Saturday some time.
"NUP. SLEEP." - said my body, and I basically fell over where I was and woke up several hours later. When I tried to get up I was shambolic and drained, and it took me a while until I was no longer the walking dead. I could have slept right through but I would have woken up at 5am, which is a pesky thing, and I would have missed Shameless also. In the event all I missed was a few hours of work.
I can feel the old corpse rebelling again, and having experienced the power of matter over mind already today, I'm not inclined to ignore it again. Bed for me. I will do a solid writeup of the events surrounding the election within a few days, probably by Saturday some time.
Good News
We finally did it. No matter what you think of Mr. Rudd, we are no longer ruled by vicious, awful reptilian Things who ruin everything they touch (also they touch everything). No more core and non-core promises, no more unapologetic sorries, no more murderous arseholes kicking in doors and deporting our own citizens for no reason whatsoever. I will not miss the meanness of this last decade - casual in the way it was doled out but monumental in its scale, a real double-barreled nightmare scream of a decade - all over now. The fuckers who did it got thrashed in the style they deserved - a solid, four-hour two-fisted beating followed by a brutal double decapitation that left the creeps that managed to hold onto their jobs scared and confused. Nobody who counts for a damn will miss them for a second or shed a tear for the fate of the Coalition, which now faces years of irrelevance as it attempts to reform from being a party of white supremacist reactionaries led by a sleazy, incompetent rat-bastard and his revoltingly stupid and nasty goons. They are as popular as cancer right now, and are likely to remain that way for the forseeable future, thank Christ, and all the Liberal members who were cautiously optimistic about their chances of tricking the Australian public into tightening the noose around its own neck for another three years can settle down for a huge serving of crow. Of course, it's the arch-fucker himself who can sit down at his table and really try to wrestle down the hugest, still alive and bitingest crow of all, squawking and clawing at him as he tries to gulp down mouthful after mouthful of horrid tasting feathers. The piece of shit turned the election into a referendum on Howard, and everyone put a one in the "FUCK YOU" box.
I still remember the feeling of dread that overwhelmed me back when Mr. Keating lost to the arsehole, and by and large the feeling was completely vindicated over the last decade with a couple of new wrinkles that were so horrible that they were not reasonably imaginable in 1996. I remember that cold dread and the feeling that the sun wouldn't rise again, and I know that the few hardcore Liberals left in this country are gripped in their black reptilian hearts with the same terror.
Next year is Bush, the Motherfucker of the World, probably the worst leader of the US in history. While the two-term limit in the US precludes the possibility of the kind of humiliation that was visited on our rodent, we can hope that his friends and lackeys are swept out of the way too. At the very least, nobody the Americans could possibly dig up to cram into the Oval Office can be worse than the screaming horror that's currently there. It seems the world has finally gotten sick of being governed by unmentionable, insane horrors.
I still remember the feeling of dread that overwhelmed me back when Mr. Keating lost to the arsehole, and by and large the feeling was completely vindicated over the last decade with a couple of new wrinkles that were so horrible that they were not reasonably imaginable in 1996. I remember that cold dread and the feeling that the sun wouldn't rise again, and I know that the few hardcore Liberals left in this country are gripped in their black reptilian hearts with the same terror.
Next year is Bush, the Motherfucker of the World, probably the worst leader of the US in history. While the two-term limit in the US precludes the possibility of the kind of humiliation that was visited on our rodent, we can hope that his friends and lackeys are swept out of the way too. At the very least, nobody the Americans could possibly dig up to cram into the Oval Office can be worse than the screaming horror that's currently there. It seems the world has finally gotten sick of being governed by unmentionable, insane horrors.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Epiphany
I suffered an epiphany on Saturday. An epiphany is like a temporal migraine - it rips back into the past and retrofits all your memories. A painful thing to endure mid-bender, but usually quite unavoidable.
The greasy monsters I associate with aren't shunned by society - we do all the shunning. There's nothing inherently wrong with us that make it so people want nothing to do with us. It's just that, at parties and everywhere else, we come across as snobbish, arrogant bastards. Most people feel like we ignore them (we do), and the few that try to talk to us either can't squeeze a word in edgewise or else are dreadfully insulted or threatened away. People quite often are rightly put off by us because we're mean, standoffish pricks who act like we don't want anything to do with anyone.
This may not be news to you, gentle reader who has known us for years, but it's a load off my mind. All this time I thought it was a case of the mutants being hunted and herded into corners by the mean old normals, when in fact it turned out that we were the bad guys all along.
Just like in all my favourite movies!
This morning I was equipped with a one-way ticket to London. I leave Melbourne on February 1 in the middle of the afternoon. Everything that happens between now and then is my problem.
You may now do anything you want.
The greasy monsters I associate with aren't shunned by society - we do all the shunning. There's nothing inherently wrong with us that make it so people want nothing to do with us. It's just that, at parties and everywhere else, we come across as snobbish, arrogant bastards. Most people feel like we ignore them (we do), and the few that try to talk to us either can't squeeze a word in edgewise or else are dreadfully insulted or threatened away. People quite often are rightly put off by us because we're mean, standoffish pricks who act like we don't want anything to do with anyone.
This may not be news to you, gentle reader who has known us for years, but it's a load off my mind. All this time I thought it was a case of the mutants being hunted and herded into corners by the mean old normals, when in fact it turned out that we were the bad guys all along.
Just like in all my favourite movies!
This morning I was equipped with a one-way ticket to London. I leave Melbourne on February 1 in the middle of the afternoon. Everything that happens between now and then is my problem.
You may now do anything you want.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
BAH
Saturday nights are usually a tough run. It's hard enough to keep it all together when left entrely to your own devices, but on a balmy evening with the moon riding high in the saddle and the streets littered with howling drunks the whole enterprise becomes nigh on impossible. But there I was, despite the various issues, doing my best to behave in a slightly better pub than I'm usually allowed into. There were monsters there, but they left, and then it was off to a coffee shop in North Adelaide at 2am why not.
Some of you will be hissing back your breath at the mention of that place - your teeth will have clenched and your eyes will narrow and dart around furtively. Some of you have no idea what the hell I'm talking about, however - so let me explain. North Adelaide is a place of trendy folks - hip young people, rich if at all possible, and on 2am on a Sunday morning a lot of people who wear suits to the cocktail lounges wash up there for a frappachino al dente with an espresso chaseur. This is all well and good if you're young and trendy. If you're a hunched over monster with a case of the three-day shakes (like most of the people I know), North Adelaide is a place where the police will beat you all night if they see you, and even if you avoid them everyone else in North Adelaide can detect you and they order their chauffeurs to hurl empty Pellegrino water bottles and broken monocles at you. You get the idea.
In any case, you can imagine that I made a scene in the coffee shop, and if you can do that you'd be imagining something that happened. To make a long story short I was beset on all sides by yuppies, had a door shoved into my face, exchanged sharp words with the woman responsible who was wearing a dress that was worth much more than all of my possessions put together, couldn't get seated, and when I did was horrified by the price of the items they were fencing. It was all too much, I got up and left without ordering or making any farewells and before I knew it I was stalking across the dangerous suburb, keeping a keen weather-eye out for the cops and their monster-hunting dogs.
I think there comes a time, at which point it has to be decided whether you're going to become a nice little human, settle down and really get yourself into some Debt, or if you're going to roam through life, fucking everything up with both fists and generally doing what you want. If the latter choice is taken, you forsake the right to bitch that nobody puts up with you and you can't sip a latte in peace. It's probably a small price to pay to avoid a lifetime of dull conversations with boring arseholes about mortgages and baby products and eighty-thousand dollar cars, but having selected such a road the lumps must be taken. You enter a place where the cops can sniff you out and beat you, where normal people walk right through you like you don't exist, where advertising cuts through your face like broken glass - and the sneers of the women, y'all.
Of course, the choice is easy for me, as I am constructed in the manner that I am and in addition have been driven mad by Circumstances. What I need to do now, and this is what I have realised lately, is to stop even pretending to be able to pass myself off as human and really get down to some monsterism. After all, even if I do my best to behave human, it just looks strange to the people observing the spectacle. I stumble over certain ways of thinking and strange things slip out from time to time. The best I can ever hope for along that road is to be loosely tolerated by a group of humans who will treat me like some kind of rummy and think of me fondly as an example to all their friends of what happens to those who aren't prudently invested by age 30.
So I no longer have time for the boring pinks of this world - I will only deal with interesting people who aren't interested in clipping most of the essence off of life in return for the promise of some bullshit security or half-arsed car. Luckily I am already surrounded by monsters of various stripes, but there must be others out there somewhere. Above all I have to stop worrying that I don't fit in with the pinks, and that I'm not living up to their cretinous ideas of success. After all, Gilgamesh didn't fit in with the pinks - he tyrannised them horribly, and it all worked out pretty well for him.
Some of you will be hissing back your breath at the mention of that place - your teeth will have clenched and your eyes will narrow and dart around furtively. Some of you have no idea what the hell I'm talking about, however - so let me explain. North Adelaide is a place of trendy folks - hip young people, rich if at all possible, and on 2am on a Sunday morning a lot of people who wear suits to the cocktail lounges wash up there for a frappachino al dente with an espresso chaseur. This is all well and good if you're young and trendy. If you're a hunched over monster with a case of the three-day shakes (like most of the people I know), North Adelaide is a place where the police will beat you all night if they see you, and even if you avoid them everyone else in North Adelaide can detect you and they order their chauffeurs to hurl empty Pellegrino water bottles and broken monocles at you. You get the idea.
In any case, you can imagine that I made a scene in the coffee shop, and if you can do that you'd be imagining something that happened. To make a long story short I was beset on all sides by yuppies, had a door shoved into my face, exchanged sharp words with the woman responsible who was wearing a dress that was worth much more than all of my possessions put together, couldn't get seated, and when I did was horrified by the price of the items they were fencing. It was all too much, I got up and left without ordering or making any farewells and before I knew it I was stalking across the dangerous suburb, keeping a keen weather-eye out for the cops and their monster-hunting dogs.
I think there comes a time, at which point it has to be decided whether you're going to become a nice little human, settle down and really get yourself into some Debt, or if you're going to roam through life, fucking everything up with both fists and generally doing what you want. If the latter choice is taken, you forsake the right to bitch that nobody puts up with you and you can't sip a latte in peace. It's probably a small price to pay to avoid a lifetime of dull conversations with boring arseholes about mortgages and baby products and eighty-thousand dollar cars, but having selected such a road the lumps must be taken. You enter a place where the cops can sniff you out and beat you, where normal people walk right through you like you don't exist, where advertising cuts through your face like broken glass - and the sneers of the women, y'all.
Of course, the choice is easy for me, as I am constructed in the manner that I am and in addition have been driven mad by Circumstances. What I need to do now, and this is what I have realised lately, is to stop even pretending to be able to pass myself off as human and really get down to some monsterism. After all, even if I do my best to behave human, it just looks strange to the people observing the spectacle. I stumble over certain ways of thinking and strange things slip out from time to time. The best I can ever hope for along that road is to be loosely tolerated by a group of humans who will treat me like some kind of rummy and think of me fondly as an example to all their friends of what happens to those who aren't prudently invested by age 30.
So I no longer have time for the boring pinks of this world - I will only deal with interesting people who aren't interested in clipping most of the essence off of life in return for the promise of some bullshit security or half-arsed car. Luckily I am already surrounded by monsters of various stripes, but there must be others out there somewhere. Above all I have to stop worrying that I don't fit in with the pinks, and that I'm not living up to their cretinous ideas of success. After all, Gilgamesh didn't fit in with the pinks - he tyrannised them horribly, and it all worked out pretty well for him.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Some pictures
My computer is broken in just such a way as to make it unable to operate the scanner, so here are some low quality photos I've taken of some of my recent stuff. Hope you enjoy. If you want me to draw you something, let me know. I'm trying to draw something new every day. Sorry about the shitty quality. My phone camera isn't up to much.
Friday, September 14, 2007
New Blog
Taking some advice, I have started up a new blog at drijnzo.blogspot.com which will soon contain the more polished writings that I am intended to work on soon. There's nothing there now - I mostly just posted this so that I don't forget where it is.
This blog is still the premier place for raves, implied threats and stupiditude, so stop on by when you get the inklin'.
This blog is still the premier place for raves, implied threats and stupiditude, so stop on by when you get the inklin'.
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