When the world gives you dumb bunnies..

This starting new posts has always shat me: it’s just pft until I’ve actually started inhabiting the post with things and it’s started taking on a tone, so I’ll just stuff this dumb bunny into the featured image slot until I’ve got a proper one.

A proper featured image, not a proper bunny.

Sunday, 1st September 2019

I had another nightmare last night – it was more a disturbing dream this time really, and too convoluted to try and explain so I’ll skip that shit, but it had me awake at 5:00 AM.

Last friday, there was an old, fat rich woman at the nursery who started the greetings for the day by declaring to all that she’d been to the doctors about her lungs and been told they are infected, that the general practitioner had put her on sprays or asthma pumps or whatever but as she’s huffed and waddled to a chair she’s said she feels a ‘bit better’ since sucking-down whatever chemicals the doctor pretended would be good for her.

Moments later Tanya’s asked me whether I’ve got something to do for the day and I immediately replied “Keeping clear of HER. Staying away from the sick woman: germs can travel up to one meter airborne y’know Tanya, I haven’t had a cold or flu in two years and plan to keep it that way.”

She understood and looked mildly amused then went back to talking to Verity or whoever she was taking to and I genuinely steered well clear of the fat woman and took about twenty minutes agonizing over where best to put my chair to avoid having her breathe on me if she happened to walk past.

Tanya also understands that while she cannot force me do any work at all and I’ve underlined this by deliberately doing nothing but talk all day on the odd occasion, I usually do and know which trays and plants need weeding and trimming so I don’t need to be instructed on what to do.

A monkey could easily replace anyone at the nursery but monkeys would cost real money in fresh fruit to operate, so humans it is.

Finally I sat down next to Verity on the opposite side of the wheelbarrow a good three meters away from the woman oozing miasma and started trimming leaves or weeding or whatever I was doing.

This sick old woman sat near Carol and started the most boring conversation I’ve ever heard two people have.

Carol is a wilted looking woman with limp hair cut to look just like Jimmy Saville but with a crown of grey surrounded by whatever mouse-brown shit she colours it with and a hunched back.

She’s also quietly snarky, passive aggressive and has absolutely no discernable personality at all – certainly none that I’ve seen evident in the three months I’ve been there.

They’ve both started talking polite tea-and-scones hens crap like, well mostly their kids and who their kids are marrying and how they disprove of whoever their kids are seeing and their kids and kids and kids kids kids and there is NOTHING on gods earth as boring as anyone going on about their children: it’s as if they’ve got nothing else to talk about and nothing else in common so they fall back to the default.

Ah, two words summarize their conversation: verbal chloroform.

Reproduction turns people into such mind-numbing, child obsessed shadows of themselves that individual drive to impress just seems to evaporate to leave nothing behind but a boring, homogenized ‘parent-thing‘ with almost no genuine interest in anything but their kids.

Over the past twenty years too, I’ve noticed parenting has just become an all-consuming ‘lifestyle’ choice increasingly with every woman I’ve met: in the 90s being a parent was an auxiliary role, where now it’s turned into helicopter parents who are SO obsessed with being good at hovering around their only child it legitimately borders on mental illness.

Of course I’ve never grown a child in my gut and then squeezed it out of myself – and don’t get me wrong I’m thankful for that – but the more I’ve seen of single mothers over the years the more clearly apparent the divide becomes between them and me – they’re not interested in a lasting relationship with anyone but their child – while never having kids myself I’m still in partner-mode and only interested in a lasting relationship with a woman I can partner with, do everything with and even single mothers who pretend they’re down for all that are such slaves to their own parenting obsession you’re only ever second place to the family they already started with someone else.

I’m getting sidetracked, sure, but it’s profoundly disturbing to finally realize that between a woman who has children and one who doesn’t, the difference isn’t the kids at all, it’s the woman herself – once she’s been turned into a mother there’s NO getting the woman back.

Only a woman without kids will ever care about putting a relationship first because there’s nobody but the two of you and I deserve nothing less, considering the level of devotion I give.

Anyhoo, the old sick woman said something about repotting plants being ‘cathartic‘ and that was the first time I spoke by interrupting to state that’s wrong.

I told her she’s incorrect: that catharsis is the exorcism of aggression or negative energy to arrive at a calmer place and if you’re already calm then nothing cathartic about what you’re doing.

I don’t even remember her name – she’s only semi regular as a volunteer..

She’s then incorrectly corrected me, trying to tell me cathartic means ‘calming’ which is just fuckin’ bullshit and if this woman were any calmer you’d have to check her for a pulse, plus she’s completely ignorant to the fact that catharsis is a process, not an end state.

It’s been gnawing at me for a week.

I’ve immediately turned to Verity to confirm with her the meaning of the word because Verity is smarter than both these dullards combined, but Verity agreed with them!

Group-think of any kind pisses me off.

So here is the definition of the word and you’ll notice that even taken in a medical context, the key meaning is to purge: the purging of anger or strong emotion.

From the Oxford English dictionary..

cathartic /kəˈθɑːtɪk/

Adjective: providing psychological relief through the open expression of strong emotions; causing catharsis.“crying is a cathartic release”

Synonyms: purgative, purging, purifying, cleansing, cleaning, releasing, relieving, freeing, delivering, exorcising, ridding.

Medicine: purgative.

Sitting on her arse all constipated with cake and camembert while fiddling with a few plants and coughing on herself isn’t cathartic and though I understand some people like to use impressive words to appear more intelligent than they are, I hate it: people should speak how they think and think for themselves.

My going off about this woman thinking she’s a wordsmith when she’s as dumb as a wet hat, that’s cathartic: I’ll be calm when I’m finished exorcising my bitchies about her.

Kicking a dog is cathartic, not that I’m suggesting that – just adding another example.

Splashing paint on a canvas is also cathartic and doesn’t harm animals – do not kick dogs!

Though I don’t direct any of that annoyance towards Verity since she’s a peacekeeper by nature and even if she knew the correct meaning of the word, would’ve agreed with those two simply to avoid an awkward moment.

Wait I’ve gotta sterilize the germs off my face.

8:30 PM

I was sure I’d be dead by 35 – I wonder what’s taking so long: a decade later I feel less doomed than I did at 25, yet somehow manage to do that while in a continual existential crisis about the fact that death is impending regardless when or how it occurs.

I thought of death because I just heard the question, ‘Which would you rather: ..to know when you’re going to die OR to know how you’re going to die?’

Instinctively the first answer is obviously when, because then you can know how long you’ve got and plan better.

But a second later you realize that if you know how you’re going to die you can avoid that thing and live longer.

A second after that, you realize that if your dying a certain way is set in stone then that event may not be avoidable at all and even if you dodge that proverbial bullet it’ll just come straight at you again and again.


Monday, 2nd September 2019

I’m editing: quality > quantity.

Not that I’m feeling like I really need to write anything today anyway on accounta how I fuckin’ nailed it yesterday, with 2,000+ words hurled out like a bucket of hot vomit then cut and polished into tight, spiky little paragraphs.

Catharsis, you see: now I can forget about it.

I even threw-in a fluffy rabbit photo as a pallette-cleanser: to soften the blow of all that colourful language 😏

Tuesday, 3rd September 2019

I dunno what kind’ve bird that is but it’s not bothered at all by my walking around underneath and holding the phone out for sexy bird pix.

I’m ripping-up the Ivy out there while the bird flies down and pecks at the bugs that’re uncovered.

I’ve also applied for an upper mountain’s cleaning job directly through Transfield’s site where I already had an account, plus text my old supervisors number telling them the contracted recruiter guy is ridiculously slow.

It’s probably not Alyson using that phone anymore, but a new supervisor will almost certainly be at the other end, dunno.

There he is again..

Tanya tells me it’s a Butcher Bird, related to Magpies but he’s much smaller than a Magpie and almost looks like a Penguin around the face.

He’s just sitting there waiting for me to rake then flies down, pecks, flies back. I found a walnut while raking too, and I ate that myself so we’re both here picking shit off the ground and eating it – though most the walnuts are no longer edible at all 🙁

And we all know who this is..

That’s two more animals I can add to the sanctuary.

The length of that lyrebirds’ tail makes the overall image too small.. I’ll have to use the photo above it and crop even more tail out to have the sucker proportion correctly.

Like so.

Wednesday, 4th September 2019

Alright, now to settle and then clean-up some of those more abrasive paragraphs and pointier words..

5:11 PM

Nope, there’s no point trying to scramble around deleting all the unattractive things I’ve said: that’s only how I felt at those moments in time anyhow and unlike real life, I can get as pissy as I like and write what I want here and do: the point is to keep a diary written in story format and ramping the language/emotion up and down to express perspective on a given situation is what storytelling is about, isn’t it?

I can’t even delete all the typing errors and fix the bad grammar in five years of writing, so I’ll leave it as is and put up with that worrying background hum of panic at having all the good and bad aspects of my personality laid bare; exposed.

Exposed is the operative word.

I gave you the site to both illustrate I am more intelligent than I superficially appear and because you reading about my fluctuating emotional state between misery and calmness has got to be good for you on a basic therapeutic level.

Dr Jason, totally 😏

This same post will be updated right through the month so all you ever have to do is refresh the page.

Sometimes I’ll update every day and obsessively edit the text on and off until I get the wording just so and need to, given I’m usually using my phones’ touchscreen so there are errors in spelling and grammar that drive me mental, though I still miss a lot of mistakes.

Samsung’s autocomplete is responsible for most of them.

Other times I go days without any update at all – depends how I feel.

Right now, I feel like eating 🙂

My photos are always excellent regardless how bad the grammar can get and I’ve found that over the half-decade now I’ve been spewing all my thoughts out here, my writing has come a long way as well as the ability to arrange words, paragraphs and more importantly – timing.

I don’t always bother with all that, but can pull it out when needed to hone a section of text to a particular feel or mood.

And yes: Shortbread Creams are the best biscuit in the pack because they’re higher in fat and lower in sugar so don’t taste artificial like the others.

I remember everything 🙂

Everything except practical things I really need to remember..

7:53 PM

Yeah I am nicely sunburnt from today and will be maple-brown in no time – it’s only the first day of spring..

Speaking of today, there’s not heaps to write about it other than it was good, fine, excellent: nobody pissed me off in the slightest.


I did have to ask Julie to repeat herself once or twice but that wasn’t irritating in the slightest just, you know, she’s so softly spoken the mild breeze was louder than her voice 🙂

I even managed to not get shitty about other people talking about things that didn’t interest me, like the seemingly endless ‘history of music’ discussion Bronte and that old guy were into.

I listen to whatever music I’ve downloaded to my phone and usually only while I’m walking: then it goes off, the earphones come out and I don’t give a shit about music again until I’m walking again or am bored with my current playlist.

I’m certainly not into it enough to care about how punk has evolved, whether heavy metal ever ‘reaaally’ went out of fashion or to break each of those two genres down into the different subgenres and random bands I’ve never heard of and likely never will.

In a world with so many things to learn about, music is not a subject warranting in-depth study for me – it’s entertaining background noise.

But no no, I didn’t even hint disinterest: just sat and trimmed my plants 🤐

Snip, snip snip snip.

** Wait ’til those two’ll bore themselves **

Snip snip, snip.


I might return to edit this all tomorrow, delete paragraphs, add paragraphs or just write tomorrow’s entry without looking back at all: like a dynamic, exponentially expanding story; the site has been with me so long it’s like a shadow of myself and my personality.

It’s not all gloomy doom and annoyed rants though and even when it is I try and frame it to garner an emotional reaction of some kind because whether it’s laughter, anger, sadness, love or hate, without emotion there’s not much point in anything right? 🙂

Thursday, 5th September 2019

Time to go soon I guess, and find an image of the day.

Actually getting up and leaving is always the cause of the procrastination: once you’re moving you’re moving and that’s that.

9:47 AM

I’ve just had an epiphany!

Most people want to like me, but whether I like them or not means I dictate that dynamic by being obviously abrasive to illicit friction: if I stopped being a bastard people would be able to bask in my inner warmth.

Like lizards in the sun 🦎🌞

If I could stop choosing to dislike people for the sake of my own amusement I’d be much less inclined to be antisocial.

Short epiphany sure, but I’m on a bus distracted.

12:58 PM

This bug..

The only reason this bug had its impromptu portrait taken was because I felt guilty.

I’m trimming dead leaves like I have all week now when I feel something crawling on the back of my neck and instinctively slap it, then wipe it off to find out what kind of insect it is.

It was, this, still alive and kicking 😏

He was startled but fine, so I tossed the scissors in the dirt, took this photo then flicked him into the air to fly away.

Happy he wasn’t injured: whether it’s bugs, birds or our mammalian cousins – I like animals more than humans for the most part if not for the simple reason that other species look different, while people get very visually repetitive.

9:33 PM

Sorry, I was going to update but heave an inspection in the morning and have got busy re-cleaning/tidying since it could be any time from 8:00 AM – 11:00 AM.

You understand 🙂

11:41 PM

I’m getting tired now, though I’ve done everything so all I’ve gotta do in the morning is caffeinate and wait until the intrusive fuckers show up to search for cracks in the paint or leaky taps that aren’t here to be found since everything is in working order.

Speaking of the F bomb: Tanya told me again this morning to stop swearing. That’s every day this week I’ve been asked to keep my bad-word filter on.

She’s right of course, and I probably don’t don’t realize just how often I say it though as I explained to her my vocabulary is actually excellent it’s just a bad habit: I’ve used variants of fuck like punctuation marks when I talk for so long it’s automatic and it’s such an efficient word for the verbal accentuating of other words I have always used it more for inflection than for the specific word itself or the fact it’s a four letter word.

I’ll have some corn flakes before going to bed – that’s snacky without being filling, why not.

I also removed an abrasive paragraph or two I’d added about the mild incompatibility that exists between a teenage volunteers’ flat, single layered affectation-padded personality and that of a person my age or older, who have existed on the planet long enough to develop many layers, opinions of our own based upon lived experience and most importantly depth and complexity: all elements that’re absent in most people until their mid-thirties because they just don’t start growing into themselves at all until about that age.

Bubbas they are.

Also – in the interest of round-about self improvement – I’ll google the correct usage of colons, semicolons and hyphens because I use all three an awful lot and haven’t ever really verified whether I utilize them appropriately or not but only used them as they appear in novels and the like.

Certainly there’ll be no award for outstanding literary prowess being delivered to me for today’s entry, though it wasn’t exactly an action-packed Thursday and not every day is sprinkled with pearls of anecdotes just waiting to be written down.

Some are just inherently average 🤨

Sleep at least reasonably well, whenever you do.

Friday, 6th September 2019

In a continuance on the topic of sleep, I got very, very little last night: only flashes here and there.

First the sweeping and cleaning kept me up until 11:00 PM or so, then the eating afterwards pushed bedtime back another hour or so and when I’d finally got to bed, podcasts pushed actual sleep back by another two hours: by then and with only 2.5 hours sleep remaining I count relax and get unconsciousness on account of knowing it was 3:00 AM and knowing my alarm was set for very soon.

Bastard podcasts: just like with iView and onDemand it’s super easy to let autoplay just keep automatically eating your sleep away in chunks, which the episodes indeed did and now I’m swaying on my godamn feet before the day has even started 😖

9:01 AM

So he’s been and gone and checked whatever checkboxes exist in his ipad in under twenty minutes.

I thought I’d be waiting until midday and stuck here watching him examine the walls a full hour – ‘approximately’ how long the letter said it’d take, though I assisted by informing said inspector “Everything works: no blocked drains, no leaking taps – only that back screen I’ve taken off the window and I removed that to improve my view of town and can reattach it if anyone wants to whine about it.”

The dood checked the walls and cupboards mostly though and I can leave now and go into town, though I don’t really have to and I am pretty fuzzy-tired..

I’ll have a ham and cheese roll and cereal coffees then decide whether I can be arsed and get a bus if so to save what energy I still possess.

I do like walking though.

I love my legs being well conditioned living in such a hilly town and you’d be surprised how quickly legs become week and flaky when they’re not pushed frequently.


1:31 PM

So I’ve peeled myself off the chair in the kitchen and here we are: in town, shopping completed and at the library downloading podcasts while I wait a few minutes to see if Old-Brian fortuitously appears.

It’s true that poor Brian will never solve his bug problems this side of death, but bugs or no bugs I like the man: he’s creeping towards the maybe good(?) title of Centenarian yet he still manages to be the embodiment of a well spoken English gentleman.

On the offchance I make it to that age I’ll have already been screaming at imaginary people and arguing with bugs for decades.

He did not stop and talk on the way past – simply waved – but I’ve gotta say, he’s not looking all that healthy today and I’ve probably had even less sleep than him for once so I’m quite content to toss him a thumbs-up and carry on downloading episodes before I leave.

He’s still alive and mobile anyway so that’s the main thing.

6:36 PM

Right that’s dinner done and eaten: a roll with mortadella and well, butter plus coffee and some biscuits.

Yeah, well you know I wasn’t hungry enough to cook a saucepan full of pasta so snack-foods it is and I had two beroccas this morning so once I’ve had my four hours sleep and some potato chips I’ll be good to go another week 👍

How can I say this.. with words right.

These flats suck dick and I can’t wait to get out of here and back into a private rental: all I need is a job and a few weeks for my routine and paychecks til stabilize and I’ll be looking for a new place – a granny flat, a cabin like I was in before I cracked the shits and threw-in the job, I’ll even settle for a share place, though a granny flat or cabin in an actual backyard with room for vegetables and a garden would be my first choice if not a house, though renting a house is very expensive and completely impractical for one person.

Priority number one though is to put this houso compound in my fuckin’ rear-view mirror because I am far too good to live in a shithole like this surrounded by human garbage.

Don’t get me wrong I don’t even engage any of these people; don’t even say good morning or afternoon when I walk past them but a place like this is packed with people who have no aspirations for anything better than sitting around im their own filth and shit, watching midday television and sponging from anyone with anything they don’t have no matter how trivial or pathetic.

I am absolutely the opposite of the people who live here and only signed the lease for a temporary wind-break at the end of winter since I’d lived off my annual leave while homeless and this unit required no cash upfront.

Job, private rental, leave.

I haven’t finished yet, I’ve barely even started and I could rant for pages about how generally unhealthy government housing coffins like Darley Street are.

Where was I..

Yeah right my objection to the place isn’t because if anything that’s happened while I’ve been here: I’ve never hung out with the other residents smoking cones, never had any junkies here rip me off because I’m not a junkie and they’ve got nothing I want at all – my objection is to everything about the place and the people who lower their own standards until they actually think they’re getting a deal because rent is cheap and they can get any drug they want without going anywhere to get it.

Who would allow themselves to think living in a place where junkies, alcoholics, sex-pests, criminals and the chronically ill are sent to fester is a good deal regardless how low the rent.

Like all things in life, you get what you pay for and have always been all about quality ahead of quantity.

And that’s saying nothing for the bulk of the tenants who just don’t want to do anything but television their lives away with no money and no desire to have it.

I was going to start this section with the moment this morning when I walked out my door and right into three female police officers who had been called out to remove the cat lady directly across the hall from me and take her to the hospital to have doctors force her medication into her.

I was going to make that an amusing micro-story and leave it at that, but there’s really nothing funny about any of it – it’s just grotesque to see people like these living in their excuses until they die, here, in a tattered piss-soaked chair.

I probably should’ve just stuck with the funny version: apologies if the preceding text was more depressing than enlightening to anyone reading it – just the direction it took.

Doesn’t depress me – it crystallizes my resolve: I don’t give a shit about anybody here spending their only life crawling on their knees in squalor – not for me, thanks.

All the above might seem like an unfair indictment – scooping everyone who lives here into the same bin – and I’m sure there’s the odd good person or hardworking family sprinkled in among the Darley Street housing properties, sure how judgemental of me.

You’ve only gotta see how often they’re out on the front lawn arguing with each other, making complete dickheads of themselves over ten bucks or screaming about drugs, to know that only the shit society scrapes off it’s shoes would ever consider settling to live in a place police patrol wagons are parked out front every other day.

After nine months of it, I don’t even bother listening to what the arguments are about anymore: it’s just unattractive background noise from unattractive human-beings.

Tell ya one thing that’s absolutely for sure: I will never again quit my job as a maneuver to try and blackmail a woman who’s not putting out.

I should’ve thought that through more carefully, though it’s ancient history now.

Live and learn 🙂

Saturday, 7th September 2019

10:33 AM

Today I’m doing nothing and don’t need to go anywhere, so I’ll cut and polish last nights bitching because it’s not well written at all: there’s only one tone to all the paragraphs which makes it flat and one dimensional.

Fuck.. the coffee’s boiled-over again.

Even in a rant there needs to be multiple viewpoints to keep it from that flatness, so I’ll texture it and maybe do the dishes, since everything else is pretty much spotless.

I do like days when I don’t need to go out for anything, which are few-and-far given I usually only get what I need when I am in town, then realize as soon as I get home there’s something else I probably should’ve grabbed while I was there.

Like sugar, I should’ve grabbed that yesterday..

This morning’s two part podcast episode is about the hypothetical Lost city of Atlantis and the never ending debate about it’s alleged existence, in spite of Plato telling everyone centuries ago ‘You doods need to chill the fuck out with the “finding Atlantis” horseshit, it’s NOT A REAL PLACE! Ignatius, Horatio, you two idiots were HERE when we made the whole thing up you’re just too off your fuckin’ faces to remember. You guys are morons!’

Thousands of years later, people are still looking for it.. mmm. I mean good for them right 🤓

It’s deeply nerdy shit, but I like the visuals a fabled underwater city illicits in my imagination: cold and dark and caked in a thick crust of barnacles with forests of seaweed.

I mean I like imagining the ocean but not the actuality of being in it: I’ve never been a big ocean-lover *because* it’s cold and dark and I suppose not being a fish the ocean isn’t a place I have any more affinity with than the sky above it.

Inexplicably though, I love rivers.

I feel like carving something.

6:39 PM

Instead of carving I went domestic-mode and washed myself plus some clothes then ate and I’m currently cropping animal photos and updating the achievement page with a list.

I can now sacrifice 100 Possums to summon a Lace Monitor to feed animals to 🙂

Sounds cold enough outside to make me glad I’m not a party animal. Shit, even the sticky windows here that need a shove to slide open and close are rattling in the wind.

Though I’ve always been more interested in being home at night: daytime is for being out doing shit and being noisy – evening is the time of day you look forward to returning home, getting comfortable and settling-in for the night.

Sounds awful boring when I write it out like that until you remember that’s what every other diurnal species does: spend the daylight hours out getting busy then return home at night, with only nocturnal animals leaving their home after the sun has set.

Here’s what I’m listening to while I switch between eating and editing, and I though it’s not as amusing as a comedy podcast it’s also not as loud so I frequently leave it running at bedtime and end-up falling asleep pretty quickly since there’s only the doods voice and some background piano..


They’re only little thirty minute episodes and each is a mm contemplation of some random lore whether it be ancient Japanese castles, funny whiskered creatures that miners throughout history seem to believe can protect them or collapse their mine’s to yeah there’s nothing in here that’s gore-soaked or true crime related – they’re just nice, mildly interesting episodes about random things.

Really, anything is better than all the true-crime shit I’ve been listening to lately because they make me worry about every woman I know: no man who cares about women’s general wellbeing and safety could listen to details of some those cases and not end up in a panic about the kind of animals out there in the world preying on women 😡

Sunday, 8th September 2019

There’s no sugar for coffee.

That bugs me a bit, but not enough to go into town just for a $1 bag especially when I’ve gotta go out tomorrow, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday anyway.

So unsweetened coffee it is, I suppose, until tomorrow though if I get really keen for sweetness I have already been eyeing the jumbo box of nutrigrain in the kitchen.


Pack a jar with the sweetened cereal, half fill it with milk, shake a few seconds and I’m quite confident I’d end up with a milk that’s so sugary it would be more than capable of making coffee taste normal..

I’ve never actually tried using cereal to make sweetened milk, but I’ve just visualized myself doing it so I know it’s no major hassle: I’ll just flush the discarded nutrigrain after I’ve drained the milk from the jar 😎

I’m not that bothered yet but it’s an option right? A better option than going out in that fucking awful wind.. save that for tomorrow.

Necessity’s the mother of sweetened milk extractions and what some might consider outright laziness, I call improvisation.

It’s not like I’m old and sick and need to get out there for my heart medication or whatever: I just don’t need anything but sugar and refuse to get ready and go all the way into town solely for that.

3:39 PM

Should I summon a story from the past?

I’ve never once wrote down the peacock story, though that’d mean pages of background to put the story in its proper context mm..

Ain’t happening: I’ve gotta be in a certain kinda mood to spend hours composing and then editing a story nice and snappy and that’s not the kind’ve mood I’m in.

Instead, I’ve added to the in-site rewards system with this..

A hat maker.

5 Possums + 1 Hat Machine = 1 Possum Hat..

Now, I am not condoning the use of possums for hats or suggesting anyone pay for skinned animals at all: these are fake possums I’m creatively utilizing – no animals suffer.

Do not turn animals into clothes, it’s completely uncool.

I’m unsure why I keep adding to this animal thing since I’m the only one who’ll use it, but above all else the site is here to diffuse mental energy and keep myself amused, and accumulating animals then finding things to do with them does amuse me.

6:07 PM

I was just thinking, I hope she doesn’t hate me: all the good and bad thoughts funneled into words that’re so openly accessible is a bit of an information overload for anyone new to reading the site.

Like streaming the full gamut of someone elses reactions to life into your own brain as fast as you can read, it’s all right there from vile to lovely; cold to hot; love, hate, indifference – the full colour imprint of an entire personality downloadable via language and images.

You can literally read me like a book and though the site obviously isn’t top secret, I don’t hand it out unless I think the person recieving the URL will have the right personality to take it with that grain of salt, a reasonably open mind and a darker sense of humour.

Or unless it might be practically useful.

But who knows how it’s received by any reader?

Monday, 9th September 2019

Wow. Just wow.

I went in and got my sugar, as will as milk and dark chocolate tim-tams which obviously didn’t take long because I’m a pretty efficient shopper, when I check the time and see it’s 4:20 PM so I’ve got about half an hour to fill my phone with new podcast episodes before the WISE employment shuts and it’s directly on the way home so I may as well stop in and use their wifi instead of my own data.

Barely out the front carpark at Woolies and onto the street I get some seedy as shit looking fucker ask me whether I’m in a hurry.

You kidding me..

It’s like 11°C what’s he fuckin’ think I’m just wandering around in tornado-force winds because it’s a pleasant thing to do?

“Ah yeah I guess, it’s fucking cold. Whaddya want?”

Like you know, I didn’t even need to ask that to know I didn’t wanna talk to this dood but I’m only a few meters outside the toasty warmth of the WISE offices and I don’t plan to be talking to anyone very long anyway.

He asks if I can spare a few minutes and that he’s a ‘travel writer’ and as he’s saying that I’m eyeing his dirty rags for pants, thongs, ripped flannelette shirt and hair so filthy it looks like blonde seaweed stuck to his head.

‘You ah, ever read travel articles? Or brochures’

“Never. I don’t have money to travel. And I don’t watch Getaway either – that shit’s for other people.”

He demonstrates amusement and chuckles – like I was telling a joke – when I wasn’t being funny at all and see his eyes are red where they should be white and puffed up like a fuckin’ blob-fish.

Yep that’s it, I’ve had enough of you.

He asks if I’m not into travel, what am I into ‘You like sports? You a sports girl?’

And that ‘girl’ was the moment I realized he wasn’t just some decrepit homeless fuckin loser, but a decrepit fuckin loser who was hitting on me.

I feel the strong urge to shower.

“Dogs and women.” I tell him,

‘Just dogs and women?’


He kind’ve scoffs quietly under his breath and suddenly tells me to have a good afternoon and walks away.

That’s not well written at all, but I still feel the strong urge to scrub myself with hand sanitizer thinking about it and it was only a day or two ago I was talking about not listening to true crime anymore because it makes me paranoid for the women I know with of all the predatory sex-pests lurching around in plain sight.

If even *I* can’t walk to town and do a bit of shopping without some pervert cracking onto me what chance have women got of avoiding them? 🙂

The problem with anyone like that – male or female – is they just assume that since they’re cheap, slutty motherfucks that everyone else must be just as swinging as they are and even if that dood were a woman I’d still feel like showering: I very, very rarely even touch anyone I’m not involved with and that involvement is always exclusive – the woman I’m with is the only one I’ll allow affection to happen with and sex is absolutely sacred to the relationship I’m in.

It’s not a free giveaway – sex is as physically intimate as two people can get and means nothing if it’s handed out like a bag of lollies to anyone who wants it.

Though the media feedback loop has people believing everybody is so much sluttier now we’re more enlightened, I think those people would be shocked to know that most people are still monogamous, because we all want someone who’s ours and most of us hate the idea of sharing our partner.

8:09 PM

In other news, I think I ate a bug with my pasta though I only bought the pasta from Coles last week.

Amongst the pirates and basil pesto, there was just this one bit of something crunchy, crunchy and that tastes nothing like any kind of food at all mm

Tuesday, 10th September 2019

I’m waiting for coffee but Tanya’s full tilt into another story about European countries being more like third-world countries every time she’s visited the past twenty years..


The coffee will be cold by the time she plunges it but I can’t very well interrupt just to tell her to get a move on with the caffeine.

Like, welcome to my world of problems! 🙂

12:29 PM

I missed some bits 😡

Every day at the nursery at around 2:00 PM, the Special Needs class – constituting grown adults who are very brain-damaged and sure seem to possess very special needs – plays sorta Mr Doo-Bee music to commemorate the end of the day or maybe to calm them down though I don’t think it’s the latter because they always get a bit more rowdy when the music starts.

It’s never anything outrageous: today it was The Seekers and as the stereo in the room behind me droned-on with ‘I’ll never find another you’ I’ve told Richard, who was busily sorting seeds to dry, “You know, after almost three months now of that afternoon music, I’ve started subconsciously associating it with ‘home time’ and I actually get excited too when the music starts to kick off. They sure as shit sound like they’re having more fun than we are..”

Inside the room behind us one of them gurgles in approval of Judith Durhams’ singing abilities.


Richard understood and smiled, but was preoccupied with whoever the bastard was who donated seeds that had been kept in the fridge and was a bit stressed about the soggy things he was trying to dry with a paper towel while I trimmed more of that godamn grass. Sorry ‘Sedge’..

Snip snip, snip

No idea which species the seeds were but they looked like tiny, furry olives and though I’d asked him why wet seeds are so bad, I immediately hypothesized that if they were damp when fridged they’d probably start germinating inside their shells and be useless when they get here, which he said was true but elaborated with the addition of the fact that correct temperature is also required for successful germination and so they start germinating but it’s too cold for them to sprout.


“So they’re fucked?”

‘Yes, well I dunno I’ll have to dry them out first before we’ll know…’

The Seekers are still going on behind us and I start doing the twist slowly in mockery of the music.

From the room behind us, more gurgling and a really loud ‘WOO!’

Richard grins, but ever the focused sciency type continues, ‘… I just wish they’d dry them before putting them in the fridge I mean, it’s not that hard to do.’

“Bastard RAT fuckers!!”

Snip, snip.. snip

I managed to trim almost all of the 4-6 trays of those sedges but didn’t weed any so they’re all just mixed-up in the trays – weeded and non-weeded alike.

But they look great.

4:50 PM

Tonight’s dinner is a creamy garlic pasta with fresh rosemary and native mint from the nursery, though not much mint on account of it’s being very strong..

Tasted fine: being like macaroni it’d make a better side with chicken or something than a meal, though it was either that or cornflakes since I don’t bother with more than single-pan meals if I’m eating alone.

Wednesday, 11th September 2019

I’ve got a headache this afternoon from sitting in full sun for over four hours straight today.

I did that because as soon as everyone got there this morning they all decided they wanted the cover over the marquee frame so their precious skin didn’t have to deal with the horrors of sunshine on a perfect day, so I sat on my own, with my own fuckin’ plants and had the shits all day.

Even when it was time to leave and lifts were being arranged I said “I’ll get a bus or walk. Fuck *all* of you and your stupid fuckin’ tent.”

That’s the problem with democratic social arrangements: I clearly stated I did not want to waste a full day of vitamin-d exposure stuffed in that dumb tent but like old women everyone filed into the tent all paranoid they might get a bit of colour in their skin.

Stay sick and pasty, see if I give a fuck.

Even when I was over the sun-baking I was already too pissed-off to go join the snowflakes under the tent so, well the headache is fading now and could actually be from not having breakfast or lunch.

Like they’re made of UV sensitive tissue paper: a single spit of rain and they’re tripping over themselves to get inside and huddle around the heater because it’s ‘too cold’; yet a single ray of sunshine and they’re slathering on SPF 50+ goop while pulling the canvas over themselves.

The chemical components in the sunscreen are probably more carcinogenic than the sun they’re so frightened of, yet one sniveling wet-blanket says they ‘Aww don’t really *slurp* wanna get *slurp* sunburnt *slurrrp*’ and everyone’s suddenly fuckin freaking the sun might touch their skin and decide it’s best to huddle like senior citizens under the cover of shade all day – all safe from big, bad, nature.


I’m fuckin winding myself up the more I think about it too knowing that most of the volunteers there could reeaally do with a good dose of sun to clear up their skin: like having the complexion of an acne-covered toad is better than being sunburnt once at the start of spring.


Hated it when I first started there, hate it even more now it’s being used again after months of spacious outdoor activities without it.

Hate how cluttered it is under there; hate tripping over everyone’s shit everytime you stand up; hate almost knocking down trays anytime you move your chair a few fucking inches and I hate how claustrophobic it is under the stuffy canvas roof.

I hate the lack of personal space too: hate being so squashed-in that anytime someone stands up you’ve gotta lean away to keep a distance between their arse and your face.

If Tanya would let me kick the legs apart and drag the fucking thing out the front of the nursery I’d have left it on the side of the road months ago when I first got there.

Fuck the tent and fuck every one of them for making it impossible for me to weed with everyone else even after I’d repeatedly said I didn’t want to sit inside that fucking tent I wanna sit outside in the sun.


Friday, 13th September 2019

4:00 AM

I’m sitting in the dark waiting on the sun and supermarkets and I’ve been up for an hour already before posting this, because I had to hang a piss and it was only 3 hours until I’d have to get up anyhow.

I tried going back to bed but just kept tossing around so no point simply laying there awake.

Though I’ll likely be fucked by lunchtime I’ll sleep well tonight and already had’ve plans for tomorrow.

Finally the data-drought is over.

Incidentally, Aldi’s new app finally lets you recharge when you’re completely out of data.

I remember changing from Telstra and thinking how shit Aldi was when I first tried to recharge with no data because I had to actually find a connection to use the app, while telstra always allowed you to use the app regardless you’re current data access which is obviously necessary to connect and purchase a data pack.

Now – 5 years later – Aldi had’ve finally snapped out of it and implemented the same free access to recharge through their application.

2:12 PM

I’m officially a member of the nursery since it’s payday and I remembered to do it, so once I’m no longer forced to volunteer through work-for-the-dole I’ll continue on volunteering there, but only one day a week and only whichever day I feel like going in.

3:00 PM

Today, Bronte was here which actually makes a difference to my mood you know: she’s so opposite me the dynamic is, bounicer than with some of the other volunteers – the normals.

Carol has just stopped to inform me that there’s also a recycle bin for plastic and bottles: the old bitch said it in her usual kindly grandma, passive aggressive way but she’s clearly gone through the bin and seen my mountain dew bottle and felt some kind of sad need to pointlessly point out that whole ridiculous middle-class housewife obsession: the sanctity of the colour-coded bins!

As I said last week I don’t much care for Carol: the badly died Jimmy Saville hair and scoliosis isn’t the reason though.

It’s her bland lack of personality: the stock-standard fuddy-duds old women who’s nice but never has anything interesting to say which aligns her perfectly with the other old hens there who have naught to talk about other than nice-old-lady shit.

Top that off with her acting as though volunteering there for longer gives her a higher level of importance and she’s just static wallpaper to me.

I don’t have a grudge or any hate for the woman and can be polite and amiable enough towards her, but I don’t give a fuck for engaging her in conversation or anything like that.

The length of time someone’s volunteered there means fucking nothing to me: I only care what a person contributes to the social dynamic and Carol adds nada so she’s literally worthless far as I’m concerned.

A good plant nerd, she knows heaps about the species at the nursery which is good for a nursery don’t get me wrong, but that flat-panel attribute doesn’t make anybody’s day any lighter or more colourful and since the nursery volunteers are a group of human-beings, being good only with plants without being any value to the humans who go in there to care for the plants yeah, useless.

The new guy – the teenager – is fuckin’ useless too while I’m at it: nothing to say, no personality, no worth to the rest of us.

Bronte brings a truckload of personality with her, I bring mine, Richard brings his personality as does Verity, Tanya and the bulk of the other volunteers – they all bring some kind of human element that adds to other peoples day – it’s just the ones that don’t that I’ve got a problem with.

Saw some tourist dood fumbling around from two meters away too scared to get near the bees so I figured I’d step close enough to get all up in their shit to show him how it’s done 😉

Anyway today Carol and the new guy huddled under their little tent for the day weeding and looking bored while Bronte and I stood over the other side of the courtyard in the sun and got creative making cute hanging mossy logs that were tied to lengths of wood and I can absolutely attest without hesitation that we had a bunch more fun than the tent-dwellers, which is good since I haven’t had any fun at all there the rest of the week.

The mossy logs themselves.

Initially I just stood and talked shit while Bronte sawed all the wood, but she was using a woefully blunt saw that cost her 500% more effort than it would’ve with a sharp one, so I went and found some sharper saws, then went and ‘sourced’ more wood from around the property and brought more mossy logs as she needed them and finally – when she asked if I wanted coffee and went to make it – I took over the sawing and had all the wood cut into shorter lengths by the time she returned with what was an awful coffee (not quite enough sugar) but I needed any caffeine I could get to keep me upright and awake so it wasn’t bad enough to stop my drinking it.

Bronte basically did all the creative arrangements while I just fetched wood and logs like her bitch, brought it back and cut it which I was quite happy to do: running on two hours sleep and a few coffees, gathering and cutting saved me having to use my brain 😎

They’ll be sold for $10 or so for the smaller ones, I think, plus there’s a bunch of much thicker ones that’ll sell for more.

Many inappropriate topics were discussed with no regard for anyone else in the vicinity though that’s always the case any time Bronte and Jason start getting into it.

But a strange and kinda funny moment happened when we were asking Peter if he knew where the fencing wire was at and after he’d gone off looking then returned with a little spool of that thin green plastic coated wire everyone has in their kitchen drawer for tying vines to trellises etcetera.

I told him we didn’t want that, then explained the reason we’d decided on the fencing wire was it was thick and stiff enough that we’d be able to just twist it right around the wood backing and make a hanger without needing to drill holes, because for some reason the nursery does not own a single cordless drill – we’d decided to just wrap fencing wire around the logs then twist it tight enough to ‘clamp’ and bite into the wood after which we could simply create a loop to hang the whole thing up.

Peter has started talking about our remembering to put the tools back then very awkwardly tried to either crack a joke or sound ominous and I still can’t remember which because it fell flat, but he’s said basically if we don’t return the tools to the potting shed, ‘Let’s just say I like using blood and bone to fertilize my garden, and it doesn’t have to be animal’, before giving us a wink or something and I think he’s realized neither Bronte or myself had any idea where he was going with that statement because it was neither funny NOR remotely scary and though he looked like he’d told a real knee-slapper that we just didn’t understand, it just didn’t work because his delivery was not funny OR threatening mm.

Can’t remember what Bronte said as Peter stood there waiting for us to catch-on abs start laughing, but I replied “Ahhh right, right sure” before Pete’s walked beak ..or the back out the shed to continue looking for fencing wire or something.

I turned to Bronte and said, “That might have been mildly ominous or unsettling if it came from anyone we took even halfway seriously”

‘Ooooo did he make a threat? :)’

“I got no fuckin idea. I spose it was a joke, but if not that’s the kind’ve thing you’re better off pulling someone aside and whispering threateningly in their ear .. that *could* have sounded unsettling coming from.. ahh..”

‘..anyone but him? :)’

“Yeah, pretty much :)”

She’s then leaned over until we were cheek to cheek and *whispered* in my ear,

‘I want to turn you into composssst…’

“Uh huh..”

‘I want to bury you in my garrrden…’


‘I want to use you as fertilizerrrr..’

“You know that.. that sounds fucking EXCELLENT!!”



Another time Peter came out the office and ended up walking over to get in-on the convo he was there just a few seconds before he looked as though he felt like he’d interrupted some private couple moment between Bronte and myself then slipped away and that happens here and there, though not because there’s any private couple thing going on, but because both her and I are attention whores who like to shock and are equally happy discussing inappropriate topics at varying volume levels – it’s a strange dynamic but an excellent one for the most part – she’s a bit weird, I’m a bit weird so the conversations always start like that from ther outset 😜

I could have edited all that into a much more snappily timed passage, but I’m PRETTY tired so you know – you get the general idea.

Only when I’m in a pissy mood and acting like a bad-tempered bitch does it not work but that’s only because I’m being sullen at everyone, have packed away my social toybox and refuse to share it with anyone.

Like Wednesday: I deliberately didn’t contribute a gob of spit socially to the entire day I was so shitty about the tent.

But you see, I knew Bronte would stay outside that shitty tent and get sunburnt with me unlike all those other fucks and she did AND we had more fun in the sun AND even if she had started in the tent I’d just demand she get out here with me and she would’ve, because she knows we’re both individually more entertaining than all the other volunteers combined 🙂

All they’ve ever got on offer is polite, genteel conversation that’s flat and fake and pretty boring no matter how many times they change the topic, because most people lack the mental spark.

4:00 PM

I wonder if Bronte reads any of this.

Wonder if Verity or Juli or anyone else reads it: I’ve literally got no idea at all because I never get any feedback.

I don’t even mean feedback here through the site either, but personally and even yeah, I know both the last two ex’s read it – one obsessively and one at least occasionally – but even when I was with the women they never showered me with praise for the fuckin’ 20,000 words per month that allowed them to act like stalkers or voyeurs in my brain.

Never any feedback, good or bad.

One of those ex’s would analyze every edit and quiz me about why I changed this or that – still never gave me any compliments or criticisms of the writing itself.

Toni – she was the only person who ever said “Good shit!”, while everyone just lurks around the site and nobody mentions it outside of the site when I see them in person.

Not that it’s critically important anyway since – like I’ve already stated – I’ve been writing for so long here it’s just an automatic, compulsive thing now and although I write generally to anyone who could be reading I’ve really never had any idea who actually does: I see the Visitor counter go from 12 to 35 or 50+ at times of day that correspond with times people would most likely be reading (8:00 AM breakfast, 7:00-9:00 PM from dinner through the early evening) but outside that counter I’m clueless.

I’ve given the sites URL out to enough people over the past two years that I’ve fuckin forgotten more people I handed it to than I remember too, from the librarians here in town to random chicks on the street to ex girlfriends to coworkers to homeless people and now people at the nursery, and when I start volunteering st the community gardens I’ll doubtlessly give it to a few people there.

6:08 PM

My goodness the featured image in the Lifetime Album brings back memories..

My Marsupial Mouseketeer 🙂

That little mousey creature used to chew my cooking pans clean for me overnight, every night: I’d leave whatever film of baked-on pasta in the saucepan and when I woke in the morning, the inside would be near-on spotless 🙂

Once I moved to the bigger campsite and perma-pitched my tent, I met Guido, Bobbi and the other possums and they took over in gnawing the dishes clean for me.

7:47 PM

My plans for the weekend are really only one thing: to get up at a reasonable time tomorrow morning and finally get on over to the community gardens and sign-up as a volunteer at *that* nursery too.

Verity told me today there’s people there Fridays and Saturdays, both days I can quite easily fit into my currently blank calendar and I’ve been meaning to go check it out for over a year and just never got around to it, but if I volunteer there one day a week I’ll not be mooching whatever vegetables or fruit I end up taking, but contributing to the place.

Furthermore, 1 day at the wildplant nursery and 1 day at the community gardens each week will keep be from becoming a fuckin cave Golem hanging here at the flat all week when the forced volunteering is over, which is only two weeks away.

Additionally: I’ll not only have a new, separate venue to volunteer that grows produce I can actually use, but another new social group to mingle with and practice my personality on 😎

11:07 PM

Okay so before I podcast myself to sleep, I’ve finally got around to finding a decent internal search for the site..

Unlike the others I’ve tried, this search not only indexes all posts at once to catalog for speed when you actually perform a search, it also highlights the hits in a 60 word summary but most impressive of all – it highlights hits within posts themselves, so search terms are backlit turquoise though I’m still not dead-set on the colour and tried yellow, but dark yellow always just looks ugly-brown on all electronic screens for some reason…

This will not only allow me to very easily locate things I think I’ve written but don’t remember which post or even which year, but recently realizing that “cleaning” the site of shit that makes me look like a nasty, horrible, base arsehole is impossible when I can’t easily locate keywords, phrases and subjects that actually need to be removed.

Well now I can.

Now, I can find any text in hundreds of posts within 0.1s and be tapping DELETE a minute after that.

Slick, yes 🙃

Saturday, 14th September 2019

This week it’s Unobscured: a full season podcast about the Salem Witch Trials in the 1500s..


One dozen half-hour episodes that’re not exactly exciting by today’s standards, but the history itself is interesting: did you know that back then, handkerchiefs were only allowed to be carried by the wealthy and that the poor were just expected to wipe their snotty noses on their sleeves?

Did they not have fingers in the 16th century?

11:11 AM

I’m outside Coles at the cafe waiting for my coffee – trying not to scrunch my face up in obvious disgust at all the fat-arses heaving back and forth, bulging out their chairs, gorging themselves and shuffling back to the counter to order additional sides before they’ve finished what’s on their plates.

I swear I will never understand how anyone can treat food like it’s some kind of drug and if you think I’m being judgmental that’s fine go nuts: these sacks of shit with feet are the same upper middle-class arseholes who’ll judge drug users as good for nothing hippies and I love drugs.

Least I can see my own dick without a mirror and a fine dick it is: Woman #6 thought it was so beautifully shaped and proportioned she went so far as to paint it and for thirteen months now – since Mandy – it’s just been wasted for no valid reason.

Rather than taxing the shit outta smokers they should tax those repulsive creatures and I’m not talking about people who are just a few kilos over their ideal weight, I’m talking people so fat they need a seat for each arse cheek and waddle opposed to walking.

A fat people tax.

We smokers die nice and quick by comparison you know – get lung cancer, BANG you’re dead a year later, while the morbidly obese just keep on shoveling shit in their faces until they’re ninety and diabetes drains the healthcare wallet exponentially more every year they go on living, if living is what you call.. that.

1:00 PM

I feel exceptionally good after all that walking.

So good in fact, I’m hard just standing here and I’m not thinking anything sexual.

Matter of fact all I’m doing is sliding my finger around my phone screen writing this while eating Fruit Tingles.

1:39 PM

Verity Verity Verity.

I went to your much acclaimed ‘Community Gardens’ like I said I would and on the recommendation of you as well the dozens of others who have spoke of this holy grail of abundant free vegetables and other fresh produce.

There was definitely an abundance of weeds.

For two years now I’ve been hearing about this place and been led to believe it’s a utopian farming community of nerdy plant lovers who participate in active food production that allows people to just head on over to help themselves to the awesome organic potatoes, carrots herbs and countless other healthy foods and though I’d repeatedly said I’ll go check it out then not bothered, today I did bother – only to be bothered by what I found.

Can’t eat that..

I spotted what looked like Comfrey, plus the odd very small, neglected tuft of spring onion and there were other stunted little plants in amongst the masses of weeds but I had to reeeally look for the scattered dots of edible plants.

I inadvertently entered from the back of the property but eventually crossed the field and walked right into something very much like Waco might’ve looked now – had it not been razed to the ground: no people, no sounds, no signs of life anywhere but lots of communesque buildings as well as more garden seating than garden.

When I first found the actual gardens plots, I figured if I walked around I’d hear people talking or laughing or some noise to help me find the community in the community garden, but there was nobody – the place literally looked like a long abandoned farm and the ground itself looked as though a human hand hadn’t been near it for about half a decade – if by ‘produce’ everybody means ‘weeds’ then there’s plenty for everyone but after walking around a good twenty minutes looking at all the sectioned-off garden beds all I saw in every plot were weeds and runaway lawn.

I cannot eat that.

This little path bordered by what I’m sure Richard would tell me is ‘Sedge NOT Grass’ looked nice enough, but if you look through the trees into the background there’s no actual vegetables or anything similar – anywhere.

What the fuck! Where’s the vegetable garden!


And I cannot eat laminated hippie bullshit.

Walking around the buildings revealed a smattering of the usual hippie-dippie ‘You can do it’ signs – signs that’re all over Katoomba and all make me cringe, but people seem to like tacky platitudes that target nobody and offer no useful advice and good on them I say!

‘If it is to be, it’s up to me!’

So profound 🙄

Finally I found another human! A hippie sitting in the back of his station wagon, like, chillin’ and he was very nice though very obviously stoned and didn’t have much information to give me about where the volunteers or even the garden is.

Any garden bed will do at this point!

He told me Friday’s are when most people are there but y’know, they pretty much just meet up and talk rather than actually do any gardening because, well I’d wager if they’re all as baked as this guy they’re waaay too relaxed to worry about bein’ all vertically upright and stuff I mean who needs the stress of having to stand up and walk around?

I’m just scratching my head by this point when he remembers there are some Dandelions growing around the place and that they’re like, edible.

Mmm.. interesting.

So basically the extent of their gardening is to just not kill the weeds.


I’d planned to just go into town and get a bus to North Katoomba but once I’d arrived at the front of the Carrington and checked the timetable found there was only two 697 buses on Saturday – the second of which wouldn’t leave for another four hours – which wasn’t a dealbreaker because I’m remarkably fit from walking most places so after a quick check with a bus driver to confirm that I other buses travel to the other side of town, I started walking.

Honestly, it was a great walk: it’s a perfect day for one thing and walking the same route I walked every day going to and from the cabin I used to live was very nostalgic.

I was also pleasantly surprised to see my legs are so well conditioned they never even came close to tiring: even on the way back to town – an extended up-hill climb – I didn’t once feel any need to stop or even slow down.

3:15 PM

Tonight’s dinner is spaghetti bolognese and though I’ve bought a pre-made Leggos sauce in a jar to save my having to shop for all the fresh ingredients then make it myself when I returned home, I have gone one better than my usual pasta with the addition of a 500g tray of actual meat!

Though I’m not feeling super animal-grade desperate for the meat and am unsure why – given I’m usually hanging out for real meat on the rare occasions I do bother buying it, I know the iron will be good for me plus y’know, it’s been months since I’ve filled my stomach with proper dead animal so it should be good and there’s plenty I’d vintage tasty cheese to mix in once it’s cooked.

I brought home *both* a backpack and Coles shopping bag full of food today and though I’ve got multiple choice dinner options, I really don’t since there’s no fridge so the mince has to be cooked and eaten tonight – means I’m locked-in on bolognese, which might be why I’m not slavering for meaty ‘sketti so much.

Hang on, I’ve gotta wash clothes for next week so they’ll dry in time.

Now I’ve gotta get on with the spaghetti before it’s too late..

Though I didn’t create the sauce from scratch a legitimate omnivorous meal complete with animal AND vegetable components is worth a photo given how rare it seems to be in a world where so many people go all out vegetarian to follow what is simply a current social fashion and because the sisterhood spams ‘like, meat is like, totes bad for yoo gurl!’ after *millions* of years of our evolving to eat it.

Though I wasn’t really hungry after repeatedly tasting the source as it cooked, it was good enough to lure me into another forkful, and another, and another – straight from the saucepan of course.

Like I wanna unnecessarily wash a plate I don’t need to use at all.

Sunday, 15th September 2019

All this being drug-free horseshit ends next payday: no drug tests have eventuated and even if they do in the future, cannabis isn’t exactly socially unacceptable in society these days.

Better than drinking but above all I’m no dumb christian fucknut and don’t have kids I need to set an example for, so I don’t need to suffer sobriety at all: I am completely obligation-free so why continually tolerate my perception of the world being less colourful than it should be.

Yes indeed.

12:23 PM

I’m at the library and I just talked to Brian about my visit yesterday to the Community Gardens he’s been telling my to go and check out well, for as long as I’ve known him.

He was shocked when I told him there’s absolutely no food production takes place there and said there are other places like that in the mountains, to which I responded that I’m not so much interested in the food as in the volunteering and being rewarded with food for volunteering is just logically the best way of doing that – to my mind.

He looked pretty drab, but usually does and he seemed to perk-up a bit once he started trumpeting about changing the world etcetera, so that’s nice though the conversation was cut shorter than usual given he had to hurry to the church for the free lunch which he still attends religiously every weekend.

I personally am thrilled to no longer feel any pragmatic requirement to hang around junkie junction but understand why Brian won’t miss a single lunch: ..like I’ve said previously, he’s gotta be at least ninety years old now and cooking a meal would probably be quite the effort for him, plus he’d probably value eating a meal with other people regardless what kind of degenerate, drug-addled filth they are nor the soup of hepatitis and other sickness they’re breathing all over everyone.

He said I should come back thi the church of course, like he often does and like I equally often do I reminded him that even if they’d implemented both criminal record and working with children clearance checks, the fact Rosa told me I couldn’t be a volunteer anymore if I don’t shuddup about it and even accused me of trying to get them shut down when all I was doing was spinning-out about the lack of safety for mothers and their kids who need to come in and use the service.

Anyway saying hi to Brian was my primary reason to stop in at the library, though I also figured I’d update this plus sit and decide what shopping I want while I’m in town – problem is, I find the library too distracting now to focus on writing and too unnatural to think about shopping.

Like cafes everyone here are sitting around as though they’re in their own loungeroom but they’re not and I’ve always been extremely environmentally aware of my surroundings, which means everyone who walks past, everyone who whispers and hell even people shifting in their seats or scratching or coughing snap my attention to them and what they’re doing.

So I’ll fuck off and do my shopping then go home where it’s genuinely quiet- opposed to the artificial atmosphere here.

Never happening Brian.

Tell ya what, I washed my hair last night – like actually washed it instead of simply wetting my head down – and out feels as fine as babies hair today.

Of course I had to rub argan oil into my whole head this morning to replace the oils I’d washed out last night and stop it being dry like abo fuzz, but it’s now both moist and fine as silk.

I need a photo for the day to go above all this..

I also need to edit yesterday and today to reduce it to a snappier form, though I’ll do that when I’m home.

Additionally, I really need to upload an armload of photos to the Lifetime Album that are just sitting on my phone but fuck, flicking through thousands of images to isolate the good ones I’ve forgotten to upload is such a pain in the arse.

I’ve also gotta apply for some jobs, because I want one, because I want $1200/week again because, as I discovered while working last time, that’s how much I need to be what I consider comfortable in a manner I require, which basically means smoking half an ounce a week, all the tobacco I want plus money in the bank after everything else to just go ahead and buy those new shoes and clothes I want as well as money for a steady supply of single red roses for whatever woman I’ll be plugging courting.

5:11 PM

Alright I’ve been home for about two hours and have washed more clothes plus added another four ranks to the Animal Management ‘rewards’ system, plus ahh eaten I guess though not dinner: I grabbed a bottle of cheap, shit red wine tonight because – though I don’t drink at all generally – I’ve a half a saucepan of last nights bolognase to eat and that seemed like a good excuse while I was in town, to buy some.

I’m also using the keyboard and the differance in typing speed is staggering.

Still, I really don’t mind using the phones touchscreen and my thumb: apart from the fact it slows my typing down long enough for actually thinking about what I’m writing so I don’t just pump out a wall of shit-talk it’s also mm.. once you’ve grown used to using a phone to type, you soon adapt to being completely free to move while using it and that mobility is a pretty fair trade-off to the slower typing speed caused by the lack of keyboard.

Even now laying down I have to stop typing and leave the tablet to go make coffee or get food etcetera where the phone wouldn’t inhibit my ability to write while I’m in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil.

Speaking of water, check it out..

At the same time as this photo illustrates how much filth my clothes absorb when they’re worn all week, it also attests to the fact that hand-washing really works or there wouldn’t be so much shit in the water – if it wasn’t washed out the clothes.

Seriously if I had a washing machine I’d probably use it, but it’s really not necessary: without a family I’ve only my own clothes to clean and washing a sinkful of underwear or socks or tops at a time really doesn’t take long or much effort.

I start with boiling water and leave them to soak in the soapy water an hour or so then just squidge ’em around in the sink then repeat, drain, wring-out and hang to dry and now it’s not so cold the fuckers are drying out super-fast compared to how they’ve gone all winter – hanging there damp for three days because of all the moisture in the air.

All yesterday’s clothes are already dry and they all smell like mint and sage 🙃

6:30 PM

I wonder whether Bronte genuinely likes me or just acts that way.

I don’t mean like-like, I mean standard like: does she genuinely gets along with me or just play the part to get through each day we’re at the nursery.

I’ve wondered that occasionally, though only in passing since like everyone at the nursery she’s an aquaintance and I don’t get attached to people hovering on the farthest edge of my universe, though that doesn’t stop me pondering those people.

On the one hand, she seems as nonconforming as I am and we both feed off each other’s energy to the point we not only amuse ourselves, but entertain everyone in earshot – but on the other hand, you never really know what most people think.

On the one hand, she’ll ask me whether I’ll be at the nursery the following day then fail to be there herself which has made me wonder for a while now whether she’s asking so she can avoid being there when I am, but on the other hand she is often not there all week anyway and when she is she greets me with ‘Hi Gorgeous! How *are* you today?’ and an enthusiasm that’s hard to disregard, which doesn’t seem in-keeping with someone who’s trying to avoid another person but how would I know?

You cannot really know what’s going on in another persons mind.

Well you all can, since I spew it out right here and I don’t try to veil, mask or hide my attitudes or opinions at all in my writing which leaves me at an obvious disadvantage faced with anybody who visits the site: I can’t know what anyone else really thinks, but they can find out exactly what makes me tick or how to wind me up just by reading a post ot two.

Read two or three posts and you’d know exactly what to do to charm, anger or deflate me which is an awful lot of power I’m given away writing like this and that’s why I don’t just give the site address over to everyone I meet: it’s like giving away the cheat-sheet on how I operate which allows anyone who frequents the site to know how to manipulate me pretty easily.

Whether I play along with any incoming manipulations depends on who it is doing the manipulating, but all the buttons are laid-out for anyone to read about and play with once they’ve got the site’s URL.

Most thoughts about anything I deem even loosely relevant make it to the site of course and my overall pattern of thinking is laid-out raw as the mince in tonights spaghetti, but other people don’t compulsively dump their brains onto a public site and I don’t know what actually goes on in their heads at all.

Time to reheat the sketti and drink the wine.

I’ll cook some wine into the bolognese actually, because, why not it’ll enrich the flavour even more plus take a while to slow-heat so it should have time evaporate off the alcohol and blend with the sauce.

Bellissimo. Truly, it’s excellent 🙂

8:32 PM

Like I predicted, the bottle of wine is almost gone and I’m not even messy yet so wondering why I only bought one bottle when I knew that would just be the warm-up: though I guess I’ll avoid any seediness in the morning, another bottle would’ve had me noticably inebriated.

You see we’re only halfway through the month and already the word-count is just over 13,000: that’ll end in approximately 26,000 words by the end of September and it’s really not hard to write that much when you break it down into individual days and write when you feel like it rather than force yourself.

It’s my birthday in four days: Thursday, 19th September 2019

Find out who loves me then.

11:22 PM

I’m catching-up on Wentworth – where the ever upstanding Governor Vera has just found out her career-oriented co-worker boyfriend Jake has only been using her – and though the two of them are only characters they’re very real all too common representations of the middle classes.

Sad as it is stupid that Vera put all her hopes in an arsehole with the same career-centric attitudes she has: she thought she’d been dating an equal, when he was more a parasite than most men from the lower classes would even be capable of.

If only she’d seen past the financial, assets and career and funneled all her hopes into someone more like me there’d been no insincerity, no sneaky bullshit and no superficiality: she’d have been loved like a goddess.

Instead she went with an ambitious middle-class douchebag who knew and mouthed the words she wanted to hear without ever feeling anything for her at all.

Though we lower classes might not give a shit about materialistic pursuits, the quality and grade of love that comes out of us is so much stronger, more focused and more intense than anything any money- grubbing middle-class piglets can offer.

Vera would’ve been much happier with a scumbag who spoke inappropriately but kept her drenched in love like the only woman on earth.

If only she’d been capable of seeing outside of her own prissy box.

Love first, everything else flows from that: Always.

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