venividivici

i am still not very interesting.

2009-11-23T18:13:00.001+10:00

diseases.

2009-07-28T18:45:00.004+10:00

Diseases.
There’s a new disease. I hope to god none of you contract it, although it seems highly contagious. It damages your social life like a horrifying assail of herpes. My flat mate has got it, so have I. I know a few others who conceal the embarrassment and torture under well constructed apparel, bound together with the most à la mode garb. Those of us who suffer with this disease assault ourselves harder than any other to try and break the rule of science and banish the diagnosis. Until one day when the latest hangover feels like your last, the worst yet… and every other after it becomes more evil and more chronic. It leaves you battered on the curb, howling for your last rights.

For those you of too young to feel the early onset of this depreciating disease I will give you a brief look into what it is like to live a day in the life of someone suffering under the thumb of premature OLDNESS... *cue dramatic orchestra*.

It all starts at approximately 7am Monday morning. I arise from bed with the mentality of a 60 year old. I assume I need to crack my back like the feeble old woman I see myself as, only to find my bones are as limber as fresh and green sapling branches. I hobble stereotypically into the bath room licking around my gums for teeth, the teeth are there of course, but this disease makes you feel that certain things are missing. Something else that is missing, my ability to remember things properly. My mother calls, and after a good 5 minutes of trying to work out how to answer the blasted mobile phone I answer with a frail voice. For some reason I call her beryl and I think she’s my sister…

8am and after sifting (something old people do, sift) through my cupboards, filled with garish scantily sewn clothes, I finally find the most suitable blouse and callouts (meanwhile there’s a voice in the back of my head dumbfounded, utterly speechless “where the hell did these callouts come from?”).

11 Am. I find myself sitting in a chair watching the door. As if waiting for long lost family members to “pop in” for a visit. A severe loneliness washes over me as I look around the room and see the teapot on the coffee table complete with extra teacups in case of company. There’s a knock at the door I scurry to open it and immediately accost the visitor with sweets and stories of the ‘old country’. It’s my friend; they want me to come out with them. I agree, as long as they’ll drive me to the post office and the supermarket afterwards (I don’t know why, but there is a strong pull towards these two places, my lack of items to post or need for more groceries doesn’t seem to crush the urge). My friend looks at me perplexed but reluctantly accepts.

1pm and I’m incredibly tired, I keep nodding off mid sentence. I’m leaning more and more towards the ground with every step. I’ve developed a large hump at the top of my spine and upon inspecting my greying skin and yellowing eyes; my friend suggests I get a check up.

Its 3pm by the time we get to see a doctor. I wait patiently on the large cold plastic covered bed twiddling my arthritic riddled fingers. The doctor sashays in and takes one look at me and exhales concernedly. His face says it all… I’ve got cancer.

3:01pm and its not cancer. However it is something just as life threatening. He says I’ve caught it early, but the worst is yet to come. Pretty soon I’ll be eating dinner at 4pm, in bed by six and by Saturday the only thing I’ll look forward to it The Bill.

4pm the doctors right, I’m really hungry and want nothing more than to settle down in my comfy seat and eat a half cooked casserole (because I feel so old I’ve forgotten what ‘pre-heat’ means), watch some English plods and fall asleep drooling into my casserole stained blouse.

This disease can smite any one and everyone, at any time. It’s not as bad as aids but it might as well be.

It’s as if you’re body has been possessed by a decrepit elderly woman (or man… sometimes both- in worse-case scenarios). You’re still you, somewhere, under all the love for Kerry O’Brien and gardening. It’s like you’re watching invisibly while an old person moves into your house and goes about their old person business, all the while emanating a pungent musty odour. As a result, within the first few months of contracting the elderly person you try and rebel, going out longer, getting drunker than everyone else, and making friends with younger more virile youths. All this just to prove to yourself that you’re still able to do all these things, that you ARE still young.

The elderly person is metaphorical of course, there is no strange crotchety old woman limping about my brain, there is not hump forming at the top of my spine, although there might as well be. As I feel 60 living in the body of an agile twenty something, in supposedly the most active and frivolous years of my life. But all I want to do is sleep. I’m exhausted, already. And it’s not just me, I said I knew others, they might not know it yet but I can see the early warning signs in the yellowing whites of their eyes.

Venturing into the darkness gives a profuse taste of disdain, a tidal wave of anxiety punches me repetitively like a Land Rover performing a violent 80 point turn. The thought of ‘nightclubbing’ makes my breath weak and my heart feel like its being strangled by Mickey Rourke. Don’t get me wrong, I love the taste of a crisp beer, I enjoy the darkened slums of dive bars and sticky floored establishments. I love nothing more than dancing on my knees, sweating, and sculling jugs a mile a minute. But it’s a love that seems more of a distant island, and with everyday I sail further and further away. My youth and the ability to live up to it feels like a squalid diner in a road house I once had a meal at that I’ve since moved on from. I’ll never forget the greasy bacon, or the runny eggs. I won’t be able to get the faint bitterness of the gritty coffee from my mouth for a long time, but gone are the days when I was able to endure such cholesterol-threatening meals.

Bah, I’m just droning on… isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in your early twenties? It’s just a short crisis that lasts a few months (I hope anyway) where you stay indoors, act like a cranky pensioner and throw your proverbial excrement at anyone who bothers your peace and quiet.

It’ll pass, well I hope it does. I miss getting wasted, gallivanting around the city, being loud and obnoxious, free spirited and gay.

ho hum... doldrum

2009-07-28T18:33:00.002+10:00

i've gotten rather boring and uninteresting since moving to brisbane.

so far

2009-04-06T19:15:00.005+10:00

ok WOW, so i haven’t done this for a while. Things I’ve been doing instead include: working my ass off selling shit to people for people, drawing retarded pictures, looking for a new home to live in, perving on hot dudes in the 1979 film the Warriors-holy shit this is golden stuff here people, selling some stuff on ebay, hating ebay, getting drunk (not because of ebay), not having the internet, sewing stuff, having mean bosses, stealing internet from conglomerate coffee shops. So yeah, i lead a thrilling life. Pretty sure someone should write a biography about me and make it into a movie... woah what a blockbuster that’d be.
my doodle blog is- http://ohvenividivici.blogspot.com/

Necrophiliac bird

2008-11-06T19:51:00.007+10:00

Holy shit. All my Christmases have come at once. I kid thee not. However this was the worst day to forget to put my sim card in my camera... so all I have as evidence is some shitty lo res image on my phone that I cant figure out how to get off it. I am technically incapable- no, sorry, technologically incapable, not technically, because clearly I am ACTUALLY incapable...

anyway so there was this dead pigeon right (like, totally flat) and this dead bird was minding all of its dead business when this freaky alive pigeon comes along, and jumps right on top of this dead carcass and begins with its devilish necrophiliac pigeon tendencies.

Gross. Gross gross gross
EW.

Pretty much the best thing I've seen all year though. However since moving to Brisbane i have unfortunately happened upon quite a few disturbing animal creeps.
(PS, I tried to Google necrophiliac pigeon for an image, but to no avail... leaving me thinking that I've witnessed a truly once in a lifetime
event....)

TIBET?

2008-08-08T19:57:00.002+10:00

fuck 08/08/08. i am so fucking sick of the olympics.
I AM SO SICK OF PEOPLE SAYING "ZOMG YOU SHOULD SEE THE OPENING CEREMONY, ITS SO FUCKING GOOD THE BEST FUCKING CEREMONY EVA EVA EVA OMG OMG OMG LOL LOL LOL OMG ZOMG LMAO WOW WOW WOWEEEE OLYPIANS ARE AMAZING BIG FEET OMG MUSCLES HOLY MOLY COMPETING WOOOOOWWEEEEEEEE WOOHOO CHINA HOLY SHIT OLYMPICS LOL LOL OMG OMG OMG OMG!"
i dont care!
i don't care one little bit bacause its a pile of shit. plain and simple. there i said it. i am about as patriotic as i am catholic... the olympics is boring, its stupid, i dont have much statistical data to go by but i know sport sucks, oh and hang on, almost forgot, THERE IS SO MUCH MORE HAPPENING IN THE WORLD THAT WARRANTS THE SAME EXPENDITURE AS THE AMOUNT OF FUNDING THAT IS ALLOCATED TO THIS COMPLETE BULLSHIT.

a portrait of a life lived fulfilled.

2008-07-11T20:48:00.001+10:00

i think it's really boring to get stoned then play fifa world cup soccor on wii for 866666 hours.

i am getting dumber by the season.

2008-07-10T19:56:00.001+10:00

i am frustrated beyond belief... so frrrrrustrated. so so so frustrated! FRUSTRATED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YES I FUCKING AM......... BEYOND WORDS. LIKE TALKING ISN'T AN OPTION. ALL I CAN SAY IS HOW FRUSTRATED I AM, LIKE A MILLION TIMES, DIFFERENT VOLUMES AND ACCENTS EACH TIME...SO FRUSTRATED AHHHH FUCK!!!! SHIT.

BATMAN=BATEMAN

2008-07-09T00:09:00.000+10:00

FUCK YES. i've never been so turned on.

leave me alone

2008-07-07T19:02:00.007+10:00

I hate it when you see someone who you wouldn't normally go out of your way to call, catch up/chat with or invite them to your totally awesome vicars and hoes party (disclaimer- I have never had and never intend to have one of these- it was just an example) on public transport.

I really enjoy my bus and train trips. I enjoy them so much I could cry... you're alone, on a moving vessel, alone, listening to music, alone, taking time out, processing thoughts, following thought patterns, playing 'make the dirt fleck on the window jump over the high buildings' as you bump around, alone. Emphasis on being alone.
I love the solace, I love the autonomy, I love the fact that I’m surrounded by strangers who are enjoying their alone time just as much as I am.

but that’s all destroyed when someone you vaguely know decides it's cool, upon recognising you, proceed up the aisle wavering dementedly whilst wobbling like one of those spasmodic flailing-armed balloon guys you see billowing in the wind, jabbing people in the face as they grasp to get their balance.

For fucks sake, what do I do????*Cue momentary freak out* there's always that moment of panic, when you realise your peace and quiet has been completely punched to death by a conspicuous acquaintance heading right for you. Your autonomy has been diminished as they waste no time in creating conversation (loudly might at that, abolishing not only your 'my' time, but that of the other helpless commuters.)

It’s excruciating! It is as if amidst all the blatant signals you give them, the uninterested glare or no eye contact at all, they seem to fuel themselves from your efforts to abolish them.

oh and I totally hate when they don't get off until after you have, squashing any joy of relinquishing the serenity that previously was- leaving you to endure their painful jibber jabber until the very last leg of your journey. OH GOD and what’s worse is when they get off AT THE SAME STOP AS YOU!! Continuing their blabbering one-sided conversation.

GAH!

outpost exhibition at zoo fortitude valley

2008-07-02T17:27:00.002+10:00

this was possibly the best, most influential piece of art all night!

don't ever change

2008-06-30T12:37:00.003+10:00

one gratifying (somewhat sober- for no particular reason, it's not like I didn't have money, I think the surroundings were probably better enjoyed less intoxicated than the douche bags involved- so you can get a good reliable recollection for blog writing purposes... I guess it's just one of life's little gifts to us all) evening out in Brisbane, a friend and I spotted a few discarded woven wash-bags, you know the ones you cart to the Laundromat, anyway, they were full of random material, bags, and boxes of board games. We decided to ferret through the glorious mess and see what we could hoard.

Amongst the treasure we spotted 'SALE OF THE CENTURY' (fucking fantastic, a board game with missing pieces, no batteries and remnants of previously enthralled players tally sheets). we fished it out and decided to call it a night, so we walked back to the car, through the streets of the Valley awash with vast quantities of leering drunken crowds, land mined with vomit (for your aesthetic pleasure).

Upon reaching the main set of lights in the Valley mall, we stopped as usual abiding footpath patrons do. However a rather heavily endowed woman, who decided it was her duty to drink her weight in alcohol (which would have probably killed someone of my stature) and piss off all her friends by unremittingly running away, screaming, and trying to cross the busy road, when it was obviously NOT time- hint: how did I, MYSELF, KNOW IT PROBABLY WASN'T A GOOD TIME TO CROSS? Well, the cars rapidly screeching past at a ruthless speed was most likely the dead giveaway.

The vast woman had a scrawny fellow in tow, who could have maybe been her boyfriend, I don’t know. This poor skinny guy was trying to hold her back away from the traffic. Against all hi efforts the woman persisted to reach her fatalistic death. The tiny dude had his malnourished arms around her like weak vines. She ferociously squirmed around like an African elephant trying to ride a unicycle whilst intoxicated with ketamin... All she needed was a little red velvet Russian hat worn by the bears in the circus and everyone would have thrown her some coins.

SO... here’s where the board game came in (finally). as she's gyrating around (and this little man is trying to prevent her from spraying us all with her exploding lard upon impact with a vehicle) she eventually spots my friend and I clutching at the large bright blue box with the words brightly exclaiming "SALE OF THE CENTURY!!!!!!!!!!", and spins around, UP IN MY GRILL takes one drunken, glazed look at me, then down at my box (the board game you idiot), all the while still swaying violently like the leaning tower of cut-down-on-pizza on a windy day, throws her gelatinous arm at the box, pointing her stubby sausage-fingers, and erroneously inquires "are they KRISPY KREMES in there?"

Uh, are you serious, you enormous douche?

how to know when you're trying to tell yourself you want to be alone

2008-06-29T13:19:00.003+10:00

I've been thinking about this a lot for the last few years. uncannily, these last few years have been spent on high rotation or constant attachment to prospective suiters, so to speak.

if it wasn't a hefty relationship, it was a 'non-relationship' which can be just as bad, when all you've really asked yourself, is to remain abstinent.

i think the only way i can express the want for 'aloneness' is to break it up into the few forms of 'togetherness' ive experienced in my ongoing search for solitude and unaccompanied life (not forever, just now). you however, may have experienced other forms, but this is just a rough sketch... kinda going out on a limb here.

part ONE

the 'non-relationship' dilemna:

i think it was whilst watching chris rock, a few years ago, that made me think that the non-relationship was the only possible way to get around the want for solitude, but that which involved some form of connection with another human, no strings attached so to speak... but after a few of these, often noxious, concoctions in a row they can be just as tiresome as what i call "one of the more meangingful (yes thats questionable) of human interactions...

don't get me wrong, spending weeks in bed and building little cubby dens and fortresses with someone who smells nice and who kisses sweetly can be really lovely and all that stuff, but what I'm trying to say is that, i'm probably the worst when it comes to listening to myself and understanding what the fuck my mind is trying to tell me/warn me/prescribe me. I'll just go with the flow, until the flow is gone and i'm still trying to ride it, aimlessly and without passion.

a fling, is, and always should be, a pretend world, where people go to escape when things get too real. two people come together with a unifying denial of commitment, and spend the cold nights together that would otherwise be spent alone, pining over some situation involving some other lover...

when you're in the throng of a passionate fling, embedding yourself deep in blanket caves and pillow barricades to stop the outside world from intruding on you, (what would simply be illogical in reality, but behind closed doors burrowed deep under linen and cloth this kind of sickening behavior seems completely feasible) it would be easy to get carried away, all mushy and snuggly, reading books together, drawing portraits of each others feet, getting fucked up and having sex for ten days straight.

this is why you need a word of advice, remember it doesn't really exist. i cant reiterate this enough... don't start talking in that shit baby voice you'd save for the fling of your choice, around friends, they'll start punching you in the teeth. you can have sex, but holding hands isn't allowed. don't start thinking about the person as anything but a fling- you'll be completely disappointed, don't start planning any future activity involving them, DONT>GIVE>ANYTHING>AWAY>FULL>STOP, and last but not least don't try to out ride the short lived wave that is a fling, even if you think you're doing it for them because you may have this skewed perception that they still want more sugar. its not the way it works- these non-relationships, don't for a second do anything in regards to the journey of the non-relationship-relationship... its first-in-best-dressed; first-out-still-best-dressed (sounds harsh, but it's like war- the quick and then there's the dead). do it for yourself.

unfortunately though, flings can't just stay in one spot forever (wouldn't that be grand? a ten year fling? wow... makes me feel alive, yet saddened thinking of it.) its inevitable, as the non-relationship travels through the natural stages of any human interaction, you're always going to see and come to know things about the other person in the scenario that could jeopardize your sweet little thing, (that is souly based on frivolous and spontaneous behavior, honey dripping marathon sex, funny sounding accents and talking in code, cutesy gazes and compliments) the lovely littlebarracaded facade of real emotions mixed together with fantasy, that allows us to create the realtionship made in heaven that alternatively doesnt even exist...

ANNNND thats how i came realize my brain was telling (sorry, i mean SCREAMING at me) "what the fuck are you fucking doing?" seriously, this stuff is so nice and sweet and radical and stupendous and all, but humans change, and thats why the type of non-relationship can only go so far... it needs to be ended at a time when both parties can look back fondly (BUT NOT TOO FONDLY) and then continue forth on the quest to gain the courage to commit/allow that part of them that wants to be free to die.

relationships aren't perfect. they suck, they make you hurt and bring out these shitty sides to your personality that scare the fuck out of you, make you want to VOM chunks all down your front and make yourself sit in a corner for a while to have a long hard think about what the hell you're doing.
[NB ok, so some can be good, but who at my age is looking for that? if you are, then i give you kudos, you're one brave human.]

so as far as relationships/suitors go, i am going to withdraw myself completely (for a little while anyway)... i know i know, im sure there were many of you out there just waiting, ravishing at the thought of aquiring a piece for yourselves, but i appologise... i can hear voices and they want me to be alone... no im not psycho.

look

2008-06-28T17:21:00.002+10:00

i can just imagine her buying these glasses. i bet she did it for noone but herself. i respect that kind of originality.

what the fuck?

2008-04-06T20:53:00.001+10:00

who does this? seriously, i'm serious when i ask this question, because i want someone to waste my time by answering my question.
[please reply immediately if you are, in fact, the ONE loser who did this ONCE... or continues to do so every day, just in case your cats gravity situation has changed!]
give me a freakin' break.

look they even made you a freaking diagram! JOY!!!

socially retarded furrowed browed pole rectums listen up!!!

2008-04-01T23:41:00.001+10:00

Why is it that a vast quantity of people feel it is their given power to be rude and obnoxious?

No seriously, do some people just wake up in the morning and decide "oh I know, I can be a complete and utter douche bag to ANYONE and EVERYONE today, oh won’t that make me feel fulfilled in my miserably unimportant and deathly boring life!"

My god. These people make it so hard to accept I am human. Honestly I don't understand the motive of skulking around like an insolent child! Is there a thrilling rush I haven't yet experienced that comes with the territory of choosing to be socially retarded, without an ounce of talent and an unhealthy fascination with making other peoples lives harder? Probably... But I guess it would be no better than the cool fuzzy feelings released with being a pleasant and socially healthy human...

Really, I MEAN really, COME ON humans! Come on! This is so ridiculous. Do you understand how absolutely pathetic you look when you try and act all angry-faced? Yeah! you actually look like you've pooed your pants and are so uncomfortable you have to take your pooey pants out on everyone around you...

Well I've got news for you, YOU STINK... And its not just your pants filled with faeces, it’s your stinking rotten attitude! I suggest- change your pants and be nice!

Oh and just in case those affluent khaki clad, Birkenstock sporting, balding fat men with Botox-infested-pinched-faced wives have forgotten, we aren't in eastern Europe in the nineteen hundredths, so last time I checked, customer service and retail isn't considered as the work for peasants anymore! So don't treat us like we're doing you a favour... The favour would be to put you out of your misery, but I've promised myself I'm going to be a nice human.

Thank you and have a really nice smiley day, filled with strangers being lovely to strangers! You never know when you might need that person you spat on to save your life!

an ode to a friend. gone.

2008-03-06T20:14:00.001+10:00

A very special person left this world today and it's a shame the whole world didn’t get the chance to meet them. Life is transitory; death is a part of life. It’s a concept I believe I’ll never truly come to understand. Death is ubiquitous, it is unmerciful and from what I perceive, incomprehensible (now that’s an oxymoron). No matter where it strikes, grief is always the most difficult part to come to terms with. You have to say goodbye to someone, knowing there are no chance of ever seeing them again in this physical world.

It rips so far and deep into the chest. There are sharp and sudden moments of a demonising quietness and then there are the elongated moments of unbelievably loud, screaming breathlessness.

I know you've all been touched by these overwhelming feelings associated with losing someone... and it sucks. Yesterday was a weird day; I went from a state of shock, to confusion, to guilt and then last I travelled through guilt ridden selfishness. I felt awful for feeling awful. And I felt nauseous for feeling awful about feeling awful.

All death, no matter what age or time of life, is devastating, but especially when it is someone who was just beginning their beautiful life, someone who's bones hadn’t even finished forming, skin still fresh with young life.

This person brought so much light into everyone's soul, they were always diplomatic and a peace keeper, always for selfless reasons, never for gratification or the role it gave them. A loving, kind natured friend with so much potential, someone who didn't fucking care what you thought.

Thinking back over their fleeting life, I realize now, that they have taught me a very important lesson, that it wasn’t hard to be a nice person, it wasn’t difficult to treat people in a respecting, caring way. This person taught me many others, but it was their warm personality that makes them so hard to say goodbye to.

the last thing I want to do is be demented and sentimental (too late); I hate to lace sentences with sensationalised word choices (similar to that of the lousy presenters of debatable current affairs programs) but right now fuck it... this is life.

So here I shall continue...

it’s very hard to let the thought of someone so young and beautiful go, but, as atrabilious as it is to say something like this in a time such as this, I do believe that everything happens for a reason. I hope that all those who knew this amazing person, realize in their own way that she was sent here, if only fleetingly, to bring you lessons, bring you love and happiness, and to show you what you perhaps needed to know at this time. And for that I thank her.

I find western cultures tradition of death to be so stuffy, think of all the cultures that celebrate death with such gusto with vivacious displays of love and raw emotion. It’s another part of life, like learning to walk... Who knows, I don't know what I believe but I know I hate the way we treat death. All those stifled funerals. I want to howl and throw myself at walls, punch things and scratch at the earth and I'll do that, not because I'm sad, but because life is something so complex and so confusing and so beautiful that all I want to do is scream at the top of my lungs till my throat hurts at the amazement it brings me. To celebrate life you must first be able to celebrate death, life is cyclical, and perhaps one day we'll be back… it's cyclical and unknown.

Goodbye beautiful girl, I wish you a wonderful journey, and all that you deserve for being an angel on earth. May our souls meet in another time and remedy this ache, but till then I’ll try my hardest to smile forever.
Till next time, indeed.

capital L block party

2008-02-01T11:49:00.002+10:00

fuck yes! thats mostly everything i want to say about this event in one sentence.
this fucking fantastic party occured at 333 south dowling st (where the store is situated 365 days a year) darlinghurst, sydney. it was a totally cool 7th birthday complete with a new mural by some of sydneys sweetest artists including the amazing erin forsyth, brett chan, webuyyourkids....to name a few.
if you want to check out some of the artists sites go
here for erin forsyth
here for the TWOTHOUSAND response
here for webuyyourkids - my personal favorite

free alcohol, the best dj's, and great company.

we made a pile of the shit we didn't want, things were given for free, and we gave it back to the earth, generously.

please, don't be fooled, they were really spritely, and the guy in the middle is a real nice guy...

ok so i look totally enthused here.

unfortunately i hadn't eaten all day and mainlined my night with copious amounts of burrrrr. but that was fine. just the photos looked funny, thats all. i didn't get any photos myself, as i was in too much of a rush to pack my TINY camera that take ONLY SECONDS TO THROW IN A BAG... but nonetheless, thanks to mainly the kids at hobo and holly sugden (for the drunken photos of myself.)

worst.mural.ever.period.the.end

2008-01-15T21:33:00.001+10:00

it really was. seriously. the worst use of paint on wall method i have ever seen!

someone kept writing on it what they thought of the mural and the people who owned the building kept painting over the comments... it went on for about 3 weeks before the idiots (CAME TO THEIR SENSES) decided it really must have been the worst mural EVER and painted over the whole thing... THANK GAAAWWD!!!

the mural was for a gym in the dirty part of surry hills and i fuck you not, the people the depicted looked like some serious crack heads... crazy eyes pumping irons on the side of a wall. uhg grosse.

my birthday

2007-10-26T12:37:00.000+10:00

the sneaky little man asking about yesteryears

2007-10-05T17:32:00.000+10:00

"Hello madam, how was your day YESTERDAY"

ingenious ideas

2007-10-05T14:40:00.000+10:00

I wish i invented.

1. Socks with sandals- I wish i was the bald middle aged man with glasses and khaki cut off camo pants who stood up in his cream birkenstocks at that canape party where it all began on that chilly eve, and professed the need for socks with sandals. I REALLY SO SUPER TOTALLY DO! life would have meaning and worth!

2. Fisherman pants- I mean they're not just for ACTUAL fishermen anymore- B/C THEY TOTALLY WEAR THEM- UNIFORM LIKE, BUT nowadays they're ALSO for the weight challenged (the new moomoo for the man who doesnt dig a dress), the hippy music festival punter (most likely teamed with bob marley print on it), homeless people (need i say anymore?), and for men over 45 years of age- to go with his socks and sandals.

investigation of bums/drug addicts number two.

2007-10-05T14:24:00.001+10:00

exhibit A)

he lurks in the darkened corners of clubs and pubs, watching the young people dance and drink. he thinks of himself as an unnoticed entity. BUT we all see him and welcome his presence with gusto!! we feel happy to have such a socially awkward fucktard in our midsts. his contribution to usual evenings out is imperative for a good night! it's just not the same without mole-esc people like him- i've tried countless times to get my friends to act out scenarios where wonderful people like himself would be involved, but alas, none have that 'seedy' realness... i only end up going home unfulfilled.

however i feel that i was extra specially lucky enough to catch a glimpse and even get close enough to take a photo (i felt a little bad, as i startled him from his nest in the corner with my flash.)
his gnarled and scabby hands, his hunch, squinty little eyes (he has evolved this way due to lack of sunlight and low lighted environments in which he dwells) are ALL just fantastic! WHAT AN ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC SPECIMEN!!! lets procede to clap for him now!!!!

here yee here yee, thanks lex

2007-10-05T14:08:00.002+10:00

"my aunt just said 'if you don't eat properly or rest well, if you go out to all hours of the night ("which is the worse time to be going out"), then you can't expect to get better from your cold'.

it's not a cold, cunt, it's a hangover.

and sorry, but i ain't prescribing 10 hours of MY day, 5 days of MY week to defiling the cogs in my brain with boredom and nonesensical, futile determination which promises everything and means nothing. this has been your active decision- literally- for the past (and lost) 2 decades of your life.

who do you go home to? or who do you bring home and capriciously bang? how do you spend your evenings? gazing at the fucking television screen, alone, eating take out, living vicariously through the animated figures which flash and flash persistently, interminably , across the walls of your chamber, dreaming of things which only occur in the iniquitous whispers of debauchery, in the subtle explosion of creative lasciviousness and in the thrilling intensity of youthful liberation.

health will not define my absolute metaphysical experience. and i am no less substantial a human for it.

i have a fucking brain, a soul, i'm curious and thirsty, i want more than anything you could ever possibly conceive in your most explicit and uninhibited fantasies.

fuck off, dip shit. an entirely ephemeral cold cannot compare to a life time of wasteful labour and ignorance."

easy

2007-10-04T21:12:00.003+10:00

makes perfect sense if you ask me... oh you did? awesome!

fuck this shit up

2007-10-04T21:12:00.001+10:00

investigation of bums/drug addicts number one.

2007-10-04T19:17:00.002+10:00

At the Surry Hills shopping village I never cease to be amazed by the smorgasbord of douche-bag, drug-fucked, animal-molesting, goggle-eyed, Bogan, herpes-infested, crusty-skinned, vomit-inducing fuck-tards they have on offer there.

Today I was so happy to come across three totally retarded humans in aisle 5 buying 'home brand' juice and gargling words at each other from the back of their throats. The uncomfortable feeling that profusely washed over me similar to that of a poo thrust in your face by a 5 year old demented child was absolutely amazing and fulfilling. I could have died, and felt so accomplished about my life, and what I have captured with my retina camera for my photographic memory of this world! Exclamation mark yeah! Two in fact!

These people make me love life. No shirt clad, screw-faces with ears instead of lips due to copious amounts of overdoses in the last few days. Women with oily ponytails pulling their gnarled face skin so tight back that their heads split in half- divided between the middle. Not to forget the high pitched scratchy voices of witty repartee and usual intellectual conversations "awwwwwwww I looooooovvveeeeeee theeeessseeeee chiiiiiiiiiiiiiips...they taste like little baby rats, they does!” even when they're professing their love for something, they still manage to sound like a dying, whingeing bird.

I love them. I love them with all my heart! ABSOLUTELY CAN’T GET ENOUGH! MORE PLEASE! NEXT!

smokin' in your dreams

2007-10-04T19:11:00.000+10:00

and then some

SUPER SUPER CERIAL

2007-10-04T18:59:00.001+10:00

TOTALLY SERIOUS!!! THEY'RE TOTALLY SERIOUS. NOT ONLY ARE THEY SERIOUS ABOUT HAVING A RESTAURANT CALLED GAYLORD, BUT THEY'RE TOTALLY SERIOUS ABOUT SELLING INDIAN CUISINE AT SAID RESTAURANT CALLED 'GAYLORD'. TOTALLY SERIOUS. DIDNT GO INSIDE, WHO NEEDS TO? ITS SELF PROMOTIONS SAY IT ALL.... ITS GAYLORD. DONT GO INSIDE DUDE! SERIOUS! SSSEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRIIIIIOOOUUUSSSS!!!! ITS GAYLORD INDIAN!

it tells its own story.

2007-10-04T18:30:00.000+10:00

after much protest, alex was made to sleep on that side of the bed.
compliments to Ash Morgan for this gem

floor dog

2007-10-02T21:45:00.000+10:00

he loves his hotdogs.

somebody else didnt.

moment of silence please. in memory of mans pride.

the menorah tree

2007-09-25T08:16:00.001+10:00

this tree was out the front of my house on baptist street Redfern Sydney and i would look out the window at it everyday and think to myself 'this tree looks like a Jewish candelabra'... not knowing what this Jewish candelabra was actually called, i looked it up and found it was called a 'menorah'... so i painted a sign and hung it on the tree so i would never forget. the end.