I’ll have my fuckin job back now!

There’s a pretty photo of a flowering ahhh mm I can’t remember the fuckers name because I’m not a plant nerd and quite content to remain that way, but Verity and many of the others are plant nerds and she loves this shrub: apparently various parts can and are used as an indigo dye.

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.

Anyway that’s a pretty random thought for first thing in the morning but I’ve just come in to check the shirt’s dry so the bathroom window is open and a cold breeze is blowing in which got me remembering: getting out the sleeping-bag at 5:20 AM every morning and rolling the fucker up – that was cold and regardless what a toilet bowl this place is I’m definitely not unhappy I haven’t had to get out of bed before sunrise, outside in a freezing wind this winter.

And that 30-40 minutes before Coles opened at 6:00 AM was some bonechilling shit too, until 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.

3:10 PM

I’ve as good as got the job: all I have to do is the usual formalities again – the drug test and fitness test – and I’m back on the fucking payroll! I’ve gotta say here too, that the interview went so well owing in no small part to my unboxing my personality and using it to excellent effect.

*…

I told them how much I used to hate Ray at the TAFE last time I worked with the company and outlined a few of the “disputes” we had over the time I worked for them with short, sharp anecdotal tales about the kind of things that could only annoy two doods stuck in a building together at four in the morning, every day, for years on end.

The interviewer loved the company-based humor and the one other applicant who was there for the induction was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

Tears.

Either human-beings are all suddenly much more easily amused or I’ve simply met happier people lately and have previously hung around snarky fuckers for far to long πŸ€”

Hang on I’ve gotta get settled. Maybe wash some clothes but see, again it’s too late to get my thermal tops dry in time for tomorrow and about to be too cold to not wear them tonight so they just are smelling more and more.

You know what the fuck I’ll just wash some underwear – they’ll dry in time and I’m only going to be playing around in dirt tomorrow anyhoo, plus most the other volunteers rock-up looking like they’ve raided the clothing-bin outside target and it’s too cold for a shirt so I’ll just go in with my smelly thermal tops.

Still, I do miss wearing nicer shirts than the multiple layers of thermal tops I’ve been stuck in all winter.

Friday, 2nd August 2019

It’s only 7:02 AM and I’ve already been up an hour: I’ve gotta let the smoke detector arsehole in for the annual check and since I’ve been at the nursery the last four times he’s visited they left a note stating they’d bring in a godamn locksmith if I didn’t arrange a time to be home and let him in.

So he we are – waiting for him to come push a button then leave – and I’d yarp on about what a great scam that is, being paid to come look at functioning above detectors every year, but really who’d wanna come in most of these units to find gaunt looking arseholes with overflowing ashtrays and half filled coffee cups with fungus growing out of em.

I spent last night fucking ’round tidying up though so everything is clean. Well reasonable anyway..

Oh yes it’s good and cave like I know but I like that side of the unit because it’s so dark, and I’ve left nothing out that gives anything about myself away which you’d think would be easier since I still own no furniture so there’s nothing to actually leave out, but that’s incorrect: without furniture, the floor itself becomes a coffee table and accumulates random clutter just the way any other horizontal surface would.

They’ve been and gone in under a minute: must be easier for them to have a blank room with nothing to move to check it.

Good, though now I’ll hit my caffeine-peak too early in the day and be tired by lunch, maybe. Unless I just keep pouring the shit down my throat until lunch.

And there’s the reason for a pre-nursery visit to Coles at 9:00 AM: $12/kilo for their own brand of ground coffee – very good value.

I bought one bag yesterday and once I’d returned home, tried it and realized it was excellent coffee vowed to go back for another kilo today.

1:22 PM

Today’s lunch is chicken and vegetable soup with fresh beetroot and the best soup I can ever remember eating – as a matter of fact πŸ˜›

I’ve never even tried fresh beetroot, and always hated the super-sweet tinned shit so I was surprised how much I liked it and the soup also had pepper which I love: unlike chillies which only add straight heat to a dish, pepper warms a meal plus adds aromatics.

She also brought soup in yesterday too, but I was obviously not there and like some manner of strange omen she said she’d spilt that soup on herself not once, but twice: the second time being in her lap.

Never eat soup without sharing it with me, you see.

Hold on: I’ve connected the tablet and keyboard but have to finish my banana on toast slathered with butter before I can start.

~10:30 PM

I was in the office Wednesday when Bronte complimented my photos here on the site and told me how good they are and though she’s certainly not the first person to tell me I’ve got a great eye for visually attractive things, affirmation from others is always good: beauty is in the eye we all know, so it’s nice to know other peoples eyes like what *my* eyes decide is worth taking the time to photograph and how I photograph it.

I told her I wished I had a *good* SLR camera with *good* lenses, then mentioned that I had an old Panasonic Lumix at home but lost the charger and since the batteries are these wanky little ‘custom’ packs I can’t just USB-charge the fucker so it’s just sitting in a cupboard getting dusty.

Inserting himself into the conversation for just the time it takes for another know-it-all line, the very strange Peter has casually informed both Bronte and myself that “Ahh yeah, there’s more goes into a good photo – than just a good camera.”

Peter would know everything about photography of course, not only because Peter makes a point of telling everyone he knows everything, but because he’s an avid day-tripper to far away places who photgraphs buses and trains and strangers children swimming: he’s told us he was photographing ‘some kiddies’ who were splashng in a lake somewhere when the parents chased him off shouting “STOP TAKING PHOTOS OF OUR KIDS!!” and I’m not even garnishing the truth – he stood there and told both Tanya and I about it as though the parents of these children were the ones with the problem, while we just sat and listened with our mouths hanging open.

Peter – the consumate photographer: and just last week I was stating he’s not got wholesome reasons for traveling so far to take photos and there it is – either I’m psychic or I’m fucking incredible at reading peoples character.

Anyway I’ve told Peter “I’m a fuckin’ PRO with a camera don’t you worry – I’ve got everything, in SPADES” then turned back to Bronte and told her in a softer tone, “He DOESN’T know – he hasn’t seen my photos.”

She smiles and shakes her head in agreement.

“Like the many Great Unwashed, he’s got no idea ..”

Conversation returned to the Lumix with the missing battery charger and she’s told me she has a good camera and I can borrow it from her if I want, and I’d love to do that but sadly I’ve no specific project immediately in mind but just having a better-than-phone camera to use would be awesome.

Still, by the time I’d finished playing with buttons and teaching myself how to use the sucker she’d want it back and I’d probably not get around to actually taking any kickarse photos with it πŸ™

As an extended footnote to Peter making our skin crawl earlier, I will apend the observation that everyone in western society today knows that taking photos of strangers children is absolutely unacceptable – especially if they’re in swimsuits splashing in a lake – and while anyone could opine that his stance could be he was innocently taking photos of happy kids having a happy time, anyone who’s met Peter would observe very quickly his obvious aire of arrogance: it’s there in his interupting other people to correct them anytime they’re talking about anything he knows about, it’s there in the way he stands a little too close to Julie while she’s outside potting in the sun, it’s evident in a lot of his behaviour and it’s evident in the mere fact he told Tanya and myself about the incident in the office, assuming that we would think that since he’s openly telling this meaty snippet he must therefore have been pure in his motivation for getting snappy-happy with complete strangers kids in a public swimming area.

But that’s the arrogance I’m talking about: regardless how matter-of-factly he may have thought he palmed-off his story, Peter himself knows 100% like everyone else that you just DO NOT do shit like that: he knew it when he was at the lake watching these kids, he knew it as he opened his camera and switched it on, he knew it when he started taking photos of half-naked toddlers and he fuckin’ knew it while he was standing there certain that neither Tanya or myself would be smart enough to see through his pretense of the the kindly old fat strange man who just stumbled upon a few kids swimming in public and arrogantly thought nobody would object to his pointing his fucking digital camera at them and pressng the button – memory cards are dirt cheap after all and I’m betting he had that fucker set to ‘burst-shot’ to suck-in some quickies before anyone registered what he was actually doing.

Tanya’s cluey but not half as intelligent as I am and may not have pinged off of all those additional nuances but she certainly thought it was creepy and everybody who’s met Peter ends-up mumbling how weird he is, but most simply chalk that up as ‘eccentricity’ which is common and often a mistake when red-flags are obvious in a persons demeaner, attitudes, behaviour etcetera but not everybody sees into people as well as I do.

Seeing through the affectations, the self-projected images and all the bullshit people want you to see is as easy as looking through glass and shoving all that crap to the side it takes no time to see all sorts of things at the core of a person: Nervous? Relaxed? Angry? Depressed? Happy? Contented? Needy? Warm? Cold? Defensive? Open? Closed? Intelligent? Emotionally reactive? Caring? Secretive? Hiding something? Energetic or lazy? Physically fit? Unhealthy? Addictions?

Simple things, but each one a potent marker of a person’s state of mind and who they are because for most people they’re involuntary expressions of their inner self that are impossible to suppress.

There are so many more of these subconcious expressions you could fill a phone book and they’re not only obvious but present in everyones voices, their mannerisms, their body language and people cannot hide them – all you need to do is watch and listen and you start picking up patterns.

You combine these easily identified subconcious expressions of a persons personality with things they conciously say then superimpose the two and you’re in fuckin’ business.

I’ll finish this little bit tomorrow and although everyone generally uses the above method to read people, it’s really all about how much information you can see, how you group that information, process those groups, form connections and the number of layers and adjacent nodes you can interconnect to map-out a person’s personality.

Peter is a pervert.

Do I give a shit..

I hate genetic waste with sick sexual urges they cannot control and I hate people who prey on women mostly but kids too, though I won’t be screaming “OH LOOK, THE PERVERT’S BACK!!” like I did with the known sex offenders at the church when I was there, because simply identifying someone’s a sicko doens’t mean they’re raping women or kids whereas the nasties at the church were convicted, active predators who are no doubt still sniffing around that church today: trying to find where women live, stealing underwear from their clotheslines and fuck knows what else.

Saturday, 3rd August 2019

A Kookaburra with his back turned to me. Fluffy little fucker.

I’m at the library until my coffee’s gone: come have at me; cause a scene; let’s fuckin go – I am unembarrassable πŸ™‚

I’ve reaaally gotta edit the old posts and fix both the layout and missing images: for a long time too, I’ve wanted to go back and revise all the Rainforest Journals because I’m so much better at writing now I could smooth all those posts and expand on them because they’re quite short.

BRIAAAAN πŸ™‚

He starts off telling me life is horrible, and he fuckin looks horrible though he always has: he’s like 100 or something πŸ™‚

Okay so Brian.. I still haven’t finished writing yesterdays update OR the day before’s update and another day is almost over so I’ve ot out the keyboard and tablet again, which means much faster but equally less accurate output.

I’ve got FOUR KILOGRAMS of potatoes and some are chopped and boiling in prep for roasting so it’s potato and gravy with fresh bread for dinner: you might thing that’s terribly deficient far as a meal goes but trust me – it’ll be great and maybe it’s the Irish side of the gene pool in me but I fuckin .. I swear I could eat potatoes in one way or another every night forever without any complaining – potatoes, oil and salt are three ingredients that are so simple but MAGIC.. even just roast potatoes with salt or chips are very hard to grow sick of.

You know what actually, it’s the weekend and since I’ve got a backlog of editing and todays update to do I’ll just go back and edit the last few days smoother and eat my dinner: if I don’t get Brians’ mite infestation transcribed tonight there’s all day tomorrow so I’ll do it then but I really want to articulate that bit at the top about reading people so it makes more sense, and I wanna cut/paste that whole extended section I added last night so it’s moved from the top of the page to the correct day – that’s priority numero uno.

I will say though, that I do not envy Brian: whatever mites or crawly shit he’s got he said he’s getting no sleep and though I almost cannot believe I spent two hours in the library talking exclusively about beg-bugs, scabies and mites he’s too paranoid to inform management about the problem so he’s dead-set on finding a solution himself.

I only had to sleep in a bed with beg-bugs for one night of my life – in a really old, filthy caravan in a filthy caravan park in the middle of some fucking nowhere dot on the map somewhere in outback WA and after an hour or two trying to ignore the horrid bites all over me I couldn’t take it on the matress anymore and switched to sleeping on the carpet on the floor which wasn’t much better but I finally stopped scratching at myself and fell asleep.

Brian’s had these things biting him all night for well over a year now, and he doens’t even know whether they’re bed-bugs, bird lice, mites or scabies but he sure as shit looked tired.

Maybe I should add Brians’ shit tonight and edit the top section tomorrow.. mm yeah alright.

So long-term readers will already know who Old-Brian is, and for those of you who’re either new or just randomly ended up here from google and lurk, Brian is an ancient old dood who’s lived in Katoomba most of his life who I met at the church when I first became homeless and he was actually one of the first people I met there.

After I’d quit the job and grew tired of sitting in the park in tears over Woman #7, I finally decided the homeless filth at Junction 142 would be better than sitting alone miserable all day and went to see what the place was all about.

Within a few weeks I’d be part of the furniture and everyone’s favourite because right from the beginning I did homeless full-tilt: not homeless on my ex’s couch like a fag, not staying with my parents or friends but without a fixed address – I was homeless 100% and slept on concrete outside at night on my own, woke at sunrise every morning and used the disabled toilet at Coles as soon as it opened at 6:00 AM like my own private bathroom before going to the church and spending most of my day there but I also spent a lot of time at the library for the power-points and to stay warm/dry.

The first time I walked into the church it was a Tuesday because they had the morning tea going on and I had just walked back up to town from 3 days in Leura Forest starving so sat down with the roomful of losers who were there to eat whatever they were serving – think it was salad sandwiches and soup.

That’s when I first met Brian and – incidentally – I met Barbera in that same first conversation: I remember growing increasingly irrate as the meal progressed and sneered at them both because she seemed more interested in talking to Brian than me – she explained that the old man is almost deaf so you’ve got to speak very clearly and loud for him to hear, and Barbera was sitting next to Brian so I got pissy at him for that while I was there.

After lunch I’d stepped outside for a smoke when Barbera walked-past on the way out and I told her I was in the rainforest 3 days at a time with just my sleeping-bag, and she acted impressed of course then got onto talking about Brian: said she just farkin’ loooves talking to old brian because he’s just so smart or whatever and I remember being distinctly unimpressed by that, but acted interested until she said she had to go and did, while I stayed there sorting through my pack and removing the buildup of plastic bags and other rubbish.

Fast forward several months and I’d talked to Brian enough to finally accept that Barbera was correct, that he was pretty intelligent and conversations with Brian were always very civilized yet yeah he was fine and I no longer cared about who anyone sat with at that point since everyone loved me more by then.

Anyway I’m fountaining fluff so we’ll fast forward to yesterday and skip the history.

Brian appeared randomly and before my coffee was gone and instead of silently just appearing behind me like a ghost this time, he’s said ‘Oh, Jason‘ before shambling over and taking a seat at the big white table near the front of the library.

“Hi Brian! How’s it going?”

‘Oh, well, terrible actually but that’s ..’, then I didn’t get the rest of that sentence because he trailed into a mumble.

“I’ve googled you’re bug problem and lavender is apparently quite repulsive to mites and bed-bugs”

‘I’m sorry? Can you speak louder I’m.. my hearing isn’t..’

“I’VE RESEARCHED BED-BUGS BRIAN, YOU CAN USE LAVENDER.”

He nods and looks like he’s considering what I’ve said but he’s most likely just catching his breath a bit and I pull out a chair next to him.

“Everyone I’ve spoken to though, they all agree that management should be fixing it: The Cecil is what, 200 years old? Whether you brought them with you or not, Anglicare are running an aged-care facility and should be responsible for a bug-free residence so you should talk to then about handling it.”

He’d already fished-around in his bag and found a wikipedia entry he’d printed then placed it on the table in front of me about insect repellents, then explained that he doesn’t want to tell management about it because they don’t do that kind of thing and he’s worried he’ll end up on the street as a result.

But then he tells me that he doesn’t know whether it’s beg-bugs anyway: he hasn’t seen any creatures at all.

Now, I’m already scratching and feeling itchy just talking about all this with him and when I went downstairs to the chemist opposite Coles – telling Brian to wait there a minute – and started asking her about mites and bed-bugs, she’s started scratching herself too.

What is it with the mere mention of mites that makes people feel itchy without needing to ever go near them? I mean you can literally feel the itching and need to scratch even knowing there’s nothing there.

Anyway I went down there to ask the chemist about generic insecticides, what works best and query them about a new chemical in particular – SS220 – meant to be more effective than deet, which irritates his skin he says.

Ten minutes later I’m back in the library and back in the chair next to Brian and I tell him it might be scabies and not bed-bugs at all.

‘Well it might be, I don’t know. What about the new pesticide? Did you ask about that?’

“Ah, right, the SS220! Forgot all about that! Honestly Brian, she was very attractive and I flat-out forgot to ask her about, yeah all that..”

I told him to wait again while I go downstairs again to ask the questions Brian actually wanted me to ask, instead of telling the chemist how itchy *I* feel just fuckin’ talking about tiny crawling parasites then telling her she’s even scratching, while we talk about scabies for ten minutes straight.

Back in the library again I tell give Brian the summary of what I’ve gleaned from my visits downstairs and tell him that first and foremost, he needs to see a doctor to have his skin tested for scabies, then clarify that there’s no need for an actual checkup.

“You’ve just gotta get your hand or elbow or whatever looked at so they can see if it’s scabies and that’s what you really want it to be since all that requires is some ointment – if it’s actually mites or bed-bugs you’re looking at a fuckin’ world of inconvenience. Stop scratching Brian- you’re making me very itchy.”

I wrote the various chemicals down for him to take with him along with all the chemical names, concentrations and prices plus whatever else – he’s a real nerd when it comes to researching like, everything so he’s kept interjecting to ask me whether I’d included this detail or that but we managed to not lose our shit at each other for the twenty minutes or so it took me to write it all out.

No I’m not dyslexic: I was talking to him as I wrote that last line and tapped the page over and again to drive-home the point, so mispelt his name while scribbling it down.

Repeatedly I emphasized that he has to visit the doctors and even offered to go up and make an appointment for him before the medical centre shut for the day, but he said it’s walk-in now and you can’t make appointments, which I wouldn’t know about since I haven’t been there since I got that STD test almost a year ago now.

So does that mean you just walk in and get whatever doctor is free male or female? Mmm I’m sure chicks can still specify if they don’t wanna be touched-up by a male doctor.

Anyway I told Brian that’s the first thing he’s gotta do, that he can buy all the pesticides on earth, shit, “toss an open canister of Zyklon-B in your bedroom but if there’s nothing in there to kill you’re just wasting money Brian.”

‘Yes, well. ‘

“Go to the doctors before you bomb your room anymore: if it’s scabies, all you need is a lotion or cream and they’re dealt with which is the outcome you WANT because bed-bugs are a bitch to get rid of.”

‘Okay.’

“You gotta do it! You’ve got to go to the medical centre. You look AWFUL Brian!”

‘Yes well I’m quite tired.’

“No shit. You need sleep. Are you gunna go?”

‘Yes.’

“Do it on Monday Brian. It’s only a test for the scabies themselves you’re getting, you don’t have to have a full work-over and then you’ll know what to do next.”

He agreed to go and I wrote my email im the sheet of paper, telling him to email me when he gets home – to confirm he’s entered it correctly – and then once it’s in it’ll be easy for him to send me a message once he’s been til the doctors and if he needs my assistance with anything else.

Anything else, that is, except rubbing insecticide lotion on his wrinkled body.

I didn’t really say that, but no really – there are equally wrinkled old nurses there to do that kind of thing and I’m certainly not willing to be helpful to that extent.

After the two hours of bug talk Brian told me he had several books he thinks I should read, and we walked around and into one of the isles where he’s again told me I should position myself where I’ll have the opportunity to pick-up management skills and recommended two books on the subject of leadership and encouraged me to learn about a thing he calls Soft Power.

I figured he was referring to diplomacy and stated that on many occasions people have told me I could do well to practice a bit of that, but he shook his head and said that’s not soft power, then made it quite clear he does not think much of diplomacy himself because of its many inherent issues which I agreed with, telling him that people who exercise diplomacy always seem on the fence and sound just as full of shit as politicians when they talk: a mode of muted speaking designed to never offend anyone, for people who’d rather be superficially popular than ever speak the truth.

I told him I hate books, and two books are too many books, “Narrow it down again Brian, what is with you and the multiple choice? Just tell me which one is better.”

‘Oh they’re *both* good, why don’t you look at their table of contents and see which one speaks to you.’

Sigh.

“Fine, okay”, I’ll play your little game Brian.

Brian just stands there with that patient grandpa smile on his face watching me decide which book to take, so I grab one book in each hand and immediately tell him “Without even needing to open either book I can tell you which is better Brian.”

*…

Sunday, 4th August 2019

8:19 PM

I’ve been writing up yesterday afternoon with Brian at the library this afternoon and fixing featured images in some of the old Rainforest Journal entries but I’m currently distracted by food and refilling my cup: good lordy I’ve got a lot of coffee 😳

Since I’ve not taken any photos today because I’ve been home all day, I’ll use another from the same session with that Kookaburra: I’ve simply cropped-out the unnecessary shit around the outside of the frame to leave only the bird, aware of me this time..

And you see I never could’ve taken that with a mobile phone: even with a dedicated SLR with optical zoom I needed to wait and walk around and sit and move and sit and change position – even doing all that the bird itself had to get himself in a pose that worked well and you’ve gotta have hands as steady as a surgeon to hold a fully zoomed camera still enough to get a photo that clear.

Like a sniper with a rifle scope I literally had to hold my breath to get the frame still enough for the ever-so-gentle depression of the button that resulted in that.

Monday, 5th August 2019

I’ve re-enabled the gamification system and created love hearts for points, though they can be dead crickets really and I can create as many types of points as I like.

I’ve also created a category for achievements – Basics – and two separate badges under that: one for registering an account and a recurring badge you get every time you login.

It’s far from drop-in though, with the achievement pages themselves not looking very well laid-out and though I realize I’ve set registrations closed and nobody can register anyway, maybe one day I’ll open them and a reward system would be good to have in place if I do.

Dead crickets would be better than love hearts though 😎

No dead crickets but an aweful lot of life ones to choose from so I settled on this one and it’s at the bottom of the sidebar..

Logged-in users get crickets daily everytime they login/visit the site or visit any post, and I can add a few more conditions to grant crickets but for now anyway, visitors who aren’t logged in get no crickets, sorry 😏

See, even I want more now.. so tiny and cute with their drug-fucked eyes and I’ve been clicking around on various posts for an hour almost yet I’ve still only got 11.

But that’s slow enough so by the time they reach any reasonable amount I’ll have an achievement created for x amount of crickets and at least one reward sticker to buy with them.

I’ve also created Love points which accumulate at the same rate as crickets do, but I’ll simply give out or take them away as I feel like it and they won’t be used to buy stickers or rewards or anything like that: love can be given and taken back at will, while bugs have to be earned so I won’t touch those.

I will have to start drawing some Cricket King achievements and ‘collectible’ stickers with different rare crickets you can swap ordinary crickets for πŸ˜›

What I do need to do is stop it sending emails every time a point is given – my inbox is full of messages too.

Done – no more emails will be sent for points or achievements.

Tuesday, 6th August 2019

Yeah that worked out great: missed the lift and Tanya isn’t leaving until 4:30 PM so I’m walking anyway.

Pure genius – I should really learn to just say yes to begin with and save myself the mind-fucks and calculations.

All day today, I did absolutely nothing because I’ve been too agitated about not knowing whether I’ll be starting work soon or not and there’s no reason I shouldn’t be but not knowing means not knowing and I dislike that immensely.

I also dislike the feeling you might’s well have chopped my dick off and fed it to your dog 10 months ago and I hate the fact I’ve had to live like a monk when I’d be fucking every other night this whole time if not for you and your sick bullshit.

Wednesday, 6th August 2019

Tanya wants me to sweep the staff only area at the arse end of the nursery today but this shit hasn’t been swept for years by the look of it and it’s obviously bitch-work to stop me distracting everyone so I’ll just fuck around pretending like I’m getting it done.

How’s anyone meant to sweep that shit: the shade cloth is so rotten it’s tearing under the pressure of a straw broom.

Add to that my continued discontent about not hearing back from this recruitment company and I am mout at all happy to be doing anything for $3/hour when I should be getting $26/hour.

I text WISE this morning too who said they’d chase it up but they’ve also said this dood with the recruitment agency is ‘so slow’ doing everything.

I’ve switched to pushing the wheelbarrow loads back and forth for the old doods: least that’s got a start and end to the job.

Friday, 9th August 2019

Here comes the darkness.

Like every other cycle: time to start hating everyone’s guts again because no matter how I try and see the amusing affectations in myself and others, there’s inevitably a point in the spin where I see that all human-beings are just empty, hollow organisms trying to fill themselves with ego and self-image all wrapped tight in delusions to differentiate themselves from everyone else.

The only thing different about any two people is the bullshit they kid themselves into believing makes them different and since everyone is different in equal measure, there’s nothing special about anybody at all.

Like ants in a colony each trying desperately to appear special to the ants around them: just bullshit designed to make them stand out from other ants, when in reality every last insect is doing nothing new, nothing different – nothing a million other ants haven’t already done a million ways before the current generation of ants even had the thought but unlike ants, people only cooperate if they stand to personally gain from any situation and operate more like chicken-hawks – constantly trying to befriend and socialize with one another for personal gain.

Course real ants don’t spend their blip of life filling themselves with fabricated self- importance: they just work and die and that’s really all human beings do too – we imagine-up all this fuckin’ fluff to pad-out our existence and make it all look meaningful when no one persons life is any more or less significant than the next.

Like moving from light to dark, life and death is a natural cycle yet people waste their lives thinking their existence is somehow meaningful when there genuinely is no meaning at all: it’s just the shit we do to amuse ourselves in the period between birth and death.

Even historical figures who ‘change the world’ only do so temporarily and – driven by ego – do so without realizing that whatever vaccination they created or catastrophe they may have averted was meant to happen and will simply resurface in some other form years down the track: immunize a third-world country and a generation later there’s a billion starving people – nature had a nations people marked for death and would’ve fixed the issue automatically had some white guy not intervened by rushing-in to ‘save them’ from the diseases that should’ve killed them anyway.

They should’ve been left to die: human life just isn’t that important, yet we convince ourselves it is because layer on layer of human delusion and ego leads us to believe we’re precious individual snowflakes.

But with ~7.7 billion people on earth and counting, if half those people vanished tomorrow, we all know that would only be good for the planet, other species and the generation of habitat so the death of an entire famine-ruined nation wouldn’t make a shit of difference either way and meanwhile every motherfucker in the western world all constantly consuming and buying and greedily fucking up the planet just to appear successful to all the other greedy cunts in their shitty middle class communities, they all pretend that merely sorting their rubbish into pointless colour-coded bins is ‘doing their bit’, when they know perfectly well their cosmetic attitude to life is the primary reason their pointless kids and grandkids will only ever see natural habitats in historic photos online.

And that’s the difference between humans and other animals on existence: other animals are born, live then die without anybody noticing but human beings insist on spending their entire existence trying to project an image of importance to those around them while deep underneath it all knowing they’re individually irrelevant and even as a species our removal from existence would be the best thing that’s ever happened in the history of the world.

I just found a bunch of photos of some of the plants I grew in Adelaide, while I was with Woman #6 …

Noteworthy is that this plant never got fucked by random male pollen and made an exceptional smoke when the resin glands finally tinged amber and I pulled the buds – unfertilized, pristine and seedless.

That plant above is the world renowned Mexican strain – Acapulco Gold: ordered straight through customs and to my front door from an overseas seed-bank ..

I grew beautifully healthy plants: of all kinds.

Here’s another, more indica-heavy plant.. I grew all different strains while I had that converted cupboard..

Compared to this plant that wound-up being a hermaphrodite that fucked and fertilized itself: you may as well chop a plant like that and toss it in the mulch pile because all it’s energy has gone into seed instead of fragrant, attractive, potent flowers.

That sagging peice of shit indica ended up being shoved outside and left to to whatever because just like a human female, once a female cannabis plant has been fertilized and gone to seed it’s fucking done – biologically changed forever and then it just grows old very fast and dies.

Siberian Motherwort in Flower
Siberian Motherwort in flower: Woman #7 threw all the third generation seeds I’d grown in the bin because she’s a nasty, loveless peice of shit who’ll dispose of anything the moment it becomes inconvenient – whether it’s a pet, another human or a bag full of someone elses stuff.

And here’s one of the two Coffea arabicas I had though never had a chance to see grow because I left Adelaide months after ordering them..

Young Coffee plantling.
Stevia, which has evidently become a popular sweetener now though I’ve no idea why.
And one of the two Tea plants I had. Camillea sinensis I believe is their official name.

Saturday, 10th August 2019

It was snowing outside this morning and though I took photos with the little Nikon compact I used for the Rainforest Journals, the wifi connection fucked me around one too many times so I didn’t copy the photos over to this phone and there’s subsequently nothing to upload, so I’ll carry-on ramping myself up about what a waste of time the past five years have been.

The first attempt at painting..

This is why I need a woman worth spitting on.. I might’ve painted a second version of this cloud dog like I’d planned had I not spent the last 5 years getting twisted into a rage about a cunt that never eventuates..

Though these lost paintings aren’t anything special – I’d never painted before in my life and simply wanted to take acrylics for a test drive – it’s how quickly I would’ve adapted to paint and how much further I could progress if I – again – hadn’t wasted so much time trying to impress such a dried-up, jaded cunt who never had a nice fuckin word to say so there was never a point where I ever got to relax at all and focus on painting.

I’m only reflecting on paintings because I dug around to find a portrait of an ex I did about the same time to stick in an old post where the image is missing, and found it..

This was my first attempt with thick, raised, goopy impasto though I ran out of hate before I finished it, why there’s only a cropped section in the photo and again the line-work is all over the place it’s so sloppy but that would’ve tightened-up with each painting I did – as I got used to the paint.

The second attempt at painting..

To evidence this, here’s my very next attempt with acrylics – Alice in Wonderland: not only had I tightened the lines and shading incomparably I’d added gloss medium with pearlescent pigment to begin layering three dimensional effects.

That was years ago and I’ve never bothered to paint since: first I was in the bush for a year and a half then spend half a decade in town obsessed with a bitch who did nothing but make me chase my own tail and laugh at me while I jumped through all her hoops for years with nothing from her but more hoops until I stopped fuckin trying.

And here we are: nobody paints or does anything of any significance when they’re constantly in survival-mode, hungry or obsessed about why some bitch won’t do anything at all for them and the only time I haven’t been in survival mode or hungry is while I was working my cock off all week and too busy working to pay for food to work more to have much energy left to be creative.

Still with Alice being only my second attempt using a paintbrush and liquid colour, how much tighter would I have grabbed that medium by the nutsack if I’d had a stable relationship the last five years, instead of a pointless head-fuck that continually drove me to distraction that whole time?

Gotta get that if I want to paint again.

*…

Sunday, 11th August 2019

Right today I discovered the lazy way to get bread happening in minutes because I don’t have any bread and wanted some, but I just could not be fucked kneading and waiting for the first rise then the second rise then the baking: it’s a lot of effort for a loaf of bread, especially now I’ve run out of butter – what’s the point of fresh bread without that right?

So instead of all that bullshit, I grabbed a standard bowl then tipped some flour, herbs, yeast and warm water before giving it all a stir.

I’ve never measured anything while making bread of course because that bores me and makes the process more of a task than it ever needs to be, which leads to all my bread tasting mm unpredictable if I’m perfectly honest but that’s fine, consistency is for other people.

Rather than the usual two hours combined rise time, I left the yeast to bubble in the slop for around twenty minutes while I tipped around half a litre of vegetable oil in a saucepan then turned the heat on, checked the mixture in the bowl and found it looked gluey and disgusting so figured it was ready enough and glopped golf ball sized piles in the oil.

Much to my surprise it not only started rising as it heated, but turned into full-on puffballs the size of cupcakes.. soft as cupcakes too and they kind’ve taste like those little Yorkshire Pudding buns some people cook with a Sunday roast and gravy but I dunno: I’m sure I’m far from the first to try deep-frying bread dough, but I didn’t google any recipes for any of this because I was only really experimenting out of boredom.

Deep-fried bread, though not a healthy-choice option is the fastest, easiest way of creating bread I’ve ever tried and discovered this by accident, out of pure laziness.

Yeah it’s pretty oily around the outside but no more oily than the fat-soaked battered fish you’d buy at any takeaway and if you add enough oil to the saucepan so the dough floats completely, it’ll expand into balls and the inside isn’t greasy at all.

When I get some bananas next week I’ll try this again because banana inside a deep-fried sweet bread dough with maybe some cinnamon and honey would be pretty fuckin’ good.

Hell, there’s a bunch of things you could do with a super-thick bread dough fried: you could dip dark chocolate in a sweetened mixture and toss that in the pan then eat it with ice-cream, chunks of cooked-meat or vegetables if you decide on a savory dough.

You could toss a live mouse in the mixture to flail around so it coats itself then deep-fry that and mail it to your ex-girlfriend!

Mm I have no fruit today, but I also learnt how easily I can omit the oil and make my own crumpets by simply pouring the liquid into a non-stick pan with no oil at all.

Learnt that by accident too.

Incidentally, I was flicking through old crime scene photos online earlier when I happened on the Black Dahlia – which I’m not going to bother mentioning here because that’s not what I was so fascinated by – then clicked onwards through female stars from Hollywood’s ‘silver screen’ era and found this..

Unbelievably, this is the woman who plays the character ‘Rose’ in that 90s television embarrassment to sitcoms The Golden Girls: who’d have even imagined the sagging old woman in that show was such a class act..

Monday, 12th August 2019

I’m at WISE employment waiting for an essentially rubbish appointment since all I’m waiting for is Transfield to arrange the medicals before I start work again and have been told they do these in batches, so there’s nothing evidently amiss with the fact they haven’t already got me on the payroll.

I’m just going to walk out of this houso dump when I find somewhere private to rent: tell the department once I’ve moved they can have the bond I’ve paid.

While I’m here though I’ll take the opportunity to edit the CSS since I’ve got access to an actual keyboard and desktop PC and here’s a photo from Windows drab ‘Images’ folder to save me needing to take one myself today.. Koala or Jellyfish?

Koala AND Jellyfish.

Never say I’m lacking in generosity.

I’ve simply managed to mess-up the titles in listings in the past two hours because I’m distracted intermittently talking shit to people – fuckin awesome skills at work πŸ™‚

Some chick was in there who said nothing at all until suddenly around lunch she’s asked a WISE staff member why an employer was ‘playing games’ and messing her around.

Apparently she’d emailed, rang and text some woman about a job but got no reply and as the conversation’s progressed it became apparent the chick was pretty much harassing the woman for a job she wanted.

The WISE case manager she was taking too ended up asking her whether she’d be able to stop, but the chick just kept on about how she feels blah and blah and the woman’s being rude because she isn’t replying.

Made me feel perfectly sane, but I have a soft spot for mentally ill, needy women so I’ve joined the conversation firmly on her side, telling her she had every right to be upset about the employer not ringing her back or contacting her, that the employer is being rude and then used my own situation with my waiting for Transfield to get back to me with a date for the medical as an example of how I understand how she feels.

The chick was instantly like, ‘I know hey!’, and continued to agree with ‘Right!’ and ‘Yes!’ while I demonstrated how aligned I was with her own issues.

The WISE chick interrupted me to state that I’ve already got the job and am only waiting on the medical so it’s not the same thing at all, to which I replied what arseholes these employers are thinking they can just ignore applicants the way they do.

Always brought tears to my eyes for some reason, this song..

How drugged-out you gotta be to have one iris stuck open and one shut, geesh. We were discussing David Bowie at the end of the day today and Tanya – who’s about a decade older than I am, went to actual concerts of his and was a proper fan – said his eye isn’t the result of being drug-fucked but because some chick in school stabbed him in the eye aggrav he was nine years old or so, for the record.

Wednesday, 14th August 2019

Today was very busy though not in terms of customers, but volunteers hang on I’ve gotta settle in before I bother with this though there’s no huge list of actual accomplishments that happened, just a bunch of people packed around a small space caffeinated and jabbering constantly for the most part.

Well everyone was caffeinated except Bronte, who was on her usual ‘micro dose’ of hallucinogens as well as caffeinated, but basically what started as my having a wheelbarrow I’d just filled with soil all too myself soon became myself and Richard, then Francis, then Julie, then that weird old fucker with the red shirt, because they’d used up the dirt in the the other wheelbarrow so all simply migrated over to mine.

Within an hour of everyone moving over to steal my dirt everyone had had a coffee and every one of them where talking over one another to the point it just yeah it does your fuckin’ head in to have five or six people all just babbling over each other and though I understand everyone wants to talk but when nobody’s listening to anyone else it gets took be like a gardening session for mental patients and that cunt in the red shirt is probably even more annoying than Francis in that respect with Francis at a bare minimum having the excuse she’s half deaf.

This all reads pretty boring, but I’m just trying to expediate the illustration of how it was for most of today because I had about four hours sleep last night thanks to eating so much throughout the day and am too tired for any wordsmith horseshit today.

I just overheard my good for nothing, human-waste junkie neighbors across the hall discussing which bottle of piss to waste their money on: the old woman opposite – who looks not much older than fifty yet sits on the stairs out of breath with her groceries regularly so I’ve gotta step around her while she’s wheezing like an 80 year old – and the rat-faced guy with the limp, long hair that I assume is her boyfriend were calling back and forth to each other that he’ll get the Johnnie Walker if it’s still $37, but if it’s not he’ll get Jim Beam instead because that’s under $40 or something live that and it’d take a fuckin’ awful lot more than half a bottle of bourbon to make me numb enough to engage in the kind of sagging, wheezing, nasty-arse sex people like that have .. ah, yuck.

Middle of the week Wednesday night in the wasteland of Katoomba houso residents: if my idea of a good time ever involves spending $40 on bourbon to sit in a government housing flat drinking the night away with anyone let alone a woman too sick to climb a single flight of stairs without gasping for breath, shoot me in the head.

That’s the tray Bronte brought everyone’s coffee out on and I wasn’t going to include the photo since all the cups had already been taken when I took the pic but it was a pretty amusing waitressy flourish, the tray: anytime anyone makes coffee there it’s generally just made and left on the side.

Know what actually, I’ll go and eat then come back to this later because not doing my own writing justice just listing what happened in such a colourless way, though I’m sure I can squeeze-out some colour to dictate how much I dislike this new volunteer who looks exactly like Andrei Chikatilo and is arguably the most irritating fake-nice-guy there who only manages to barely conceal his slimy inner core: always positioning himself to be wherever the women happen to be working and always asking the women to show him how to do shit so simple, even the special-needs retards could figure it out on their own, or offering to help said women when it’s obvious there’s already two of them helping each other on a one-person job.

Fucking lecherous old fool’s about 70 yet acts as though simply dressing like a twenty year old hipster makes him ‘down’ with the much younger women who might be there and always trying to kiss my arse like he’s my buddy when the cunt doesn’t know me from the wind.

And tonight’s catch-up..

I know I still haven’t finished updating but tomorrow will be pretty quiet so I’ll allow myself the distraction of this, and finish the day on something more impressive than my character assessment of an old man who interrupts everyone ..

https://iview.abc.net.au/show/planets

Loooove the hugeness and vastness of space, especially with contemporary CGI simulations and animation being so perfectly executed that you no longer have to even use your imagination, simply watch..

Thursday, 15th August 2019

Mm hmm..

I’ve been going in an hour late lately because it’s just so much easier not having to rush for the 9:50 AM bus from town and though I’ve gotta walk from the caravan up to the nursery that’s not far and means I’ve got time to shop in town for the day without feeling hurried.

How’s that for mundane.

So I’m just waiting outside the Carrington for the bus like you do, when an old woman walks past, but stops and asks me if I’d like this..

Though the other side has a paragraph about god saving my soul which is whatever, I’ve gotta acknowledge the cleverness of using a fake million dollar note as a gimmick: a lot of people would keep it just for that and it’s more amusing than a stupid slip of paper with a cross or jesus printed on it.

I’d keep it myself but I dislike cheap disposable things and do not hold on to rubbish without personal, sentimental value and even then I’ve always shed things like that anytime I’ve moved on because it’s no longer any value if the person attached to the items is gone 😎

Now to work on my tan..

There’s nobody else here – this’ll be a boring day.. one extreme to the other mm..

Tanya’s just walked past and asked whether I’m right to find something to do: I told her “Sure, yeah I’m just having the daily ‘pre-work meeting’.. on my own.. without uh, people.”

Friday, 16th August 2019

I left my jacket at the nursery which bugs me since there’s $30 in the pocket but it’s in the office, the other volunteers aren’t junkies and I’m too lazy to go in there simply for the jacket when I’ve got other jackets.

Well, maybe not lazy since I’ve left the house to come into town anyway but I’ve got shopping to do that’s too much of a pain in the arse to do before or after nursery days and I’ve gotta say, I’m remarkably calm this afternoon.

At the library getting to decide im a shopping list of mandatory items so I’m not wandering aimlessly around the supermarket like a dickhead, though if Brian shows up that’d be good – I can find out how he’s done nothing about the doctors appointment he said he’s go to for mites and itchy creatures.

I should look for camera batteries while I’m there but I know those squat, thick, specialty ones are always seriously over-priced.

I just saw Joanna at Coles and she looks fucking great though it could simply be visual familiarity at play.

Probably that.

I was right about the batteries: $12 per battery and I’d need two which is clearly ludicrous in a time where everything except television remote controls use rechargeable lithium batteries.

If you’d just stop being a tight-arse and let me use that heavy black camera y’know.. you’re never going to use it anyway: least I could be keeping it from going rusty in a cupboard like you’ve doomed it to do.

Sunday, 18th August 2019

So many elephants..

More elephants than can possibly fit in a room and not nice elephants at all: rank, dirty, angry fuckers all standing around staring at me and farting and growling and pissing all over the floor while their eyes bore into me..

Bore into me for years.

Not nice Horton elephants at all.

Monday, 19th August 2019

Still they haven’t contacted me about the job so I’ll go on down and bitch at ’em in a minute.

If all they tell me is the same shit about 2 weeks not being a long time, I’ll reapply myself directly through Transfields’ site and bypass the fat, lazy subcontractor.

I’ve decided to come back home and trim my hair instead.

That multiple-birds with one stone thing: on Wednesday I’ll be in town anyway before going to the nursery to do the last of my shopping and that is more efficient than stopping-in in the way back today just to ask why I’ve not heard back from this third-party contracted recruiter or Transfield themselves.

My phone was also on 12% and I emptied my bag the other day but forgot to throw a charger back in and the thought of a flat phone makes me panic a bit now for some reason.

I quick google search tells me the elephants name is Elly, that she loves to bake cakes and cookies and always wears a blue backpack πŸ™‚

Unfortunately, Elly the elephant doesn’t keep me warm at night and I can’t fuck a text message.

Tuesday, 20th August 2019

Memory’s a funny thing.

I very nearly killed two people when I was 17.

Not ‘very nearly decided to kill them’, I mean I was literally kneeling on them in separate incidents – both while pissed – actually doing it.

One, Scott, I remember being in the kitchen on top of him using his hair to get a good tight grip of his head and just slamming it into the concrete floor over and over and the more I did it, the harder I slammed it down each time and the more into it I got until the girlfriend started screaming quite loud, then screeching that I was going to kill him and realized he wasn’t making any noise at all anymore let alone crying like he was at the beginning I suddenly just stopped, got off him and stood up.

The girlfriend and I watched him laying there for a few minutes just all groaning and moaning and shit before he started to push himself up, then get on his knees, then finally he was on his feet just standing there swaying around, nose broken, blood smeared all over his face.

The girlfriend asked him if he was ‘okay’, and I can’t remember what his answer was exactly but it wasn’t much more than a grunt though he sure didn’t look okay at all.

A moment later she’s told him he should sit down and she’d get some peas out the freezer for his head which I didn’t like at all: he wasn’t dead, he was standing and looked more or less upright enough to walk so I wanted him gone and a few minutes later he was, though that was probably a bit mean now I think of it: this was at around midnight, he was not looking good and would have to walk to the highway and hitch a ride the forty odd minutes back to Taree if he wanted a bed for the night.

Who gives a fuck.

No way I’m having some cunt who wants to fuck my girlfriend stabbing me in my sleep all bitter and shit, so he had to leave and she was starting to act all guilty and kept offering to make him coffee or tea or whatever which made me hate him even more.

He was still standing there swaying around but at some point started mewing how he loves me like a brother and loves us both while he’s crying again.

Crying and bleeding ugh.

“Yeah you’ll be right, you’re just pissed. Seeya later.”

He ended-up jumping from a shopping centre a year later and killing himself, though he was never that mentally sharp to start with so I doubt that had anything to do with me.

I even went to his funeral, with Deb Smith, the youth worker who took a particular shine to me back then and acted like a kind’ve surrogate mother during that period.

Terrible funeral: all doom and gloom and how sad the world will be without young Scott.

The other one, I can’t even remember hos real name anymore but his nickname was Elmo and the scenario similar insofar as I was pretty pissed and he’d made a lurid remark about my girlfriend, I snapped and ended-up on top of him but at a caravan park in broad daylight on the lawn and I tried to strangle that one with my bare fuckin hands and very nearly did.

He was asking for it of course, but again I was just thinking it’s kinda spooky how that desire to see it through and actually kill them ramps up so quickly once you’ve got ’em under control, you’ve got your hands wrapped completely around his throat and he’s just indicated he wants to fuck my girlfriend and I was killing him right there in the grass for it because logic just vanished from my brain and something else replaced it completely.

That Elmo, that was the closest probably: I didn’t know anything about strangulation then and didn’t know anything about how quickly the brain will die without blood-flow so the more he kicked and bucked and moved around the harder I squeezed; and harder; and harder for a good couple of minutes and I honestly don’t remember who stopped me that time, though I’ve a vague recollection of another mate at the time pulling me off, that’s very fuzzy.

The only clear memory I do have is getting angrier and squeezing both hands around his neck harder and harder the more he wiggled around.

That’s a bit of a detour from fluffy pink elephants, though I’ve written something and I’ll append to the last few paragraphs that I’ve never even felt the urge to harm a woman – only responded to perceived threats to women I was with but got a bit out of control about it, very quickly.

We all do silly teenage shit though.

Thursday, 22 August 2019

Alright so I was all geared up the other day to come and bitch at WISE employment about the fact I’d heard nothing so far from that guy recruiting for Broadspectrum when I realized I am about due to hand-in my list of 20 employers I’ve contacted for work and – since I don’t want to fill-out the list because that’s really boring – rethought the situation and opted not to come in then.

Figuring they’d simply tell me to wait and I’d have to argue with them about it, I was prepared to change providers purely out of spite until I realized with my job-search list due any day and payday not until Tuesday they’d have more to bargain with than me, so this morning I’ve skipped the nursery and come to town to move payday to tomorrow, which I have and am in the WISE office typing this on the nasty. ten year old drool-stained keyboards they’ve got attached to the prehistoric desktops here.

Of course I asked them about the job application and – of course – they’ve said ‘Just relax, Broadspectrum are just very slow’, and again they don’t seen concerned which lowered my level of concern about it.

Nonetheless I explained how I’d been to change my payday and was prepared to change providers just to annoy them – if they didn’t make that application move – to which they responded ‘Nobody would treat you as well as *us* and you know it Jason’ so I told them that as long as there’s coffee at another provider it makes no difference to me.

Goodness, spellcheck and a keyboard makes this much easier than my phones screen and my finger.

All the photos from all the camping..

For a long time now I’ve wanted to re-edit the Rainforest Journals because I know I could edit all those posts to be much better quality – generally.

November 2014: the tent, not too long after it was pitched and practically new – before all the animals chewed, climbed-on and ripped holes all through it.

Then I moved the site but didn’t export all the photos because no cunt would even be nice enough to let me use their wifi to backup the site and with over 60Gb of images, sounds and videos there was too much to even think about downloading using cellular data only.

What that meant was I had to simply cherry-pick the photos I really wanted, which led to most of the media library getting left behind and deleted automatically when I abandoned the last server and moved here.

So then I’m thinking about all those lost photos the other day and remembered the ‘originals’ are still right there on the camera I used for the rainforest series but the camera has a really inefficient wifi direct connect function that drops its connection to the phone frequently and though it was invaluable down in the valley to copy each days photos in my tent, I don’t have the patience for that shit now – not with hundreds of photos that would all need to be re-inserted into all those earlier posts.

Then I realized I’ve got a memory card reader that came in the bag with the Panasonic Lumix that Ahlei gave me and BANG: I can just browse all those photos from my phone with the memory card plugged directly into the phone!

That’s the memory card: all the photos with the possums, the lizards, snakes and bugs are on there – every photo I took for the 16 months I spent down there.

It’s still a tedious job – editing dozens of old posts and finding the missing images by date then adding them, but it’s looking much more doable with simple, direct access to the images themselves now possible.. images like these, that only happen once you’ve been living with these animals long enough so you’re just a part of the furniture to them..

The Bowerbird: there has got to be a connection between the deep blue eyes and their obsession with collecting deep blue trinkets to scatter around their nests. And rice with worms.. no accounting for taste huh 😏
Good defense: the few Echidnas I actually saw almost always burrowed into the ground and balled so only their spines were visible and without gloves I never much felt like fucking around with the spikes to get a macro of their faces.
That’s Bobbi gettin’ all touchy feely: Guido only ever snatched, scratched and bit my hand, while Bobbi was remarkably gentle in all our interactions.

Sure as shit never been a better time to clean-up those older posts, with no current “series” going on and only the dross of daily life to update about..

I’ll start by making sure all the old rainforest entries have a Featured Image associated with the outing that’re date accurate.

Here’s that parrot who’s decomposition I followed each day until it was just black ooze, and feathers..

Oh, I’ve re-enabled short-codes for private content in posts – since I found exposed bits here and there in older ones while editing them earlier – so I’ll begin writing anything I’ve got to say to you that way from now and you’ll have to login to read them.

Seamlessly woven into all the regular text they’re invisible to everyone but you and me, which not only saves other people having to read through rants and dirty laundry but stops my looking like a fucking spastic and completely eliminates the need for me to go back and delete sections of text every time I lose my shit and start spitting vitriol.

Incidentally for everyone else reading, here’s how that parrot ended-up and though I did post this photo in one of the homeless entries with the caption PARROT IS BAD, since I’m digging ’round through my photos I may as well treat you all to the dusty lump of death that eventually became of the animal.. 😏

.. for your viewing pleasure 😎

I stopped playing with it once the smell started getting terrible, which didn’t take long given the bird was probably packed with maggots when I first found it.

And spare me your silly, disgusted expression: we’re all fascinated by death because we’re all gonna be dead one day and considering how putrid a decomposed human body is when it’s that far gone, that parrot is comparatively attractive πŸ˜–

Life and death: the ultimate contrast and the only one that matters.

Friday, 23rd August 2019

My love affair with the Wollemi Pine continues and I could not stop myself returning to it in conversation or referencing it here and there all morning then going out to look at the small trees at the nursery during lunch while I ate my cheese sandwich.

Nobody else there today seemed to share my enthusiasm for the newly discovered species and I’m unsure why since I explained it to them in terms even the chromosomally deficient defectives would appreciate and to be honest, I would’ve garnered more interest from them since I can sum it all in just two very closely related words: Jurassic and Dinosaur.

I was absolutely fucking obsessed with dinosaurs when I was a kid, and the Wollemia nobilis – which I should really memorize since it’s probably the first plant I’ve been interested in knowing anything about since Cannabis sativa – is a Jurassic era tree that looks like it’s literally been frozen in time and hasn’t evolved along with any of the other plants around it.

One of only a dozen or so Wollemi Pine seedlings out in the greenhouse that’s taken almost a year to germinate.

Here’s the thing..

I am not a plant nerd. Not even close: this isn’t just yet another variant of some Australian native plant like Eucalypts and Melaleuca, but a tree stuck in a tiny pocket of ecosystem that managed .. it’s the plant equivalent of a Tyrannosaurus rex being found stomping around in a national park, which is the basic approach I used to try and illustrate to everyone why I like it so much, though rather than a T-rex I used an actual species that really existed in Australia and would’ve cohabitated the national park with the Wollemi Pine: Megalania, or Varanus priscus.

A Megalania skeleton courtesy Wikipedia, and those are seats it’s mounted on like the ones outside the cultural centre – not just steps.

This is no pissy crocodile that hides underwater waiting for dumb tourists to ignore the signs but a dry-land, fully mobile predatory goanna who makes the Komodo Dragon look like a fence skink and is constantly searching for any meat to eat.

Can you imagine something like that finding you out in the bush??

You’re out in the valley, you notice the wildlife around you suddenly falls completely silent and moments later you hear the loudest crunching of leaves and snapping branches you’ve ever heard in your life then make out a huge dark shape just in time to see this thing running at you from the shadows…

I reckon you’d just have enough time to shit your pants before being eatenwhole.

You see, the thing about Wollemia nobilis is what it represents: I cannot look at it without imagining creatures like that crashing through the bush and even more than that, the prehistoric-looking tree makes me imagine the tiny, tiny possibility that creatures that ancient might still be out there – stalking around camouflaged by the insanely dense, thick undergrowth of some of the most remote pockets of national park that people cannot get to.

Varanus priscus skull is the size of an entire human torso.

The most recent Megalania skeleton archeologists have discovered is dated to just 50,000 years ago which sounds like a long time ago sure, but not that much has changed about our national parks since colonization – the huge swathes of habitat being declared protected land shortly afterwards.

Even with all the convicts cutting trails, mining and logging that went on when caucasians first arrived, they didn’t even come close to exposing all of that unexplored forest because there were and still are areas out there that are just completely inaccessible on foot, and though helicopters can access a lot of those places now, there’s countless caves, groundcover, huge boulders and canopies where animals can vanish into and choppers cost a lot of money to have in the air so it’s not like they’re authorized to be out there just farting around without specific reason, plus aircraft can’t see below the canopies all that well to start with which would make it pretty easy for wildlife to remain unseen of their own volition.

We also had wombats the size of a minibus and giant crocodiles back in the day – all sorts of prehistoric versions of existing animals who would all make you crap, your, daks.

Imagine how big the snakes would’ve been!

Saturday, 24th August 2019

I’m at the library and there’s nothing here about dinosaurs like, what the fuck. Couple of cutesy kids books and nothing that’s anything like a reference for adults.

I always knew this library is only good for it’s furniture and power outlets – how silly of me to assume there’d be anything useful here when the place is packed with such priceless material as this..

*cough* gimmick *cough*

Who gives a shit about camels, dementia, her mother or perverted dutch arseholes: Amsterdam is the sex-trafficking capital of the world.

Maybe they’d have room for books that actually matter if they didn’t fill the building with horseshit coated with cartoon animals.

Whatever, I’ll get bored and move-on from dinosaurs again in under a week anyway.

I’m already bored with it.

11:53 AM

I’ve been a bit interested in basic chemicals for the home recently and discovered the other day that making my own cold drinks like lemon cordial really doesn’t require lemons at all and if anything they’re just a pain in the arse to bring home then use before they dry out.

Why would you bother with the hassle of perishable live fruits when a jar of citric acid is just $2.60, is much, much more concentrated than even the sourest citrus fruit and never goes bad?

Just the tiniest sprinkle of citric acid with some sugar mixed in water gives you a much cleaner version of lemon cordial without all those nasty snotty gobs .in your throat.

So for days I’ve been meaning to remember the next logical chemical to complete the lemony goodness and today, I’ve managed to not forget it..

Carbonation by the spoonful without all the bullshit of fermentation or carbon dioxide: works fine for Berrocca tablets and they stay very fizzy for more than long enough to drink.

Easy as shit and so ludicrously cheap: about $5 will buy enough of both to make lemonade for weeks, or months since you’ll inevitably get over the taste of lemonade and it’s not like I want to drink it endlessly: I’m just looking for drinkable liquid that’s not coffee or tea or fuckin hot chocolate and don’t like how sticky and messy cordial is.

There’s no vitamin c in citric acid, so there’s no nutritional benefit: it’s simply chemical lemon soda that’s instantly available and takes almost no space in a cupboard because the two constituents are pure, refined chemicals though I can’t see any reason you couldn’t add flavorings like orange, strawberry or other essences.

4:41 PM

That’s the haircut done.

I’ll just have to get someone trustable to check the back of my neck and even it out if it needs it and there’s scissors at the nursery so that’s easy enough.

Hate, hate the thought of having a mullet sneakily grow out without my knowing: mullets are simply embarrassing and only a complete lack of taste would allow anyone to convince themselves otherwise, yet I cannot see the back of my head so it’s the most difficult bit to cut.

Think I’ve got it though.

I’ve bought a large tray of jumbo eggs home today and since I’ve still got two inches of rice bran oil in that saucepan on the stove I’m going to try poaching the eggs in pure fat.

It’ll taste good, I already know that – what shape it comes out the oil is the only mystery though I’ll crack the egg while it’s still at a medium heat so it doesn’t spread too much in the bottom.

5:40 PM

So deep-fried eggs cook perfectly as it turns out..

Though you wouldn’t bother to fill a saucepan with oil just to fry eggs, it’s turned out no more oily than if it were shallow-fried, but much better cooked.

Unlike pan-frying with bottom heat, being completely submerged meant the egg cooked 100% evenly with not a single burnt bit and because the yolk floats for whatever reason you can watch it cook and pull it out as soon as the white is done.

And here’s the supplemental second half of dinner..

Pasta with tomato pesto and vintage tasty cheese crumbled and tossed through.

I added approximately how much of each ingredient and it would’ve worked out to about $1.50 for that plus the extra ~30% I ate straight from the saucepan before deciding I’d best put it in a plate.

Love those little jars of basil and tomato pesto from supermarkets: dirt cheap and with enough flavour to simply mix-in and eat – none of that fucking ’round simmering shit for an hour 🍝

Sunday, 25th August 2019

I’m going to start restricting certain kinds of text by user group and hide that text as I write it, maybe colour code it: green for drug related text, orange for rants about fatties and other people I dislike, red for romantic.. I’m not set on which colours to use for which yet but you get the idea.

This will most likely be ignored whenever I’ve got the shits and want to lose my shit anyway, but will allow me to limit access to anything that makes me look bad, which is good.

Course it will require logging-in to openly view everything but that’s the idea and it’s not like I don’t have enough shit to dribble-on about publically.

Don’t like it, bad luck it’s a way to categorize thoughts plus limit them by my own percieved concept of privacy and I’ve already started doing it.

Days ago.

4:07 PM

I made the mistake of talking to the old Indian guy today – the one who always seems to be in the library in the afternoon reading the paper.

I’ve only talked to him once or twice before while I’ve been there and he never fuckin talked that endlessly previous to today: on and on he went first about the widening gap between the super rich and super poor with less and less middle-class, then on and on about politics and when I told him how people pretending to know what’s actually going on in politics bore me, he’s switched to talking about cricket – which is even less interesting than politics.

I thought I must just be more patient these days when I found myself just listening to him waffle-on without stopping and even said nothing when I found him continuing to talk any time I’d start saying anything in response to his waffling, but I was wrong – patience still hasn’t become my fortΓ©.

Wait I’ve gotta cook and eat now I’ve finally got green pesto and am home to cook it: since friday I’ve been checking Coles for actual basil pesto and all they’ve had is the tomato, which tastes fine but when there’s only orange pesto each time you check, you instinctively really want some of the green stuff.

And though I reaaally want some green stuff I cannot until I’ve been drug tested and have an income, but I managed to get green pesto today at woolies – they had heaps of that..


“I mean what’s my motivation? Am I eating Tokyo because I’m REALLY angry or just a nervous eater?”

I’ve decided on the role groups that’ll be used to categorize and conceal thoughts plus created all the groups, though not all need to be hidden and I haven’t actually assigned each of the seven groups to an actual subject or topic yet, though the mode of sorting is as obvious and simple as it could be: all the primary and secondary colours of the spectrum..

New logo for the site to replace the dogs eye maybe?

Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue and Purple with white for something – transcendent thoughts I suppose – with dark grey as an eighth colour to counter the white/light.

Calm blue ocean..

This idea of colour-coding emotions and thoughts isn’t a new thing for me and I tried to colour-code posts recently but found one unavoidable problem in it’s implementation: with each post covering a full month, every emotion is accounted for in every post at least once, so it’s impossible to mark a post as just ‘love’ or just ‘anger’ or ‘hate’ or ‘relaxed’ or any single emotional tone since it changes over the month and often several times in a single day, so I ended up settling on an ‘overall’ tone which is either light or dark.

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