My Grey Sky Revelations: NUMERO UNO

OK, here's something I'm gonna try. Because as you all know my thought process follows the weather thanks to shamanic powers. In short, everytime it's cloudy, I'ma write something pshort, psweet and psychedelic. So these are my Grey Sky Revelations... because that sounded too cool in my mind to waste...

It's cold and the clouds are out. I'm sitting in my room, with music raging out my laptop and vibrating in the keyboard. (Klaxons - Surfing the Void... it's cool and spacey and a bit psychedelic and every bit excellent to sway to).

AND I'M THINKING... goddamnit I need to be more tired because tomorrow I'm gonna feel like I spent the last three days trying to refuse the sexual advances of a humvee but without the bruises to press charges... poignant and beautiful. Well, under that, (I THINK IN LAYERS, AND IN TYPEWRITER, BUT THAT IS A STORY FOR ANOTHER DAY) I was thinking about personas/masks/facades/charades/roles/reality/not really reality... DAMN, album finished... so, PINK FLOYD TIME!! (One Of These Days, bluesy piano meets the doctor who theme with really uhh.. laidback? guitar) But yeah, the masked faces under the masks. This really used to bug me, I think I wrote something on it in THAT OTHER BLOG, but masks are actually really cool. I'd wear one out if I had one... and get refused entry to places because of the crimes I'd no doubt commit. But they're cool, and they're everywhere. I like to think of it like undressing people, because it's dirty and masculine company acknowledges you more seamlessly when you've got bad intentions. But you start to take off people's masks, and see what kind of underwe... NO. Other masks they've got underneath. That's much more excellent. (More Pink Floyd, Saucerful of Secrets, because four movements means I don't have to change the music for a bit. Prog-pretense, I love you sometimes).

So yeah. SO YEAH. This is going to be short, don't hope for anything well thought out. I wear a mask all the time and I know it. I embrace it. AND I LOVE TO BE UNDRESSED BY SOMEONE ELSE BECAUSE IT'S NOT AS TANGLY AND YELLING...

Ahem or sorry or goodbye or all of the above.

TONGS AWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


"BECAUSE FUCK YOU, SHADOWS" - C. Tongs on his alleged involvement in strings of museum robberies

EVIDENCE? ... maybe one day ;)

But it was only fantasy
The Wall was too high as you can see
No matter how he tried, he could not break free
And the worms ate into his brain
Roger Waters

It's Sunday, I'm pissed off with god only knows, I haven't done anything else productive today, so why the fuck not?

Here's another rubbish post about stuff I've been writing lately, y'know, the kind of stuff that's generic and tedious, but might take on a life of it's own in the wake of suicide.

'Your sky won't stretch to cover my head,
I've got no insurance for when I'm dead'

'Let's never, ever be friends! Okay?'

'Faith moves mountains, death's more economic with his excavations'

'How many other ways to look are there?
I mean, it's got to all come to a grinding halt someday?'

'Constantly changing, my mind has no shape
There's still a hole, but nothing will fit'

'Remember who you used to be,
bright eyes, big fears and so many dreams.
But now look at it all
and what do you see?'

'I think I'm Jesus on a soapbox
cursing them with filth behind closed doors'

'If it's a question,
Who inspired who?
What's he trying to do?
Show everything he's read?
But what's he ever said?'

'We're all losing our minds over imaginary friends'

'Love is the answer, but his horse is hatred'

'The mirror breaks
Flays the fake
A million portraits shine
Still, none of them are mine'

'MY BAPTISM ISN'T WORKING,
I NEED TO COME UP FOR AIR,
PLEASE, LET ME COME BACK UP THERE,
I'M BEGGING YOU, LET ME BREATHE,
PLEASE, IT WON'T WORK, I'M SORRY
YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME, PLEASE
YOU'RE DROWNING ME, I CAN'T DO IT
LET GO. LET GO! LET GO?'

'I like the beautiful people most,
Disobedient and wayward eyes, crumbling lips
Marred skin to cling feebly to the bone,
Veins burrowing through bodies,
Teeth screaming amidst catastrophe.
Anything but that stare
empty and unaware
blinding hair.
The horrific scare
at the care,
in a corpse drawn with beauty's remorse'

'What's wrong with your hands, they're so cold. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO.
How was your day? I love it. I LOVE IT. But who are you? BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!... YOU AGAIN?!?! You look... stupid. I think you should see someone about that. YOU ANGRY, TWISTED LITTLE PERSON. Not me, YOU'RE AWFUL. Because one day you'll know what love is like. You can talk, I won't judge. You look really suspicious though'

'I SMASHED THE GODDAMN ANGEL, ALRIGHT!!
THE ONE WITH IT'S EYES CLOSED, BECAUSE IT MADE ME ANGRY,
HOW IT JUST DIDN'T FUCKING CARE WHEN IT FELL APART.
IT TRIED TO KILL ME, BUT YOU KEPT IT'S GODDAMN WINGS?!?!
I KNOW YOU CAN SEE THOUGH, SEE JUST HOW YOU DON'T CARE EITHER'

'You can't actually die if you don't ever start to live!'

'The best day of my life was when I got to be everything I'd ever hated and noone had to know'

'Stretch me out until I tear apart,
I know you just don't care.
It won't kill me, just make me mad.
I'll just rage through the flaming rave,
searchlights spinning, sirens singing.
I'll dance through the fires of your lives,
Through everything you thought you were,
everything you think you're entitled.
The throbbing of your guns is my beat,
The authoritarian commands the lyric.
My fury burns from nothing
But yours burns you from inside.
You tear apart your own lives trying to make it right.
And I can keep dancing your fucking Danse Macabre
while it starts to make some sense.'

'In the spring when the buds open,
you can finally find what was waiting to emerge.
Some flowers are just learning now
how sick they always were.
Beautiful flowers are fragrant
with no right to a fucked up stench.
With no way to keep buds closed 'til death
they just pray they'll be cut into
a nasty, empty bouquet and hope the sun's the other way'

Meh, leave feedback, pretend you didn't read any of it, do that awkward thing I run along with where we meet face to face and don't bring it up under any circumstances, I don't care.

Just for the sake of it, here's something I just sat and streamed for a while some time ago. I'd really advise people to try this, it can be pretty awesome to just write for the sake of it with one prompt or something or nothing. It can be pretty interesting. And let's be honest, all we're really doing is killing time til we hit the hay for good, why not try it? Hell, why not try, anything?

One beep and you're gone, off my radar, out of my ocean. Taking silent steps in scary directions. Seeing the future I already heard about. The wet dry man with a beard full of sand sings in my band wrapped around my head. Step away from me or step in me and never leave. But I'll never know climbing up and down holes and thrills to see the rising collapse on the last day. "Coils of light!", the serpent roars while little men make their wars but the devil and me, we've got nice shoes and don't need clothes to step them into the mushy ground. The helicopter bopper struts his stuff, we laugh and play cards but he punches my nose and away he goes in fire and smoke. I claim his arm as my prize. Blue and green suit, hat with stars and moon, just jiving and salsa with heels and a face. But she's taking me back to her place. I know it can see me, it's long fingers flick through my mind like pages, it removes it's glasses then... SCREAMS!!! I'm disgusting this monster. I looked in the abyss too long. Now wind blows through my empty soul. A barren world is all I ever wanted so this is all my fault. Someone dances as the vultures and crows tear at me, It's like a mirror mixing my emotions. My Badness laughs at my bones being cast. He's winning, the sun is setting, but we kiss anyway, it's passion, it's real like the pain, which one did I ask for? I wake up from the apocalypse outside my eyelids. Am I insane? Was I insane? Crying for a while I wed myself to herbut she turns to dust and I turn back to me again. He's there, just grinning. I take to the sky to make my escape, He follows riding a yellow eyed, black snake. Spinning around it's tornado takes me. So I just ran across the meadow. "WHERE ARE YOU?!?" I yell but her stones can't answer. I can't do this alone. He breaks the stone with his foot and laughs like a child. I hear the waves crash. I hear the birds sing. Under the shade of that tree where I learned it all, The sun's a little too bright. I can't outsleep the dream or run to escape the nightmare. This is funny for everyone. Naked with a funny hat and drowning in my own blood. They're really happy though! I don't want to make them sad. My green field is going, creeping slowly across the mountains, those insurmountable walls. I weep as a child again. "Give me my world back!" I cry to the wise men, but they turn their backs and hum other tunes as the sea's grey roar hides them in it's foggy breath. Falling or flying, or floating or lying, I don't know anymore. I don't care.

Have some random quotes... you've earned them, I think...

"I have just now come from a party where I was its life and soul; witticisms streamed from my lips, everyone laughed and admired me, but I went away - yes, the dash should be as long as the radius of the earth's orbit -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- and wanted to shoot myself." - Soren Kierkegaard

"I knew I was different. I thought that I might be gay or something because I couldn't identify with any of the guys at all. None of them liked art or music, they just wanted to fight and get laid. It was many years ago but it gave me this real hatred for the average American macho male." - Kurt Cobain

"I want to work in revelations, not just spin silly tales for money. I want to fish as deep down as possible into my own subconscious in the belief that once that far down, everyone will understand because they are the same that far down." - Jack Kerouac

"If there is a Devil at work, then he rests in institutions and not in individuals. Because the beauty of institutions is that any individual can abdicate responsibility. The assumption that we're all utterly powerless, that's the Devil at work." - Thom Yorke

"That's all I wanted to do as a kid. Play a guitar properly and jump around. But too many people got in the way." - Syd Barrett

"If you have hitherto believed that life was one of the highest value and now see yourselves disappointed, do you at once have to reduce it to the lowest possible price?" - Friedrich Nietzsche


Thanks for reading!... Yeah, it was a little bit schizophrenic and everywhere, but whatever, I have the most posts here, you have to love me! *laughter maniacal, and slow fade*

Just Because It's There, Doesn't Mean You Feel It

The truth's always got a shortcut you didn't think of, because it'll always get you, no matter how far you run... and I can run like the devil's on my tail.

I've had a really weird week. That's all I can really say. It's just weird. I don't have any other way of approaching this, I think it's what they call growing up... you know, when suddenly you're not equipped for any of this but it's gonna come crashing down on you whether you like it or not. Or maybe not, I just don't know, something feels different. Maybe I AM going crazy... it honestly wouldn't surprise me, but maybe not.

The only thing I know is that everything's catching up. EVERYTHING. Heh, this could be my 'Dark night of the soul'! I really don't know whether or not I should laugh or cry... hell, sometimes it's actually been easiest to do both. I don't know whether to write about it or just shut the hell up, neither actually helps when you've only really got your own feet to fall back on.

It sort of started last weekend, I didn't feel too fantastic last Friday. It's weird. It's like you feel a bit nauseous, but you also feel really detached from the world, like it'll just keep spinning on ahead of you but at the same time it'll drag you into those barricades up ahead and you're going through, you don't get to break them down, you don't get to be crushed against them, you just get pulled through. You just feel the whole thing for a bit, and then it's way behind you. You didn't fix it, you're not over it, but there's nothing you can do... so why even bother caring anymore?

Well, I think it was 4am Sunday morning or something. About that time where nothing moves. It's perfectly silent. I'd really recommend going for a walk from about 4 until 6 in the morning some time, you get to see the world, sort of, fill itself. At first there's just nothing, everyone else is asleep, there's no voices, no cars, no birds. But there's lights. Traffic lights are pretty funny at this time of morning. They're really unnecessary, like lines in the road. It's like the same rules are there, but there's noone around to observe them. The street lights are on, but noones awake. At this time, it's surreal, the world that so much work goes into building is incomprehensible. It's bizarre. It's strange. Familiarity just melts and suddenly you see everything from the outside, all the structure that resembles nothing, the need to see while your asleep, the signs that somehow tell you where to go, what to do, who to be. Well, it was about this time, and I wasn't feeling normal the day before either, it's weird, it's like you just have nothing that you would say. There's so many words coming to mind, but nothing's what YOU would say. I was sitting up in my bed, I couldn't sleep. I think it'd be amazing if one day I got to go to sleep because I was tired, not because of a clock or company, but anyway I was awake and suddenly I just let it all in... or everything out? Or just lost it? Or found it? It sounds like pretentious rubbish, but it's just how the truth works. I think I just sort of realised that noone could ever come with my wake up call. That there's alot of things in this world, not everyone is entitled to everything, and the things I'm not up for are starting to introduce themselves.

I really, REALLY hate Sunday. I think it might be because I just sit and think by myself all day, because I hate it or because I know I wouldn't want it any other way. Where I live, Sunday tends to be the day where everyone I live with is present for the afternoon, and everyone seems to just do the same thing. An identical conversation about football throbs like backing to my mother's emphasized warbling over dream renovations. I'll never understand why anyone would want to spend so much of their life in the one place. You can never complete a 'home' until you reach the age where it just serves to wall you in. I never want to be nailed down, I never want an unbreakable attachment to anything, anyone. I always fantasize about running away. I'd like to say I used to, but it's something that I don't think I'll grow out of until the fantasy becomes musing on a regret. I can remember at about ten or something, planning on getting a job at fifteen and making enough money to get on a plane to anywhere and starting a new life, I wouldn't be trapped by family, by friends or even my own identity. I'd say I was older, get a job and start working on my next escape. Boldly going nowhere, because there's no point trying to 'win' life, there's no climax, no reward. Just experiences. This Sunday I was pretty shaken up, it can be pretty worrying when you start to feel, think or even fear stuff that you haven't for years. I'm always surprised at my own stupid capability for letting things get to me, especially the things I shouldn't. And especially the things I just don't care about that I trouble myself with. It was just one of those moods where I couldn't do anything. I couldn't get out of bed, I couldn't hold a conversation without getting obscenely emotional or being callously emotionless. I couldn't strike the middle ground. I couldn't feel sad or angry, I could just sort of flit between. I couldn't feel happy or calm either, so I'd just sort of laugh at some things and just fidget around.

I always get anxious in crowds. I swear, if everybody just agreed that it'd be perfectly cool for us to just start screaming every time we felt the need to, the world would be a loads better place. That's me in a crowd. I'm the guy that needs to be screaming. I don't know whether it's a problem with people in general or something claustrophobic but it's relentless. I start to tremble if someone sits opposite me on the train. My heart stops if I bump into someone. And if I recognise someone I just close my eyes, count to three and just hope they can't see me. It's not the sort of thing that pops up all the time, but the second my mind even strays into the very awareness that I'm not alone alarm bells start ringing. This week just seemed to make this even more hellish. I just became massively irritable. I would get furious with everything, just to distract myself from the apprehension. I'd imagine the guy sitting next to me on the train tearing my throat out, I'd picture me hurling the girl in front of me down the stairwell for just being present, I'd jump in front of traffic to avoid the crowd getting off a tram. Anger is something I've never really liked about myself. It's not something I think is remotely dangerous to anyone else, it's just the thought of pain as a distraction. You know how nurses talk to you to get you to ignore the injection? Mind over matter? Well, sometimes I just need to quieten down my mind a little.

So what was my big revelation last weekend? What changed everything? Damned if I know. All I know is I got thinking about alot of things, and I sort of realised that this is just my life. This has been and always will be my life. It's not something that 'gets better'. It's normal. You know that painting with the dogs playing poker? And how Homer freaks out about it. It's pretty horrifying. We're just the same, we're wearing hats, playing with abstractions and sitting at tables, but underneath all we can really do is eat, sleep, fuck and die. That's our lives. Well, it's my life anyway, It's this great big lie. So much effort goes into giving it a new coat of paint. It's just a really fucking hard time to be alive, but for all I know, that could be a recurring theme.

So maybe I'm 'not well' as some would say. I prefer to say that I'm dealing with it, the way I deal with things. I'm not hurting anyone, I'm not planning on hurting anyone and if I went ahead and got 'help' they couldn't find a cure. I've just been to a physio about my knee, the guy said I should exercise it daily with this specific stuff. I haven't done it though, and I doubt I will. Because to be cured, you've got to want to be cured. And I know I don't fit some people's definition of normality, thing is though, I don't really care. People are about eat, sleep, fuck, die and they know it, so their criticisms hold no weight. I don't really care what you think because I don't really care how you cope, I don't have time for it, I'm busy clawing my way through this stinking pit like everyone else.

Okay, so I wrote it down, I don't feel better, I don't feel worse, I just filled an hour and a half though. This has served it's purpose, if you don't feel comfortable posting after this kind of stream of consciousness bullshit you can delete it, it's fine with me.

Technical Difficulties - Apologies for Inconveniences

Damacus' election coverage has hit a snag what with the current predicament... while he's in the middle of an anxiety attack from having all faith in political procedure challenged... (It'll get better soon man, you've just got to tough it out... and go loot yourself a Nick Cave box set or something else you can tell us all about for a month) you're dealing with someone with a more harmful negligence than casual nonchalance concerning government.

That and the fact that in spending the last few weeks working on a 6300 damage, full meter combo for a fighting game in a country that didn't even have arcades in the 80's and other pursuits to secure my chastity forevermore, I noticed my post count was being steadily scaled by a certain usurper, who could only be punished by an elaborate scheme involving the slow, seemingly natural, dissolution of their government and the associated 95% of their stolen material, before their very eyes...

Anyway, I have facebook again... I caved like the liberal voting population (too hot in the kitchen for you?). Basically the last two days have been spent contemplating a now marketable blog post and the repopulation of a friend list so meagre the buddhists could get off to it. By the way if you're reading this and I've left you out or something, not my fault, it's hard work... and it's PROBABLY not intentional.

So why'd I come back? Because this is the 21st century! Without junk I don't need, use or particularly want, I'd collapse into a bawling mess of alliterative self explanation and lose all touch with reality to the point where intravenous caffeine is keeping my preserved, ageless body alive, who'd read that guy's book?

Well in keeping with the modern theme of marketting the first crap I see when I walk into the boardroom whacked up with the heroin that eighteen seasons of Survivor can still manage to put on my family's table every night, I bring you, Crucible Tongs' Hoarding Habits!

#3 MY TEASTAIN OUROBORAS

I'm not remotely hardcore enough or even in possession of enough of a masculine torso to even think of body art... as a matter of fact, my body mass would just lead to lethal concentrations of food dye by the time they'd finished 'God is dead'. I could do bling though, it makes me look like a shrinking trophy wife well on the way to recycling, but that's a better demographic than 'Decorated Member of the 9th Squadron of Steampunk Geekdom'... unfortunately only two people make snakes into rings... Lucifer and Loki... and they have a show for their sexual depravity on well after midnight... So my only avenue is to explain to any hapless victim that's looking unimpressed at the desk where this crap comes from, that that the circular stain beneath the mug in the eleventh stage of ceramic decay, symbolises my capacity for self sufficiency and alchemic perfection while looking more badass than equations in the Greek alphabet...


Actually... the amount of times I'd have to explain that 'It's not JUST a snake!!!'... maybe not worth it...

#2 MY BOX OF VIDEOGAMES FROM ALL CORNERS OF THE GLOBE... I'VE NEVER PLAYED

I wasn't tried for crimes against a fully functioning system of social norms at highschool for my repetitive, obnoxious wit oft patronised from pity... It was because the real world didn't allow me time to invest nine hours a day into calculating the perfect combination of Light Magic wielders and Sword users with tolerable two dimensional personalities to overthrow the empire's regime for the eleventh time... Well... when I could afford to... Nowadays I just buy what I reaaaaaaaaaaally want to play... or want to end up gathering dust in a pile on my desk for not being a postmodern attack on the guy treating the controller like his umbilical cord... I have a growing pile of Jungian whodunnits, Cyberpunk prior to The Matrix and playable David Lynch movies (complete with jumbled backwards talking about why ghost terrorists have to laugh and explode and be invisible)... I only do the craziest shit... I just don't get around to actually playing it... like some kind of indie prick with a cracking voice and a sense of humour birthed by the need to feed on any form of acknowledgement... uh... MOVING ON!


I paid $110 for this... and you know what, I don't give a fuck about having no idea what's happening half the time...

#1 AWESOME CLOTHES OF AWESOME GLORY THAT ARE TOO EPIC FOR MY LAME *insert current insecurity*

I have a penchant for ridiculously awesome attire that will one day be invaluable when hell beasts walk the earth in swarms for the sole purpose of meeting divine and bloody retribution at the hands of some cocky wanker in a red leather trench coat... which unfortunately will be what all the insecure vampire hunting adolescents will have agressively marketted at them... I'm not ashamed to admit that my wardrobe contains a leather monkey vest (for when I grow up and have to fight lions in the desert for training and need the extra agility afforded by revealing clothing), assorted headbands, cowboy boots and won't be considered complete without steel gauntlets, a full black and white checked suit, punk boots up to my chest, a driving cap complete with goggles, a diving helmet, full victorian finery, MAN-tiaras and a cape that a coachman of the Carpathians could be proud of... Admit it, I'm THE most maddeningly cool person you'll ever meet.


It says 'women' in the item description, but that's just to stop pussies buying it

Soooo... why haven't I sold all this junk so I have room to practice my fly kicks? I really don't know... there's not much in the way of sentimental value, none of it's actually useful (... yet... but when you fools inadvertently elect the Vampire Chieftain when he catches you off guard in your vulnerable state of political uncertainty...) and every instinctual urge to procreate howls with misinterpretted frustration every time I even look at this stuff. It's a little bit weird that everyone has this sort of junk they can't let go of... but the second someone important isn't in a position where they can be passively acknowledged every day we just mope a bit about our own social impotence and then move on.

Yeah, cool... but one day they'll stop signing in to MSN, they change phone numbers, move away. You can complain all you want, the lines were always open... for the record this isn't bitterness over my facebook departure or anything, I needed some time off for a while, you all knew I'd be back. This is something I'm starting to notice people doing to other people who DON'T take 200 pictures of themselves posing in a trenchcoat every week and it's sort of starting to bug me. People aren't static, we drift apart if we do nothing. I could list so many people I've let this happen to before and I can guarantee you can too...

So here's the deal, you little human punks, don't fuck this whole thing up okay? Don't procrastinate with people, text them if they haven't been around, send them something stupid you just noticed, ORGANISE A NO HOLDS BARRED PSYCHEDELIC TEA PARTY *COUGH*... fuck, go all out and spend 50c on a stamp and mail them ransom notes... Value people enough so you can at least look at yourself atop your castle of materialism. Because if a message tone can stop a suicide attempt, consider everything else it could fix.

Thanks for reading... and Damacus, I covered your lack of election posts... so I guess now we're even for all those times I snuck into your house and took photos of me wearing your clothes...


My bad!

TONGS AWAY!!!

CUT AND PASTE

Evening all. By all I mean you... and if that turns out to be a singular the non-reading public had better start locking their doors, their second storey windows and sealing their ventilation with concrete and eucharist... OK, I've nailed the Dracula reference in a paragraph, excellent start...

Well, I'm at Melbourne uni now, having new adventures and finding new surrogate security hovels to wait out colder months, inquiries and the plotting citizenry of your planet. I'm finally doing psychology which beats self diagnosing with wikipedia and facebook quizzes, so naturally I'm kind of happy. Kind of naturally happy... not the sort of happy I get from not sleeping... or not eating... or any other obtuse form of self harm, for that matter.



'I am Jack's complete lack of surprise'


Because something finally happened, and I'm an emotional exhibitionist in authenticity's bordello, have a run down of things! Because you want what I want you to want!

What they don't tell you about a mid year transfer is that three days to choose subjects, get enrolled, walk in line to Joy Division's Walked In Line (for self effacing hypocrisy... and angsta cred. T_T) get books, teach yourself a semester's worth of biology and maintain the illusion that technically you didn't run away this time and you won't fuck this one up like another page in a recurring nightmare etc. is impossible. They assume you have a sliver of sense about you.

PFFT, I spent $50 on a monkey vest that doesn't reach my nipples, what do I know about rationality? So I do what I do best. I'm a rennaissance man. Nothing is impossible sans appearing respectable or trustworthy in the slightest... So like Da Vinci himself, I fuelled up on camp metal, impractical sunglasses and that alluring, inevitable femme fatale stride... because I can't pull off the dude version, something about prepubescent genitalia... TRUE STORY. Last week I was 'mistaken' for a fourteen year old FOUR TIMES. That's a new record. Thrice buying DVDs... because now people seem to care about the kind of filth that messed me up in the first place, and once at my intolerable job that's not a job that I lost but then got back, but will lose again in four weeks that pays in memberships to local football clubs that has no appeal to me despite frequent displays of homosexuality to spite the female species for it's outright exclusion of my genetic information... you dig?

Uhhh... *cliche 'Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyway's* Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyway, I had to line up for an hour and a half to find out where my queries should have been directed... oh, and to have a student card remind me of why my abstinence from smiling could well be what's regulating ocean acidity*. WOO. I get to be a enrolled student of a course that's not just TAFE in accredited clothing.

A hilarious photoshop with that Karl Stefanovic joke of a human being would be here, but I couldn't do it without him sexing up farm animals

*'What's Regulating Ocean Acidity?'tm is a property of the nine network and it's subsidiaries. Expect educational candid life guard trivia with all your favourite 'personalities' who didn't get sniped by dancing with the stars this summer

Alright... I've steered the ship out of awkward waters into politically incorrect ones... and I can see that masking tape 'X'... I think we'd normally rap this up? Well then, sorry everyone, for being such a crummy little blogger and wallowing in misery most masturbatory all the time.

This is a work of intended yet misguided humour, any relation to submerged personality traits is purely coincidental... or ornately fabricated by a genius... but most of you have witnessed me in face paint for face paint's sake, or watched me eat leaves for facepaint's sake... so I leave that judgement to you.



ACK!!! How could I forget this!!!

'The metaphysical comfort--with which, I am suggesting even now, every true tragedy leaves us--that life is at the bottom of things, despite all the changes of appearances, indestructibly powerful and pleasurable--this comfort appears in incarnate clarity in the chorus of the satyrs, a chorus of natural beings who live ineradicably, as it were, behind all civilization and remain eternally the same, despite the changes of generations and of the history of nations.' - Nietzsche The Birth of Tragedy




OH!! And like O my brothers and all that cal.

BYE

WHY DON'T YOU REMEMBER MY NAME?!

I have negative charisma. I swear... okay, yeah, I'm shit at people, because I'm a self oriented, judgemental and manipulative bastard... but surely you could at least remember who I am... wait no, that doesn't sell...

I'm attempting to transfer to Melbourne University this semester, unfortunately I need paperwork that should've arrived a week ago. They can reference things like that when I try to uproot the failing bureaucratic procedure from the human race and am promptly martyred. Aaanyway, I'm fairly sure my marks hardly qualify me, but I sent the application before I got them, so now I have the crushingly terrible task of having my 61 average willingly and casually dismissed. My birth wasn't my fault, don't expect me to give anything back to the world, I didn't touch your 'state of the economy', 'good of the nation' or 'upheld values'. I WASN'T INVITED, SOMEONE ELSE DRAGGED ME HERE, I SWEAR...

Soooooooooooooo... I've sent this application, and so I check my emails today:

'Dear Joshua'

Oh... fucking mature... salt to the wound.

I have siblings. Meaning my parents might as well not have bothered naming me. Nomenclature is the most widespread illusion, a belief enforced by irrationality and contempt for consistently waiting for the third introduction before people don't have to ask... Grrr

Well, I've got this email for someone who immediately conjures a portrait of educational diligence, drive for success and abstinence from fantasizing about self harm when in the presence of another grotesquely superior example of humanity. Fuck you Joshua... I was doing fine not being reminded of my own cancerous presence.

Reminds me of how *EVERY potential employer I've ever had has forgotten my name as well. I know I have a feeble acrostic poem for a resume...

My
Availability
Tuesday
Three
Hours
Every
Week

When do I start?

*Crucible Tongs NEVER exaggerates

My last 'job' from which I've already been swiftly expunged gave me Mark... then Derek and from there Dave. At what point does that make a sliver of sense? I just gave up and started responding to all three. The ability of the human mind to rationalise my responding to three different names in half an hour is hilarious when you're a scathing, sniping embittered jerk though...

Ugh, well I'm tired and hungry, but too lightheaded to go and blend a smoothie. No pictures tonight, I give up, they're too cumbersome and disgusting when done badly. I'll leave that to other people here who do it plenty better. Well, we've both put up with me this long, so why not reward yourself? Get something nice... I have to spend my rewards on billboard sized nametags to delay complete breakdown so I'm going this way... BYE

Hear and Their

HELLO! *socially awkward waving and other nonsense that just presses all your little rage buttons when you were praying that this could be anyone else sharing your present company*

Me again, well, just mega spaced out me, but still, there's the warning. Turn around and mutter in disgust at my shameless blogjacking. Point is, I use this as my podium now because my other blog just has some kind of disestablished fanbase. Well, love it or hate it, it's me doing what I do best... accruing spite...

I feel like I'm in two places at once. Read in your own crazy metaphor, I'm tired. Just a second ago I was typing in the dark in my room but was also typing at a desk in a highrise apartment, sort of very trippy if you ask me. Happened this morning too, I woke up in two different beds in two different rooms with two different absences of reason for doing so. By now, you've cottoned on that I'm not sleeping enough and trying to further establish my identity as The Delusional Wreck, hopefully to shift out of The Codependent Deadbeat, or The Guy Who Makes One Decent Wry Comment, Then Uses That as an Excuse to Keep Talking Crap... I'm the human tarot deck, I can just about show people their futures.

Watch this!

Take a card.

Look at the card.

Subject it to memory.

Your life will entail a series of relative joy to relative misery!!!

See, I'm good. I could give professional advice, because professional advice is just a gameplan by the narrow minded. I'm getting sick of the 'Life is good! But sometimes it's bad, so uh, you might want gloves on those days...'. Let's be honest, anybody here who isn't familiar with what I write isn't a true follower of this blog, just like the people who don't comment (You people just having your way with presented opinions...), would have noticed I'm prone to attention seeking bouts of melancholy... also the legit ones, but they've reached the point we're they aren't the problem anymore. Well I'm being hypocritical as usual as well, but I hate people who feel they have to remind me everything apart from chronic insomnia has it's benefits.

By now you're starting to suspect this is that stream of consciousness junk again, to that I say that you're sleuthing at the expected level of a stalker awash in the filth of his devotion. Congratulations by the way. If you suspect the stream of consciousness arises from my life's absence of things people do and talk about on a regular basis, bonus points, now you're that same stalker, but now some prime time commercial programming has convinced you you're trained for private legal investigation.

Damn, there was actually a point to this, but I forgot it. Maybe it's briefly alluded to in the previous paragraphs. Do give them a thorough reread now to inject respectable length, thanks.

I've been told I'm not allowed to post here without pictures now because you're considered too dense, impatient and present in the information age to wallow through all the text could fit the binary code for a small picture that could do the job faster & with all the expected side effects of a medium transplant.

So here's 'Crucible Tongs's Post: The .jpeg'






Here you go, D.I.D. A Mess, cheapening your experience with every increasingly manic post. But these are just random things I've lolled at in the last few weeks. I can't work out whether it's the childish sense of humour or the hallucinogenic properties of an LCD screen at 3am though...

Well, signing off... in pics!



Courage



Folly



Just opinions

'Long Read, Bail Now' - A 'Reviewer'

Good evening *creepy gothic butler bow for effect*

I know you can tell it's me by the weird shiver that only comes from awareness of myself or that guy on the train who just chuckles, licks his lips and gazes into your eyes contemplating whether he'll swing by the hardware store for mortar cleaner on the way home or to just use the last garbage bag to deliver you to whatever confronting afterlife there is for assault victims. An introduction is unnecessary... I slaved over that analogy...

Well, I'm on holidays. LIKE YOU!... condescension doesn't work online either... so naturally I've had plenty of time to do some things... and plenty of time to fill with soul devouring, mind destroying, libido flattening nothing. To put this in perspective: Your humble narrator has discovered chai... with vanilla. This matrimony of flavours overwhelms the senses for three minute, mugs of liquid joy. The penetrating sharpness of chai, with the following softness of vanilla... and the musk that fills my hovel after the eleventh mug offers a sense of security that money, even laced with crack, can't match.

Now I'm not exaggerating when I say that the combination of boiled water, pyramid teabags and just a drop of milk for perfect harmony with the vanilla is more worldly pleasure than the whore of babylon in the leather of every bovine sacrifice those mesopotamians went loony for... ah, anyway, yeah. Chai with vanilla, nine thumbs up.

Hmm, so what else has happened? Oh yeah, my controversial departure from facebook that no doubt shocked and awed my legions of admire...

Yeah, check your friend list, I'm not there... uh... surprise?... NO, ok, I WAS there... you just didn't... notice... ACK

**Sorry, poignant shuffle moment I just had to interrupt this for... Queen's 'Somebody to Love' followed by 'Princes of the Universe'... Try it! If you've ever doubted your sexual preference, this will have you in a dazed, confused mess.**

Well, I decided to quit facebook because it's a grotesque farce of human interaction, it's like what homosexuality did to romance... *awkward silence*. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa5aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyway what I mean is that those reasons were just shielding the fact that I was kidding myself that sitting around refreshing the news feed trying to come up with something witty to scrape at the validation of the three and a half people online at 3am. So yeah, I walked. I know, it's sad, you've got my sympathies. You just got dragged down a notch in level of social (networking) standing to fill the void I left, that can hurt. Unless you're just one of those flawlessly awesome people, then instead, fuck you, for unknowingly building such an indomitable aspiration for the rest of us... Y'know, for just being so loveable all the time and never showing a shred of the insecurity we all wallow in like animals rolling in our own shit... no, let's get back on track... this IS about me afterall...

So yeah, I quit facebook because it wasn't filling the void in my soul... or some other poetic crap you should've expected from someone as shallow and transparent as yours truly. *does that creepy butler bow again* So, now, I've embraced the void. Me an' the void get along like this *imperceivable hand gesture*. Neeway, me and my void were playing 'ball' in the abandoned lot or whatever it is I do during daylight when my mind is so dangerously subdued by my schismatic, prismatic amalgam personality disorder. Maybe it was 'ball'... whatever the fuck that is... or maybe we were just getting high and stabbing prostitutes, I can't remember, I wasn't all there. So I'm sittin' with my void an' I'm thinking.

Me: 'Viddy this, my void. This is an apple. They say sin came from apples. I SAY DAMN THEM AND THEIR WAYS!!'
Void: *stoic indifference to signify who the cooler member of this duo is right off the bat*
Me: 'Well, this shit really doesn't write itself and I'm starting to run out of expressions from Clockwork Orange, wanna go home? It's cold out this time of year... why the fuck are we even outside? I live in a dark room because I'm a misanthrope on a mission... I don't remember it happening like this.

That transcript will show you that now I'm just writing for the sake of typing... because truth be told, I'm only blogging because I made a very stupid, very bad, godawful decision. I tried to transfer to an arts degree. Nothing against people taking arts degrees, I'm not one of those pretentious and unwitting spines of future manhattan projects scientific types. But I really don't have the drive to make an arts degree work. So, I think I'm more fucked than the altar serving community. Instead I've decided that now, I've got to write... preferably not the uninspired drivel you've unfortunately waded through to get to this point... or suffer the terrible consequences. I didn't mean to write any of that either when I started by the way, I have a tendency to stupidly play on people's sense of pity... just like the depreciatory self awareness just there. All I ask is to pay it no heed. Your pity is unnecessary and very much unwelcome. Seriously, this is just really sad attention seeking to make up for attention starving, which is honestly healthier.

Goddamnit... I'll never make a career out of junk like this where I breakdown as I write.

*SUPER DUPER SEGUE SEGMENT*!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!~~!!!~~!!! and assorted punctuation nonsense...

Where was I before the nihilistic ravings I use as an emotional crutch? *scrolls up, thanks to the power of technology* Ahh, facebook departure, right-O with a capital 'O'. Well, I was sort of expecting fireworks over my classless succumbing to online insecurity... because I'm wrong like that. But instead I learned that when you close a facebook account, basically you get this giant crowd, complete with the cop who clearly didn't think his job really entailed these alternating praise and reverse psychology through a megaphone, all in the form of people who are 'Going to MISS you'. So here I am, standing on the eleventh storey, chuckling to myself because the megaphone's inaudible up here AND because this is a massive publicity stunt that's got all four of these people to miss me through the power of random number generation. I click the 'Fuck you, facebook friends for never being there' button and it teleports me back to the homepage, with a message saying, 'Okey dokey, your account's DEEEEE-LETED!... if you wanna come back just sign in as normal, all your stuff is there still, ISN'T LIFE FANTASTIC WHEN YOU'VE BEEN BLEACHED WITH FALSE CORPORATE JOY AND LET 'THE MAN'S' VULTURES PECK OUT YOUR EYES AND CLOSE THE DOORWAYS OF SELF AWARENESS?!!?'

Sorry...? Uh... facebook, this is kinda getting weird... So like anyone going cold turkey, I use this as an excuse to immediately sign back in. Voila, all my self absorbed ravings, photos, that note I wrote once to see what it did. They were all still there. The Facebook didn't realise, this is a healing, symbolic, SACRED gesture of temporary self improvement. I need my past discrepancies erased to move on!! Naturally, I get desparate so I start furiously deleting everything on facebook. Don't get me wrong, deleting stuff is the ultimate form of projection, I loved every second of it, but after a 'go to hell, dad!!' for every night I managed to pump out twisted statuses at the same rate a fundamentalist pumps out twisted children, it starts to get tiring. I gave up with a profile with no friends, no pictures, no name, no information and 7924 status updates, none of them 'Coffee was good and I did a framvilles!' at least...

Now, try to put that preaching homeless guy you see on the way to your place of occupation out of your head. Seriously, I know what you associate me with, don't lie.

Good, now you're ready to hear about why facebook wants your self... probably so it can eat humanity and crucify all the Jesuses again. Nonono!! Don't leave!! You've stayed this long, hold out! This is going somewhere!! I said the same about every other empty promise I've made? Yeah, but shut up for a sec, k?

Alright, so we may not agree that JFK was the fourth coming of Christ, but surely you'll agree that facebook's identity theft, if not scary, is just downright wrong.

Sorry, that was my point, I don't have stuff to back it up, because I don't care enough about this crusade for that.

Anyway, that was long, obnoxious, pretentious, snide, vulgar, offensive, distasteful, inciting... but we had fun didn't we? Hello?... Hello?!?

'You Make Me Sick, Tongs' - Morning Herald

Damn, I give up trying to find some smartass quote to start this off with... Oh, damnit... the most scandalous thing in my blogging career just became the fact that I don't actually remember any of those quotations I use... Great, before Burroughs even started his literary career he'd killed his wife and fled to Mexico... *tugs collar* Still got it!

I'd really like to delete that first paragraph, it's uninspired, predictable and generally yuck on all accounts... but I've been deleting first paragraphs for ages now. It's why I haven't been posting facebook statuses like one of those machine guns Americans make that cost impractical sums to fire because their dads went to their graves preaching 35 inch genitals... I think last time I tried to just put together a collage of pics that I consider the pinnacle of awesome, but once you've seen the Tiananmen Square guy every other dude in front of a tank/soldier/someone else who's compensating (Guess who today's rant is directed towards!) just seems to pale in comparison... plan B was everyone who's man enough to wear spandex... but I've been warned about that.

Well, D.I.D.'s crawled out of it's spiralling absence of posts, kicked the morphine addiction and got himself a dandy new pair of trousers. Now I've denied it twice, once more and I can be Pope. But yeah, I'm here again to claim MY... group... BLOG!! *Is childishly possessive*

If anything I figured I should pull my weight for a change and post something decent that's not stream of consciousness in shambles or anything...

THIS IS NOT IT.

Ack... that was as far as I'd sort of planned... hmmm, this is a predicament. Talk about something, stupid, what have you done lately? Right, nothing... should've seen that coming...

THIS MEDIUM DOESN'T DO SOLILOQUOY ANY JUSTICE.

Well, might as well fall on what's worked in the past... uh, yeah, so I'm real lonely and stuff, but I'm cool with this... A-and life's totally mad, you get to climb metaphorical mountains and thing. But so once when I was a kid I ate an apple *EDENEDENEDENEDEN THINK. EDEN. FOR. AWESOME. LITERARY. ASSOCIATIONS!*, I realised, 'wow I'm a plague on fruit collectively, but now I know there's a way to...

Son of a bitch! I don't have a quote to tenuously link this to...

Wow... this is just stream of consciousness... AGAIN. Gah, I need something to be indignant about.

Alright, here's something. I want to delete all the above, but nothing else will come to mind. I really hate writer's block. Not the name though, the name makes it sound like I'm some legit published author. Personally I think it's just a lack of confidence in any of my ideas *THIS IS THE PITY CUE*

Alright, ideas I've had lately... ummm... well I had the idea to try some Divine Comedy rewrite, which, for those who don't know *Actually being serious for a second, but I take it most will get this, but on rereading alot of my posts I make some references that are just so stupidly obscure. So now I'm going to actually try and explain things a little more, don't think I'm trying to look pretentious, I was trying to look pretentious before, now it just LOOKS pretentious... work that out!* was basically Dante Alighieri got exiled by the church and wrote them a giant fuck you about an acid trip (or whatever poets had in the 1300's to break society's no doubt MORE constricting norms) where he saw most of his diocese floating around in hell carrying bags or being turned into wind... Uh yeah... Well, anyway this idea was to sort of do a 21st century version, taking massive jabs at the dead in our generation! Unfortunately the Chaser stole my idea preemptively to critical acclaim and we're fully aware most popes wear dresses to sweep their indiscretions under and ALL WORLD LEADERS ARE BASTARDS*. That and not enough people are surprised to learn Winston Churchill was just a warmonger with a way with words...

*proven point, using the principle of human capacity for evil may be a hit below the belt, but shut up

I also had a heap of ideas for beat poetry, but I'm deluding myself that I'm 'hip', 'rad' or even 'wank' enough to pull off anything with a beat with a sliver of competence... In the world of spoken word performers trying to live the musician's dream I'm more of a 'one time radio play of my weak, nasal voice reading a hilariously unnecessary rhyme structure'. But hey, it's a one up from metal bands.

Alright so my one last avenue, utilizing three weeks worth of learning photoshop in year 9 to screw with facebook display pics. Don't say it's not art. The online avatar thing HAS worked before.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/technology/3683260.stm

That's actually a somewhat interesting read, the kid with muscular dystrophy was sort of what got me off the whole 'all you WoW people are freaks with unfulfillable lives' soapbox... but when you're eerily close to signing binding documents as Crucible Tongs, I don't think people take you too seriously.

Anyway, the problem here is... I'm not that good. I just shamelessly follow tutorials and claim all credit, hell, I don't even take most of my own photos. Photos are also an important part, editing really only works well when it's just touching up a photo that's been taken with it's final context in mind from the beginning. I can sort of blame using a grainy webcam here, but there's no way I'm 'hipster' or 'tourist' or even 'land surveyor' enough to get away with taking photos of buildings and awesome trenchcoats that I want to use for nerdy steampunk settings...

Hmmm... yeah this seems like enough, now without further ado, the much welcome return of the self depreciatory apology section!

First of all I'd like to say sorry to my family, I've betrayed all your hopes and expectations, and... oh god, Everyone here at D.I.D., sorry for the lacklustre posting. Oh and my writer for his const... Whoooooooooaaa, No. Please, as if I'd have anything close, plagiarism's my deal... regardless of what any photos have to say in opposition...

Stupid little things

Two in a night... I really don't want to do this assignment. But I think I know what I wanted to say before.

Just thought then about all the stuff I've never said. All the stuff I probably won't ever say. If I don't wake up tomorrow, of if I call it a day in decades from now. There'll always be something I missed, someone I lost, or words I forgot. I dunno, it was just interesting, to think of how much everybody throws aside into this giant hoard of regrets, stuff we're procrastinating from.

The real stuff, not the assignments, not the paperwork. The dreams we leave until morning, the people we're gonna reach out to after they say goodbye, the path we're going to walk the day our legs can't carry us anymore. Just why? Why the hell is it like this? Why was I brought into a world where this had to happen? It's just been bugging me so much lately.

I have this silly little thing I do when I just hit up youtube or something, type in piano or cello or something, and see what I can find. I trudge through until I get to the original compositions. Then I just hit play and listen. Listen and let it make me think about everything. Stop caring about what it means, what it's called, even whether I like it or not.

It just gives clarity. Clarity in moments. For a moment you're in a room by yourself, noone can enter, you can drown out everything outside. When you're king in a nutshell you just don't care anymore. I'm not sure whether to condemn it as escapism, but it's bliss. Just the sense of knowing what you're actually thinking is perfect, it can be peerless joy, shattering misery, but it's real regardless. If there was one thing I could have that lasted forever, it'd have to be that sense of perfect isolation.

I know I'm always talking about craving company. I have to admit, I think cybernetics is the answer most people have been looking for. Just engage, talk, learn and everything will return in a constant loop. Hell, Douglas Adams and David Gilmour raved about it, it must be right.

But that place is tempting. It's weird, I just imagine it sometimes. Sitting alone, in the world I always wanted, where I could just sit and spend forever trying to work me out. Not having to worry about the growing list of things that just don't matter to me anymore...

It's monstrously selfish to just want to abandon the world like that, but it's sort of one of the things I want. I think I know I want, and I'm tired of fighting what I want.

Life just seems to flash by, damnit, I'm eighteen and I already want to go back and fix things, and this is hardly new to me. There really is no way to though. Just one path, whether it's chosen or fated doesn't change the fact that whatever happens, happens. But the brevity is frightening, I only remember fragments, I can't pick up one memory without dropping another, then finding it among the rest is almost impossible. In a way, I'd almost say I won't even live for a second. I'll just be living whatever's running through my head at any time.

So just make it worthwhile, go off and get whatever it is, do whatever you have to... it's your life, so you don't have to iron out the stupid little things.

Not everything needs naming

I've been staring at the new post page for about ten minutes. Yeah, I've got absolutely nothing I can think to say, unfortunately I've got everything I want to say as well... stupid annoying dilemmas...

Basically I think I need some time off, holidays can't come any sooner though. Well I've bored you with enough so here're just some random thoughts and writings I've compiled lately. No structure, no real meaning, but real... unlike so much else...


Good people don't show up in mirrors


Just another day, waking up another insomniac in it's grave


If we swapped lives we'd just burn in respective hells


Thanks for the stagnant world,
Now I can work on the elegy
for the tragedy of liberty


Undertaker trains carry corpses,
Reaper's lost his deal,
Who needs a pin up for eternity?
Because now it's getting real


The serpent deals his fruit,
he's got tiny mouths to feed,
He can't make a buck or mind
from something kids don't eat


Watching the world wave goodbye
It ambles by like puppetry
Wind at my whim like an undersea king
Back and forth,
To and fro,
Just different directions for worldly flow
Nowhere to go
Makes bestial brevity tempting
coupled with the freedom.


It's a second bringing not a coming,
So why the fuck will none of you bastards stand up?


Noone can save a world, where different people's different perils lurk behind their hidden doors.


Cards, numbers, names.
I don't want to be me anymore.


I only ask the world the single thing it took from me.
Everything and nothing.


No good, no evil, no me, no you,
No anything, welcome to the world...
Is what I'd like to say but reality was on the other side all along


Everything I wanted to be, was something I never let you see,
Pull from me your obsession, don't look, don't speak, just go.


Every moment you feel alive
There's a week ironically begging for death
Clocking on and clocking off
To do the time in your mind
A cash bouquet and sepulchral eyes.
Respectable neglect makes the wise disguise
Dress it sharp for cubicle or grave.
A temporary end epidemic like a wave


Keep clinging little man,
To whatever you can.
In this big man's hands you dance
right off this stage.
His voice out your mouth
and everyone knows.
Got your name from a tag,
saving for when you'll sag.
Everyone sees the strings but you.


Well, if you get here, it's been awfully nice of you to keep dealing with my mood murder, awfully nice of you to deal with everything else as well. So... uh... what was I doing?

Welcome to my Breakdown... I hope I didn't scare you

I had a bad anxiety attack today.

I wasn't going to blog about this because it was pretty messed up. But I'm a hypocritical attention seeking bastard or something, but that's to be expected when for the last three to four months you've had weeks where you don't have any reason to speak.

OK, most of you are familiar with my nervous breakdown. For those who don't know, a nervous breakdown isn't just a once off where you put shoes on your hands and scream about how none of it makes any sense.

Oh no, it's more like being in the middle of your body panicking itself into cardiac arrest spontaneously and your mind beginning to scream about how very little of the world's crap is justified, including you... that and it tends to drag on for a month and a bit... and counting.

Yeah, another self indulgent post, but this is all I can think of right now to stop me doing things I'm pretty sure I'll regret.

So here's the lowdown... Hmmm, this all started after a pretty rough week. Rough because it started with a Sunday. One of THOSE Sundays, you know them. Well, I let this Sunday run all week, I don't know anyone at uni... still... kind of sad, but meh, been there before, I live, it's cool (Duh, because I'm so stoic and fantastic and stuff and things). My parents were just being their usual awkward, 'Oh-you're-so-problematic-and-likely-the-devil's-child' selves... so the less said about trippin' balls in lectures the better. But oh, the days of horizontal wall people become sorely missed.

Well, I was basically doing my thing, giving up on assignments, avoiding eye contact, writing in my therapeutic nightmare notebook and genuinely being a borderline autistic jerk to anyone who so much as looked at me. The normal deal for those who are used to tolerating my 'eccentricities'.

Alright, my life ain't sunshine, lollipops and rainbows everywhere. And it's not going to be. I accepted a long time ago that wearing a facade for four hundred 'close' friends wasn't my way of doing things. Compromise has managed to worm it's way out of my vocabulary as well. Basically, I give a person a minute. If you can't somewhat entertain me or I can't come up with anything to say to you that doesn't leave me scowling and clutching for something sharp to sink into the side of my finger or genitals, then so long, it wouldn't work out.

Goddamnit, being too irritatingly stereotypical, point is, I was asking for this to happen... And well, I think I like it. Occasionally.

OK, now this is getting awkward, the room doesn't seem real and I think I'm gonna throw up. No, I am gonna throw up.

Basically this is the perfect example of your body's contribution to the nervous breakdown. It says, you need to get out of here or I'll really make you look like a moron in front of people. I seem to be spending too much time in toilet cubicles at uni playing guessing games with my body and trying to predict whether it wants to just puke itself inside out, or just cramp up my stomach, or maybe just a nice little, searing bitch of a headache.

Well today I was in a tute... trying to hyperventilate because it looks better than randomly slamming your lower body because you're getting this huge numb sensation all over it. I sit at the back naturally. Well, it got to much... I got out of the room and bolted for the toilets. I didn't throw up, like usual, but the sensation is so undescribably real. It sounds stupid but your body just says, get out of here, I don't care if I have to piss you silly or make your fingers so numb you can't hold a pen. Naturally you panic, leave, and nothing. It's just a sensation. I'm not throwing up and collapsing in a heap, it just feels like I am. You know, that sounds great, your body's just playing tricks on you, but it's unbearable, infuriating, even maddening.

Today I started to get the, 'You're insane, you know?' with that growing edge of actual fear. Everyone hits that stage, when they realise, hang on, you're not completely right. Yeah probably not, but I get diagnosed or anything, and my world falls apart quicker than I can mutter about how none of you understand you're wasting your lives with bureaucracy, money, looking the same and identifying yourself in nomenclature's damning cage.

Thing is, it's really quite terrifying. I've taken on the appearance of a harried junkie now. In all honesty, I've been tempted. To just find something to sedate everything and stop the world moving so fast. But I don't think substances will help. That's kind of why I've been so annoyingly strict with my sobriety lately and not touching anything. Because then it'll all go to hell something fast. It's a coping mechanism though. It's horrible but comforting at the same time. It seems to just rationalise everything. More and more becomes acceptable. Self criticism takes the back seat and lets you just leave when you think it's getting too hot in the kitchen. Also becomes fine to just talk about impenetrable nonsense for no reason...

Well, I dunno why I'm writing this, maybe another classic method of holding people at arms length through terror, maybe to avoid sleep so I don't have to wake up to a job I'm not being paid for and was relegated to in a barely concealed attempt of my father's to mould me into everything I've learned to loathe. Maybe it was because, in reality, this is the only goddamn thing I have left. I suppose majority of people who wrote to eat were just doing the only job a nutjob can take.

Oh and before I forget, given recent posts, I didn't want to look like I was saying 'Hey look at me! I've got issues too!'... maybe I was just inspired to explain away erratic behaviour or something... which given the quality, it does appear so... Hell, tonight was just a 'write because I can' deal, because I can't see much else with a modicum of rationality any more.

Well, goodbye for now... might as well wave off some of those chunks of sanity I seem to be hurling up, as well. I think? Because I'm tired of knowing things... I'd rather hate to think right now

Oh I'm sorry, I'll leave you to it

Why am I here?...

You all just edged away didn't you? Yeah, I can definitely forgive you for expecting a typical Tongan trite existential rant, culminating in me clutching my head in the corner while you roll your eyes and find something to entertain yourselves with in DARPA's ninth circle...


Google HQ, come on, this has to be our Great Deceiver...


Not tonight, I'm not in the mood... (pauses for outcry and chatter). I just have absolutely no idea why I'm typing, here in this box right now. Maybe I've got stuff I want to say, maybe I've got stuff I NEED to say? Or maybe I'm just losing my mind like I've been suspecting of late and this was the logical destination of this evening's horrifying lack of... well, anything.

Yes, this is directionless. In that I'm admitting it's directionless. If you want to look at this artistically then take it as allegory for life, who the hell can admit they really know where they're going?

While I remember, Thankyou. Okay? Seriously THANK YOU, you've got no idea, but you deserve it.

Being able to hear the wind is one of those awesomely disconcerting things. It doesn't have a tune, but you hear it. You don't get to see it but you feel it. I have no idea. This is what I'm thinking right now, so I'm typing it up. Because I think like the wind, I can't see it, I just have this vague sense that everything I do is backed by rationality. I'm moved along like clouds by something I can't control. Then it becomes tragic. The world shatters like glass, and now it's cold and lonely.

Where did the wind come from?

Where does it go?

Does the wind die?

Did it have a place somewhere once, but passed over it in search of it's destination? Is it just being guided along like everything at it's mercy? Is it just running from everywhere it's been and all the little disappointments it's name carries?

Is this insanity? Just thinking these things? The origin of wind? Compassion for it... Just remembered something. When I was a child I saw a glove in the mud. It was raining. It just seemed sad. Something that was a part of someone left without them, likely never to get back to it's proper place. I won't lie, my early childhood just seems like a mess of adjustment issues to be honest. It's kind of funny, but it seemed like one of the greatest tragedies I'd ever witness. Now for the confession. I never really fully got over that. To this day stuff like that just strikes m...

ANNAHYDE!! YOU JUST INTERRUPTED MY COLD MECHANICAL THOUGHT PROCESS WITH YOUR NOTE TAGGING.

And you've never seen me cry, figures, afterall, We Write a Blog 'Together'... (Yes I am about to steal inspiration, close those mouths, Mary Poppins would be rolling in her grave)

I can't remember when I cried last. Life's too fun to cry. I remember feeling really guilty for not crying, I remember TRYING to cry. But I can't so I must be awesome or a robot. I know as a kid I was always crying or not talking or just casualy talking about geography and word meanings based entirely on my nonsensical dreams (TRUE STORY) making people think 'That boy'll snap and kill us all one day' (Bowdlerised extensively). I have to stop talking about my childhood, I start to remember stupid little things... like crying at the thought of having my photo taking, crying because noone would believe me, crying becau... OK ENOUGH.

The everyday emotional plight of the wind, sympathy for lost things and the early warnings of some debilitating personality disorders... By now you must be wanting to leave, I understand, this is therapeutic for me and downright nightmarish and awkward for you, so some spontaneous poetry to lift the mood...

All the equipment to fly
And the mindset to try.
There's an alien cage
of matching age
More time goes by
It's song from it's cry.
A shadow.
Not what it was.
It shuffles on it's perch,
gives voice to dawn.
And when it's sun sets
on the forgotten regrets
illegitimate tragedy
born from a transformation.
There's noone to sing anymore,
No one to sleep, no one to sit,
noone to sleep or live in their shit
But what was that thing?
Why'd it have wings?
Because it kept creeping back behind the bars
and giving up on the stars.

Ack, spontaneous poetry is far too insightful into current train of thought, which is what I was initially aiming for... Humanity is Hypocrisy, which is why I try to stay away from preaching my (wrong) ideals on blog format... says the guy who 'broadcasts his words like artillery fire'. That's an original by the way, don't google it if you don't get it *puffs out chest*.

Okay so wisdom, everyone should have it. Or I am insane and am the only person who does. It's pretty subjective like that...

So... dearest reader(s)* what is the world's absolute truth?

*uennecessary plural most likely

And why won't you say it? there's a space for comments, and I'll plug this on facebook, why don't you use it? Voice an opinion! Talk to the crazy man, he can't hurt you through the computer... *hisses* ALTHOUGH HE'D GODDAMN LIKE TO!! RAARR!! RARRR!!! RAARRRR!! GRRR!! teehee, silliness humour, if you say it using extra adjectives and sound verbose it becomes high brow, very interesting methinks.

Waiting for four words, and I'm not leaving until I hear them.

Just posted something on FACESBOOK. It's a word disassociation. My hypothesis (I just mangled the vowel emphasis in 'hypothesis' for no reason then, it's kind of fun, highly advised, 4 stars) is that NOONE will bother to post a single word. Yes this is another of my cruel social experiments... like dressing as a hipster in ferntree gully and gauging people's responses, or the time I looked at people and licked my lips on the bus... you get the idea, I do the messed up pursuits in the interests of science!! Well it's been there for seven minutes, either people don't get it, or we've all been shoved unceremoniously into an alternate reality where nothing comes to mind at the mention of 'bugbear'. That's right, DEAR (MOST LIKELY) READER!! You are know the 'what's wrong with society'. I THINK I have anybody who reads this on facebook, so you have no excuse.

That's right Angsty Verbose Didactic Preacher CRUCIBLE TONGS, just told you that you are the problem. REACH OUT, quit complaining, sing on a tram, say hi to a complete stranger, paint a self portrait, invite yourself into some random's conversation. The world is boring, make it better. But surely you ask, Mr Tongs, YOU do none of this!! Which is a statement, but this is stream of consciousness so it's cool. You're absolutely right, but this is about the self making a difference, If I started the revolution, you'd have learned nothing. And besides...

FINISHED THAT.

The other day I was at uni, schizzin' about like mad catz when I turned on my radio and was greeted with The Pixies 'Where is My Mind'. And a band adored by Kurt Cobain and Thom Yorke, CAN. NOT. BE. WRONG.

IDOLATRY!! THE ANSWER SINCE THE GREAT MIGRATION

This was a sublime moment in slooshying. I'd come out of a tutorial off my brain on life... and sleep deprivation, stress, caffeine and what's probably insanity hatching in my headspace.

Way out in the water, see it swimming.

THIS IS THE RIGHT ONE!! My mind is way out in the water and I just watch it swimming. You keep on swimming you little trooper. Cos I'll just sit on the beach and watch you go. THE MIND IS ALIEN. Let it go, let it be free to swim. It's cool, it can tread water. So I stopped freaking out at all the crazy junk I was thinking of all day, and cheered him on.


This is 'A Banana Realising He's Realised Something, and He's Just as Terrified as You'd Be'

He won the race? Did I mention it was a race? It was a race, all good now? Coolness!

Actually, I'm kind of glad I came in tonight. I sort of did come up through the window, noone was home. I helped myself to the fridge... and wardrobe. I had a great time writing this. It got a bit crazy for a while, but I'll remember it. Yeah, I'm signing off... BUT WAIT!!!

WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?!?! RIGHT. NOW.

PUT IT IN COMMENTS. MAKE IT WORDS. DON'T END UP AN INSOMNIAC ON YOUR DEATHBED. GO AHEAD. JUST LET THE DAM BREAK OPEN, IT'S NEVER TOO SOON. ME AND NIEL HAVE LAMPS WE'LL MEET YOU THERE!!... probably be watching Wizard of Oz though, so don't bother knocking... Yeah, guess what just came on thanks to the Tiny Shuffle Mormons... ACK! No! Goodbye is like bandaids, GOODBYE!

'Fools' said I

...

...

...

Don't say it.
I know I said this place was dead, and I stand by that... the crappy poll is all the proof anyone should need. Anyway, I'm posting... y'know, considering Tongs is sort of a deity he'd better address his flock... or space cadets? Do you prefer that?

So cadets... lately bitching about 'UNUSversity Syndrome'... yes, that is Latin humour, and I know, I've lost my edge, seems to be the direction these posts are going so I'm jumping on the bandwagon.


'Hi! I'm Matt! I really hate the way 'I'm' flows effortly into my first name, I also hate the monosyllabic abbreviation and the annoying alliteration between my first and last name my parents didn't think about. It's heavily indicative of a inclination towards self loathing... wha? You DON'T innaccurately psychoanalyse everyone you meet with your shameless self taught discredited knowledge?. This laughably uncharacteristic enthusiasm is causing my kidneys to rebel with all they've got, so the wincing is me having my own hyper acidic urine shot straight to my heart, not the fact that I don't want to be here. By the way, it's acidic because I eat bizarre stuff for attention!! I have a book, I write poems in said book like a homosexual infantryman. Did I mention my musical tastes span over half a millennium? Yeah, I don't shake hands like that... but thanks? Later do you want to get tea and I can throw the topic of my own suicide around like it's Freud's entire psychoanalytic theory! HAHAHAHA!! OK, awesome, wait, I feel morose and morbid... you realise you're wrong because you believe in things right? Yeah, it's better to play the nonchalant nihilist... by the way... I can hypnotize people... and I hallucinate... ALOT, if you see me looking at your feet it's me making sure they're rooted to the ground so it's safe to talk to you out loud. Oh it's your friends! This is hard enough as it is, so you're cool with me flatly ignoring them out of social ineptitude and not wanting to start another of these conversations? That's cool I feel like blogging anyway, it's this crazy thing where I just angst out hard beans of solid wisdom that people awkwardly stumble across and seek to leave the quickest way they can. Oh, these guys I know praise me wildly for it too, temporarily reversing the inferiority/superiority complex!'

Honesty is the worst policy imaginable. We are a bunch of filthy awesome liars.

Well if this proves anything apart from the fact that if this guy can even have people who'd consider themselves FACEBOOK 'friends' shows a world heading in the wrong direction, it's me desperately and weakly concealing the fact that I. CANNOT. MEET. PEOPLE. IN. REAL. LIFE. OK, some weird guy you end up stuck tolerating on MSN or something says he taught himself hypnotism, yeah that's messed up, but we'll run with it. But when he leans over the table and stares right into your eyes licking his lips saying he can inhibit a state of 'suggestibility' in you... your mind starts to come up with it's own conclusions... completely ignoring the fact that I only really use it to sleep, trip out while still being able to give a Lower Murray Livestock Award winning urine sample and lock my legs up for the associated and deeply subjective humour of developing a temporary subconscious barrier to movement...

Establishing people is difficult, eccentricities are the spice of life itself, to lose them would have me locked in a french kiss with a 12 gauge... Uuugh... But you know it's okay when you at least have someone who knows all that crazy junk you're gonna pull... and how to sedate you when the paranoia kicks in etc.

YEAH WELL I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU.

I only have those people who already avoid me for said eccentricities. I'm up there failing solo... and disturbingly beginning to like it. I'll be honest, I type more words than I actually say. Sad, but grossly true. I am becoming a uni loner and revelling in it. I might as well be taking a vow of silence, actually, I've always wondered whether if monks and stoners and overweight metal heads and stuff take vows of silence, does that replace chastity for 48 hours so they can basically go for whatever isn't secured with the gift of consent?... and from behind and in the dark for everything that is?... But I digress, the point is, I'm back to that annoying stage where I show up at a gathering and lose my voice in 20 minutes because I'm not getting the valuable vocal exercise McDonald's isn't endorsing? I think it's fantastic to see that fast food mega corporations are picking up the government's slack, it's harmony the only way we could realistically hope for... through mutual indifference towards everything that doesn't hold stock value...

I spend my breaks now in the park writing, in my zen garden watching people and subjecting them to my scathing, hypocritical mental criticisms or letting birds and stuff land on me. Seriously happened, I feel like the hispanic guy from Captain Planet... who NEVER really had any point where his power could solve something fire couldn't, he was the writer's cynical attack on Mexican laxness concerning automotive pollution. Yeah they're trying the best they can, AMERICA *HOO-RAH!* is fixing the problem with 9% of households fitted with energy saving lightglobes (WHICH ARE COOL, DON'T BELIEVE THE HATE. SERIOUSLY THEY'RE A TENTH AS BRIGHT AS NORMAL FAUNA SLAYING GLOBES, WHICH IS BRILLIANT FOR GLOOMY MOOD LIGHTING!!), Lots of bright posters and a dude who can just burn anyone who tries to preach global warming like the heretic's deceit it is. Hmm, so forced humour aside, I'm reaching the sad stage where it's eight weeks in and no demographic will give my scarred, barren pelvis a second look...

I've got to be really honest here though. I can't really say I care. I can do what I want, when I want and don't have to put up with someone bitching for the sake of it, then when presented with the outcome, eats half of it in finally excessive acknowledgement that wasted an hour and a half and in that disgusting inebriated way that can make even NACHO LASAGNE!!! *crosses self and bows to the west* look unappetizing... So yeah, it's cool with me, I don't see what you guys are all bitching about...

RIGHT! The exponential increase in the degrees of sanity separating us! Well, because this is 2010, and all roads lead back to facebook... the new update adds nicotine... look at your TRIPLE DIGIT list of friends... now let's be realistic, there're a few you just deal with by thinking of amazing self esteem raping retorts you could theoretically deliver. But seriously that's alot of people, look how many are online... click one... Start a GODDAMN conversation. For a bunch of people who sleep with phonebooks reaching for the 900 mark to complain about not having anyone is mighty annoying. There is a number, dial it. TALK. For the love of Pleroma, YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I can guarantee someone else in this solitary confinement the bastards in suits call polite society will have no problem with picking up.

Just leave the naively romantic, lone wolf style to the professionals is all I ask. *winks and bows*

And the Weird Blogging Hack Came Back

Don't pretend you didn't miss me. Blogging as a medium decays in my absence. Crucible Tongs has come back, adorned in that trademark garb you've come to associate with worldly security. The gleaming diving helmet throbbing with neon lights and encapsulating the timeless German rave scene, the sharp tuxedo and white gloves, the snowy ruffle and obsidian briefcase of depth indeterminable... Yeah, I kind of fell in love with an alter ego in there somewhere, but affections for fictitious characters is like throbbing biological urges in priests, they're cool so long as you don't act on them... and you will, so enjoy dreading the absolute downfall of all your amassed credibility while you're at it...

*Ahem* I am so unbelievably glad I can blame that intro on my blogging slump of late. That way it can't be dredged up as evidence for the raging 'Crucible Tongs vs Bram Stoker's Estate'... of which claims of over 400 calls demanding to know where I should address mail to one M. Harker are completely unsubstantiated... *Ahem... because sometimes a paragraph's gotten so defamatory you've retched up some of the most grotesque 'Fishing Chips' (Which are NOT SUSTENANCE!!!) you'll definitely encounter next weekend when they're on the table waiting for you when you get home, and had to clear your throat once more*. I've got no idea where this is going and this line is often the harbinger of some of my more... 'eccentric' work on Musings Of Tong, check it out if you haven't, you'll probably NEVER be able to speak to me face to face again, but I like to gauge the reactions nonetheless. Nevertheless I'll keep it 'clean' and try to keep the name dropping to a minimum.

'Why haven't you been blogging, Mr Tongs?', I bet you're all asking, as my overflowing charisma has been known to require three successive greetings before one can truly consider themselves capable of comprehending my overwhelming personage. The answer is simple, it's called a cocktail of stress, anxiety, borderline nervous breakdown, Nirvana (The state of being AND the band!), hallucinations, illness, tragedy, large scale property damage, chronic isolation and a Typically Tongian Transcendence of today's value system... with Tiringly Terrible Tongian alliteration for good measure... However I'm getting quite sick of saying life's sucked for the last few weeks and so can't be screwed now. Instead I will detail my absence because this is blogging, you'll sit down and enjoy what I tell you to enjoy...

So strap yourself in reaaaaal tight... don't mind the wires and tape keeping your eyes ajar... because here's my 'Ode to (eventual temporary) Joy'...

The storm.

THE storm.

THA storm.

You know, the one that didn't reach it's full potential for media frenzy as measured by comparing my mother's level of indignation to that of the tabloids. As you all would have guessed with a startling degree of accuracy, no doubt, is that a 'deeply troubled' (sounds so much cooler than 'potentially dangerous' in conversations with women, trust me... because my conversations with women are the stuff of legend... almost to the point where I wish humanity could collectively forget them...) and, shamelessly overt, melancholic youth such as myself sees an intensely ferocious, yet empathetic poetic beauty to a well timed downpour. The heavens break for you, they cry the tears you couldn't shed like a best friend, they drown out the uncaring world in a constant perfect rhythm... and delivers a comforting yet commanding voice in thunder, as a fantastic Shakespearian precursor to unfathomable tragedy. King Lear, THIS MAY, GET HYPED, GET SNIDE AND PRETENTIOUS, GET TICKETS... then get wasted on red wine & cheap caviar and despair at the day your future daughters come and destroy your life with their grotesque, hereditary, karmic, ignorance...

Well THAT storm, which became ridiculously serious because it singlehandedly ruined Moomba, shocking all that a celebration for something as dead as the Yarra had to be buried by divine intervention... Well I was home, on the phone to a confused and threatened Mr Phistocoles, the greengrocer, about trading my permanent essence for the culinary skills to develop what later became the greatest vegetarian bolognaise sauce the world will ever see. To cut a long story short, the iceman indeed cometh in the form of a middle eastern mob evidently without sin. Here's where the heroics come in, if anybody still plays Brass instruments now would be a good time, or that lacking, the Indiana Jones theme will do just fine. I have a dog, my sister has a rabbit. The dog's a genius, he knows life's about food, sleep, poignant misery for attention, snappy outfits and sating those pesky male loins with anything you can squint enough to make appear female. The rabbit is vermin, it layers our backyard in it's 'leavings' (I love that word in that context, it's so classy) which adds that extra layer of disgusting challenge to an already distressing occupation of hanging out the washing... seriously, handling people's clothes is way too 'stalky' for anyone under 35 and engaged in... your mantra becomes, 'I'm just holding clothes, they're for wearing, not for ME to wear though! Oh lordy no, although they might fit your... *shakes head violently grits teeth and resumes the psychological torture*'. I digress from cool heroics, which will get their own paragraph for emphasis.

*Click, Click... Click, *curse* backspace* Excellent, well evidently I loathe my sister's rodent companion, as an ignorant, deadbeat, talent squandering young male willing to fake dedication for attention and overstaying my welcome, I dragged the dog inside. Hail explodes on garage roofs situated next to porches like shrapnel. It was the least I could do for the only company I had for the weekend... who I'd neglected to feed until one that morning thanks to stupid uni timetable and fear of abandonment from schoolyard chums. I had guilt on my mind so I saved him... by opening a door and shouting, but that's sort of all they do for avalanche survivors too. 'OH MY GOD!!! ARE YOU ALIVE?!?!?!' as the victims sudden blindness, deafness and unceremonious shovel wound to the forehead are inflicted and carried for the rest of their, admittedly lucky, lives. Well the dog was inside barking, which I often immaturely associate with canine cursing for cheap lulz and out of an intense shared hatred for morning birds. 'A mighty fine job Tongs', said my imaginary colonel or military horn player... I consider knowing nothing of military rank or weapon numbering one of my finest traits, the prospective engineers I spend my week with think otherwise... It also helped that i was wearing my awesome lazing around weekend cargo pants that I swear were designed for covert operations or something else a six year old openly considers cool before he thinly represses it for the rest of his inadequate, non maiden-rescuing/dragon-slaying/Nazi-trouncing manhood. I'm wearing them now actually... I think I took blogging to a new disturbing level... Yeah, I'm wearing my action pants right now... nice and loose, as I frantically wait for people who are out enjoying their Friday night to comment on my facebook status and put up with my dad's disturbingly audible sleep apnea from the other side of the house... yeah, this is why I'll need tertiary education to get by...

Okay, so my rescue is complete so I stand on the porch amid the shards of ice in the rain howling in victory like the barbaric and rugged 57kg beast of a omegamale I am... when I see my sister's goddamn rabbit. Lewis Carrol was onto something (Someone will point out the implications there, come on, there's a Disney tie-in, someone apart from Damacus owes it to themselves to get this, because I was sick of his adoration within a minute of meeting him...)... *hints shamelessly out of fear of not being acknowledged and draining any miserable immature humour this gag had left due to breach of brevity* No, not little girls, but why you should NEVER FOLLOW WHITE RABBITS... Me being the brilliantly heroic, yet stoic (Don't ever touch me...), but charming (...Eeeeeehh!!!!), combat hardened (seriously, never touch me...) and intensely dashing individual that I am, I threw caution to the wind, and offered a helping hand to my much maligned, myxomatosis proofed malefactor. I have a brain, he tells me to do some really bad things, in this case he reminded me he's in a prime position to take some serious damage right about now and he's in charge of my delicate balance between playful randomness and schizophrenic depravity so I listened, and put a battered washing basket over my head. Screaming like the only person I have the build to appear remotely like... Xena, I bolted for one of those ancient plastic clam shell paddle pools that lies in a pile of junk from an age when it was cool for toys to have 78% Lead concentration. It was the only way to break the bonds of trademarking and have the Ninja Turtles ACTUALLY fight Transformers and a trio of Batmen with Pokemon, complete with your own predetermined winner based on what you were more into at the time. Giggling and screaming hysterically, high on chemical-laden paints and Peyote loaded juice while wearing shorts for ridiculousness is probably why our generation is so fucked up... and by that I mean AWESOME! OK so I'm fumbling with a slab of plastic that's in a state of decay. Paddle pools must have become non-profitable ages ago thanks to child obesity... Well as I fumble I learned a great lesson from my cosmic-gnostic-mech-god/imaginary friend. The fusion of testosterone, dopamine and adrenaline's short lived effects are karmic punishment for inherent disappointing male sexual performance. It's about here where I start wetting myself with whatever fluids my body has to offer. It doesn't help that I get hit on the hand by a Yeti's tennis ball with a troposphere for Newtonian acceleration. Now the Xena scream is this messy amalgam curse... which from memory wasn't even cursing but more like vocabulary leakage. I run straight for the rabbit hutch as the thing springs about like it ate... or watched Flubber. The rabbit can smell my hatred, it panics and recoils as I run adorned with a washing basket, bleeding from mother nature's stigmata and holding a giant menacing blue shell while screaming 'Mothertrainfootgrasseyescakeloveelevensickcardcoldadverbnottrydonecouldwoodenstalepragmatistcolonialisedrakefortbedjuxtaposition!!!!'

Well I got there and I placed the shell over a cage which in hindsight was probably doing a good enough job protecting an animal too dumb to realise it's actually safe in the steel shelter box despite the roaring being ten times as loud. Not happy with the orientation (Terrible time for OCD to get you, I know) I shifted it around, the basket was nailed with what I now assume are flaming meteors. I yelp like a small girl spliced with a chipmunk and bolt for the safety of inside. Well that's my elaborate rescue in a coconut shell.

I'd wrap this up now, but my computer says 'Vampire Hunter D' won't be done downloading for another 2 hours and Damacus, despite saying so, knows his previous posts absurd length (aided by videos, crazy formatting and other cheap nonsense) was a crazy challenge to my kingly authority over this blog during my absence... Need I remind him it was MY crazy latenight MSN conversation idea initially to convert Dracula's (3rd nightwalker mention, because it ain't a D.I.D. post without vampires!!!) diary and letter format to that of weblogs and e-mail, for our own despicably pretentious and subversive sense of humour. Actually I don't mean to boast or anything, but those late night Crucible-Damacus Brainstorming sessions unfurl some of... no... THE GREATEST CONCEPTS THE WORLD WILL EVER SEE... admittedly he drops the ball most times, but my influence pulls him into line. Actually I think I'll check to see if I've got any saved to pass the time. Afterall, you've got another hour and a half of my story to wade through, you've deserved your catharsis... of basking in my detestable ego masturbation!!!

Well I can't find anything, sorry, I actually looked. You'll just have to believe that neither of us have anything better to do with our time than contemplate character scenarios brimming with references to things we're experts on thanks to wikipedia, then growing increasingly disturbing and angsty until we both realise we're writing ourselves into a subversive phantasmagorical dystopia as a weakly concealed allegory for the tragedies (note the plural) we've faced living unemployed in peaceful suburbia but are experts on because we know words like 'angst' and 'melancholy' and can recite the names of all the demons from 'The Lesser Key of Solomon' and personify them appropriately as institutions and corporations we keep coming crawling back to...

Well since I started this only one person liked one of my four facebook statuses churned out in the space of a minute. Which goddamn genius decided to develop another means to gain perceived acceptance? As if I needed somewhere else to make a fool of myself for the sake of sweet, sweet praise... Hmm, how about making a status about the fact that I'm typing up a blog post...2 minutes later I netted two comments for it. Fantastic, this is what I've worked all night for. Now to use anything that was said as a ridiculous counter. Girl Scout killings due to decreased levels of blindness in society will do nicely... Now to await the fish to take the bait. The bait has been taken, now to kick it up a notch. You know how in Western's the cliche villain ties the cliched broad to a cliched rail line, then the train that runs on cliches comes around the corner and the cliched hero shoots some cliches and saves her... only to have the hero die anyway in the cliche final stand in the ending. This WILL get a response. And a response it got... hmm... maybe some electricity... sleep deprivation... yeah, I've found my conversation for tonight, I don't need blogging anymore, so uh... bye!

5. Something that you feel will find its own form