Cockroaches in the brain..

I had three or four dreams last night that made me wake up thanking fuck they were only that.

In the first, one of my ex’s gives birth to this baby of mine last night but doesn’t want it and minutes after squeezing it out the baby is somehow clean: she tells me to take it, so take it – someone may as well.

With no onesies, mittens or nappies I pick-up this baby and almost as soon as looking at it I notice it’s changed from a human infant to a kind’ve baby elephant: a baby elephant without any trunk, it’s got the same slightly hairy naked skin of ab elephant but with an ambiguous and nondescript face and looked like a cross between a pug dog and a human being.

An ugly little motherfucker indeed, it had folds of loose skin and a pug without the hair but I didn’t mind because whatever else was shit about it, the skin was dry and not all smooth and sticky and disgusting like a regular human newborn.

I sling the little fucker under my arm and leave without any of the usual farewells or other social graces and certainly no cigar to commemorate the occasion.

I should state for clarity that this was at night, and though I was about to head home I decide to stop in at one of the fast food joints in town to grab some hot chips to go with the fresh bread and butter I already had at home since a person’s gotta eat, so start walking up the road with this stubble-covered baby elephant-thing under my arm.

Thursday, 4th July 2019

I’ll finish writing-up the rest of the dream later, but I’ve a more pressing issue: I need to remove my griping about the nursery so I can hand the sites’ URL to Tanya – manager at the nursery.

And no, I don’t have any desire to seduce her with my awesome: I want to re-create the nurserys’ website from scratch because it looks like fucking shit and I can do so much better.

The site is https://www.wildplantrescue.org.au though there’s hardly a reason to visit due to the fact it’s not only ugly, but so poorly maintained there’s really nothng worth reading there at all; here’s a screenshot to show you the level of ugly we’re dealing with here..

Naturally I’ll have to reword some of the last few paragraphs to not sound so damning of whoever created and currently maintains the site, though I’ve got no idea who it is handles that – obviously a volunteer because no halfway competent web-design company would charge for such an awful site.

There’s actually two reasons I want to redo the site: firstly, as I said I can shit on what’s there now and – more importantly – it’ll give me something else to add to the resume other than ‘cleaner’, which may in turn lead to something from other small local businesses who can pay something for a website but cannot afford a full-blown web-design company.

The issue is, that whoever currently maintains the site is about to be butt-hurt about my proposition to seriously replace the rubbish that’s there now, and if it’s the old woman who does the accounting at the nursery, even more so because – from what I’ve gleaned from what I’ve over-heard of her conversations with Tanya – she seems to believe she’s pretty hot shit with computers, having done that Introduction to Computers for Seniors course back in 2006 and – indeed – when I mentioned the site needing an upgrade today while I was there it was the accounting woman who quickly spat out a quick, “No oh, just don’t you worry about that”, so I’d say it’s her does the site.

My plan is to create the new nursery site here in a subdirectory though to show them what they could have, so that old bitch will have to just choke-down the slice of humble pie: it’s a very small site far as content goes and once I’ve created the sites stylesheets and layout, copying the existing photos, text, pages and menus will be less than an hours work.

Course if I bin the photos they’ve got up now with my own photography the site will take another step-up in quality too and as they cannot even take donations online with the site they’ve got becuse they’re just static pages, using wordpress will mean I can fix that to allow them to take donations online via credit card or paypal – yet another upgrade for them.

The other issue is that I’ll need to be given server access to the site, so dependng how anal they are about handing over the keys it might not happen no matter how much better my version of the site actually is.

We’ll see.

I should’ve already finished updating and clearning out the bits I don’t want but got distracted shaving and grooming myself and fo the first time in a while I actually washed my hair properly – opposed to just wetting in down before leaving the house: he water in the sink wasnt exactly filthy afterwards, but tinted light grey and there would’ve been white a bit of dust and whatever in there to wash out.

I should trim my nose hairs while I’m in the mood actually, hang on..

It’s very early but I’m fucked and already quite well contented by the proposition of becoming horizontal and unconscious: last night’s multi-dream, broken sleep and the 5:00 AM start that did it.

Even this post is scattered back and forth and lacking the usual focus, so I’ll go create another subdomain for the new nursery site then catch-up on those iview shows I’ve been waiting to be aired – see how many of the four or so episodes I can successfully uh, view, before passing-out.

Friday, 5th July 2019

https://nursery.psychaesthetic.net

There’s the naked, skeletal install, but bare in mind I haven’t touched a line of code yet and haven’t started on the stylesheets so it’s only a default red/black/white theme to match the logo: it’s just a fresh wordpress install with an untouched default theme.

I hate those slide-down menus too – even though they’re mobile browser friendly – so I’ll get rid of that and install Google’s font API but I’m still tired now – should’ve gone to bed earlier than 3:00 AM. Mm.

I would’ve at least created a logo with green in it personally, since that’s universally associated with plants but that’s what they have.

10:51 AM

I’ve told everyone I’m too tired to give a fuck today and will ‘supervise’ from the swivel chair I’m currently sitting in.

They’re fine with that if course, and I’ve told everyone in the office they’re doing an excellent job, “Good job everyone, good good that’s great!!”

*yawn*

I’ve placed-out a bunch of tubes and pots on a table to dry – since that’s easy enough even in my current haze of tiredness – and have helped myself to the wifi password on the base of the modem so I can download all the podcasts I can for the weekend, before I go so I’ll do that in a minute.

Good job me, excellent, good stuff.

See this is what happens when not enough sleep happens: I start writing about the most mind-numbing shit imaginable, though I’ve gotta do something to amuse myself in a swivel chair all day – Verity suggested the pots to give me something to do if I feel like it, which I would’ve done even if I wasn’t bored because Verity’s very intelligent and I like the woman, but that was only 10 minutes work.

Podcasts, right..

1:40 PM

Verity’s brought me a cup of fresh chicken soup she brought with her for lunch.. good value see..

When I say fresh, I mean supermarket bought but in a tub already made, ready to heat & eat and, well, tasted like homemade.

She’s also told me she has several brand new jars of organic instant coffee at her place that have never been opened because they switched to real ground coffee a few months ago and won’t drink the instant, so she offered to bring them in for me.

Of course I jumped on that and said I’d be more than happy to take them off her hands, especially given that even instant coffee is a reasonably high-value grocery item and she said she’d bring ’em in for me 😊

3:23 PM

Alrighty.

I have been at Tanya today about the site, and my original surmisal of the situation was almost completely accurate: though I’m not sure who originally created the site, the hoity-toity old woman who does the accounting there is the one who handles the website, and she likes her little site just the way it is.

She is in the minority in that opinion, with all four volunteers in the office today stating that the current website is “Not where people are at these days”, “A bit basic”, “Pretty dated”, “Mm, simple” and of course for me, I said it was “Absolute garbage.”

The accounting woman – who’s name I found out today is Veronica – has fought changes to the site for over 6 years now, declaring there’s nothing wrong with the site as-is and if I were to have a stab at why she seems unable to acknowledge anything needs to change there it’s because she’s a control freak who’s knowingly ignorant to the fact that there are other people who can do a far better job than she can.

Even Katoomba TAFE tried to re-create the site as a student project a few years ago: Veronica wouldn’t have a bar of it – insisting that the site needs no improvements at all made to it.

You believe that self-important shit?

I don’t.

Certainly, I can believe a 65-year-old rich bitch would think far too much of herself – there’s no shortage of those around – and that she’d over-rate her own skill-set, but I can’t believe anybody would fight other people from raising the bar and try to actively prevent quality improvments that would benefit a charity because of her own inflated ego.

Another vapid, soul-less banshee.. they walk along us like fuckin skin-walkers.

I managed to get everyone talking about the site today and though Verity and Peter were cleaning seeds in the office so participated in the conversation throughout – which I welcomed since they agreed with everything I was saying – it was Tanya I focused mostly on as I explained that not only can I give them a site that’s infinately better than the ugly shit they have now, I can create the new nursery site entirely on my own server first, send them the link and let them to judge for themselves before deciding on anything.

Them by the way, are the commitee, who ultimately decide on any matters of significance including major changes to such things as the site so we’re suddenly dealing with a group of people who need to vote on changes relating to the nursery and it’s operations before things happen and suddenly have a political component standing between my wanting to improve the online face of the windplant rescue service.

This makes me even more interested in pushing for them to allow me to do what I want, because I like interpersonal politics and I instantly started considering who’s who within the commitee: I don’t know all the members of course, but I know Tanya, Richard, Verity, Veronica and Francis are in it.

Francis knows I don’t like her and since I refused to carry a tray of seedlings for her fat lazy arse two weeks ago, she doesn’t like me either but Francis is batshit crazy and everybody knows it which leaves Veronica, who doesn’t know me and doesn’t have any reason to dislike me outside the fact she was there yesterday when I mentioned I wanted to bin her tacky excuse for a website and replace it with a platform that can do anything they need it to do.

Richard, Tanya and Verity all love me.

There’s many more points of conversation went on regarding the site, but to truncate that all into a final summary I did a pretty good job of pointing out the pros of my doing the site versus the cons of leaving it as is and although Tanya did say it’s up to the committee and not just her, she also appeared pretty relaxed and accepting of the idea by the time everyone had argued for and with me and I made a point of stipulating that my motivation is two-fold: to give them a much better site at no cost to them and to have a site to start a portfolio with, in order to gain at least the potential for minor work doing small local sites for small local businesses: I pointed out, basically, that although I’m brilliant with web-design I’ve never got any formal qualifications and this could be step one in circumventing that and doing it anyway – all I’d want is the usual link at the bottom of the page crediting me as the site’s creator, so I can forward people there to view my work rather than here to read all the ‘mental’.

The biggest concern she said they’d likely have is that I’ll leave the nursery eventually and then who will update the site, and said that was one of the problems with the TAFE students doing it when they offered.

I reassured her that wordpress is extremely easy to learn to use and requires no more skill than Microsoft word to update once the backend and styling is all done and anybody here can do it on their phone.

God fucking unknown/private/spam calls.. I get them every afternoon – usually from AGL – and they deeply piss me off: not only are they an invasion of privacy they interrupt my concentration and whatever podcast I’m listening to since I’ve gotta pull my phone out my pocket and swipe the red button to get the show playing again.

Pineapple lumps! .. I’d forgotten these even existed until I saw them yesterday at Coles.

Introducing EXPANDABLE rants 😏

I know, it’s a great idea and been a long time coming since I’m only sporadically motivated and baseline to thinking more than doing: for over a year now I’ve considered using expandable accordian-style inserts to reduce rants, monologues and pissed-off diatribes so that people can avoid having to sit through paragraph after paragraph of angry words if they don’t want to read them – now I’ve finally implemented it.

It’s not the most elegant answer from my end, because it requires I manually type shortcodes similar to HTML that bracket content and looks a bit ugly from the back-end while editing, but it accordians any content so you the reader have the option to simply ignore my extended diatribes, or click to expand and help yourself – check it out…

Why you’re an idiot if you don’t eat meat..

I’ve gotta eat the rest of the ham, though it’s cold enough to not require refrigeration lately: I eat ham because as much as I love animals and abhor unecessary cruelty and as bad as it is that animals have to die to make that moist, juicy off-the-bone ham I’m about to eat, I am a caucassian male of european decent so my body and digestive system has evolved to eat meat; over hundreds of generations, since the year dot so for me to not eat meat would be flat-out stupidity when my biology has been honing itself generation after generation to process meat in the most efficient possible way.

I know I know: animals have rights, PETA hates the meat industry and the utterly mindless mainstream middle-class preach like born-again christians the evils of meat, but they are fools, and meat is absolutely necessary.

I’ve got little K9 fangs like a dog among my teeth, developed specifically for tearing meat to ribbons for more efficient digestion because – like every other human-being on earth – I am a not only a carnivorous bi-pedal mammal but an apex predator and no amount of propaganda online from idiots who follow other idiots can change the fact.

Bare with me here because the point of this extended insult to vegetarians and vegans isn’t just to spew forth a few historic fun-facts but illustrate with simple logic that eliminating meat from the human dietary arsenal will have obvious and negative though as yet mostly unknown consequences on everybodies long-term health and maybe even genetics: we’ve been consuming dead animals for so long now, removing it can’t possibly be good – no matter how nice a meat-free diet makes everybody feel, feel is the operative word, with people usually removing meat from their diet in our current social climate based on an emotional reaction to their perception of animal cruelty.

That’s a VERY bad reason to stop eating something that’s been working for us as a species for HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS of years now when the truth of the matter is that we owe a lot to the animal flesh that so many people now shun and look down upon because they’re either too good or too precious or too carebear to eat such a crucial food all of a sudden.

In fact, we wouldn’t have come as far as a species had we not evolved in unison with the animals we’ve hunted and eaten our entire history on the planet, and that meat we’ve sought-out for so long is much more than just protein, iron and fats: it’s a complicated substance that cannot be substituted with plant matter that contains the same basic constituents – it’s just not that simple; meat is irreplacable.

Since we were mere rodents hiding in holes in the ground as far back as the end of the Ice Age, our ancestors have changed and adapted slowly over time to best hunt, capture and utilize the nutritional benefits of meat and if any of you reading this now think that disregarding millions of years of natural selection and biological development simply because you got the fuzzies for farmyard animals, then YOU are a poor misled idiot.

Not eating meat is bad for human-beings and I realize I’ve said this several times before both individually to people I’ve spoken to AND here on the site but the more I’ve thought about it, the more it’s bothered me: just stop and ponder the paragraph preceeding this for a few minutes and view it through the crystal-clear lens of logic – consider how long it’s taken the human species to grow from those little rat-like fuckers munching-out on grubs and bugs to the deadliest species on the planet.

We didn’t get to this point simply chewing grass like cows and our brains, intelligence and physical abilities/attributes grew and expanded owing to the meat we’ve always eaten and to increase our ability to do it better with every generation – we have eyes located at the front of our heads and razor-sharp vision for pinpointing prey animals.. hang on..

Slick as an ovulating woman, that πŸ¦‘

Of course I’ll probably add my own CSS once I get around to it and create a definition in the wordpress stylesheet file that will colour and style the section however I like while the animated ‘bounce’ is just a visual cue that lets you know it’s there though the animation is important because it’ll quickly create a visual association with collapsed passages of writing and I am almost entirely a visual thinker, so anyone reading the site who’s like me will love it.

I’ll also create a pair of reusable blocks for the editor so I can wrap any passage of text that I feel goes on a bit too long, is overly negative or really any other reason I might feel the urge to collapse and shrink anything I’ve written into a single animated title line.

The problem with smoking..

This weeks’ pipe tobacco is Amphora, which doesn’t interest anyone here except me although I like it better than the Borkum Riff Original I tried last fortnight. I certainly didn’t dislike last weeks’ tobacco yet if I’m going to cough-up $90 for a 50g tin or pouch I may as well try different brands.

There’s really a shitful range of options at the tobacconist in town: I’ve been reading-up on different tobaccos – Mac Baron is popular according to online reviews people have written and they stocked that here at least.

If I want any choice of pipe tobaccos I’ll have to go to Penrith next time.

Amphora ‘Full Aroma’ with a very tastfully applied photoshop radial blur to facilitate a bit of foreground ‘pop’.

Yes indeed, anything can be animated and I’ve had the shortcodes installed since the site was on the old HostMonster server but never really bothered to use it and can’t see any reason to go mental with it now: an animation here or there for the newly implimented collapsable text is fine and good, but too much animation puts strain on your eyes and gets tacky real quick. More than that though: moving elements are great for attracting the eye when used sparingly, but stick them in all over the place and you’re eyes don’t know what they’re looking at then stop paying attention – ergo, I lose the impact of that easily distinguishable visual assocation I meantioned earlier causing those special monologues to no longer catch your eye, so we’ll save it for them. Maybe the featured image in the start of each post too, why not – it’s my show after all.

You see that without the cloud of cannabis brain-speed returns to normal and things requiring mental initiative become a much more straightforward affair, though I’ve gotta go to bed before I can tweak or refine because it’s 1:07 AM, I haven’t had nearly enough sleep lately and though I can sleep-in all I want since it’s now Saturday, I’d rather not wake-up at midday.

Anyway, you don’t need to rub or otherwise pre-prepare ribbon-cut tobacco at all before stuffing your pipe, but I’ve started rubbing it a bit anyhow because it makes it softer and more consistent in texture.

I forgot to mention the problem with smoking though the problem is quite simple, I love it: mostly I love the tobacco before it’s smoked; I love the smell of it, the texture, the rum/licorice/whatever flavours might be present in the moist new product and I LOVE cracking open a new pouch and smelling it while it’s still freshly opened: sweet, toffee, chocolate, fruity smells that are outstanding and though I naturally love the actual smoking of the shit and the nicotine abatement that goes with that.

I’m not so keen for the smell of any cigarette smoke as it’s burning ironically: I’m not offended by it like non-smokers are, I just don’t find the smell of cigarettes particularly appealing is all and though I adore the smell of bushfire and campfire smoke, but most tobacco just smells like chemicals when it’s actually burning.

The pipe tobaccos I’ve bought the last two weeks or so smell much ‘prettier’ in the room than cheaper cigarette tobaccos however, and not anywhere near as offensively strong as cigar smoke.

So that’s the problem anyway: it’s addictive, it smells like fine liquer in the pouch before it’s burning so I could just sniff that shit all day and actually having it – I love having tobacco.

Saturday, 6th July 2019

Many things to write, not much time to write it and not because I’m terminally ill or similar, but because I’ve got another site to do, though I certainly don’t want be cremated when death fucks me – I want to be buried and rot in the ground.

Vampires get cremated and I’m not a vampire – I’d much prefer the thought of decomposing in soil and fertilizing the ground, than to be burnt to dust then scraped in a bin – fuck that. I’m pretty sure a burial plot is thousands of dollars of course, so I’d better start saving because though I wil never have the money to own my own house I can probably afford a 6 foot Γ— 4 foot hole for myself when I’m too dead to enjoy it πŸ’€

A morbid kind of home ownership, when it no longer matters at all.

The funeral itself? Couldn’t give a fuck if there even is one: long as I’m buried so I’m still here in existance in some physical form: even if that’s just greasy bones soaked in sludge oozing liquified foulness – it’s better than a garbage bin πŸ˜‰

Yeah I’ve got to start on the nursery site, though I’ve had several extended trains of thought over the past week or so I wouldn’t mind vomiting fourth.

Not ranty or hateful thoughts or even thoughts about people either, just multi-faceted, philosophically inclined musings so you know I’ll be wanting to do make you adopt my way of thinking and they’ll take time to edit.

We also aren’t sure the commitee will allow any new site to replace the existing mess that’s there – no matter how much better it is, so I’ll take my time and do it in bits here and there opposed to charging at it full-tilt.

Old-Brian is was not only at the library today while I was there using their wifi to save my mobile data, but not wearing a hat! I know! Iwas surprised myself – I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without some kind of hat, cap, beanie or something on his head so he’s obviously decided to let what little hair is left, ‘down’, before leaving his place today.

Don’t go crazy Brian πŸ™‚

We didn’t talk for long today because I was fucking around downloading episodes while Brian wanted to watch some old mate of his play chess and he did invite me to come with him down the end of the table to watch, but I graciously declined – exciting as that sounded.

Matter of fact the only reason he came over to talk to me was to tell me I should seek training in management and leadership, through online studies or volunteering because Brian insists that’d be of some benefit to me and it’s not the first time he’s brought the topic up.

I told him management would indeed be a good generic qualification to have since every place needs a manager, but he’s clarified he meant leadership training, like I’ve got anobody to actually lead.

I certainly possess the depth of thought and perspective for a leadership role along with the moral integrity to know where the lines are and the intellect to scate the edge of those lines without crossing them, but what Brian probably isn’t aware of is I don’t care much about the human race and am usually too focused on my own immediate needs not being filled to care about anyone else anyway.

Maybe I can lead all the other dole-bludgers to canberra to demand a payrise!

Lunatic old man.

Tuesday, 9th July 2019

Honestly I fucking wish winter would hurry up and end. Not because of the cold parse but my apparent inability to regulate heat: I’m either comfortable outside and streaming sweat inside or comfortable inside and freezing my dick off out.

11:07 AM

Fucking asian tourists.

Last bus was full and just trying to get on this one I put up with two of the little fuckers squeezing between me and the bus itself so I lean-in against the bus but STILL the little arsehole’s trying to squeeze-in between the gap, snapped and turned to yell “Just fucking wait ya cunts! FUCK!”

Fuckin hobbits even on the bus I can smell the sickness in their breath: the whole bus fuckin stinks like it and there’s a million shuffling around like fucktards waiting for every bus.

Personality – almost forgot about that.

Hard to concatenate so many threads into a single criteria though mm.

Wednesday, 10th July 2019

You would almost not know where I start and the bitumen ends: stupidly, I voluntarily offered to blast the slippery moss off the patio bricks a week ago and that is the result of today’s effort.

I can’t write that more amusing once I’ve rinsed the dirt, moss, silt and other filth off my face and out my eyes and hair – if I can be arsed, which I can’t, so most likely won’t.

Thursday, 11th July 2019

Since moving here I’ve heard all this shit about how fantastic the mysterious Wollemi Pine is, and what a massive deal it was to discover it within a tiny, isolated pocket of the national park where it had been apparently frozen in time from the prehistoric era while everything else evolved around it.

Finally I’ve been introduced to this tree in person and I’ve gotta say I’m in agreement: the fuckin thing looks exactly like a species that should’ve become extinct alongside the triceratops and tyrannosaurus ..

Turns out it’s not a pine at all, but simply was given a common name that’s nothing to do with the species which could seem disappointing until you google the common name: the Wollemi Pine has its very own family created just for itself.

I only saw the dinosaur-era Wollemi’s for the first time while moving an eight foot tree fern with a trunk over a foot thick that very nearly crushed my right knee: having taken several of us an hour in turns to saw down then three of us to roll, tilt and get this arsehole upright on a trolly before rolling it around the other side of the building, we’d finally positioned it next to the pre-dug hole and decided to just let it thump to the ground.

Julie and the old guy gave it a little shove just as I’ve realized my foot was caught under the trolly and all I could do was watch for the half-second it took to thump down over my leg.

I might’ve even winced slightly as I watched it fall and waited for the pain: a moment later it was on top of my leg but no pain – the trolly itself had a slight arch in the back that saved my knee being crushed πŸ˜–

Yeah it doesn’t look like much but that’s only the crown: the hole the majority of the plant is buried in was 4-5 feet deep and despite how light these fuckers look with all that soft, fuzzy shit, the trunk itself was so full of water it had sponged-up it felt like the motherfucker was made of solid water.

Like, chop a fresh carrot in half: that’s how wet and dense it was all the way through.

Lucky the trolly didn’t have a flat back anyhoo and yes: I shouldered the fern and pushed the trolly mostly by myself because the old guy had needed a break from his contribution to sawing it down and Julie is way too tiny of course, but they both acted as balances – flanking each side as I rolled it – to prevent the ugly fern falling as I pushed.

Just pointing out I didn’t simply stand around telling the others what to do, is all, and that wasn’t even my primary job for the day – I’ve been productive enough the past few days to make-up for my laziness just week when something stupidly possessed me to offer to power-clean the patio pavers because they’re so slippery people are constantly nearly falling and several people have fallen, twisted, sprained stuff – one of the old guys even broke his wrist in three places and you know I’m ALL ABOUT other people’s being all safe and warm and fuzzy and shit, so I stated I would clean the outdoor areas of slippery if they organize the pressure cleaner and much like the tree-fern, everyone has talked since I started at the nursery about how it really needs to be done – yet nobodies fuckin’ done anything about it.

I’m not talking about the women, who understandably shouldn’t have to break a sweat or their backs doing heavy shit – indeed, I make a point of handling the wheelbarrows full of potting mix and keeping them supplied so they don’t have to shovel dirt because they’re female – regardless their age.

Similarly, while cleaning at The Ritz I never let the chick I was cleaning the place with go near a toilet or bathroom because she shouldn’t have to and didn’t have to clean them because I much preferred to clean all the toilets than see her doing that sort of work.

But the other males at the nursery are not of the same mind as me and do no heavy lifting for any of the women at all and they’re older than me: they should have an even stronger sense of that whole thing than I fuckin do.

The whopping two who DO want to do the gentlemanly thing are about the same age as Old-Brian and not physically strong enough to be any real use but at least gesture at helping with little things, while the rest – all able-bodied – do nothing to assist the fairer sex.

Maybe when I’m that old I won’t care either, but then they’re only 10-15 years older than me mm.

So I’ve spent the past two days drenched from the knees down, covered in mud and stopping only to occasionally clear gobs of crap out my eyes or to allow people to pass without being sprayed..

Hence the filthy feet photo yesterday.

Dunno why I’m writing any of this: I’ll never read back over it and it’s not exactly headline news, though I suppose it’s nice, brain-free writing – simply documenting what I’ve done.

Friday, 12th July 2019

For this weeks’ podcast listening I’ve switched topics to unsolved mysteries and listened to two separate series about Skinwalker Ranch in Uintah Basin in Utah, near the Grand Canyon.

It’s nice to hear about make-believe monsters for a change instead of real, human ones with heads in their freezers but they were also very well delivered stories with some very funny moments with salt-of-the-earth cattle farmers completely losing their shit in the face of weird creatures, UFOs and their cattle-dogs being vaporized by crackling orbs of light: for the comedy value alone they were worth listening to, but I also randomly sat through a 4 hour, two part series about two people I’ve never really bothered to learn anything about.

Bonnie and Clyde.

All class compared to contemporary criminals, I always assumed they’d be an ugly pair, given their dirt poor, Texan dust-bowl background but they were not, well neither were ugly though I’ve not bothered grabbing one of Clyde’s photos to demonstrate, here’s his better half: Bonnie Parker.

Of course she’s no traffic-stopping glamour – forget about that – she’s actually quite beautiful without the scrunched facial expressions and at just under 5′ tall she’s no lumbering giraffe of a woman who’s certainly cute and reminded me of someone – if not very briefly: short, pale and feisty enough to be a complete pain in the arse.

Anyway both were ambushed by law enforcement and Clyde was sniped dead instantly with a single headshot, sending Bonnie into hysterics as she howled-out such an animal scream everyone present said they’d never heard anything like it.

That’s fuckin’ love, that is.

A moment after that, a whole group of police hiding in the bushes both sides of the road in ambush all opened fire and turned a wailing Bonnie into hamburger meat with over 150 very high powered rounds that cut straight through Bonnie, Clyde and their stolen Ford like butter.

Sadly, neither were any kind of rampaging mass murderers – just common thieves who liked to dress well and given they both came from absolute poverty who’d hold that against them.

The only people they did gun down were a sprinkling of cops and only then because they were cornered and being shot at themselves: Texas Rangers were simply embarrassed about a pair of upstart petty thieves eluding them and once those iconic photos were printed by newspapers Bonnie and Clyde instantly went from nobodies to superstars: strangers even let them stay in their houses – the public loved them.

Saddest of all? They were deliberately buried separately instead of side by side.

Monday, 15th July 2019

7:05 AM

So there’ll be no forced 4-day fasting this week leading-up to payday: I got saved 🌞

I was going to write a little string of paragraphs last week about that too, because – though nobody wants to not have any food – I got to reading about these monks in Thailand and China a few weeks ago that led me to google fasting.

Evidently, intermittently fasting is extremely good for your health.

These monks were clearly freaky-devout and I’ll try and find the wiki article again because the fasting in itself wasn’t the the thing got me reading about them – all monks fast – but the fact the height of dedication saw some practice a kind of pre-mummification of themselves leading to death: they’d eat only a very limited diet consisting of really only leaves and sticks, designed to burn-up as much body fat and moisture so as they gradually starved themselves to death their bodies found become little more than bone and skin with a tiny amount of muscle, which would stop their corpses from rotting after death.

Like human beef jerky “on-the-bone” πŸ˜‰

Here it is – the practice is called Sokushinbutsu and though this might seem a bit morbid for seven in the morning, it’s what triggered my googling “fasting” so I wanted to get to the source and shove it in here since I know that once I move on to another topic I’ll not bother returning here to edit later.

Obviously they’re no advertisement for fasting, though (equally obvious) they’ve chosen to literally fast themselves to death but I’ve always had a feeling it isn’t that bad for me since, logically, all the animalia families on earth have evolved to deal with periods when nutrition is scarce and we’ve only quite recently had such an abundance of food filling supermarkets in every town in the first world.

Being in the 99th percentile it’s easy for me to look down on almost everybody I’ve ever met and though there are people more intelligent than I am they’re so few in number I honestly don’t believe I’ve met even one in my life to date, which makes getting along with other people a hard thing to manage, given almost everyone I meet only seem to parrot things they’ve heard from people wiser than themselves – that’s the absolute pinnacle of intelligence for most people.

Statistically, I’d have to meet over 300,000 people to meet another with my IQ and only 1:1,000,000 people are more intelligent: I’d have to really try to manage to meet 50,000 people in my entire life, so the likeliness I’ll ever even bump into another with a 136 IQ is effectively nil.

I should be talking to Old-Brian about some of this: I remember him telling me he’d found a new way of thinking that would allow the indexing and recalling of complicated thoughts more efficiently. I grew bored super-quick because he wasn’t articulating his idea nearly as well as the very idea he was trying to explain should’ve facilitated, but I think I have found a way of thinking that seems to allow the correct answer to any given problem with near-on no actual knowledge on any given a topic: just the application of simple logic, common-sense and a few variables relating to the subject matter.

Right, fasting: gotta get that thought back on track, though mm.. it’s getting late in the day.

I heard years ago that the human body only has so much energy available at any given time and digestion uses a lot of resources, so refraining from eating redirects that energy into the immune system and can speed-up recovery when you’re sick and I’ve found that’s true: the few times in my life I’ve been sick enough to not want to eat – whether it be caused by a flu, lung infection or whatever – I have found that an illness that had lasted weeks to that point was ended just days after I stopped eating, and not just tapered-off – stopped dead in its’ tracks: sick as shit for weeks then clear, clean and feeling a million bucks after just a few days of abstinence from food.

Wednesday, 17th July 2019

Okay so this grueling two weeks of nothing-but- pressure- cleaning-pavers is almost over and – though it’s turned into a bit of an OCD/Perfectionist obsession the longer I’ve been doing it – I’m happy I can finally see a day in the not too distant future where my shoes, socks and pants aren’t drenched, squishing and squelching water all day long.

I get to the Nursery this morning at about 10:00, get myself a coffee then go outside to drink it and then return to the office to plug my various lithium-ion battery packs in to charge.

No sooner do I get inside Peter – the geeky old know it all who’s constantly correcting everybody any chance he gets – shows ne this stack of DIY laminated photos: of buses – he’s one of those weird breed of old people who really, really like trains and subsequently told everybody he’d been to Melbourne on the weekend just to look at trains ..

Now I have to interrupt my own monologue here to say I kinda have to question the validity of anybody traveling interstate to look at trains, buses or any other vehicle, really because it sounds like the kind of thing a pedophile or rapist would do and the reason it sounds like that is because many, many serial predators do just that: they’re almost all into field trips for no real reason and Melbourne is a fucking long way to go just to photograph “trains”.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not declaring him to be a pervert, simply opining about whether a 60 year old man who lives alone, has mentioned in passing that he’s no interest in partnering with a woman and gives off a vibe of general weirdness really has wholesome motives for traveling so far for something most people are consider ridiculous.

Anyway I look at the laminated photos of this bus and that, a yellow bus, a green bus another green bus oh wow a BLUE bus.. I’d just about started assembling the words in my head that would adequately mock the absurdity of a grown man that age even engaging in such a childish activity, when I thought better of it and decided to feign mild interest instead: not only do I not care at all what he is or where he goes and not only is it first thing in the morning, I am practicing being universally charming which means I have to resist the urge to cut people down for my own amusement – far more useful to me to have everyone believe I think they’re great, than polarize every group I’m in by ostracizing and insulting targeted people I dislike then smirk as they go on to bend other peoples’ ears about what an arsehole I am.

Better to hate people secretly and have them remain useful: I was even nice to Francis before we locked-up and left this afternoon.

Again today I ended up swimming in cold water, though on every day I’ve done this now I’ve found that by the time I’m moving around the wet doesn’t feel cold or maybe it’s the two layers of thermal leggings under my pants, but once you’re wet you’re wet and don’t much care about it anymore.

Problem is, with little gobs of silt, chunks of rock, sand and moss backed by 2000 PSI of water shooting randomly out all directions in a twenty meter arc nobody else can use the outdoor area without being hit by flying shit and nobody else wants to get wet or muddy.

Thursday, 18th July 2019

6:02 AM

So annoying was the resource limit errors last night that I’ve set the site to build a preloaded copy of every page which started as a nine hour process.

It’s down to three hours now and by 9:00 AM the entire site will be serving compressed, pre-loaded pages to all guests and bots, with fresh pages only being sent to logged-in users: a fraction the resources and loads faster but doesn’t update everything on the page every time it’s visited.

I could’ve just set it to cache images actually since they never change acces are 5-7mb/per, but it’s not a bandwidth limit issue – is the number of processes the server is using and pre-loading should fix that.

If only dedicated servers weren’t so expensive I’d have a whole quad-core CPU and 5Gb RAM to myself, but the motherfucks charge $128/month for that shit and that’s USD: almost $200 Australian – and that’s still cheaper than the last hosting provider!

Bastard pigfuckers.

If I had the NBN, unlimited broadband and a reasonable desktop tower I could have my own physical server: install linux on the fucker slap Apache, PHP, MySQL and PERL on that and I’d never pay a cent for some arsehole company to rent me a bit of disk space in Illinois!

It’s like renting a tiny garden shed because you lack the outlay to buy some land and own a much better shed of your own.

Did that years ago – had my own dedicated tower, but that was before NBN and before I had anything to say about anything, really.

Friday, 19th July 2019

Words are a remarkable thing.

I’m catching-up on Wentworth and An Idiot Abroad: one look at the riduculous amount of planet/moon-landing/solar-system effluent they’re flooding iview with was instantly enough to repel me from bothering with them which is a pity, since I usually like universe-related documentaries but not 15 of the same Brian Cox and Julia Zemiro hosted shit all at once yeah, and there was no moon-landing anniversary party or any hoity-toity lala for me which only served to blacken my view of them further.

So I wont be adding anything major tonight but was just thinking, which led me to one of those little moments of appreciation that’s nothing new but it’s nice when you’re reminded of the intrinsic value of the simplest things: language is truly an amazing thing.

The other day at the nursery, one or two of the other volunteers were talking about foreign languages – specifically German in this instance since Tanya has some kind of German ancestry and she was saying she never managed to get the hang of it in spite of her grandparents or whatever.

I thought what an idle waste of time any alternate language is in a country where so few people use them and though I didn’t state that to them of course, I did point-out that people spend their entire lives studying the intricacies and subtle nuances of English and still manage to find new ways of arranging words to more efficiently express their ideas well into old-age.

Language, most importantly, is the most direct interface to thoughts: while music is good for illiciting emotional reactions and visual arts are good for, well, nothing really but they look pretty, words are still the most accessible method of succinctly conveying complex thoughts, feelings or concepts so whether it’s fiction or non-fiction, news or educational words are GOD when it comes to to propagation of human knowledge from one person to another.

That expression of thought itself was poorly executed by all accounts, and though I could go back and edit it to be punchier not every paragraph needs to be meticulously constructed word-nerdery so I’ll leave it.

Just saying: language – English specifically – are universally available to everyone to both transmit and receive anything anyone can think – amazing.

Out are the Lights..

That’s the title of an excellent Richard Laymon novel incidentally, but as a quick update to anyone who’s known me long enough to read about my gradual decent into lunacy, AGL cut my electricity weeks ago and I’ve recently received an email informing me that the gas is scheduled for disconnection as well.

Far from giving a fuck, I’ve been more than happy powering the few electronic devices I care about with the many various Lithium-Ion battery packs I accumulated throughout my camping days and have not missed the power in the slightest. The only large appliances that cannot be powered with mobile power-banks are the fridge and TV – neither of which I need at all since I lived without a fridge just fine the first six months after moving in here and all I used the TV to watch was reruns of The Office and the other ABC2 comedy repeats each night, and who really needs that?

I can watch all the new shows with iview on my tablet that sounds incomparably better out my $350 Audio-Technica headphones anyway – since I always have plenty of data on my phone – and now I’ve discovered the endless ocean of podcasts online there’s no shortage of fresh, brand new shows and episodes to watch or listen to every night with only mobile devices that use very little power.

As for the impending gas disconnection that gnawed at me for approximately 15 seconds – the length of time it took me to realize I still had my hiking canister stove – and though I was mildly irked about the fact I don’t have any actual gas to screw into the sucker, that was all remedied yesterday with a visit to Big-W to price-check their camping stoves…

Vastly cheaper than the ultra-light hiking stove canisters, and a much more stable cooking surface for pots.

I abhor Big-W, but the visit proved very fruitful: not only was the stove itself only $20, a 4-pack of gas canisters to go with it were only $5.

Considering a large gas canister for my ultra-light hiking stove was $20 a year ago when I last bought one while the equivalent two cans of the Big-W gas costs $2.50, the gas alone practically pays for the stove to use them.

I’d wager the gas for this new stove is actually cheaper than the gas coming out your wall right now, but I *know* it’s a fraction of the other stove to operate.

So gas is sorted in spades.

Of course you might be thinking, that having to resort to a mobile stove of any kind is pretty sad but as far as I’m concerened, the fact I’m living alone with no woman, kids or pets means there’s nobody to bother trying to impress and that is the sad thing – not the kind of stove I’ve got.

Living alone sucks and I don’t plan on doing it indefinately but it allows you the freedom to truly not give a fuck about maintaining all the luxuries actual homes need to have which is a double-edged sword, I suppose, because I know that the longer I live alone however I like, the longer and more difficult the transition will be to living with a woman next time and I suppose if I lived alone for years I’d eventually be unable to adjust to living with other people at all.

The upside however is that living in the bush that whole time then being homeless that whole time, I learned to not give a monkeys fuck for comfort which leaves me quite happy to independently supply my own energy needs and as a result, well I won’t be running to any utility company begging to be reconnected because I’ve got stored, mobile electricty that’s completely free and plenty of gas to cook with so I truly don’t need to give a shit about AGL πŸ™‚

Like being off-grid in the middle of the suburbs it is, and I have to say – I rather like it: half-feral-in-a-tent, half-civilized-human-being.

Now to finish tonight’s iview binge – it’s getting late.. Flowers next. Strange show: darkly humourous and generally depressing, it’s really only the husband I find myself at odds with – always drooping around trying to hang himself and moaning like a bitch.

Oh, here was lunch today at the nursery, and these fresh/refrigerated soups from Coles and Woolies taste just like home-made soup..

Hearty beef and vegetable with barley of some kind. I love barley in any soup though: like puffy globules of rice, but, not rice.

Saturday, 20th July 2019

Where were we last night before I finished my catch-up binge and fell asleep..

Right – being off-gridwith no solar panels or house to put them on.

Actually, I’m filling the bathroom sink with hot water to wash socks and underwear, after which I’ll be doing another ‘load’ for tops and I’ll just not bother with pants – Tanya is washing all my blue, mud-caked pants when I take them in next week so I don’t even have to care about them for once.

Anyone wanna wash my duck-down jacket?

Bare in mind I love that jacket: hundreds of tiny chinese ducklings had their undercoat of feathers TORN from their little bodies for the comfort this jacket provides, and let me tell you, their suffering was worth it.

No volunteers? Tanya or Verity will give it the care it deserves, if nobody else will.

Hang on I’m busy doing stuff – that’s dinner and the Spam was 1/2 price so I couldn’t *not* grab several tins: I am right at home with the kind of food other people would turn their noses up at and all those things combined on a sandwich or roll are still a vast improvement over the camping diet I had years ago because now I’m close to town, I can actually have fresh onions and tomatoes and other things I’d never have bothered carrying out to my tent, and increasingly I’ve reverted to that exact diet – high calorie; fat; protein; carbohydrate and with multi-vitamins to suppliment the minerals those foods don’t have so combined with the battery packs for power and canister-stove cooking I’ve basically traded that dome tent down in the valley with a double-brick 2-bedroom unit that’s close enough to town for me to shop every day if I like – opposed to being stuck out in the bush with whatever I can carry out there.

I’m happy with this, for the time being πŸ™‚

Yeah time to slice and cook my spam and onions and pile it all into a hamburger/sandwichy thing: I’m hungry.

It’s very springy today with the sun and that smell in the air: you can smell the spring which is awesome – I’ll be able to dry clothes in a single day soon, instead of four!

Exceptionally good and largely because of the Spam, which saves it from tasting like just a greasy sausage sandwich you might have at any BBQ, to a much lighter grilled ham-steak creation because the spam itself doesn’t leak fat and oil like a sausage wound so it’s much less fatty πŸ˜›

Now I’ve gotta let my food settle – I had two of those one after the other so I’m about 1/4 the way to a food coma here. The onions got slightly burnt but I added about 1/4 teaspoon of brown sugar before browning them, so they were slightly sweetened to counter the salt of the cheese and spam – caramelized onion.

Sunday, 21st July 2019

I’ve cleared-out that sidebar so there’s only the minimal clutter there and fixed the lifetime album since it was stuck on the one image and though I’d really like to go back and edit some of the earlier posts, I’ve said I’d like to for that for years now.

But y’know, putting the badly written rainforest journals aside how cool would it be to add memories from even earlier than that: right back to childhood, I could add, opine on things I remember as they pop in my head and scribble drawings up in place of photos which I obviously don’t have.

I wouldn’t know exact dates for most events but could take a rough stab at them and backdate the posts to approximately the right time and create a retrospective timeline mm.

7:57 PM

I tried two timeline pluginsearlier today but found both were too generic and both required I manually enter timeline events – no importation of existing posts – so I binned them as an easy option almost as soon as they were installed.

Since then however, I’ve added a few posts relating to childhood place of birth and my first school, then deleted all the Outing #– categories completely, created Childhood, Pre-feral, Feral and Post-feral categories then moved ALL posts so they’re grouped accordingly.

Bit boring I know but the disorganized way I’ve just gone-on adding new categories over time bugs me a bit: for quite a while now I’ve wanted my entries to be sorted by various emotions and time periods and the way everything’s arranged kinda allows that, but could be better.

Monday, 22nd July 2019

Sneaky like a possum you see and like Guido I just appeared πŸ™‚

I’ll include that in because it’s colourful, and it’s very springlike today so everything will start becoming more colourful soon – including my language once the weather starts heating up and getting my hot and shitty πŸ™‚

There’s also a shopping tip associated with that photo because Allen’s brand jelly-beans are not as nice as Woolworths own brand: I bought the Woolies ones the other day because they were $1.50 so figured why not, then bought these “good brand” ones today because they too were on special, but the popular brand is too chewy on the inside – tough almost – like they’ve gone stale in the packet, while the supermarket’s own jelly-beans are soft and fresh.

Why I’m suddenly buying jelly-beans is pretty random but simple: I’ve always maintained that at a bare minimum a person needs two kinds of foods – savoury and sweet – to give you at least a basic change of palette.

Now I’d rather home-cooked tiramisu or other deserts but baking cakes and deserts is a womans specialty and anyone says differently is full of shit: gay men, chefs and try-hard/overcompensating dads are the only men who ever bother creating fancy deserts or baking cakes, because (and I’ll be fucked if I know why myself but it must be something to do with the functionality of the actual main meal itself veing more attractive a prospect to men, while cakes are considered essentially frivolous but also that whole social gender construct we won’t bother getting into here and now) most men are naturally drawn to cooking meals when they cook.

Plenty of men cook I mean to say, but I’m quite sure most men leave the cakes and baking to their wives and girlfriends because they’re fuckin useless at it because they’re usually happy to just eat the cakes already provided to them by women, so have no inclination to learn.

Anyway jelly-beans are a change from chocolate (and Whittaker’s is on special for $3.50/block so I’ve got that too anyhow) and because I don’t like lollies much, really, they should still be there after whatever other sweet foods have been eaten.

Why am I writing about fucking jelly-beans anyway? We’ll just end that boring shit right here.

4:52 PM

Okay while it might look as though I’ve done nothing and written nothing the last day or two I’ve started adding the barebones outline of life events that will serve as starting points in my filling-in a background to the rest of my life to date starting with my childhood, which led me to remeniscing about several early memories like the moment I met my first computer..

Looks like a product review, but it’s not – that was were my love of technology began.

There’s a new category for all these early memories right here: /childhood/

Tuesday, 23rd July 2019

The women were yappin’ on about women shit for lunch which saw me bored super-fast and that’s the only reason I ended-up with any photo at all today: a baby albatross on a card I found sitting on one of the desks πŸ˜‰

What I need, is a new strange life event to write about.

Though I’ve written consistently I’ve seen – flicking back through this post – days where all I’m writing about is boring shit about spamburgers or the stairway outside smelling like cat piss or how quickly my clothes dried the other day: none of that makes for very exciting reading when I’m writing about it every day, and I don’t want to bore anyone to death with fuckin’ shit about ordinary things and photos of food: this isn’t facebook.

Course there’s always the bad days, and I can rant like a pro about shit I don’t much care for which is no doubt amusing for others to read since most people like reading about anyone having a worse day than themselves, but I need something NEW to write about.

Something not experienced by the vast majority of people that I can convert to something relatable to the vast majority of people: the rainforest camping’s been done, the homeless has been done. mm..

And somebody to proofread and pick out the typoes: trying to truncate an entire life into words and photos is a never-ending chore in itself, without having to go back to edit-out the mistakes and boring bits – I don’t have the patience for that.

I also need a way to filter out the dross because although there are countless very well written stories, passages and beautifully articulated thoughts and ideas they’re scattered back and forth in every post and the only way to get to the funny, the angry, the emotionally charged stuff is to read until you get to them.

Categories provide a shortcut to some of these more interesting passages and I have been careful to group posts according to topic and emotion (Love, Hate, Light, Dark) but that’s not obvious to any new reader to the site: they’re confronted with a fuckin’ wall of text that would seem pretty disorganized, but it’s not really.

I should be writing out the happenings of the day in some amusing anecdote, but I’ve got a backlog of deeper thoughts I still haven’t caught-up on including the analogy about truth and like most nights now I’m distracted by the pocast episodes Ive got yappin’ in my ear.

To summarize, I started sloughing the Ivy off the back wall with a trough, then made the mistake of crashing a conversation about gynocologists that saw me RAIL-ON for over an hour at everyone about what fucking perverts any men who’d choose that as a medical specialty are – and I am getting outraged even now thinking about it again – before growing bored with the ivy and leaving the ground covered in the shit.

Really it’s a matter of integrity, honour and respect between two people – all values in short supply throughout society today: I’d never let any other woman anywhere near my cock so the idea that a woman who claims to love me would allow any other man near her most private, intimate body parts is a breach of that code of love that sickens me and it doesn’t matter a shit whether that man is a doctor or not: he’s still a man.

Like I stated if I were ever to lose my shit or go serial-killer I’d target male gynocologists and erase as many from the world as I could before being caught because there’s absolutely NO wholesome reason for any man to want to spend his working life elbow-deep in different womens snatch: it’s perverted by nature and less perverts in the world is only a good thing.

I feel sick now just thinking about it again see, so I’ll stop but yeah *honour* and *exclusivity* between two people is what that’s all really about and these days there’s no reason men and women cannot find and use specialists of the same sex as they are for genital-related issues; letting a member of the opposite sex finger you – doctor or not – is a disgusting breach of the intimacy you have with a partner and considering how many more female doctors there are these days, there’s no excuse to not see one for that kind’ve thing.

Allowing another man access to your sexual organs is a gross violation of you, your organs and a primal code of love so just stop doing it – let Doctor Pervert get his cock hard with his fingers in women who don’t value their bodies – women like that are a dime-a-dozen after all.

Goes both ways naturally and the last few paragraphs are pretty dourly written because there’s no room for humor or smart-arse remarks on the topic: every woman I’ve ever been with would be fuckin’ beside herself if another woman touched my dick and any time the subject has been raised in discussion the women have drawn no distinction between a female doctor or some skank at the pub – she has every right to be upset because she is the woman who loves me and *I* will respect her wishes because I love her and expect nothing less from her in return.

A pallette-cleanser, what we need to lighten to mood mmhmm..

Nope.. I’m walking away from the keyboard until I calm down.

Okay so basically there’s two layers to this entire thing once you unpack the thought: there’s the social bullshit that’s wrapped around everything nowadays that’s imposed on us and there’s the underlying animal truth.

Strip back the socially imposed fuckin’ bullshit about how we’re meant to behave and think and what we’re left with is the base, primal, natural behaviour that people need to stop trying to extinguish and start having a little respect for: two people engage in a relationship as sexual partners and there are evolutionary rules and codes of conduct that have always been at play and will *never* go away.

Most people are simply not intelligent enough to see this for themselves and instead go along with social values and the amorality that accompanies them, and they not only adopt these shitty social ideals, they manage to convince themselves they’re much smarter than they are because their average-joe intelligence doesn’t allow them to see they’re all as dumb as bricks.

THEY are the ones who really NEED to be reading all this, but people like that are too busy watching television to use their brains independent of the world.

Throughout the animal kingdom there are unwritten laws of nature that dictate how we behave to stop our food, offspring and mates being taken from us and these are the instincts that see people feeling many of the emotions they feel.

We grow jealous if someone of the same sex starts showing our partner too much attention for a reason; we don’t want that person taken from us and there’s PLENTY of people who’ll happily snatch your boyfriend, girlfriend or entire family from under your nose if you don’t keep an eye on them.

We instinctively protect children because they are the next generation of our genes and they ensure the continuation of the species – like every other animal on earth ALL protect their young.

We’re all mildly racist because we instinctively want to defend our food, homes and other resources from outsiders to ensure we have enough for our own family and community and outsiders will inevitably take whatever they can if we allow it to happen.

Natural law is very real, and all the animal behaviours the lesser-minded fools of the past few centuries have tried to mindfuck people into thinking are wrong, are NOT wrong – it’s the stupid social group-think that’s been imposed on human behaviour that’s wrong and it’s completely unnatural by definition: socially acceptable thoughts and attitudes are nothing more than constructs we follow like sheep because every other idiot nodded their heads because it made sense at the time.

Circling back to the utter wrongness of male gynocologists now, the code of love I’ve mentioned is in essence an unspoken, unwritten set of rules that all animals adhere to in order to co-exist and survive and only a MORON would believe it’s a good idea to ignore those primal rules, emotions and behaviours and replace them with a heap of pretentious wankery average people created to make them feel better than the rest of the animal kingdom and I’m not entering any debate between ‘love’ and ‘attraction’: love is just a human construct like time, currency, units of measurement and none of these are anything but labels humans made-up.

I’m specifically talking about the chemical reaction that causes people and animals to seek one another out by attraction to mate, bond and partner.

So code of attraction if you prefer – ‘love’ is just an easier label to use in referencing the machinations of attraction.

I’ve said all this before but I’ll keep saying it because it’s the flat truth and people need to realize we all evolved over millions of years to BE this way for good reason: contemporary social values are just a hodge-podge the masses have accepted as a more ‘enlightened’ way of being, but we’re not sublime ethereal beings we are primates and we don’t see chimpanzees pretending to have a spiritual connection to the gods or acting as though they’re a higher lifeform – having a larger brain than them isn’t an excuse to have left our image of ourselves float off with the fairies, which is really all that’s happened over the past few hundred years.

It’s all bullshit: We are no more than animals like every other species on the planet and we need to respect natural evolutionary laws because they are the reason we’ve come as far as we have as a species, not some bullshit a handful of drug-fucked hippies decided some sixty years ago while they burned bras and social morality in the same pit.

Religion to science – one extreme to the other – and everything in between are all things we have simply invented to make us feel like a transcendent form of life when reality evidences we’re just very clever animals and the sooner we learn to be a better at being animals instead to trying to be something we’re not the better off the entire planet will be.

Wednesday, 24th July 2019

Mm I could’ve said all that with half the paragraphs had I cut it down, but I do try to cover every angle of a point and typed it out on the keyboard so it was already done before I had time to see how many times I’d reiterated the same point.

One the reasons I’d argue for using the phones on-screen keyboard and a thumb: there’re limits in how many words per minute you can pump-out while sliding a finger around a little screen so you tend to write less and edit more – keeping everything more compact and concentrated.

On a keyboard you can churn-out blocks of text without even noticing how many times you’ve repeated yourself.

1:06 PM

Coachwood seedlings today.

Back to the grandma business of weeding-out pots: most exciting thing that’s happened today is a funnel-web crawling towards me about an hour ago.

I wanted to take a macro of the creepy little fucker but the compulsion to kill it immediately overruled that desire for a kickarse photo.

5:05 PM

Wish I’d restrained from stepping on that spider today long enough to get a good photo of him – and it was certainly male: five times more toxic than the female, but fuck they’re so unnerving.

That’s about the fifth or sixth funnel-web that’s crossed my path since moving to the mountains and most we’re different shades – from jet black to chocolate brown to almost orange – but all with the same thick, glossy legs/thorax and velvet abdomens with those two large palpy fuckin blughs.

No other spider bothers me like funnel-webs do and I mused with Richard that I’m unsure whether it’s the fact I know how deadly the little cunts are and the reputation they have, or whether it’s a primal/visceral reaction to the actual appearance of them because they look dangerous – thick, shiny, robotic and just fucking nasty.

Huntsman – for example – are much larger and though they’ll scare the shit out of me when I open a cupboard door and find one with its legs spread just inches from my face, I never feel the NEED to kill a Huntsman, but a funnel-web? I can’t relax until I’ve moved whatever it’s hiding under or next to, found it, heard it crunch and smeared it dead.

Spray is obviously the worst thing you can do because that’ll only result in Australia’s most dangerous spider running ’round the room angrily trying to fang you before vanishing under your bed and you won’t have a fucking clue whether it’s dead or not.

Rather than just pulling a photo from googles image search, I’ve dug around in my abandoned facebook account and found this photo I took before squashing this male I spotted crab-walking it’s ugly black arse towards the chair right in front of me while I was just watching TV one night..

Taken two years ago in the cabin I was renting here in town.

Today’s funnel-web was chocolate brown and in the middle of daylight outside so not quite as alarming as that onyx-black arsehole in the photo above, but was about the same size and yeah the shade of colour isn’t such a factor as the arrangement of legs and the smooth mechanical action these spiders have while moving: if you’d never heard of the funnel-web, didn’t know it’s venom can kill you dead in half an hour, didn’t know the males venom is 500% more potent than females and didn’t know that males are more aggressive when they’re out sniffing for females, which is when you’ll usually see them in your home – if you didn’t know any of that you’d still immediately identify them as dangerous because of how they’re built, their colouring and that fucking indescribable way they move: so slick with the smooth, undulating legs you don’t even notice until the fuckin’ thing is right next to you.

Incidentally, funnel-webs cannot move around in daylight hours because their exoskeleton will dry out, which is why they’re nocturnal – they need the higher humidity of night – and the only reason this one was out in the pavers is because two of the old guys upturned some old rotten sleepers bordering the garden near where we sit to weed and repot plants.

Maybe I could start going to church for that new, different thing to do..

Not for any religious bullshit – I couldn’t give a fuck about any make-believe spirituality in the slightest: organized christianity, buddhism and yoga or disorganized paganistic/wiccan/spiritualism ooky-spooky fucking rubbish – it’s all just fiction: mind-farts born of human imagination and if there actually is anything out there bigger than we are it’s too obscure for us to ever understand.

I’d be going to sniff-out a woman: a woman with moral integrity and to see how long I can bullshit my way to those no doubt well guarded women.

I only want one, though my list of criteria has tightened considerably over time: every ‘partner’ a person has costs a little of yourself and chips away at your innocence and willingness to trust, and I’ve got no time for airheads, sluts or hardarses anymore and though I’m open to flexibility in some attributes I’m not at all willing to settle for any woman I wouldn’t consider worth pursuing and don’t want a woman who’s incapable of illiciting a chase-response from me, because women who don’t know how to effect that cat-and-mouse dynamic are like caged hens just sitting there waiting for any random male wandering past to shove it in them next – there’s no courtship in that; no sense of exclusivity at all; no sense of reward if any other cock can help himself the moment the last one’s out of sight.

No matter what women like to tell themselves and their girlfriends, men have no respect whatsoever for sluts – we view them as meat; slop-holes; skanks; whores; filthy; diseased; nasty, and that’s all: there’s a WORLD of difference between being attractive and being had by men who think you’re attractive and – since the ‘average’ man will fuck any woman who makes it easy for him – well it’s no great compliment for any man to fuck a woman who’s an easy lay – he fucks her only because she’s easy and wouldn’t bother if she forced him to make an effort.

That’s other people though – cheap men and the cheap women they fuck: a different species to people like me.

I want to chase and get someone worth the effort, not be next in an endless line of indiscriminate dogs lapping at tainted meat from the same filthy bowl any other dog can get its tongue, fingers or anything else in.

Best not to give the site address to church-goers if I ever do bother to move on that particular plan 🀫

Thursday, 25th July 2019

I can’t be fucked going in today, but I need my battery packs for the weekend and I still need to take my 5 pairs of mud-caked pants in to be washed.

I need solar panels to fix to my windows.

This needs to be fixed.

My favorite trolly has busted a wheel and has to be fixed, it’s an excellent trolly and a few other of the volunteers prefer it too, though not everyone.

There are two kinds of trolly there and it’s kinda like an android/iphone fan-boy crap; some like the smaller two wheeled ones and some rather this larger green thing.

Irrelevant to anyone who doesn’t volunteer at the nursery, but in my little world it’s an issue that needs to be sorted and we already know what needs to be done – it’s just a matter of finding or crafting a large washer to prevent the wheel from rolling off.

I’ve already decided to go in tomorrow; maybe I’ll fix it then given it’s the smoothest trolly we’ve got and can’t be out of commission.

I’ve also brought home two oranges from the tree just outside the sliding doors there: though the photoshop filter I ran the photo through makes it appear more ripe than it really is, I didn’t bring them home to eat the oranges but to squeeze and make orange cordial with ’em because that’s a nicer way of consuming the vitamin-c than actually eating the fruit, which isn’t ripe so why would you.

I tried lemonade last week with just a squeeze of lemon juice and a few teaspoons brown sugar in a jar of water: shake the sugar in and you’ve got an exceptionally fresh drink.

The oranges work even better because they don’t have the acidity lemons do, so it tastes like mandarin juice.

That’s pretty boring I realize, but I liked the photo and figured I may as well add an explanation while I’m at it 🍊

So I gave the site URL to Bronte the other day plus Verity just then and added before getting out the car that I’m slightly careful who I give the website too, though thinking about that caveat now it sounds as though it’s some great privelage which makes me sound conceited, which I am but not that conceited: I’m selective about who I hand the site address to not because it’s too special or private for people to see, but because I just don’t assume everyone will have the time, patience or inclination to read it: you’ve gotta really be a reader to begin with and not only is there a lot of stuff to read which would appear daunting to a society more accustomed to short, quick facebook and twitter posts but the site is ongoing – updated frequently or daily if I’m in the mood – and the subject matter can instantly jump from an enraged 2,000 word rant to a softly worded tribute to a random animal I might see walking around town.

I can give the address to Tanya tomorrow but see I just don’t think she’d have the time or focus to read 20,000 word posts, though I’ve certainly no objection.

I’ll reiterate here, that although each post looks insanely long, I found long ago that adding a new post every day or even every week got tedious real fast, so for about a year I’ve found it’s much simply to just create a new post at the start of each month and update that as the month goes on which is why they’re so long – each post covers a full month.

Have to eat then edit out all the typoes: I’m only using my thumb today to slow me down, though the over-caffeination is now finished and I’m no longer vibrating at the same speed and frequency as a marsupial mouse 🐁

Man did I talk today – on my soapbox yarping about everything relating to the falseness of constructed morals humans have invented that permeate social values today branching-out to relationships and the sanctity of sex and intimacy.

By 11:00 AM my caffeine levels were through the roof though so an already talkative mood turned into a sermon on what’s wrong with everyone else, how fucked humans are, how everyone’s delusional except me and though both Verity and Bronte agreed with my assertion that most of my attitudes stem from the mere fact that I’m male and happy to engage my more animalistic emotions instead of suppressing them like so many grey-hearted deadheads these days do, they probably still didn’t quite see it from my angle because they’re both women and have different attitudes to sex and love than I do, but I think I did a reasonable job articulating my perspective and they’re both intelligent enough to get where I’m coming from every other time.

Nonetheless, after Verity got up and went out the front to the main section of nursery and didn’t return for like, an hour, I wondered whether she’d just grown fed-up hearing me belt-out opinions on shit that needs to change with the world and I said that out loud, before discovering later she’d actually driven home to get something then come back and hadn’t left in an effort to escape my monologue after all.

Friday, 26th July 2019

I am sick of not having a job.

Though I wasn’t buzzing like a fuckin’ squirrel today from being over-caffeinated and limited my consumption to just one real and two or three instants coffees, it’s all a bit depressing to have generally high levels of energy and expend it somewhere I’m not being paid to be.

It was cold today too which was fine while I was walking to the nursery, but as soon as I sat down and my heartbeat returned to it’s resting state so did my body temperature and it was too cold to sit still and fuck around with tubes so I ended up floating around aimlessly looking for something productive to do before deciding to sweep the leaves off some paths, wheelbarrow them down the back then dump them where nobody would notice.

Even if someone notices nobody will care: they’re off the path and down the side of a hill so they’ll blow away from the nursery instead of back on the paths again plus the only shit down there is rainforest with those lyrebirds who keep knocking over the potted plants while they’re digging for grubs.

Just after writing the above I get a text saying I’ve got a job interview on monday – with Broadspectrum.

Everyone at WISE Employment knows I quit and called Fairwork Australia over a minor pay dispute with Broadspectrum so maybe they don’t care about that anymore, and I was a kickarse cleaner while I was with them.

Tonight for dinner I’m simply frying-up some onions to make onion gravy so I can use-up the rest of the bread. Simple comfort food since it’s a pretty cold day.

Right here, I almost added something about woman #7, then thought better of including anything about someone who’s just a bad memory and a waste of time though at least I’m no longer emotionally reactive to thoughts about her anymore: like cockroaches scratching around in the dark stomped by my brain before they can find a soft spot and start gnawing at it.

Brain-training in action.

Tell ya what, I should never have leaned my head in the driver’s side to smell her neck the other day: she didn’t recoil or do anything to stop me but I didn’t care at all for the odor coming off her skin and as I was inhaling she’s exhaled what’s best described as the blowfly-ridden, rotting kangaroo corpse I took a machete to when I was 20: the smell of heavily decomposed road-kill.

I pull my head straight back out the car window and blink a few times, but before I’d even had a chance to process the miasma of filth that’s just assaulted my nostrils she tells me *I* smell too bad to come over.

“Huh?”

I’d already told her I had an appointment I was about to get it out the way and couldn’t get in the car and come over now, but “I’ll be over tonight at dinnertime.”

She tells me no, but, ‘You can text me later right? Gotta go bye!’

“Whatever.”

I walked away and thought no more of it until yesterday – when I woke-up with a gob of thick snot in my throat that felt a bit raw and a mild cough.

Fuckin infected myself with her cold or flu for nothing and yeah, that ‘roach was a slippery little arsehole to get away from me like that but fuck – you get the odd zippy one here and there.

Saturday, 27th July 2019

We’re at the library today because I was forced to come into town for papers to save me using a pipe which uses too much tobacco, though by “today” I mean “until the iced coffee in the above bottle runs out and I’ve pissed the liquid out before walking back”, because there’s little worse than needing to piss more with every step and not being able to; being on a main street full of tourists and traffic.

I’m hoping Old-Brian appears before I go because I’ve googled bed-bugs and found that lavender spray can be doused all over everything without being dangerous if he’s really intent on trying to remain all secretive about his little bug problem.

I’m not much interested in a mindfuck conversation about philosophy today but every time I’ve seen him for over a year he’s said he’s still got those crawly little motherfucks in his bed and three insecticide bombs haven’t killed them.

Real world people I’ve talked to about it all concurred however, that it’s technically the responsibility of Anglicare – who run the refurbished Cecil now – and ultimately they should be the ones who handle it: the argument can very well be made that the bed-bugs were already in the building, given how old it is and whether Brian brought them with him in his mattress or not it’s an aged care facility and it’s their responsibility to keep the place clean of parasites.

Make me fucking itchy just thinking about it.

Still, he’s got until this bottle of milk is empty to creep up on me like a spook which he always manages to do: you’ll be just sitting or standing there, turn around and “Fuck, Brian, don’t do that!”, he’s silently there like an apparition.

Speaking of there: Old-Rex is across the room checking books out.

He didn’t stop and say hello, which I must admit I’m not too surprised about: he stopped talking to me at the same time as I started ramping-up getting everyone at the church all ‘high alert’ over the lack of security there, demanding working with children checks for every volunteer now and telling Rosa she was criminally negligent for not already having that set as a basic minimum – given all the single mothers and other groups of vulnerable people who hang around that church every day.

Soon as he’d read what I’d written about all that he cracked it, said ‘Nobody wants to read that rubbish!’ and avoided me from that point on which seemed like a strange reaction to my demanding security checks be put in place for the protection of women and children who use the only food-bank in the upper mountains out of necessity.

Bottles empty and Brian hasn’t shambled in.

3:45 PM

I brought back fresh bread today planning to make gravy again but once I’d simmered the onions into a caramelized, wormy looking gloop, I figured may as well do an improvised Braised steak & Onion so the rest of the spam is diced and simmering in the gravy, which is pretty nice actually and also contains nutmeg, thyme and I’m unsure whether to add garlic; that might ruin it – garlic has a tendency to overpower everything.

I’ve edited yesterday’s instead of continuing with a commentary on dinner, which was good but would’ve been better with beans, potatoes and maybe carrots.

Monday, 29th July 2019

Should I be not finding it funny when I come out a disabled toilet and find an old man with a walking frame patiently standing there waiting for me to finish doing my hair?

I don’t know.

Like a sad cross between grandpa Simpson and moleman he was, standing right outside the door saying nothing as I swung it open and though I don’t feel bad that any of them have to wait, I do resent them for thinking it’s their own personal bathroom.

Why shouldn’t I have the best, cleanest private toilet available? Why should I have to be a cripple to make use of that?

I shouldn’t.

I don’t, and if you think that makes me a bastard that’s fine: walking in day-old piss is for other people.

2:06 PM

Everyone’s told me how good I look, which is like, obvious but the appointment was rescheduled and since I didn’t answer the phone I remained ignorant to the fact until five minutes ago right here in the office.

Still, my secondary purpose for being in town was to move my payday to tomorrow and I’ve accomplished that which is of more immediate importance than the interview anyway: had I been unable to make tomorrow payday I’d be completely fucked.

Always, always have a secondary outcome in mind before moving on anything – three, if possible: multiple birds with one stone is always more efficient and if you manage to hit all your ducks in a row, that’s the definition of satisfaction.

I gotta find a woman who still ovulates.

Tuesday, 30th July 2019

You think you’re the cats meow, but even a cat has more meow than you and I hate cats anyway: when you don’t see someone other than by accident until they don’t give a shit anymore your emotional currency all but evaporates.

Tonight’s dinner is brought to us by some poor lamby who got chopped and though I cannot store a larger tray of meat and lamb is quite expensive, I didn’t even bother looking for spam on special this week – understandably – so while I only grabbed a $5 tray with two chops it’s more than enough for a gravy-based braised-lamb and onion with fresh garlic and a tiny strip of kefir lime that everyone said not to add, but it’s worked just fine: like a replacement ‘sharp’ contrast in place of rosemary.

I love mopping-up gravy with bread’s the thing, and when you add chunks of anything to that gravy it’s nothing short of simple, peasant-meal perfection: a plate-full of slop, a fork and some bread – exceptional.

Wednesday, 31st July 2019

I’m home but have to wash a shirt and hang it to dry for tomorrow – before it gets too late – and though I feel like a bit if a cunt for not just giving some tobacco to a fellow smoker, a year of the filth at the food-bank constantly asking anyone for a smoke taught me very quickly to reply in the negative and keep tobacco to myself.

Anyway I’ll kick-off writing-up this creepy-arse orphanage shit as soon as I’ve settled, though I really shouldn’t edit live: it’d make for a better read if I edited separately then pasted the finished text fully polished, but that’s just not how I’ve ever done it 🀐

Alright so I’ve been curious about this nursery since being told it was originally an orphanage because orphanages are fucking creepy and although there are many news reports and exposes about some of the awful, awful shit that went on back in the day I have also seen my share of horror movies focused on haunted places of extreme abuse which means all I need to hear now is the word ‘orphanage’ and my imagination floods my mind with visuals of straps, darkness, despair and all the faceless mass of kids who would’ve wished like fuck they were anywhere but where they were.

In Hollywood, the abandoned place is almost always blackened by a secret, undiscovered mass grave in the filthy bowwwels of the building and the protagonist – having bought the building as a ‘fixer-upper’ eventually winds-up going near insane with all the freaky ghost shit they’ve encountered – before finally finding a small room where children have been bricked-in alive and left to scream and starve but nobody comes to save them.

For months I’ve vaguely wondered but figured with just a smattering of houses on the property it’s pretty irrelevant far as the size of the place goes so it wouldn’t have been a very big place back in the 1980s – when I thought it was built.

Then yesterday afternoon, Tanya’s explaining to one of the other volunteers that there are more buildings down the back, pointed them out and subsequently explained in the office that the establishment was originally built in the 1920s or 30s and told us about the convent as she’s pointed out the window at a huge white building looming from the top of the hill out back.

Wow that’s pretty fucking old..

I told her I was going to google the place when I got home later and while I did a search, I couldn’t find much though a few photos from the thirties confirmed what Tanya had said about a cricket team and one of the few photos that was spat-out Google’s results was this black & white image of the aforementioned cricket team..

The 1930s: ignore the cricket team, look at the shrine.

I was slightly unsure when I found these images whether this was the same orphanage since I’ve never seen any pre-1980s structures at all in the months I’ve been there, so when I arrived this morning one of the first things I asked Tanya was “Is there some kind of creepy shrine anywhere around here? With a statue of Mary?”, and since I really didn’t expect an affirmation of this things existence – least of all because the stonework in the old photo didn’t match any of the buildings I’ve seen on the property – I was fuckin’ stunned when she told me there was, that it was just around the back and that it was a “bit creepy”.

WOO!

I told Tanya I’d go look for it soon then went and got a tray of tubes to weed before telling everyone “Fuck the boring plants I’ve GOTTA find this shrine”, then walked out the back and was surprised by how close to the nursery it actually is: I’ve been out that side area of the building to smoke drugs, been out there to smoke my pipe, hell just last week I was out there slicing ivy off the bricks and I’d never once noticed this huge, strange sandstone wall just meters away because the fucking thing is shrouded in overgrown plants that swallow it from one side, but here’s what I turn the trees and find ..

2019: Not quite 100 years later.

Although that’s not all I found while walking around it the back, it is the most dramatic and after being told the circa of the original orphanage then finding the old photos last night it was a fucking trip to be standing there looking at a wall built almost 100 years ago that now looks like some sorta ruined temple and it’s still a mystery to me why it’s just a standalone wall – standing on the grass in the middle of a hill with nothing at all around it: there’s no chunks of old foundations or anything but grass and dirt anywhere near it..

Another question that kept bouncing back and forth in my head the more I looked at this beautifully crafted but spooky shrine: what the fuck happened to Mary?

You can see at the back of the recessed cave there’s a bolt hole that would’ve kept her from falling and she would’ve had to be cut from that anchor.

The worst thing I could imagine is some random, common, thieving motherfuck snuck in under the cover of darkness, yanked her out the wall and stole her, but maybe she was moved to one of the churches in town?

Though I did have a catholic education I couldn’t give a shit about any religion, but I still like the iconography and particularly the mother of god because she’s always portrayed with her head bowed and always seems to look sad.

Imagine how a-grade the whole thing would look with the statue back there and the stones restored and at near-on 100 years old surely it should be a heritage-listed site – nothing like that ever gets made anymore.

Anyway I also walked over through the little strip of forest, over a ruined wall that was the same age as the shrine then up to look at the convent itself, but there was no photo op there: the convent isn’t used fulltime but obviously used for some kind of events since the entire building is so well maintained there’s not a fleck of paint peeling anywhere on the outside of the building.

Though I tried to get everyone else to go check out the shrine because it’s fucking awesome, the only one who ended up looking at it was Bronte, who insisted I go with her.

Almost the moment she’d walked around the trees and seen the shrine she’s climbed up and stood in the empty space and that would’ve made a good photo to be honest: not only to demonstrate that the original statue was almost actual woman sized and much larger than it looks in the black & white photo, but as a comparison between the dead statue in the 1930s pic and a full-coloured contemporary image of a full-coloured flesh-and-blood woman.

Before I’d even considered the composition of a photo like that – with so many things packed in a single frame, it would just look visually noisy without isolation of a lot of elements – we’d already left and walked down through the strip of forest, over the ruined wall and up to the convent where she seemed to agree the convent wasn’t run-down enough to be very interesting.

On the way back she found a dead parrot on the ground that looked as though it’d exploded in a one meter radius and was all feathers and guts: so she’s instantly knelt down and started picking through the feathery bird-like slurry and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t completely understand doing shit like that, with fur from Poppy, bones from my own dog and molted tail feathers of Mooses’ – all in separate bags I’m still in possession of.

Nice touch, that picking at the dead thing on the ground: I like that, even if I didn’t want to touch the feathers longer than necessary – wild animals have worms y’know 😏

Hell I even helped pick out tail feathers with her, though handed them over since it was just another dead bird to me: I have no more of an attachment to wild animals I don’t know than people I don’t know.

I haven’t finished with this yet.

*…

Thursday, 1st August 2019

Julie’s told me yesterday in mid conversation that it must’ve required a significant level of toughness to be sleeping outside in a sleeping-bag in the middle of winter, which is perhaps true though I explained that once you’ve got four thermal tops a down jacket and another jacket over that plus two layers of thermal leggings, two pairs of socks and thermal gloves inside a winter sleeping-bag, you’re really not cold at all even when the temperature is hovering around 0Β°C.

We weren’t even talking about my previous year of being homeless either, but bushwalks and oh right she was complaining about being cold sitting outside yesterday.

But that’s just got me remembering: getting out the sleeping-bag at 5:20 AM every morning and rolling the fucker up – that was cold.

The 30-40 minutes before Coles opened at 6:00 AM was a fucking bone-chilling wait too, but once the cleaner had unlocked those sliding doors, you enter and it’s like walking right into a warm bath.

Ooooh yeah I still remember how nice that was πŸ™‚

That was one of many things while being homeless that made me realize for the first time in my life that discomfort made comfort SO much nicer: freezing my dick off for half an hour made a warm place that was out of the wind indescribably good.

The contrast between the two was so pronounced, I started to notice parallels: when I’m genuinely hungry, food is so much better; when I haven’t had a smoke for hours, that’s better too.

Almost everything is better when you’ve gone without it for a while.

And as another random subject change I was just thinking there’ll be no soup for me today since I’ve got that job interview and have omitted myself from the nursery for the day, which got me thinking about this time last week when both Verity and Bronte tried to explain the point of poetry – a style of writing I’ve never attempted but openly scorned on many occasions.

The one poem I did like was one Women #6 wrote, but I’m pretty sure my affinity with that particular passage of text was due almost entirely to the fact that it was about me.

I think I’m getting the basic point of efficiently arranging the minimum number of words required to convey emotion related to a given topic though I don’t know that I’d ever write any poems myself because they’re meant to be all about emotion, and I don’t react to emotion on the spot – women and gay men do that: I absorb stimuli then go away to process emotion logically, disregarding bits I see as trivial and only keeping emotions that are relevant.

Once I’ve decided which snippets I consider valuable, I can see them for what they are and engage the creatures knowing exactly which angle to approach them from and everyone should really do that.

‘Feelings’ are slippery little fuckers that’re not to be trusted: you cannot rely on something that fluctuates because things that fluctuate can change and following them spontaneously is the reason people do so many stupid things.

People murder each other because of anger; people get married acting on emotion then divorce like it’s nothing because they married the wrong fucking person; people jump off buildings in manic episodes because they feel like they’re a godamn bird while others jump off buildings because they’re depressed and think that’s a good idea at the time – idiots!

Feelings are only good once you’ve examined them and identified consistency over time and if people did that there’d be far, far less stupidity in the world.

I’ve got a sink full of hot water and have to get ready, but there’s the good-morning-thought for the day.

Wait! Fuck, it’s a new month – I’ll have to start a new post and copy/paste today’s shit over to it πŸ™„

*…

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