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Wednesday, The
Sixteenth of October, In The Year Two Thousand and Two First
Things First...
I just want to get something out of the way. I've felt
like absolute tripe the past few days. I just didn't want to write on
Sunday or Monday, and yesterday I just didn't bother to upload the ol'
girl. I felt so empty. And then I found out about this
which really hasn't helped my bleak view of humanity. .. Also the
realisation that I may actually be attracted to people who are like my
mother is still haunting me, although I can't seem to shake it. I mean, I
don't know whether I believe it or not, but I can see that parents would
have a huge impact on the development of the psyche of a child. While
we're growing up is when we learn gender roles, and we learn gender roles
from my parents. I mean, I'm not exactly - nor will I ever be - the
manliest of men, and if I look to where I would've got that form, it's
fairly obvious that I got that from my dad, who, if you've seen, is not
- nor will he ever be - the perfect male specimen. In tat regard, maybe subconsciously
I think it's the male's role to be be an absolute pansy and to at
least try to be an intellectual. Maybe I think it's my role to patronise
women for all eternity and treat them like shit - a la my Dad. Look at my
brother, he's not exactly the manliest of men either, I mean, the clothes,
what's doing there?.. .. .. And my mum, I mean, she's all about
cleanliness and archaic racial stereotypes, and my sisters, they're very,
very much entrenched in that philosophy.
So maybe that's what I'm looking for in a girl then. A girl
who's entrenched in anachronistic values, who doesn't understand her
children, who can't relate to anyone who's not in her economic bracket,
who plays superficial and bitchy games like a year 9 school girl, who
likes those Fire And Brimstone sermons (repent or go to hell)
because they make her feel righteous? A lady who hates having people over,
who regrets having children, who doesn't have a lot of patience, who yells
and screams and gets irrational, who can only love out of social
obligation it seems. Who's completely inept of all my interests, who lives
in her own world outside of me. Who laughs at things that only someone who
hates me would laugh at. And to make matters worse, my Dad's actions are
what I'm going to interpret as proper male behaviour, inclusive of
his view of my mother. So that's going to affect anyone that I am
attracted to. I mean, anyone who I'm attracted to, I'm going to patronise
the shit out of, and treat them like garbage, because that's what my
gender roles have taught me.
Is anyone else even mildly disturbed by the fact that the way
you judge your relationships, and the person your relationship is with,
could very possibly be determined by your parents and a sordid Oedipus
/ Electra complex? I'm fearful, fearful in a bad way. Paralysed
by fear. I never want to ever be attracted to anyone ever again, just in
case I run the risk of them being like my mum. Which quite honestly, is a
bad thing at times. .. .. .. This is stupid, it means that the kind of
girl I'm after will provide for me financially, and that's it. There'll be
no emotional attachment, nothing more than a superficial, economic
dependency. Woe is me, for I hate you all.
Tuesday, The Fifteenth of October, In The Year Two Thousand and Two
Profound
Tradition
"Boys are attracted to people who are like
their mothers." .. .. This Freudian concept scares me so much, that
I'm going to go out of my way to be stubborn against it. I don't care if
true love finds me, and there's some girl who I want to spend the rest of
my life with, if she's as anally retentive as my mother, it's not going to
happen. I mean, my mum's fairly lenient in that I can't imagine her saying
to me "don't go out" but having said that, she gets all moody
and passive aggressive and yeah, I don't want to go out with that. That's
a shit-house person is what that is. I mean, for crying out loud, quit
being so damn pedantic and anal over stuff that doesn't matter. Yes,
there's dust in my room, get over it. .. .. Man, this is just turning into
another bitch-fest about my parents. Damn Parents.
I headed over to bored of studies
yesterday to look at the
UAI calculator, and apparently I'm headed for a UAI of
99.75. I think there
may, just maybe, there may have been a slight mistake with the UAI
estimator. I mean, as much of a genius as I am, I think maybe there
might've been just a hint of .. . wait, I did it again, projected UAI
89.45. That's better. I think it was because I forgot to change the
units, as in, English Ext 2 was worth 2 units, as was English Ext 1. So
yeah, with 89.45 I can get into whatever the hell course I want to,
luckily, I aim low. If you
can't be bothered downloading it, they have a light version of it here.
So be sure to check it out, now. Apparently it has a margin of error of
only 1. Which I think is pretty impressive.
Go and check out this
song. I think it aptly sums up how I feel about that person. I mean, he's
singing about his Mum, I think, but I'm not, well, I could be, but it's
more about that other one. "I'm never gonna know you now, but I'm
gonna love you anyhow." Sadly, it's quite apt. ... well, in parts.
Anyway, I've started listening to a lot more music lately. I mean, I
didn't think it was possible to listen to more music that I did, but if
you actually, listen to the music, then it's okay. ...
ooh, i forgot to
upload this.
Saturday, The
Twelfth of October, In The Year Two Thousand and Two
What's
wrong with me? Why do people laugh at me in the street?
Am I just somebody that you look at, and laugh? I mean,
Dave's always saying that I'm not funny, hardly anybody laughs at
my jokes, I mean, I'm not exactly a hilarious person, in fact, I'm not
really all that comical. However today, as I lay in my bed, half asleep,
listening to The Whitlams, my mum walked into my room, to pick up the
cordless phone, which I'd lazily left on my desk, and she burst out
laughing. I quietly rolled over to see what the ruckus was about, and she
was pointing at what she thought was her sleeping son (me) and laughing
her head off. She noticed that I'd turned over, and embarrassingly walked
out of the room, phone in hand. I returned to my half-asleep stance, only
to be woken soon after (I looked at my bedside clock) by her cackling
laughter once again. She was standing outside my door nor, and talking on
the phone to, who I cam only assume was my maternal grandmother (although
I'm not sure). Again, she was talking about me, and laughing. In a bad
way. Saying things that were .. .. that were only funny if you hate me.
And she was laughing. She was finding them funny. Saying things that would
only be funny if you hated me, and she was laughing, she found them funny.
... ..... ... maybe she was joking? .. Maybe? Am I trying to defend her,
or convince myself that my own mother doesn't hate me. She always used to
say to me "be nice to your family, because nobody else loves you like
your family does'. Well, nobody else does love me like my family does -
but I'm starting to wonder if that's such a bad thing. .. .. the crux of
the matter is, the past 17 years, you've all been laughing at me, not with
me, and nobody had the heart to tell me.
In other at them not with them news, check out this
and to a lesser extent this.
And from the, "I- know-I- shouldn't- laugh,- but- it's- hard-
not- to" this
and Frump's joke: What do Chinese teenagers do over the weekends? Go
to Tianamen Square and get tanked. ... ooh, I feel so soiled. Kinda like
last night, I was talking to my Dad, and I said to him how I was thinking
about doing a Fine Arts degree at Uni, (which I am by the way) and he
laughed at me. He laughed. And it wasn't a "wow, that's
interesting" laugh, or any slightly forgivable, even jovial type of
laugh, it was scathing, and patronising. My father, thinks I'm nothing but
a small child. I mean, he patronises me. I get patronised by the
most inept and superficial man in existence. The alcoholic guy in the
corner over there, the man who's always on a power trip and who
can't control his anger, and who trea.. . yeah, that guy, he patronises
me. I gues you wouldn't understand how little respect I have for my
parents. Especially my dad. I mean, he seems like an alright person
when he's outside the home, goes to church, occasionally helps out there,
I mean, at our recent Church Camp he was the Convener (wow, he must
be going to heaven) .. but then sometimes, the things he says, and the way
he treats me, and the rest of my family, it makes me wonder. It really
does make me wonder. And after I wonder, I get sad. Is this my pride being
hurt, or is it just the realisation that I actually might care what my
parents think of me. Wow. It's such a depressing thought. The people who
are my parents in name only .. ... they're what causes all this teen-angst
crap.
With all that out of the way, I thought I might mention
Garbutt's
latest endeavour. Which was to poke fun at me, and my, as he puts it,
"deep and meaningful psychobabble". Well, I'm just going to say,
that I'm really not a deep, profound or any other thing, person. I'm as
shallow as you. Look, I can be a normal teenager. I go out and get tanked,
I listen to pop music, heck I read Rolling Stone, Revolver and Drum Media.
I go to the movies. I listen to Triple J, I'm into Youth Culture and
I've smoked pot. I look at porn and whack-off to luscious barely-legal
lesbian teens. I fight with my parents, cause it's cool to, Look at me,
I can be normal! .. .. You don't know whether I'm being sarcastic, do
you. I'm a Christian because my parents told me to, and because my friends
are. I don't know who Che Guevera is, but I have a Che t-shirt and a
poster of him on my wall. I don't know who The Rat Pack were, but they've
got a spot on my wall because I saw it on a wall in Newtown, and, that's
cool, right? And that Salvador Dali poster, yeah, that's only on my wall
so people think I'm into art. I can be just as superficial as you.
Oh please let me join you in the depths of ignorant, puerility.
Accept me, I crave your approval. Let me be as light hearted and
happy as the rest of you, let me run in a field of dreams, and spend my
youth working hard at school work. I only question stuff becuase I want
people to think I'm intelligent, but not too intelligent. I don't actually
care whether death is an entity, or whether it's just an absence of life,
whether good and evil are the same thing, whether love and hate are the
derivatives of attachment or.. .. I only watch Kubrick movies so I can
seem cultured. .. .. .. Do you know if I'm being sarcastic or not? Fuck
You. (Swearing is cool, will you be my friend, look at me, I use bad
language, accept me!)
Yeah, so if you read yesterday's post, you might be wondering what all
this convenience talk is about. Well, how often have you found out that
somebody likes you, and then thought What the hey and ended up
flirting with them a bit. I mean, as long as it's just a teenage romance,
that's all it needs to get started. Maybe that, and a few friends telling
you you're in love with them and telling them the same things. I mean,
it's the kind of convenience they don't offer in stores. Ever noticed how
superficial teenagers are? Like when this girl told me she liked me, and I
immediately started thinking about liking her. Man, that's what I hate
about being a teenager. It's just so convenient to go out with people. She
likes me, I guess I could learn to like her, sure, what the hell.
Although I guess now I realised that if I did like her, it was only out of
convenience and desperation .. and as cool as that is, I want more
than that. Of course, rather than actually talk to her about it, I've just
put her on my ignore list and blocked her from sending me e-mails. It was
kinda getting out of hand. I told my mum, if a Sandy calls about her
webcam, and she wants to have sex with me and her 18 year old friends, I'm
gay, or I'm out playing soccer. ... That was my attempt at a joke. See?
I'm really not funny. I'm going stop trying to be light hearted, I'm just
going to be completely serious all the time now. Goodnight, my name is
Jacyleen. .. ... was that joke bad on purpose?
Oh, one final night. I heard this
mentioned in the radio the other day, or a friend sent it to me or
something, I can't remember, I might've mentioned it before, but it is
damn funny, so go check it out. Essentially, it's these two guys who go
around England with disguise kits, like fake moustaches, fake glasses and
whatever, and find funny-looking people, and dress up like them. I never
thought something so juvenile could bring so much laughter. So go there,
and laugh, laugh good.
Friday, The Eleventh
of October, In The Year Two Thousand and Two
So
Who Are You Hing, Really?
I'm sick of not knowing who I am. I'm sick of wondering
whether I really am who I say I am, not knowing if it's all an act.
I've spent my entire life convincing everyone around me that I'm
something, and convincing myself that I'm something else. This futile
adolescent quest of identity isn't helping me achieve anything. Then
again, I don't even know if I want to achieve anything. I'm going to find
out who I am though. Which parts of me are just an act? When I say I care,
do I actually care? When I say I understand, do I actually understand? Do
I even know what it is to care or understand? I don't think I do.
I think the whole identity crisis that's happening with our
generation is cool though. I mean, sure, I don't know who I am, who I can
be, who I want to be, and sure, it's depressing and I feel really bad
about my life and stuff, but when you think about it, the only reason my
parent's generation didn't all go through this is because they were
told what to be by the ultra-conservative parents and they accepted
it. They weren't told to rebel or to fight for freedom, that was
unfavourably American and thus, evil. I mean, they still didn't know who
they really were, but they didn't care. In fact, I think it was
something the respected. I can imagine kids who were sure about their
place in life getting teased at school. "Ha ha, look at individuality
boy" etc. etc. So they all grew up, confident in who they had become,
and sure, they didn't really know who they were, but they knew that
they were reflections and replacements of their parents, and this
empowered them to lead lives which were ultimately pleasing to .. well,
someone.
Our generation has been taught to be different though.
Society and the media tell us to rebel against our parents and,
funnily enough, against society and the media. They tell us "Listen
up, don't listen!" and we, like sheep, follow. Everybody wants
to be an individual. Mr Anderson on goths "if they're trying to be
individuals, why do they all dress the same?" It's so true. All this
results in, is a fearful and afraid youth. People who don't have an
identity. We're told to reject our parents and society, but most of us
can't find a suitable replacement for what we're meant to be. I mean, if
we can't follow society and we can't follow our parents, if we're not
supposed to look to anyone but ourself, we have to follow ourself and lead
ourself at the same time. I mean, what's doing there? It's no wonder that
we're all left generically identity-less. ... . or maybe I'm just talking
about me.
The ramification of this is a generation who doesn't a lot of
confidence. Whether it be confidence in themselves, in some sort of
spiritual power, in society, in their parents, in their favourite
musicians who sell out and become pop-stars, there's not a lot of
confidence. Then the angst-ee teens of our times are left with little more
than a skerrick of identity, and, they honestly berate themselves to the
point of worthiness against other humans. (My opinion is that as a race of
humans, we are in part worthless, especially when compared to perfection,
however at the same time, are a creation of God, albeit a fallen creation
in the image of God.. .. but that's for another time) ... but compared to
other imperfect humans, we can be see as.. . not worthy, but less unworthy
I guess. Anyway, read on.
So, our minds are shaped partially by a media and a society
we're told to reject, and in part, by our own psyche,
personas, and whatever else. And what's the message the media tells us? It
tells us that image is everything. It tells us that if you drink this, and
eat that, wear that and listen to this, do this and read that you will
have a good image, and when you have a good image, people will like you,
and when people will like you, you'll be happy. ... if I get a girlfriend,
I'll project a positive image, and people will like me and I'll be happy.
And this is my point, this is where dating stems from, well, in one sense,
This is where the cornerstone of dating - desperation - is born. We're
told to follow ourselves and reject society, but when we try to follow
ourselves, we realise how little identity we have, and so we have to
eventually turn to society, who tells us we need a good image to be
popular, and we need to be popular to be happy, and a "significant
other would really help your image". So, in our insecure
existence, we accept what society tells us, and we search for some loving.
We search for unmitigated and unbridled acceptance - and sex. And because
we're so insecure about it all, we become desperate. and thus, mutual
desperation is woven into the social fabric as the main foundation of any
teenage relationship.
To-morrow I'll talk about the other one. .. y'know.. Convenience.
Thursday, The Tenth of October, In The Year Two Thousand and Two
Garbutt
& Dave Are Full of ...
I don't like my sister. She's annoying, and crap, and she
has the uncanny ability to put me in an incredible bad mood by just
walking past me. And no, I'm not being unreasonable. She seriously does it
on purpose. She's such an ignorant little so-and-so. .. ... hmm.. Do
people get frustrated with my vast ineptitude? Yes, yes they do. So I
think it's my right, nay, my obligation, to be frustrated with her
horrible, horrible, failings as a person. Having said that, it's not her
fault, my parents aren't exactly a breeding ground of excellence.
I guess the other thing I was going to mention in this update
is Garbutt - whom I hate with a passion. I was going to write a
scathing retort of his disgustingly false accusations of the morning, but
rather than run the risk of being labelled as defensive, I felt it best to
go on the attack, and crush his spineless face into the moonlit dirt. ..
.. Although I can't really think of anything to pay him out about, I mean,
he's just so Garbutt. What am I saying, oh man, there'.. . forget I said
anything. Anyway, I'm going to rather than blatantly scathe and scald him
deliciously, just offer my Top 10 Films of all time. Which has been
brought about by much anguish and mental strain.
1. High Fidelity
2. Trainspotting
3. Fight Club
4. The Man Who Wasn't There
5. Being John Malkovitch
6. Spiderman
7. Dr Strangelove
8. Citizen Kane
9. Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels
10. Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
NB. places 6 - 10 are subject to change, depending on my
mood.
Oh, and here's some Brigit news for you all, today
Dave told me that there 'might' be a guy from Sydney Tech who's after her
as well, so I figured I may as well pack in and let him have her. There's
no point us squabbling over her, or making her choose, I mean, this
hypothetical guy is probably far more desperate and convenient than
me, and as we all know, convenience and desperation are the
cornerstones of any healthy relationship. Speaking of unhealthy
relationships, a few days ago when I was ranting about love or
something, I began to think about what kind of criteria attracted me to my
previous girlfriends, and I can honestly say, that I can't think of one
who I have ever dated because they were good looking. I mean, it seriously
has not mattered to me that all my girlfriends are dog ugly wench face
douchebags. ... I kid, I kid. .. it eats me up inside and I can't sleep at
night.
In other news, I received this
from Mullet today over the e-mail and I realised just how much of a chick
I am. Like seriously, I am such a chick. It's not a matter of being
sensitive, or modern or whatever, I'm just a chick. I mean, look at my
hands. They're girly hands. My voice can go higher than yours, in fact, I
wouldn't be surprised to look down my pants right now and find that I
don't have any balls at all. I could very well by ball-less. In fact, I'm
too afraid to check. Look at my CD collection, Sheryl Crow, Sara McLachlan,
Leonardo's Bride.. .. .. oh wait, I'm not my brother. In other
non-family-bitching-about news, I stumbled about and onto this
website today, and it actually is the funniest thing I've ever read in my
entire life, and I mean that. I think that's it from me today.
Goodnight Seaaattle! Music
To Commit Suicide To
I was talking with Brigit the other night, y'know that
girl, and we got to talking about music, and she described my much
loved Nick Cave's songs as "music to commit suicide to" -
which, although is true, is only a compliment if you're a profound
nothing; or something. Anyway, I've compiled a CD which is meant to show
the chaotic, yet simultaneously peaceful story of suicide, not the violent
thrashings of hate and anger, but the melancholy inner-peace, amid the
chaos which is thrust upon us. Torment over torrent?
| 1. |
|
Nick Cave and The Bad
Seeds |
- |
|
The Mercy Seat |
5:08 |
| 2. |
|
Metallica |
- |
|
Nothing Else Matters |
6:28 |
| 3. |
|
Louis Armstrong |
- |
|
What A Wonderful World
(Full Version) |
3:29 |
| 4. |
|
The Rolling Stones |
- |
|
Paint It Black |
3:45 |
| 5. |
|
Vast |
- |
|
Touched |
3:58 |
| 6. |
|
Queen |
- |
|
Bohemian Rhapsody |
5:58 |
| 7. |
|
Jewel |
- |
|
Pieces of You |
4:16 |
| 8. |
|
The Whitlams |
- |
|
Up Against The Wall |
5:28 |
| 9. |
|
Something For Kate |
- |
|
Paintbrushes |
4:48 |
| 10. |
|
Tool |
- |
|
Stinkfist |
5:12 |
| 11. |
|
The Eels |
- |
|
Novocain For The Soul |
3:07 |
| 12. |
|
george |
- |
|
Release |
3:42 |
| 13. |
|
Neil Diamond |
- |
|
Sweet Caroline |
3:33 |
| 14. |
|
Creed |
- |
|
With Arms Wide Open |
4:34 |
| 15. |
|
Black Sabbath |
- |
|
Paranoid |
2:48 |
| 16. |
|
Simon and Garfunkle |
- |
|
Seven O'clock News /
Silent Night |
1:58 |
| 17. |
|
Everclear |
- |
|
Wonderful |
4:36 |
NB. In an attempt to not
have a CD full of Nick Cave and Metallica, I've limited it to one song per
artist.
It took me all day to put it together, but I think I
finally got it right. It's got the right level of perversion - imagine
slitting your wrists to What A Wonderful World - and ineptitude - or
hanging yourself to Something For Kate's Paintbrushes - in a very, black
sense of humour - stabbing yourself with Sweet Caroline playing in the
background - while at the same time, symbolising the unbridled and
unrelenting chaos of suicide - Up Against The Wall, The Mercy Seat - and
the peace of it - Nothing Else Matters. I put a lot of thought into it,
and this is what came out. I'd be glad to loan you a copy of what I think
is my favourite compilation CD, ever. 73 minutes and 30 seconds of
suicidal bliss. I think I've covered every angle. Even though the
hate and anger side is fairly covered up, Wonderful seems to
sum it up fairly well, and Pieces of You is fairly hateful.
I'd just like to say that this update is dedicated
to Jimmy D, because I know he'll appreciate it
Wednesday, The Ninth
of October, In The Year Two Thousand and Two
Let's
Get Married, In A Big Cathedral By A Priest
It's fairly early on in the morning, 9:30 or some such
pre-midday time, and considering I didn't get to bed until 2:30 or some ridiculous
hour, I think I've done fairly well to get up and bring you this community
announcement. I thought I might also mention that this
aptly describes my current mood, so hold on for the ride - boy, if I had a
lamp post right now to sit underneath. It's funny how I just stopped
drawing a few weeks before the end of school because my art diary was
filled, and I haven't really picked up my pencils since. I mean,
I've done a bit here and there, but I just don't feel the happi.. no, not
happiness .. the humanity I used to associate with the pleasure of
drawing. .. .. Just because we don't understand you doesn't mean you're
an artist.
As it was really, incredibly late last night, I forgot to
mention that yesterday it was Dave's birthday, so I do apologise
for that, I think I've been losing track of all the birthdays that have
been going on in my life, so for the record Dave is 18. In other
news, Gray is also 18, only he turns 18 today, not
yesterday. I'm not sure if he's having some sort of party to celebrate his
18th, but if he does, oh boy, is it going to be good. I bet everyone's
going to be there, and there's going to be a jet-engine heater, and
there'll be lots of hugging and drinking and playing soccer and kicking a
ball into a ditch and lesbian sex and Garbutt being piss-annoying (and by
piss, I mean drunk) and Paddy and Krapps tuning Zayn's chick, and Mark and
I having a huge salami eating competition, and a really, really big and
bold sing-a-long with a 12 string guitar .. .. ahh, I think it's going to
be a good night. As well as this, Dave asked me the other day what he
could do to make his 18th special, I mean, if he's having an 18th, it's
not enough that I will be there, or that you may even be
there, but it's got to have some kind of wacky, crazy, individualistic,
pro-self-actualisation spin on a party, which as you know.. .. .
The words "Party at mine" are quite
often the result of an insecure sycophant's self-esteem being cornered and
fustigated within the inner most receptacles of his or her consciousness.
Some pimple-faced, timorous, diffident, lapdog of society, somehow gathers
the notion that all of one's socially inept problems are solved when one
invites 100 people into one's house for a bit more than a biscuit and a
quick game of cards. So this spineless, unpopular, impressionable
degenerate becomes king of the world until everyone leaves their house.
It's the sad, sad, story of a teenager's quest to be accepted, albeit a
shallow and ephemeral acceptance, but because his or her fleetingly
elevated popularity was so intense, the situation does nothing but feed
their superficial addiction to be assimilated like the social plagiarist
they are. I used to be friends with that very social plagiarist, her name
was Aimee Marx.....
In other news, the mollys
happened a few days ago, wait, I think it was yesterday. If you don't know
what the Mollys are, they're essentially recognition for the
not-so-brilliant Australian Music acts of the year gone by. Machine Gun
Fellation picked up Worst Album of the year, while the popstar's popstar,
Scott Cain picked up worst debut, worst single, and a few other
awards which I think were very well deserved. How apt. Anyway, I like the
idea of awarding incompetence, failure and mediocrity. It gives hope to
those of us who really can't achieve all that much, to those of us who
.... the point is, I think the formal awards are unfairly seen as an event
which allows us to only recognise the ephemeral teenage pursuit of our
identity, when in reality, we should also be giving awards for
mediocre crap. I want to give a Blinding Mediocrity award to
someone, an award which says, this person isn't particularly worthy of
mention .. .. The striking thing about Stalin was that there was nothing
striking about him. Or maybe some sort of award for success despite
blatant adversity (i.e. lack of talent) ... Methinks more ponderance is
warranted.
I'm all for sniper rifles, but there's always somebody
who takes the joke too far. In fact, I'm glad we don't live in America. I
think it'd be quite scary to live in a place where snipers engaged in
brutal street fighting, or in a place, living in fear that we couldn't
walk outside because of some crazed gunman of sorts. In all seriousness
though, society is so crap. I mean, I'd like to blame violent video games,
or changing social values, maybe secularisation or even the return of
scooters, but I know that this kind of thing happens because humans are
just idiotically impressionable, and a fallen people. We
have so many faults, it's hard to pick which ones to yell and scream
about. I
don't know if you've heard me say this before, but I figure now is as good
a time as any. And here is where this
comes in. I got yelled at the other day for telling a girl I was in
love with her because of a flower she drew. I was told I was cheapening
love if that was my only reason; that real and proper justification
is the crux of love. Well screw you all. I'm not allowed to feel for
someone because of their talent, apparently that's superficial. Well where
do you draw the line? I mean, society condemns us for judging our partners
on the way they look, on their body image and beauty, and that's fair
enough I think, because how they look doesn't effect who they are, and
their personality, but most of all, they have no control over how
they look, and to make decisions about one, based on something one had no
control over is unfair. What about intelligence then? I mean, for the most
part you can't control how intelligent you are, so to admire someone in
that way because they're a smarty is totally unfair as well. Where do
we draw the line then? Some would argue that you can draw the line at how
well you get on with someone. Well, that's just superficial as well, I
mean, they can't choose how well they get on with you, they have no
control over that. Our society is gay. Still others would argue it's about
how nice-a-person they are. Well, people are nice people because of
circumstance, and that's it. If someone is exceptionally nice, or
not-so-nice, it's because of the way they were brought up, their
socialisation and enculturation or whatever it is.
I don't think anyone should be able to date with a clear
conscience. Think of all the people you're not dating, and think
about why you're dating who you're dating. I mean,
you're not allowed to choose on anything. How can you say that something
is okay, and nothing else is, and if you can say that, why do you say it.
Where do you get it all from? I mean, aside from mutual convenience and
desperation, and possibly geographic circumstance, there isn't much else
you can go on, and even those three things are questioned. There's no
universal cornerstone of relationships, and do you know why? It's this
stupid post-modernism crap. Actually, when you think about, and you
realise how superficial we all are, it's not surprise that any reason for
love that we can fathom is superficial too.
1, 2, 3, 4, take the elevator, at the Hotel Yorba, I'll be
glad to see you later, all they've got inside is vacancy.
Tuesday, The Eighth of October, In The Year Two Thousand and Two
Garage
Days
It's actually Wednesday, but I'm of the opinion that days
begin in the bits between the bits where you're unconscious. So in
reality, it's still Tuesday. I hate people who do that crap about
it being Wednesday when really, it's just an incredibly late
Tuesday night. It's so pedantic. So very pedantic. There must be
some kind of proverb or old wise saying that denounces pedantism,
it'd be something like: The smaller the mistake found, the bigger the
mistake being covered. Speaking of mistakes I got a wonderful
e-mail from Shalini today, and it was filled with wonderful post-year-12
sentiment. I think you should all send me e-mails more often. Good
e-mails. Y'know I was away the entire weekend and I didn't even get one
non-spam e-mail. I mean, not that I don't like my debt getting
consolidated, or my penis growing to lengths used previously to describe
the heights of various mountain ranges, it's just there's no love
in spam.
Mmm, so I watched Garage
Days tonight, and I seriously recommend you go out now and watch
it, especially if you're a fan of music and hate poker machines taking
over the live music scene. It essentially tells the story of a garage band
from Newtown and all the struggles they go through, the ups and downs, the
bizarre love triangles, the twists and turns beyond every corner, and the brilliant,
brilliant, oh-so-brilliant, directing of Alex Proyas. It depicts the
frantic, chaotic life of Sydney-siders, and the desperate existence led by
the live music enthusiasts. Once you get past the (at times) wooden
acting, and the slight mistiming of a few lines, and get down to the bare
essentials, the movie is nothing more than an entertaining mind fuck. I
don't think I'll get over this movie any time soon, it made me laugh and
feel, and don't even get me started about the soundtrack:
| 1. |
|
High
Voltage - The D4 |
| 2. |
|
Alright
- Supergrass |
| 3. |
|
Kooks
- Motor Ace |
| 4. |
|
Buy
Me A Pony - Spiderbait |
| 5. |
|
Rockin'
It - David Mccormack/Andrew Lancaster |
| 6. |
|
Garage
Days - David Mccormack/Andrew Lancaster |
| 7. |
|
Love
Is The Drug - Roxy Music, Add It Up - Sonicanimation |
| 8. |
|
Walk
Up - David Mccormack/Andrew Lancaster |
| 9. |
|
Ghost
Town - Rhombus |
| 10. |
|
Smash
It Up - The (International) Noise Conspiracy |
| 11. |
|
Say
What? 28 Days |
| 12. |
|
That's
Entertainment - The Jam |
| 13. |
|
Master
Plan - David Mccormack |
| 14. |
|
Stop
Thinking About It - Joey Ramone |
| 15. |
|
Mad
Man - The Hives |
| 16. |
|
Get
The Tarp - David Mccormack/Andrew Lancaster/Antony Lucky |
| 17. |
|
Number
Nine - The Moldy Peaches |
| 18. |
|
Help
Yourself - Tom Jones |
I read
an interview with Dave Mccormack in Drum Media 2 weeks ago, and I have to
say that Dave Mccormack is a genius, and that when he put together this
soundtrack, he .. well, I'm in love, I dunno about you. In other news, the
chain which I've been wearing for the past, oh, for almost a year now, is
beginning to really annoy me. It's rusted along the chain, and it makes me
itchy when I wear it, although I've become so attached to is that I'm
going to struggle to not wear it whenever I go out now-a-days, of course,
this means I'll just wear the shell-string thing that Fina got me when she
came back from Bali or the nametag I picked up at Youth Camp over the
weekend, but still, I feel naked without the chain. Getting back to the
movie though, it was definitely worth my $9, (tight-arse Tuesday) and the
night out was healthy to say the least. It's hard to describe just how
scattered the movie is, but I think it does nothing but add to the overall
aesthetic.
In other news, which Garbutt mentioned on his website,
we've really taken this schoolies challenge idea to heart, and we've begun
setting ourselves (secret) challenges to complete during the week-long
party extravaganza.
If anyone hasn't ever read Ez's Online
Journal before, it's definitely worth a read, especially since I
copped a mention on Monday, and what a mention it was. My name must've
popped up 3 or 4, maybe even 5 times, but who's counting. Wait, I am.
Speaking of other people's websites, I discovered Poker's today, while
sifting through the realm of cyberspace. And although I hate to admit it,
I spent about an hour today (shocking, I know) going through my ICQ list
and just going to the websites of many people who I don't even know. It
was so bizarre, I even took a gander at a few of their photos, and I
realised that there are some reoccurring characters, and that certain
unknown people on my ICQ list must know each other, and are collective
unknowns. The point is, there are some really, really ugly people
out there in cyberspace. I mean, you thought my mates were fat and ugly,
just check out this couple.
Monday, The Seventh of October, In The Year Two Thousand and Two
Classical
Gas
What can only be described as an absolutely awesome
musical arrangement, with some of the best rhythmic guitar you will ever
hear (Mason Williams - Classical Gas) is a nice welcome home from a
weekend of spiritual growth, fellowship, and pelvic thrusts: CPC's
Somewhat-Annual Church Camp at Stanwell Tops Christian Conference Centre.
It was a great opportunity to get to know a whole new bunch of people from
my church because most of my normal crew were HSCing and didn't show up,
and if they did, it was only for like, 12 hours or something. Still, I've
run out of superlatives to describe Kevin's Theatre-Sports prowess and the
general warmth you could feel about the camp, it was encouraging to
see hear Jonathon Howes actually take time out of his schedule to
talk to us, and even more so, to get to know us. He was talking on the
subject of Self-Esteem, well, in part, and I guess the thing that I
got out of the very-few meetings we had leafing up to camp, preparing the
studies and stuff, and indeed, the camp itself, was how to have a Godly
self-esteem. We're so often told that believing in ourselves is what breeds
success, that if we really believe in ourselves, and have faith in our
abilities, then that's where a true champion is found. I'd have to say,
right now, that the self-esteem movement is full of it.
I don't understand where it all comes from. Since when was
humanity ever something to put your faith in? It's ironic that the same
people who are preaching out against war and famine in this world, against
humanity's obvious short comings and gaping failings, are telling
you to believe in yourself, and you can achieve anything. We have
this horrible trend in our world, that says that we are better than
them. They are in a war, so they're bad, but we're not in a war, so
we can believe in ourselves and gain momentous amounts of success.
There's a pathetic belief that humanity isn't equal, that people
who are involved in wars, are less than those who aren't. Of course, we
don't like to admit it. We like to think that we're fairly egalitarian,
and a lot of people would argue that people are involved in wars and what
not as a matter of circumstance, and not much else. But don't things like
war and murder show how fallen humanity is? It's bad advice, on one hand,
we're all equal, but on the other, we're told to put faith in ourselves.
Told to put faith in an imperfect, and fallen, flawed, and idiotic
species. We can't rely on ourselves to do anything, we have to rely on
everything but ourselves. Spell- checkers, calculators, speed
cameras, sewing machines .. ... horses, donkeys, elephants.. . .. .. we can't
rely on ourselves to do anything. We need help. The self-esteem
school-of-thought is everywhere. We're told that bullies bully because
they're insecure and don't have a positive self-image, we're told
that rapists rape because they often believe it's the only way they can
get some, we're told that kids who aren't achieving well at school
aren't achieving well because they lack self-confidence.
Self-confidence in its extremity breeds arrogant delusions of grandeur,
and who likes a rock star? Maybe we should be putting our
faith in God, who through, we actually can achieve his goals. As a
Christian, it makes sense. Please don't e-mail me telling me how much you
don't care, I'll tell you now, that I don't care how much you
care. Some
of you young folks been saying to me, "hey pops, watchoo mean, what a
wonderful world? How 'bout all them wars all over the place, you call them
wonderful? And how 'bout hunger and pollution, they ain't so wonderful
either!" Well how 'bout listening to old pops for a minute. Seems to
me, it ain't the world that's so bad, but what we're doing to it, and all
I'm saying, is see what a wonderful world it would be if only we'd give it
a chance. Love baby, love, that's the secret, yeaaah. If lots more of us,
loved each other, we'd solve lots more problems, and then, this world
would be better, that's what ol' pops keeps saying. - - Louis Armstrong
Friday, The Fourth of October, In The Year Two Thousand and Two
Misfits and Morons and..
something something.... oh, and Popular Demand
Well, as it becomes less and less likely that I'm going to be
at today's picnic, it becomes more and more likely that I'll spend
the day watching episodes of Futurama, reading a good book, learning the
riff to Paint It Black and generally making anti-social, yet at the same
time productive use of my time - oh, and because I'm me I'll study
heaps today as well. Oh yeah. I finally got around to designing the
front-page of the site this morning, nice, huh? If you're wondering what
the marrone (Italian meaning Chestnut?) spots are all about, well, they're
absolutely nothing. I know it may come as a shock to you, but amazingly
enough, not everything I do is didactic, or has any meaning.
I'm not that much of an artist. In fact, I'm really not an artist
at all. Speaking of art, I forgot to mention before that I left the Big
Box of Formal Award Suggestions at school, and so I'll get Tim to pick
it up in Stu-vac, but if you can't wait until then, feel free to e-mail
me any suggestions you have for the Formal Awards, or the video we want to
make for the night, because I love getting e-mail. Really. Just ask
whoever it is behind all this Debt Consolidation e-mails I get,
apparently it's the best news I've ever heard. Not to mention all those
Penis-Enlargement e-mails I get, and all the ones offering pictures of
animals doing things I didn't even know animals did.. .. Queue Louis
Armstrong's What a Wonderful World.
Speaking of the wonderful world we live in, the fabulous
Couri supplied me with a few things in my week of absence which I found
particularly humorous. Firstly there's this
and then there's this and this
which was actually from Jimmy D, and not Couri, and which was also sent to
me about a month ago, not during my sabbatical. ... And incidentally,
speaking of the sabbatical, just a mere few days after I came back, I'm
going away -again-. That's right kiddies, this long weekend I'm being sent
to the alps with my folks, and by alps, I mean Stanwell Tops
(Love-The-Shire) and folks, I mean Church. That's right this long weekend
is the weekend o' the fabled Church Camp. So I'll be out a singing and a
livin' until Monday Night methinks, or maybe it's Monday afternoon. I'm
not sure. Also, as a matter of house keeping, a few people have
asked me where they can find the old posts and what not.
Never fear, they have not been done away with or anything, they've just
been moved to El Archives. There's a link above the Guestbook, or
you can click on the h in here.
I thought it might be
worth mentioning that last night, history was made with this website, and
for the first time, I think ever, it crashed. Well, it didn't
really crash, but it out-used its bandwidth for Tripod, and for those of
you who don't know what that means, apparently it means this page is only
allowed a certain amount of page-views over a certain period of time, I'm
not sure about exact details, and apparently last night, I had more
page views than Tripod was happy to allow me. I don't really understand it
either. Wouldn't they want me to have a really popular website so that
their ads would be viewed more often? I mean, they're not getting any
money out of me so really, they should be getting money out of
their sponsors, who just quietly, shouldn't pay, if people can't view
their ads. Be that as it may, I don't understand this crazy system or how
it works, all I know is I'm not paying for anything.
Funnily enough, I had
a lot to write here, so I scribbled down a few quick notes last night, and
the word androgynous is written in bold black text. I'm not exactly
sure what that means, but I'll just skip that point. The ambiguity is
astonishing. Why did I write androgynous? One should note that I was
writing these notes at about 2:30am - 3am last night, whilst talking to
Tim and Corinne, (who I'll get to later), and let me say that I can't
remember a whole lot of the incoherent babble that I meant to write down
but never did, and as well as this, I can't read a lot of the
(subsequently) incoherent babble I wrote down.
One thing I can recall however, is, talking to Corinne
last night, about your-friend-and-mine-Elise, and speaking to her about
how bad I am with names, I admitted that I struggled to remember Elise's
name until I decided she should be hooked up with Dave (although it should
be noted that Garbutt and I are yet to commit ourselves to this
endeavour). And then it hit me, this entire thing, setting up Corinne with
Tim, Tim with Tara, Simon and Ainslee .. .. it's all just an elaborate
memory game. I can't be bothered learning people's names, so instead, I subconsciously
link them to my current friends, pairing them off in a frenzy of
anti-preterition. Their entire relationships are based on my
inability, and apathy to remember names. Talk about the mother of all
epiphanies.
Further
supporting this subconscious belief, was last night when Corinne told me
she dumped Tim, and I being gullible and ignorant, believed her. What
happened was, I dared her to dump Tim, and told her she didn't have the
guts to do it, and then she and Tim conspired me into a major guilt trip.
Anyway, Tim revealed to me their elaborate hoax, and I was already in too
deep, so I kept going. This was
the result. In the end, they got me a doosy. How does this support my
memory theory? Well, my willingness to believe that she would actually
dump him over ICQ, just because I double dared her, must some how mean
that subconsciously, I think that their relationship is unfounded, better,
founded upon nothing more than my own laziness and short comings. How does
that make you feel? I've got a lot of faith to give. Today's
Feature: Got Spunk By Popular Demand
Thursday, The Third of October, In The Year Two Thousand and Two
And Nothing Else Matters,
Except The 10 Things I Hate About You
I'll admit that I am not the hugest Metallica fan in the
world. The incoherency of Battery is not what I could consider a musical
bastion at all, but they would rank in my musical top 20 artists of all
time for a few of their songs and for el Symphony album. Anyway, I'm
listening to Nothing Else Matters right now, and it is up there
with one of the most awesome guitar pieces I've heard in 'popular' song in
a long time. Especially popular song that has lyrics. It's not like, an
incredibly impossible solo to play, for the most part it's not all that
quick, but it is one of the most beautiful songs I have ever
heard. In fact, the three songs I have been all-but addicted to
this past week or so are Metallica - Nothing Else Matters, Vast
- Touched, The Rolling Stones - Paint It Black. I just can't
stop myself from listening to these three songs. They're musically
brilliant, all in their own special ways. Classics, in my opinion.
By the way, did you notice the new design? Sexy, huh? You might say it's a
little bland, well, I don't care what you say, as far as I'm concerned,
you suck. I haven't bothered to update the nice-ness of all the other
pages yet, and I don't think I'll bother, but when I get around to putting
up new photos and such and such and so forth, there will be genuine
craziness and nice-looking-ness to be shared around. In other news, I'm presently coaching Garbutt in the art of
"playing hard to get". I would just like to point out that
you're in way over your head, and will never, ever, gain any sort of
social respect, if you require help from me in that field. It's sad
and pathetic (not to mention hilarious) that people should come to me for
help. Me of all people. What is the world coming to?
Anyway, I feel as though this website is a lot more happy
than the last. It's more like this
website than say, this
website. Hilariously enough, while I was searching around for that burger
you see in the top right hand of your computer screen, I came across this
site, and I laughed so much my pancreas fell out onto the desk and pissed
itself too. Then after that, the rest of my internal organs followed,
pissing themselves at an alarming rate. On to other news though, Garbutt
updated his site yesterday, and he did so in a very drunk, very
intoxicated manner, which I found hilarious, and at the same time quite
disappointing, I mean, what kind of social deviant drinks themselves into
a drunken stupor at home, alone? *rolls eyes*
In my travels over the past few days, I picked up Thomas Friedman's The
Lexus and The Olive Tree which, incidentally, Jacyleen has a copy of
in her home, even though apparently nobody has read it, and I'm going to
right here and now recommend it to you all, if for nothing else than the 12th
chapter, entitled The Golden Arches Theory of Conflict Prevention.
Friedman quotes Montesquieu: Happy it is for men that they are in
a situation in which, though their passions prompt them to be wicked, it
is, nevertheless, to their interest to be humane and virtuous. Oh, and
the chapter also talks about how no two countries with McDonalds present
in them have engaged in war since their various McDonalds were
installed. Also, I went a-walkin' with Dave and Jasmine this
morning, and regardless of how little walking we actually did,
there was quite a substantial amount of talking done. We also
visited Shalini during our arduous journey, and Shalini mentioned to me,
going back to the whole Angela, the girl I'm stalking thing, that
it was the evil Lauren who spread the word around about my (indeed,
facetious) obsession which Dave had made up, in fact, it was Lauren
who told Angela. So as far I'm concerned right now, Lauren is as crap as
Dave.
Also, if you haven't got around to watching CNNNN yet, you really should.
The Chaser crew are at it again, and this time they're genuinely
hilarious. Also, you might want to check out my tribute to the movie
(which, I think isn't all that bad a representation of parts of
Shakespeare, and has a nice soundtrack) 10 Things I Hate About You,
which can be viewed from the link at the top right hand corner of the
screen. Wow, I think this.. yeah, something about a beginning of a
beautiful friendship.
Tuesday, The First of
October, In The Year Two Thousand and Two So
Much To Tell You
Watching Oprah today, as is my want of a lazy, Sunny
Tuesday, and I have to say, I feel like shit. In every ad break, I had
people telling me I needed to lose weight for Summer, that I wasn't happy,
that I was in financial ruin, that I needed a girlfriend. Then I had Dr
Phil telling me that my life wasn't working and I walked out of that room
feeling <---> this close to suicide. However, after looking at these
photos again, I soon remembered just how damn cool I am.
 
Kudos to Jovita
and Nick for
putting those on their respective websites for me to steal. I really did
steal them. I'd have to say that I look pretty damn good in a toga,
don'tcha think? As far as I'm concerned, the more toga I'm in, the better
for all involved. In fact, the less ordinary clothing I'm in, the better.
I do however love Kunal's inherently sleazy smile, and Poohead's "I'd
mug you if I wasn't too cool" demeanour, oh, and Nick's aversion to
hugging a half naked man, I respect that.
I was thinking
about writing full-page entries, and playing around with the design of the
ol' page a bit more. Maybe adding some really annoying flash or midi to
it, maybe cursing the ground you all walk on, something like that, I'm not
sure. Maybe I could turn it into one of those really lame teen web
journals you see on the internet that are filled with angst and wonderings
and stu.. oh, wait. -sigh- irony, thy name is spunk.
|
|
|
Photos
Peaceful
Get, My, Gun.
My Tribute To Elton
Justified Apathy
Dark Foetal
The Big Sleaze
Vicarious
Pooooooo-head
Third Wheel
Digitally Incriminating
Strum Me Baby
10 Things I Hate About
You
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3rd Oct '02
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