If I lower mine to yours would you kiss me on the face?

So it's Christmas yadda yadda yadda, you know the shtick, seeing some family, eating a lot, receiving some presents and wondering where the rest got to. Mine was ok. Actually, it was great. I did the usual things that we'd all expect including falling asleep on the couch with my mouth open and eating the same meal 4 times in a row. I saw my parents which was nice, but as always, slightly uncomfortable. And I'll tell you why.

Their toilet is too high. When I sit on it I can swing my legs (not advisable when pooing) and that also means that you don't really sit in the toilet but perched on top of it. So I can never poo properly when I am there. So it makes me uncomfortable. Not the worst complaint ever but you know, not the best. When I was younger I remember having to take my skateboard in with me to rest my feet on because the seat was too damn high. By younger I mean in high school. I needed a skateboard to poo at home in high school. Audible exhalation of breath.

Baby I'm tired and baby what tires me is serving women I want to move in with. I was just serving this girl with all these tattoos and she was was wearing this perfume and I swear it fogged my brain because all I could think about was what the back of her neck would feel like under my nose and whether or not she would slap my hand away as I traced the outlines of her tattoos, would she roll towards me and would I lower mine to to hers and would we kiss in that slow timeless way and would aeon's roll by as our passion consumed us?

Would I finally be happy?

Don't answer that.

6lbs.

So she had the baby on the weekend. I got a txt saying “Baby born 4.40am. Both well.” I tell you, I’ve had worse texts. For reasons that I cannot explain, this put me in a stellar mood. Go figure. But seriously folks, I’m very vey happy for her. Welcome to motherhood Spookyrumpus.

So at the moment I’ve been spending all my free time on the couch watching DVDs. Makes for a good time, does not make for good conversation. I watched ‘Jennifers body’ on the weekend, starring Megan Fox and written by Diablo Codi. It was actually pretty good. Thoroughly entertaining even. This is where I should probably do a proper review off all the things I’ve been watching, but I am too lazy and unmotivated.

(So as a quick side note I was serving an African-American lady the other day and we were talking about how Jesus is quite often young catholic girls “wank material”. A guy who looks like Jesus just walked in, I’m so tempted to tell him that catholic girls around the world are flicking the bean to him. Anywho).

I also watched ‘Mary and Max’ by Adam Elliot. I hate it when animated stuff makes me cry ie ‘Up’. Those fucking animal rescue shows and animated characters, they’re the only things that will make my eyes spring leaks. You know those documentaries where the mother elephant rejects the baby elephant only to then accept it and show it genuine affection? Gets me every time. I am beginning to wonder if perhaps my estrogen levels are too high or something.

Also, what’s the deal with all this crazy indigestion and heart burn at the moment? Does everyone have it or is it just me? If it’s just me then it fucking sucks. Go away.

Oh yeah, it’s Christmas. God I hate this season. I can’t wait until it’s over for another year. I really do hate it. At least this year I’m not battling suicidal depression, which is nice. It’s retail that does it to me I swear. I know I was never a fan of it as a kid but 9 years of retail and 9 years of having to be nice to people who are frankly, arse-holes, has killed any excitement or mystery for me. It was Borders that did it, I think. I remember one year working all Christmas at those banks of registers, one customer after another, never ending, having one day off, then back to it, then being told off for going home early on new years day. Fuck you cunts, at least I turned up. That Robbie Williams look-a-like with his short man syndrome. Anyway, where was I? Yeah, hating the world. That’s right.

This Christmas I will be spending with my cousin at her house. She is cooking what I think will be a feast. I am excited. I have some valium incase it gets a bit ‘much’. It is not advisable to call me unless it’s been a while since you heard someone mumble and not make much sense. It looks like it will rain Christmas eve, which is how I always remember it as a kid. A storm the night before Christmas, clearing all the foul air and replacing it with the fresh stuff. Something like that anyway.

So we had my work party the other night. Wow, what a waste of time that was. I turned up to show my ‘enthusiasm’ for the company and my cunt of a boss was just a cunt to me. I swear, she is addicted to bitch pills. One of the other managers got wasted to the point of being gross, a couple of people threw up in the garden, someone threw up in the toilet but managed to miss the actual bowl and instead concentrated on making sure the floor was of an even coating.

Of course, I kept myself clean and respectable. Stoners are generally not known for their outrageous behavior. Sure, they can be pretty boring conversationalists, but that’s it. Saying that though, have you ever been sober and tried to talk to a drunk person? Yeah, that’s right, even worse. They have no obvious train of though, they repeat themselves, they smell and they lean in FAR too close. And their breath stinks like shit, and they touch you all the time. All the time with their touching.

I don’t like touching. I really don’t like it when people touch me. I especially don’t like it when they touch me for too long. I fucking hate it when they are drunk and gross and kind of going in for the kiss but not really and their face just ends up in your neck. Oh it’s foul. It makes me want to scream “Just back the fuck up!” but then I’ll be the weird one. Because I don’t like being touched by drunk people. For fucks sake, or, conversely Mr Internet, FFS.

Were you the one that bought a gun to a snowball fight?

I just read over my posts from the same time last year. Say what you will, crippling depression makes me a much more interesting writer. Why is that I wonder? It also makes me talk about sex incessantly. This one I understand. It’s because I’m horny.

This post is angry bitter and lonely. So in essence, a perfect Christmas post. Merry Christmas, or perhaps, go fuck yourself. Your call.

one sentence dot org

I really like this site. It's beautiful and heart breaking and makes me like I haven't felt in years, although, it could just be the onset of some serious depression. I wish that I could express myself as succinctly as some of these people can. I also wish that I had problems that could be explained away in only one sentence.

Here are some sentences about my weekend.

Even though I did not drink I managed to wake up with all the symptoms of hangover including the regrets.

Why am I the only one who takes "dress as crazy as you can" literally?

I got home and watched "The royal Tennenbaums" just for the scene where Luke Wilsons character attempts suicide.

After having not eaten properly all weekend I started the week famished and nauseous.

And here's a conversation I just had with myself in my head.

Brain to Heart: Don't do it, forget her and go find something else to think about.

Heart to Brain: But I like her. Besides, you're all fucked up on pot, who knows what you really like.

Brain to Heart: True that, but I can see this one coming a mile away. I'm the one connected to the eyes you know.

Heart to Brain: Yeah, but I feel it in the pit of my gut that this might work.

Brain to Heart: You're a fucking idiot. I'm warning you, this will not end well for either of us.

(Heart goes out and does it).

Later both Brain and Heart lie unsatisfied and unfulfilled.

Brain to Heart: I hate you you know. If it weren't for you I could survive this.

Heart to Brain: I'm sorry.

Brain to Heart: Just shut the fuck up ok? For the last three years I've been listening to you, listening to your bullshit, your tiny never ending lies, your false hopes and dreams, and what has it got me? Fucking nothing, no where, no how. You're an asshole and I wish you couldn't feel so I could.

Heart to Brain: Why do you hate me so?

Brain to Heart: I could ask you the very same thing.

Thoughts for today.

I can see your underwear, possibly because you are just wearing a giant singlet over a bra. Nice bra though.

Yours too.

Oh my god those shorts are to die for. No, I’m serious, I’ll kill myself if you won’t let me in them.

When you lift your shirt like that and expose your ridiculously flat stomach I have to bite the inside of my lip and look away. Do you even realize how beautiful your youth makes you?

Quit hiking that skirt up, did you not hear what I just said?

When I asked for a sandwich I did not expect a French roll.

Which reminds me, I haven’t eaten brie in a while. Mmm, soft cheese.

Its not that I don’t want to see you, its just that I don’t want to spend hours listening to you talk about yourself. Last time we met, you didn’t even ask how I was, just launched into one of your stories.

I’m pretty sure that’s just a man with tits. I’m also pretty sure that the place they work is a front for something.

I’m not calling her again, not after she stood me up and lied to me.

But damnit I want to, just to bask in her reflected beauty.

All of these things are about women. Except for the ones about French bread and brie.

For all the hours that you spent being tattooed, I would spend that same amount of hours and more making sure you were happy.

I just caught myself saying out loud “fuck it I need to get laid”. Why I am telling myself such obvious truths is beyond me.

I should of gone to those drinks, even just to flirt a little bit.

But then again, why would I do that, why would I do that to myself?

Holy shit, Nine Inch Nails are so much better than I gave them credit for. Sorry Matt.

Tonight is a great night for television. Seriously, is this what I’ve been looking forward to?

You know when you see those smacked out junkies on the tram all nodding off with unlit cigarettes between their lips, do you ever get jealous that they are exactly where they want to be and you’re heading to work for some people who you hate?

I do. Very jealous.

With these grey shorts, pink belt and belly I look like a fag from Miami.

I haven’t taken a photo of my penis in a while.

Where does one got to find out if they have tourettes?

Is Mogais’ song “Stupid fuck gets chased by the Police and then loses his slut girlfriend” quite possibly the best track name ever? Also, one of the greatest songs of all time, coincidently.

Just helped a kid rescue a butterfly from the front window. Near broke my damn heart.

Looking up miniature pigs on the internet. Fuck this, I need intimacy STAT.

Racecar Racecar, wear that bag like a hat.

I got a free membership in the mail the other day for some nightclub. They spelt my name wrong. Even so, I was excited to actually receive something in the mail. I felt like they had gone out of their way to send me this membership to a club I’ve never heard of and I felt it would be an insult to them if I did not go. It triggered feelings of acceptance and comfort, I felt like people actually wanted to see me, like I was loved and needed, I felt like that if I were to opt not to go then the entire club would be disappointed, that the DJ would kill the music and announce that my presence would not be felt, there would be a collective “Aww” and then in the back a girl would start her slow lonely sobbing, I felt all of these things before I realized, just how damn lonely have I become, that a membership to a club that I didn’t apply to, my name spelt wrong and everything, made me feel like I had friends?

Damn it made me want to shoot myself. For being suckered in the first place and not having my defenses up, for being so vulnerable that I would lie to myself. It made me think, how desperate am I? Honesty is not always the best policy, especially when you are critiquing yourself.

And don’t, I repeat, don’t you fucking dare call me and tell me you are my fiend. I know you are. I am aware that at the moment we are a little estranged, it’s not your fault and it’s most likely mine. I still love you, but at the moment, I just don’t feel like actively doing it.

I am really enjoying scars on people at the moment. I just saw a guy with the classic stitches’ scar, a line down the middle of two rows of dots. I like the way that human skin will keep a memory of a moment, even when the human brain does not. I went to roller derby on the weekend and sat behind a girl who had scars all over her, both knees, her arm. I sat behind her trying to piece together what had happened, was it a car crash I wondered, or perhaps a bicycle accident. Was she drunk, who was there and what did they use to stem the flow of blood? There is a girl that serves me at my local sandwich shop and she has a scar on her cheek and jaw and her face is very asymmetrical, I can’t work out whether something violent happened or it is corrective. I find her strangely alluring, she is beautiful and there is no doubt about it.

I read the term ‘bacon sarnie’ last week and have not been able to get it out of my fucking head. Bacon sarnie bacon sarnie, round and round it goes. Then watching Top Gear last night James May used the term. It was like someone had filled a very specific hole in my mind.

So my doctor told me the other day that perhaps I have an obsessive compulsive thing going on with food at the moment. Like comfort eating. I eat a shit load. I then have to shit a shit load. I’m like a baby, I eat, poop and am permanently disgruntled. I have milk breath. I think my doctor is right though. I eat compulsively. I have discovered this stuff called “Branston pickles” which is not really a chutney, not really a spread. I’ll tell you what it is though, and that’s fucking delicious. I have been making egg and bacon sarnies with a bit of Branstons thrown in. Oh man, I could compulsively eat one now. Damn they are good.

The down side to all of this though is that when I pee I have to lean forward slightly if I want to see my penis. Meh, there are worse things.

Observations for today.

You can just wear the hat, its ok, you don’t have to walk around with both hands in the air holding it above your head.

Sure I’m friendly and a little bit intimidating.

Hey dude, stop tugging your t-shirt like that, it only draws attention to the fact that you’ve either pissed yourself or are trying to conceal an erection.

Complaining about the tram won’t make it come any quicker but it will make me totally uninterested in anything you have to say. Also, I’m wearing ear plugs for a reason and the reason is so people don’t talk to me.

I sure could use a piece of ass. I’m just saying.

Hip hop that talks relentlessly about pussy is much like that really camp kid in high school that always talked about his interstate girlfriend but choked on the word vagina.

Unintentional irony is the new black because it matches so well with the embarrassment that comes with it. See above.

Making sexist jokes to feminists who just got back from a union rally is a risky business that should not be undertaken lightly.

Imagining this-particular-girl getting double-teamed is, well, kinda boring.

No shoes no shirt no service.

What I first thought was a running midget turned out to be a woman in a wheel chair. Better/worse?

Go and get me a slurpee.

Saskia’s never coming back and I should have asked her out when I had the chance. She was a sound artist for gods sake. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I sure loved that show, Dead Set, last night, so much so that I dreamed about zombies.

Should have gone to bed earlier though. 2am is not acceptable on a school night.

Must remember to buy pasta on the way home.

I think my drug dealer tried to call me at 8am. What could he have possibly had to say other that “I’ve been awake all night, have you?”

I still don’t understand religious fervor. How can a person believe in a god in this obviously godless world?

Not to get all Jeremy Clarkson on you, but why can’t Ford make a pretty car anymore? I just walked past a GT 500 and it looks like someone tried to make a brick more aero dynamic by dropping it a few times to take any corners off.

I also just walked past Australia’s own Chopper Read, who, without ears, also looks like a brick. I often wonder how his hearing is, but I dare you to ask him.

I just coughed/choked on a sushi roll and now I have what feels like a grain of rice lodged up in my nose somewhere. Should make for an interesting afternoon.

Hang on, isn’t this what twitter is for?

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again, people eating in their cars weirds me out. There is something strangely intimate yet public about it. Is this the foodies version of dogging?

There is a window cleaner that walks around talking to himself. He swears a lot. I wonder how business is going?

There is also a group of African men who walk around with bins picking up rubbish. It feels like I’m in South Africa. I would be more comfortable if they were white because then it wouldn’t feel like it’s subtly reinforcing the latent undercurrent of racism that Australia has.

So, leggings in summer = sweaty vaginal patches. Did you not see that one coming?

That girl who is a receptionist in the florist has a great set of tits. Just saying.

I saw a really fat Asian girl this morning and her obesity made her face look TINY. Like it was a joke or something. You could have fit two of her faces on her head, and that would have been awesome!

Recently I have been greeting people with the peace sign. I don’t know where it started and to be honest I’m kind of embarrassed about it. I don’t even know how to defend it, ‘it’s just me, throwin’ up the dove’. Hey look, I just coined a phrase. Shit.

If I met a girl who, for some unfathomable but probably father-related-issue reason liked to be treated really badly, how would it reflect if I changed my behavior to suit her preferences? For instance, just being out and out mean to her, but all in the spirit of trying to sleep with her.

What's the time Mr Wolf?

I went to a party and no one kicked the shit out of me. Which was nice.

A little while ago I got an invite to a friends 30^th birthday and it’s a dress up party with the themes “Controversial, confronting or cou cou couture”. I wrack my brain for days trying to think of an appropriate outfit, and then one morning in the shower inspiration strikes and I have my Eureka moment. I know, I say to myself, I can finally use that African-American blow up doll that I was be quested years ago. So I fixed her leaks as best I could and bought her a shiny new outfit and we were ready to go. It was a conceptual outfit, I was either a mis-en scene called “Under age nigger getting anally raped” or, more succinctly, I could just point to myself and say “I’m a rapist”. You can see how this might cause offense.

So on the night of the party I begin packing my bags and getting ready to go. I was catching public transport there so of course I was not travelling in costume, my death wish is rather too personal to just let any body grant it at a tram stop. As I’m packing my bags it begins to dawn on me just how wrong this night could go. In my bag I have

• One blow up doll, black, with long singlet worn as a dress
• One mobile phone charger wire for tying dolls hands behind back
• One pair of underwear, small, stuffed in the dolls mouth.
• One balaclava
• Two pairs of blue surgical gloves
• Black hoodie

I realize that what I have in my bag is actually a rape kit and if I am stopped by the police I am fucked and not just ‘in a little bit of trouble’ fucked, but probably proper fucked. Understandably I start getting a little bit nervous. I smoke a joint to relax me, unsurprisingly, this does not help. “You only live once” I tell myself as I head out the door. During the whole tram ride there I am on the verge of having a full on anxiety attack, I can feel my heart racing and I am trying not to look too nervous. It does not help that like a Chihuahua I let out an involuntary yelp anytime anyone who looks even vaguely authoritarian gets on. I finally arrive at my destination and alight from the tram, basically running towards the house where the party is.

I get there and realize that I have made a terrible mistake. Instead of a room full of people dressed as abortions, which I half expected, everyone is dressed in eveningwear, there are long gloves and pearls, hats and sequins. There are, of course, a few people looking a bit odd, but nothing too outrageous. I find a room to change in. By now I am so nervous that I am quite literally sweating like a rapist. I am wearing a balaclava, a black hoodie, blue rubber gloves and tied around my waist with my ‘rape belt’ is a black blow up sex doll with underwear stuffed in her mouth and her hands tied behind her back with electrical wire. I mumble my hellos to a few people as well as apologies as I don my outfit, I take a deep breath and step out into the party where a sextet are entertaining the crowd with some classical music.

The first thing I see is a black man. The second thing I see is a lady take one look at me, gather up her child and exit. Heads turn towards me and there are a few open mouths. Sweat is pouring freely off me and I am shaking like a leaf. Generally, I don’t get nervous. Being the centre of attention is not usually a problem for me, but in this case I am not only aware of any public scrutiny but imagining it tenfold. I am so paranoid that suddenly every snatch of a sentence I hear is about me, every gesture I interpret as a warning to move on and to not come back. I am being stared at and behind my balaclava my face is a portrait of anxiety. I am, quite literally, the face of fear. By now I am sweating to such a degree that my gloves are starting to fill up with sweat, not just moisture, so much so that later I will tip them out and it will be like emptying a drink. I stand around nervously for a few minutes, desperately fighting the impulse just to turn and run.

Then the unexpected happens. A very pretty and well-dressed girl comes up and starts talking to me. She is the sort of girl that generally I would be a little bit afraid of because she is obviously quite cool and stylish and also, to be frank, quite hot. She tells me she likes my outfit and we begin chatting. A few more people come up and comment on my costume and pretty soon I have relaxed considerably. I have to take the balaclava off because no one can hear my voice and later the gloves because they get in the way. The sole black guy at the party, the main person who I am afraid of offending, comes up and we talk. He is horrified/impressed with my outfit and tells me that I am very brave. To begin with, I have the feeling that he can’t decide weather to be angry and offended or to laugh along with me. I’d say that he took the humor path because he starts circling me and then later starts trying to pick me up. He is delightfully handsome, but I say no. The night is strange enough already.

Just before I leave someone taps me on the shoulder and points to the dance floor where there is a man dressed in thigh high patent black leather lace up stilettos, a pair of tighty whitey jocks with a cock drawn on the front and “I’m expensive” written on the back, a singlet with the word “Slut” on it, a captains hat and a gas mask. I realize that the mantel of most confronting has been taken from me, for which I am glad. For the last hour, whenever I had been introduced to people they say “Oh you’re the rapist” and it had started to become a bit unnerving.

So to recap, I went to as party as interracial underage rape and made a bunch of new friends, including, a black man who took a real shine to me. I am sure there were a few people there who did not think my costume in anyway amusing, but to hell with them, they were probably really boring. I fully expected to be punched in the face, and, in truth, was kind of looking forward to being kicked out of a party, but in the end, I was welcomed and accepted for being the sick weird fuck I really am.

You know?

Failure to Launch, failure to even get the rocket on the fucking pad.

To tell you the truth, I don't know why I called her. I knew that we would end up just talking about her weekend and how that guy came down from Sydney to fuck her, and not about how I had feelings for her like I said I did on Friday. More breath and brain space wasted, I may as well just stand on the corner and spoon that shit out like some weird pink and grey ice cream delivery service, all the while becoming slowly retarded as I give myself a lobotomy.

It really is all about me you know. I could beat my head against a wall of women and all I would get is a loving concussion. Oh I am tired and should have taken that Valium when I had the chance. At least then I could have slept.

I wish I could eat properly at the moment. I get so outrageously hungry, then as soon as food is on my plate the hunger evaporates. Its killing me. I'm back to midnight cereals and taking bananas to bed with me in case I wake up hungry. Which reminds me, I have to buy some more bananas.

I had a pretty culture filled weekend. I saw Fischerspooner on Friday night, they were ok. It went from alright to awesome and then just ok and then pretty good then just ok again. If only it was consistent. I didn't get to bed until about 4 so I spent Saturday feeling like I was hung over but without the drinking that goes with it. I slept, played some video games, cleaned the house, ate, went to bed. It was... nice. On Sunday a friend and I saw the Ricky Swallows exhibition at the Ian Potter gallery. It was pretty amazing although after talking to some 'arty' people I am beginning to think that perhaps not so amazing. Apparently he has a lot of helpers who aren't mentioned in any of the articles, still, the work was very beautiful. It's sculpture, a lot of wood carving, and for some of it the quality of work is absolutely fantastic, I'll give him that.

I think the high-light of my weekend though was seeing the movie Moon with Sam Rockwell. I love my sci-fi and this film was absolutely wonderful. Nothing huge and no mega mind blowing special effects, in fact, I think a lot of the effects are models as opposed to CGI or anything like that. Do they even call it CGI anymore? Who knows. Whatever, all that counts is that it was a great film and not to be missed. Sam Rockwell is the man. For rizzle. I would move to the moon, if only for the desolation.

Between all of these activities I though about her, her thighs, her hair, her eyes. I set myself up for quite a fall, for no reason other than it kept my mind busy. I wonder now what I will think about to avoid thinking about her, quantum physics perhaps, maybe design something new and inventive that everybody's been waiting for. Maybe some new type of douche bag that I can name after myself, you know, just for laughs.

This blog is beginning to sound a lot like diary, which I don't like. Unless its Dylan Klebolds diary, which in that case is fine.

What I really want at the moment is to be inspired and I guess what smarts (to use a term from 1989 American TV) is that this girl, well, inspires me. I think about her and suddenly my minds all 'lay entangled in bed sheets and emotions' or how her skin is like milk and how my tongue longs to taste her sweat. She makes me want to write poetry again, poems that no one will ever read but will be written anyway, poems about skin and bodily fluids, poems about sex and love and all in between.

And let us not forget how desperate I am to fuck her. She conjures such rampant images of sex in my brain that its like a stampede at a brothel. Unrelenting. What is the name of that weird human emotion that makes me want to fuck her until her eyes roll back in her head and then hold her as she falls asleep and the hypnogagic twitches start.

I doubt there is a name really, people generally don't name things that they only experience in their imaginations. Except for kids, and they suck anyway.

I just re-read both this and my last entry and realised they are basically the same. Here's where i'd say something like 'Fuck I hate me' but I was told that this blog is very much a self indulgent rant. So fuck it, back on hiatus I go. See you when I could be bothered and feel that I can actually contribute to the culture of greatness instead contributing to the culture of mediocrity.

Circle around and come back for more.

So this is the second time that I've attempted this blog, I wrote one yesterday but then discarded it at the last moment. It wasn't very good, in fact, it was down right shit. So here I go again.

I looked after my nephew on the weekend. It was good although these bloody teenagers, its hard to know when they are bored or having fun, their faces remain the same. It was difficult to tell whether I pissed him off or pleased him. I can only assume he had a good time, I haven't received any angry phone calls so it must have been ok.

So a few posts ago I did an entry called Hotel California where I talked about an abandoned hotel that me and my friend went to. My very own personal photographer has put up some photos on his blog, check them out. It's very difficult to tell your friends that what they are doing is amazing with out sounding like you are sucking up their arse for some reason. The thing is, I love the direction that he is taking with his photos. He has a good eye and somehow manages to capture the feeling of whatever it is that he's shooting. Although I provided links to some flikr accounts, his pictures are better. I look forward to what The Future brings.

You know what I haven't been in a while? In love. I realised that I love, but I'm not in love. And it doesn't matter how much I love, if its unrequited then it means nothing. Saying that, I just spent 10 minutes on the phone with the girl I'm cultivating a crush on discussing her up coming weekend and how she is finally going to be able to fuck the guy she's been after. Yeah, it was a truly wonderful phone call. It reminds me of the time I had to listen to that girl that I was in love with get fucked by that dude that I secretly considered a douche bag. Yeah, that was awesome too. And he still has my Bumfights DVD, douche bag.

Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, L O V E love. That feeling you get when the person that you desire comes into your field of vision, like you stomach is about to take flight, like you are about to experience something amazingly wonderful. That giddy light headed feeling that could be love, could be a stroke.

And that's all the analogies that I could think of. Perhaps its better that I am not in love, it does not seem like I have much to offer anyone. You know how it is with love, it's all, like, exciting and shit.

I can lust though, that's something I can do. Oh I lust like there's no tomorrow. Perhaps if I wasn't serving such top quality trim all day then maybe I wouldn't be lusting so much. For instance, I just watched a hot Irish girl try on some jeans and play with her own ass in the mirror. Is it any fucking wonder I can't sleep at night?

And to think I abandoned the other blog because it was too depressing.

It ain't just for the young and disillusioned.

Today is a day I long to talk about depressing things, not because I am depressed, but because I will be if I don’t air them out like some wet coat I’ll go all moldy both inside and out and I don’t want that. I need not to smell like piss and decay, I already feel like that is what I am made out of.

So in interesting news one of my grandmothers tried to kill herself with an overdose of pills on the weekend. No, not the one that we all don’t like, the other one that only some of us like. I actually had to ask my cousin when she told me, “Should I be upset over this?” I know I know, I am weird and cold and emotionally removed. But hey, it’s life in the 21^st century, you need to be to remain stable. Apparently she has severe depression. There is a chance she may have a heart attack due to the drugs they had to give her to counteract the drugs she had taken. I figure this would be a win for her. As you know, I am a firm, supporter, if not advocator, of suicide. So I hope that this goes her way, because it’s pretty selfish of us to sit here and say “Oh noes, stay here alive in this life that you don’t like, it will make us feel better.” She is well and truly adult so she can with her life what she wants, and if she wants to end it, so be it.

I am expecting a visit from a friend. I use the term expecting as loosely as possible. I am hoping for a visit from her, I expect nothing. And I made myself ever so available.

On other not so new news, I am desperate for a piece of ass. If I have one more sexy dream I will officially have the libido of a 15yr old boy. It’s like the throttle is open, it just keeps ramping itself up. Everybody I encounter gets this thought about them; “Can I fuck you?” It’s getting crazy, I’m worried that someone will look at me the wrong way and in response I will just flop it out. And by it I mean my dick. I just had to pull myself back from flirting OUTRAGEOUSLY with a mature customer from New Zealand. I’ll give her some new zeal. I am my very own motivational poster.

Erections; I have one.

I saw a band called Metric on the weekend. Oh my fucking god. They were amazingly awesome. When I get over excited my vocabulary tends to be of the 14yr old valley girl variety so here’s some words that you can use to describe how the gig was. Wicked, awesome, excellent, bootylicious (?), mega, rocked out, it rocked, killer bee, tubular dude etc etc. I didn’t really get where I was going with that but hey, like any brave adventurer I struck out, one lost foot after the other.

What I am trying to day here, I guess, is that not only were Metric as tight as a drum but enthusiastic and professional as well. Really, a super super gig.

And so I leave you with perhaps my favourite lyric of theirs, from a song that they did not play. It’s called ‘Calculation theme’ and I have always wanted to lie in bed coming down off pills with someone, listening to this song. When it is over, we’ll fuck, slowly and methodically, until we fall asleep in each others arms. I do not ask for much.

Tonight your ghost will ask my ghost, where is the love?

Tonight your ghost will ask my ghost, who put these bodies between us?

Hotel California

What the fuck? Wiggers suck.

Also, I was here on the weekend only it doesn't look as good as it does in these photos. Must be something about printing the address of an abandoned hotel that really draws in those with destructive tendancies. Personally, I would have left it was it was. Perhaps I am a purest but I think that abandoned buildings are much better when they have not been violated.

Or perhaps not. This stuff is totally up my alley.

Pop those trotters up here on my shoulders.

So gang how are we all today? Well I hope. I am excellent, the sun is out and its school holidays and people are happy just to be here. Outside lovers are throwing their arms around each other like is is 1945 and they are in times square ready to become an iconic photo that will be parodied years down the track. What I'm saying I guess is its a nice day to be here, which is not something I'd usually say.

So as a continuation of my week of firsts I got my first tattoo on the weekend. In a word, it was awesome. I thoroughly enjoyed the whole thing. I think I liked the pain most of all. No joke. It made me have to have a bit of a think about pain and my relation to it and I came to some conclusions.

During my headache period I got to the stage where I was almost waiting for them to come, not because I liked the pain, but because the relief was so intense when they stopped that it was like taking really really nice drugs. I had a bit of the same thing with the tattoo but only I really liked the pain more than the relief. I think because I have experienced such extremes of pain with my Cluster Headaches that I'm kinda getting used to it. It becomes such a big part of my life that I almost welcome it, I am so used to its presence that I feel odd if it is not there. Perhaps a sort of Stockholm syndrome. After I left the tattoo studio I felt like I was on top of the world, the endorphin load was intense, I felt like I could have derailed a train with my cock is how tough I felt, like I could have just flipped that bad boy out and made some headlines.

I'm not explaining it very well, but when you do something every night at the same time with out fail you are bound to begin to expect it and perhaps miss it a little when it doesn't come. Is that crazy? I am having a hard time putting it into words, perhaps, I became so used to the almost constant pain that life without it was somehow lacking something. Now I have found a replacement that gives me a similar thrill without me wishing that I was dead. There, I think that's probably enough.

Worst explanation of someone discovering masochism ever.

Once and future king.

This week I have had two firsts. I used aftershave lotion for the first time this morning and I bought my first porn film this week. Sure, the porn was a pirate copy and the aftershave lotion was in a 2 dollar bin at my local Priceline, so you know, now I fucking want to kill myself. The amount of pathetic in my life is nearly equal to the amount of suck. No, suck seems to be winning. Great. Somebody had to take the lead I suppose.

So I'm going to talk about this porno. I've watched a few porn films in my life, not as many as you'd expect, maybe about 4? This one was called "Greedy Asses". It was not what I expected. So much violence directed towards the women. Choking, strangling, your basic dehumanisation. Call me crazy call me a pervert but I just can't get down like that. In one of the scenes one of the girls actually looks afraid, and that's before they start slapping her.

If I could just quote a line from the review, "I enjoyed the level-on community that was felt in this scene". Yeah, I really like the way they violently sodomised the young girl and how it was obvious that although she was there she was totally not into it and there was a feeling that if the cameras weren't there then it would have just been out and out rape. It seems to me that the film makers have worked out that if you only tell a girl half of whats going to happen, that way she doesn't have to act surprised when something awful happens to her. That way, the shock and pain on her face are genuine.

I know I know, you don't have to watch hardcore porn if you don't want to, there is no one forcing you. This is not my issue. I think pornography is a great thing but like all great things it can be abused. My issue is, and I've said it before, my issue is with how common place the violence is. In today's world, we learn a lot about sex from porn, don't say it isn't true or you'll be labeled a dickhead. What worries me is that people are learning the wrong things.

Aw fuck it. I don't really even care, I just thought maybe you might. I started this with an idea that I was going to be hilariously ironic and self deprecating but all I am realising is that I repeat myself over and over and what I originally said was not worth hearing in the first place. I was going to be all "Hey, isn't it hilarious how pathetic I am? Who else do you know that can spill such awkward truths?" The answer is, anyone with enough bile in them. It does not make me special that I hate myself, it just makes me sad and unapproachable. It's the same thing I found with the drunk Aborigines. What I once found amusing and entertaining I now find sad and indicative of whats wrong with it all.

Without a doubt, the passion has gone out of my life. I am tired and bored with whatever is presented to me. I couldn't care less about what is presented to me. I don't give a shit or a fuck and it's starting to show. There was a time recently where I would have bothered finishing this sent

Better than watching the footy.

I got these guys album today, mainly for a song which I saw on rage last weekend at about 2am. It's funny, sometimes being overtired and superbly stoned can influence your opinions on things, especially music. Turns out the album isn't actually that bad and I am looking forward to listening to this song over and over again when I turn 30 and am unable to get a working visa and am in the middle of regretting EVERYTHING that I've never done with my life. Oh it will be so bittersweet and I honestly can not see a way around it. I plan on a little rocking back and forth or maybe some sitting in a warm bath until it goes cold, crying. Yeah, that should do it. I don't need to wait until I'm middle aged, I can have my crisis right here and now. Excellent. In hindsight, however, I probably should have got the Mum album because I quite like them. Tomorrow.

Penis penis penis.

I recently bought the Band of Brothers DVD box set. It's excellent if you didn't know. It bought back many fond memories of when I holding the line in Bastogne. No, just kidding, it bought back many memories of an ex-housemate who used to get drunk and watch a particular episode over and over again. Ah alcoholism, how you nearly ruined us all.

There is some major construction work going on outside. Because of this, the store is unreasonable quiet. 2 hours 1 customer. Which reminds me of something, but I can't put my 'chicks eating shit straight from one anothers ass holes' finger on it. Maybe it will come to me after I vomit someones shit and piss all over the floor and then lick it up again.

So on the way home last night there was ANOTHER incident on Smith st. I am beginning to bore myself with these stories they are so common. I was telling my housemate about it last night and I found myself trailing off because I was sick of hearing it, sick of telling it, sick of it all really. I used to find huge entertainment value in these sorts of things but it is slowly wearing thin. Last night I watched an old Italian man get fed up with being asked for change and have a verbal go at one of the many drunk losers that hang outside the supermarket.

This other, old drunk Aboriginal guy sees what's happening and decides to go over and step in. This guy, the old drunk Aboriginal guy, lets call him Staggers, as in, Staggers the drunk clown. So Staggers goes up to the Italian guy and starts getting all in his face. The Italian guy is not really up for a fight, being about 65 and all and is more interested in getting his opinion across, which is fair enough. Staggers clearly just wants to start some shit and takes off his jacket all tough guy style. Because he is so drunk he almost falls over while doing this. That part in itself is pretty funny. The Italian guy is trying to get away with out having to fight him but Staggers is not backing down, doing the chest bump and every other antagonising thing that you could think of. The Italian guy tries backing off but Staggers wants to show him who's boss and swings him.

It doesn't connect and the Italian guy retaliates and socks Staggers who goes down, gets up again and catches a few more for his troubles. The old Italian man, who, may I remind you, is old, totally dominates Staggers and in the end one of the people crowded around watching (by now there are about 20 people) steps in and separates them, much like a parent prying two fighting children apart. A lady walks past me and says to her partner "What's this?" and I reply for him "This is Smith st". We laugh. Everybody goes home happy.

There is certainly something wrong with this picture. The fact that I am so desensitised that I watch this sort of stuff for fun now, the fact that I am so callous that I couldn't care who cops what, the fact that I am one incident away from turning into that old Italian guy and cutting loose. The fact that we joke about it like these peoples lives mean nothing to us. The sad fact that really, they don't just mean nothing, they are nothing. When I was a kid I wanted to be a social worker. Now that I am an adult, I am surprised that there are not more of these on the streets.

Surprise package

A few things today. Not much though. How are you? I am well. I am very glad that I am not this complete tool. I wonder what Jay-Z has got to say about it. Besides "fuck off, nobody likes you Weezy, you're a fucked up coke head, keep my girls name out your mouth understand?" Seriously, what an ass hat. I hope some cracker bailed him up after the show and was all "Y'all listen to me nigger," not because over the top racism is funny but because it's what would offend Wankest the most.

Also, the irony of this website tickled me pink in a way that I did not expect. Sure, censoring porn stars when they are swearing my seem like a good idea on paper, as long as said paper is made out of trees only grown on the moral high ground and bleached with white pride. That doesn't even make sense but I'm not here to make sense. Actually, what am I here for?

Heard this song before? I don't think I've ever told you that my dream job would be to make film clips. I'd kill to be able to make a clip for this song. It would start with a man being chased through a forest wearing the remnants of a dinner suit, maybe a mask like this but in black.

I liked this a lot. If you are not familiar with the Onion, familiarise yourself now.

There was a massive brawl on Smith st the other day. The police came down and doused everyone in capsicum spray. It was apparently awesome.

Fucking whatever

Today I am having a predatory day. I feel like a predator in a field full of game, my teeth are sharp and my eyes are keen, I smell blood on the wind and I want some. Today would be a good day to run, to get out on a track and try and run it all out of me. Run until I can’t run no more, then run again. Run until I vomit. This is how lions of the Serengeti must feel. Or wolves, when they wake up in the morning with the sun coming in through the clouds. I honestly can’t decide whether I want to hunt something down and fuck it or kill it. All the same yeah?

To be honest with you I am much more Hyena than anything else. I am the scavenger, the one who lurks around just on the edge of everything, waiting.

Wow I’m in a weird mood at the moment. All I can think about is sex, sexy sex. I am pretty much just a leer monster at the moment. I mean, I’m nice about it. I told a girl this morning that, “without giving too much away, you look fucking amazing”. I think though that my open mouth and staring eyes gave what little I’d held back. Today has been a great day for curves, to say the least.

This made me smile and acknowledge that humans are ok. This made me feel sick. When this happened last year I felt very sad for the poor young lady. Can you imagine, you and your boyfriend are naked somewhere, there has been sex and drinking, you are both high on life and indestructible as you drive down a highway screaming with laughter. He reaches across and lays a hand on your thigh, you look at him and think "So this is what it feels like to be a little bit in love".

This post has sucked. My damn shop smells like cats piss and I don't even have a cat. In fact, here's where I could use some sort of 'hilarious' pussy joke but instead I'll just stop.

Running out

I am running out if ideas. Watch this instead. I like it.

As coherant as I am

Viewer discretion is advised. Basically girls in leggings. Rude. I'm really loving this look at the moment. They make ass look so good. SO GOOD! It's really making me crazy in fact. I had a girl in my work earlier who was making me bite down on my hand, her ass was that good. What is the saying? Ah yes, 'I'd eat a mile of her shit just to see where it came from' and 'I'd crawl a mile across broken glass just to stick matchsticks in her shit' is another. Both have the word shit in them. Does that make them less complimentary? Sources are saying 'yes'.

I have enjoyed reading this website about eviction. What the fuck is in the water over there?

I had so many plans for this post. I had many insightful things to say, some great points about stuff and etc, but obviously, I actually have nothing. Here's a thing. I've been dreaming about sex a lot lately, but not the good sexy part, I have been dreaming about the intimacy that comes with sex. I dream of spooning. So fucked up. Being of average intelligence I am able to look at myself and see where my anxieties come from. It's like seeing a pile of dog shit, a dogs ass, and being able to put two and two together. It's genius.

I really don't like this chick. There is something rotten in the state of Denmark that she is one of the most popular adult entertainers. She specialises in constentual degradation. Personally, I don't think it's that special at all.

Something touching here.

Three frames. I like it. I follow William Gibson on twitter and its amazing how on to it that man is. This another of his recommendations.

This article. If they weren't teenagers I would care more. As they are governed by their hormones and over react at everything, they get no credit from me. And I know what you're thinking, "but you were a teenager once, and not just any teenager, one of the really annoying ones" to which I reply, "I know, that's why I feel I have the authority to call 'Bullshit' on them". Selfish little fuckers. I like how his dad appeals to them but they know whats right because they are teenagers. No wonder so many of them end up pregnant.

Then there is the article about Zuckerberg, the facebook founder. You know what? Nobody cares. I really have to stop reading The Age because the quality of journalism is almost worse than the Herald Sun. The Age is worse in general though, because it is all about appealing to the left wing neo-liberal hipsters and telling them how progressive they are and everyone else is falling behind. Fart sniffers the lot of them. Personally, I could not give a shit if Zuckerberg ate a koala. If anything, I'm jealous. I wonder what it tastes like? My guess is not very good, but I can only assume that the secret lies in how you cook it.

I remember having a lot more to say when I was thinking about this on the weekend. Turns out that no, I probably don't.

I'm looking at this website and I'm seeing all these pictures of people having fun. Pages and pages of happy faces. I feel really left out, like that if I were to die today and everyone was to go through my photos they would only find one of two pictures of me having fun. I don't know what it is at the moment, I just feel like I'm missing out on something. Life, for instance.

So I have been over 3 months without any alcohol now. It's kind of ok. I miss it incredibly. I really wish I could drink but it fucks with my headaches so hard that it's just not worth it. I spent 4 hours at a bar on Saturday night, but not just any bar, my favorite bar in all of Melbourne. Tasted one persons drink, a Negroni, which was prettier than it was tasty, but really, I guess that could be said about a lot of things. But it was hard, I tells you, it was hard to be there and not drink. Conversation seems to flow much easier for everyone. People are funnier. Lights seem cleaner and without the blur. Things don't seem so impossible with the fortification of alcohol. Ask yourself, when was the last time you got laid sober? It's such an ingrained part of our culture that its almost impossible to avoid.

And then it leads to violence because we are an angry young race with little or no self control. We are angry but we don't know why and we want to release these emotions but we don't know how. We are fucked and there's no saving us.