So anyway

I'm done with this. I mean, I'm done with this blog. For now anyway. 'Salright though, got 'nother one. Maybe a little cleaner and happier, but, you know, probably not. We'll see. Thanks for coming.

Can you please not look me in the eye while you do that

So this one time in a fit of almost apoplectic sexual frustration I fucked a blow up doll, and for reasons that escape even me, I wore a condom.
It seems that I have got to the stage where just being weird is not good enough for me, I have to add on that extra sprinkle of the bizarre and unexplainable. Anyway, the whole thing was an odd experience and later I was puzzled as to why I had done it. There was some kind of anger there that left me feeling like there was much much more to it but did I really want to work it out, would I have been stunned and ashamed at the answer? In the end I did what I always do and pretty much forgot about it as it seethed in my subconscious and fed my anxieties and psychosis. Every now and then it bubbles up in my mind and I think 'wow, a therapist would have a fucking field day with me' but mainly I just go about my life as if nothing really significant had happened, because it hadn't.

At the moment I am trying to write some sort of business or life plan for this course that I am doing and the main goal that I have written down is 'Make a website and get my writing out there' but after reading the above passage, is it really necessary? I mean, do people really want to read about my weird failed masturbation experiments? Is this really the sort of thing that the general public would be into? And I am not using this as a Trojan horse to say 'they are not ready for me yet', and its not a question of quality, I guess it's a question of need. I worry about pollution and one of the forms of pollution I worry about is people polluting the internet with their stupid thoughts and opinions. I've read so many blogs that just shit me to tears, seen so many websites that all it takes is a second for me to realise that tears of shit are not far off. Am I this guy as well? Am I interesting, funny, amusing to some and sick to others, is there a certain je ne sais quoi that I have that no one else has? Is my point of view unique or is it just like the thousand of other disenfranchised voices that sing in the choir of self pity.

I know what I represent, and what I represent is the lost and resentful, those who have not taken chances and are jealous of everyone who has, those who have something but are too lazy to do any thing with it, those who were raised being told that they would be rock stars and now that they are approaching middle age they are angry that the bright lights are not on them yet but have done nothing to put themselves on the stage. I am one of the many losers in the world, in our loser jobs listening to our loser anthems writing painting drawing about our pathetic loser lives and never once seeing the funny side of how hilariously doomed we really are. Stuck in a rut of our own creation, stretched on a rack of our own devising, subsisting on nothing but our inner monologues of self loathing and disgust. Suicide is too good for us, we deserve to live out our worthless lives lamenting everyday and misconstruing any meanings that we find. Our very existence is shallow and offhand and questionable and our deaths will be the same.

I once received an anonymous post card and on it was scrawled 'Nothing is good enough for people like you' and it was not until I had the displeasure of hindsight did I realise just how right that stranger was.
If this were someone elses life I would have so much to say about what they should do to improve it and why, but because its my own, all I can do is shrug and wonder if perhaps there is any thing good on television.

So do me a favour, if you've ever read anything on here that you've liked, why not send a link to a friend who you think might enjoy something a little different, fuck it, why not send a link to The New York Times or enter me in a competition, what ever you think might suit. Go on, you know you want to.

Yesterday was dramatic, today is ok.

Yesterday I was caught in the great flash flood of Bourke st Mall, March 6th. It was amazing. I was in Myers with a friend and we went outside and it had suddenly become extremely dark, almost as if it were night time, although it was only 3:30. Then the hail started, great balls of ice falling from the sky (because that's what hail is) and then almost suddenly things were going bat shit crazy. There were people running screaming, although it was happy screams, and every body was drenched. We sheltered in Myers cosmetics section for a little bit and then when we went out we slowly realised that we were trapped. Just a side note, those women who work and hang out in the cosmetics counters at Myers wear so much make-up that they look like clowns. It's actually kind of gross. Anyway, Bourke st mall was like a small river, it was pretty cool. As my friend, if only we had boogie boards. Also, thank you to the world for having people upload shit up onto youtube quicker than you can say 'hey, you should youtube that'. Gives me a whole new sphere of visual reference.

The best thing about all of this though, was that I was with my good friend Spookyrumpus and her new baby girl. It was scary being amongst it all with a baby but Spooky is an excellent mother and kept it cool calm and collected. Spookys baby, whom I will now on refer to as Spookette, pretty much slept through the whole ordeal. And drooled. Although, according to Spooky, that's her response to almost everything. I tell you, and you may have guessed this already, but I don't really have a 'cute' area in my brain, for example, recently a friend of mine showed me a picture of her new kitten and I said, and I thought it was sweet, that it looked like a malnourished baby monkey, but this kid, wow, cute doesn't even come close to describing her. Truly amazing. I held her a couple of times and she fell asleep on me. I thought that was pretty cool. A tiny little human with tiny little nails. All in all, it was one of my better days.

Today I wanted to go to the gallery and see the Ron Mueck exhibition but it was closed due to storm damage. I decided that I was going to go see Avata so I got all ready, picked myself a little picnic to eat in the cinema, got lit, went on down and totally did not anticipate the masses of people that would be there. The line was huge and it was all people with their kids and all I wanted was a quiet cinema experience, not 300 retards laughing at the dumbest shit imaginable. So I turned around and came home and am now watching Lethal Weapon and drinking grape juice mixed with coke. Its a bit odd but it tastes ok.
I was so ready to hate on Avata so I feel a bit disappointed. There was some good opportunity for some cathartic hate, so I feel like it was not so much an event that was missed but an outlet. I am thoroughly enjoying Lethal Weapon though. Mel Gibson plays a great psycho cop. I think we're coming up the the torture scene where they rub salt into Danny Glovers wound. I remember this from my childhood. I watched so many violent films as a kid it's no wonder I turned out as I have. Also, in the scene where Mel Gilbson is sitting on his couch and is putting the gun to his head and is on the verge of committing suicide, I noticed that his pants are undone. What's with that?

The Rise and Fall of the Cybernetic Policeman

Man, it's amazing the things you can find out about. I read this thing the other day about this experiment they had in Detroit back in the 80s. It was the peak of the car industry and just before Detroit turned from the city of industry into the city of mass unemployment that it is today. I think that this experiment might have even had something to do with the downfall of that once great city. At the time, Detroit was basically owned and controlled by this company called O.C.P who were into all kinds of crazy shit. They could do what they wanted with the city, so on one hand they had these crazy expensive cybernetics and robotics programs that had something to do with the police, on the other hand they controlled all of the major crime networks. They would amp up police presence on the streets and the gangs would retaliate so that in the end O.C.P were making money hand over fist on both sides of the fence.

Anyway, one of the cops got pretty badly shot up and somehow they transferred his brain into this amazingly advanced robot and, I'm serious, it fucking worked. There were problems which I'll get to but the fucking thing got up and walked around, it did shit, it could shoot a gun, hell, they even made it go out and be a actual policeman, well, robot. I mean, fucking take that Roomba, sure you can vacuum my room and I don't have to bother with you, but that robot police, man, it was something else. It could make judgment calls. It could drive a fucking car. They're still having those competitions now where people have to build robot cars that drive themselves across the desert. It pains me to think of all the wasted technology just sitting in some warehouse in Detroit somewhere, waiting to be used.

And what a robot it is, I mean, this thing is bullet proof, can move independently, it's like the ultimate fucking cyborg, I mean, it's insane that they're not still using this technology now, who knows what sort of awesome robot world we could be living in. Just think, we could have Stephen Hawkin up and running around and not just running around but laughing as he kicked the doors off cars and juggled hand grenades as they blew up harmlessly in his face. Fuck, we could have had Christopher Reeves not only still alive and playing superman, but being an actual superman, you know, flying around and shit. I mean, imagine that.

But of course, there were problems, you can't just go sticking a human brain into a robot body with out some side effects. Like, the brain had kind of forgotten who he was but then he kind of remembered and realized that his previous life was over and of course, freaked the fuck out. I mean, come on dude, you know what its like when you go out and have a big night and kind of wake up some where that you're unfamiliar with and it freaks you out? Well imagine that but you slowly wake up and your entire body has been replaced with steel. I mean, that shit will fuck you up for years, not just days. This is not waking up lying in a bikies bed with womens underwear on surprise, this is waking up to find out that you may no longer have any genitals or internal organs or a need to breath surprise. The other kind of bad surprise.

See, this is one of those situations where in hindsight, perhaps jumping straight in and building a deadly, almost indestructible robot wasn't the best idea and maybe experimenting on something smaller and less lethal might have been a better option. I mean, they built him with and in-built gun and holster. And yes they fucking regretted it. He stormed the O.C.P head office and shot a bunch of people, I mean goddamn, it was a robot with psychosis what did you think was going to happen? They were just lucky it didn't decide to take out its anger on suburbia or decide that every blond woman resembling his wife needed to join his robot harem, you know, heaps of things could have happened, what if this robot cop had a thing about black people, how would they have explained that? Luckily, the only people he killed were the evil O.C.P executives otherwise we would have never heard the end of it.

Oh, and I almost forgot, for some reason it ate baby food.

Plastic Angie and the children of the corn or Angels with dirty faces.

People ask me why I hate South Yarra so much and I struggle to explain myself properly. I've been trying to thing of an appropriate metaphor or simile I think the best thing that I can do is try and describe one one of my customers whom I think signifies everything wrong with that area, everything sick about that awful fucked up place.

So now we're going to talk about Angie. I have no idea of how old Angie was, she'd had so much plastic surgery done that it was almost impossible to tell. I'd put her neck and her hands at about 50, her tits looked about 25 and her face was not so much a face but a pastiche an unusual collage of abstract conceptions, of what lips were, of what a cheek should look like, a different interpretation of eyes. In my opinion she was just hideous to look at. You know that game you play as a kid, Exquisite Corpse, you know, where you draw a head then fold the paper over then someone draws the next bit and so on until you end up with some weird fish woman with bicycles for hands? Yeah, well it was like that but just for the face. I guess at one stage she must have been someones' trophy wife, now she was vainly trying to claw her former looks back, trying to avert the tide of time with the scalpel. It was sad and it was one of those situations where a persons psychology was laid bare on their face with no hiding it at all, where their inner turmoils were such that they had now become outer turmoils.

And that ain't all. She also had triplets, boys, with white blond hair and empty blue eyes. They would have been about 6 years old. There is no doubt in my mind that they were the result of some fertility package, some IVF gone super right. They were weird kids and they never wore shoes. Angie would just leave them in the kids section to play by themselves while she would read self help books in the cafe. The triplets would run riot scaring the shit out other other kids. The never went to school and they alienated even the adults. They seemed to be like those wild children that turn up every 50 years or so, those one who have been raised by wolves or chickens or some shit. They were always filthy and they always had food smeared all over their faces.

These kids were weird. If they were paintings their eyes would follow you around the room, if they were statues you would not have them in your garden, let alone your house.

They were strange and unnatural and, I think its obvious by now, the whole scene gave me the fucking creeps. I tell you, typing this now some of my hairs stand on end when I think about how fucked up the whole situation was, this crazy Barbie who have been left out in the sun, these genetic aberrations running around like their very existence weren't no thing, I mean, how much much they have cost to produce and for what? There is no doubt that she was terrible mother and that their lives were wasted from the get go, I imagine pickings up a newspaper, actually, I'm more likely to go to The Age but anyway, one day I imagine consulting some news source and seeing some crazy story about some wild gang of triplets who have kidnapped some chick and endured her to hours of torture and rape, I imagine I'll read this story and I won't go 'huh?, like, 'really?'', I'll go 'huh', with a finality that means 'of course, I knew it all along'.