Self
Apparently there is a psychological theory that there is nothing that humans do for completely selfless reasons.
Hmmm.
I wonder what Freud would make of that.
Fucked Up
John Howard: "The withdrawal of troops from Iraq will only invite terrorists..."
Hold the phone...
WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON ABOUT?
John, seriously, mate, are you trying to tell me that the best way to be somebody's friend is to piss them off for no reason? Hell, I should just go out and sleep with my best friend's missus to show the world he is my best friend.
What kind of idiot would believe such stupid logic?
Fair enough we shouldn't be influenced by terrorist fears on policy decisions, but you've already broken that by bending over for Bush Jr.
And you're still doing it...
And what makes you think we've already forgotten all the other bullshit you've spun in the past year?
This is just a new addition to your long list of wrongdoings to Australians.
And the only fools who would agree with you are the same idiots holding their breath for the discovery of NON-EXISTENT WMD'S.
John Howard: "The withdrawal of troops from Iraq will only invite terrorists..."
Hold the phone...
WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON ABOUT?
John, seriously, mate, are you trying to tell me that the best way to be somebody's friend is to piss them off for no reason? Hell, I should just go out and sleep with my best friend's missus to show the world he is my best friend.
What kind of idiot would believe such stupid logic?
Fair enough we shouldn't be influenced by terrorist fears on policy decisions, but you've already broken that by bending over for Bush Jr.
And you're still doing it...
And what makes you think we've already forgotten all the other bullshit you've spun in the past year?
This is just a new addition to your long list of wrongdoings to Australians.
And the only fools who would agree with you are the same idiots holding their breath for the discovery of NON-EXISTENT WMD'S.
On Moments
The Sister
I've noticed that I've let so many things slip through me whilst I'd been dancing circles on my life. In a beautiful performance to raise money for underprivelaged children, I was so proud to see my sister compose and sing the prefect song for her school. I know that it was most likely inspired by an argument she had with my parents, and since then she had been busy at nights, searching for the right notes to strike whilst I was asleep. With that one performance I felt I was under seige from a barrage of memories and thoughts, but nothing more striking than guilt - that throughout our lives I'd never really supported her; that I'd let my jealousy and anger cloud my view of her. Now that I'm sitting here, it's hard to imagine that the burden of expectation had been placed on me because she is the one who has fulfilled them. It's strange to feel so much smaller than a person who looks up to you.
The Engagement Party
She was floating through the crowd in a alcoholic daze, giddy from the Illusions and every bottle of beer that she happened to pass - but she was happy. She danced a little jig in front of her cousin with a camcorder and asked that the camera not be fooled by the rock that she had got, for she was still Jenny from the block. Her performance was accepted warmly with smiles, knee-slapping laughter and raised glasses.
I turned to view the setting - a backyard patio with an abundance of beautifully prepared food and a crowd of strangers whose spirits were high despite the unfavourable weather. The cake cutting, the kareoke singing, the small gifts next to the umbrellas at the front door, the early leavers and the late comers, the flash of digital cameras, the plastic cutlery and the terrible impromptou speeches were all in surprising cohesion - like a song writing itself. I turn to D as she softly put her head down on my shoulder.
It was quite a beautiful evening.
The Rain
I'm growing more and more attached to my desk at work. It's as if I'd found a refuge from interruptions the rest of this world is willing to throw my way; an allowance for room to think and breathe freely. This sunday afternoon is slowly passing by, and although I should be finalising all the loose ends before my move away from home, I can't help but sit down, watch the rain streak down my level 17 window and search my head for the right words on moments.
The Sister
I've noticed that I've let so many things slip through me whilst I'd been dancing circles on my life. In a beautiful performance to raise money for underprivelaged children, I was so proud to see my sister compose and sing the prefect song for her school. I know that it was most likely inspired by an argument she had with my parents, and since then she had been busy at nights, searching for the right notes to strike whilst I was asleep. With that one performance I felt I was under seige from a barrage of memories and thoughts, but nothing more striking than guilt - that throughout our lives I'd never really supported her; that I'd let my jealousy and anger cloud my view of her. Now that I'm sitting here, it's hard to imagine that the burden of expectation had been placed on me because she is the one who has fulfilled them. It's strange to feel so much smaller than a person who looks up to you.
The Engagement Party
She was floating through the crowd in a alcoholic daze, giddy from the Illusions and every bottle of beer that she happened to pass - but she was happy. She danced a little jig in front of her cousin with a camcorder and asked that the camera not be fooled by the rock that she had got, for she was still Jenny from the block. Her performance was accepted warmly with smiles, knee-slapping laughter and raised glasses.
I turned to view the setting - a backyard patio with an abundance of beautifully prepared food and a crowd of strangers whose spirits were high despite the unfavourable weather. The cake cutting, the kareoke singing, the small gifts next to the umbrellas at the front door, the early leavers and the late comers, the flash of digital cameras, the plastic cutlery and the terrible impromptou speeches were all in surprising cohesion - like a song writing itself. I turn to D as she softly put her head down on my shoulder.
It was quite a beautiful evening.
The Rain
I'm growing more and more attached to my desk at work. It's as if I'd found a refuge from interruptions the rest of this world is willing to throw my way; an allowance for room to think and breathe freely. This sunday afternoon is slowly passing by, and although I should be finalising all the loose ends before my move away from home, I can't help but sit down, watch the rain streak down my level 17 window and search my head for the right words on moments.
Work Work
It's 6:11PM on a Thursday night and I am the last zealot left from my sector.
(Maybe I should have posted a memo this morning, reading - It's 7:45AM on a Thursday day and I am the first zealot to be seated at his desk... - then I could have promoted the deeply cylical nature of my working life and given myself a condescending pat on the back for such a lame attempt at writing with deep undercurrents.)
Anyway...
It's strange, however, that I'm finding a sense of comfort in the fact that I can now wake up in the morning knowing exactly what to do and the rediscovering of the feeling of satisfaction when I'm exhausted, collapsed on a backward-facing train seat.
How long can this honeymoon period last until the marriage to work begins to divorce me from my senses?
It's 6:11PM on a Thursday night and I am the last zealot left from my sector.
(Maybe I should have posted a memo this morning, reading - It's 7:45AM on a Thursday day and I am the first zealot to be seated at his desk... - then I could have promoted the deeply cylical nature of my working life and given myself a condescending pat on the back for such a lame attempt at writing with deep undercurrents.)
Anyway...
It's strange, however, that I'm finding a sense of comfort in the fact that I can now wake up in the morning knowing exactly what to do and the rediscovering of the feeling of satisfaction when I'm exhausted, collapsed on a backward-facing train seat.
How long can this honeymoon period last until the marriage to work begins to divorce me from my senses?
On Credit
Today I'm going to execute my first credit transaction using my first credit card.
I'm hoping to find something of grand significance to mark such an occasion, something fitting to meaningless and irresponsible consumption. This follows in the footsteps of my 23-year-old tradition of coupling rites of responsibility with trademark irresponsibility.
God only knows what stupid thing I'll end up doing if I ever marry.
Today I'm going to execute my first credit transaction using my first credit card.
I'm hoping to find something of grand significance to mark such an occasion, something fitting to meaningless and irresponsible consumption. This follows in the footsteps of my 23-year-old tradition of coupling rites of responsibility with trademark irresponsibility.
God only knows what stupid thing I'll end up doing if I ever marry.
Mr Vertigo
I was out to prove something, I suppose, to stun him into respecting me, to be noticed. This was a new way of fighting back, and every time the master told me to slow down, I felt as if I had won a victory, as if I were gradually regaining possession of my soul. - Paul Auster, Mr Vertigo
The smallest achievements are bringing me the most overwhelming sensations and the momentum it has created is addictive, continually fuelling new fire in the blood running through my veins.
And it is at this moment I begin to wonder - this may be what flying feels like.
I was out to prove something, I suppose, to stun him into respecting me, to be noticed. This was a new way of fighting back, and every time the master told me to slow down, I felt as if I had won a victory, as if I were gradually regaining possession of my soul. - Paul Auster, Mr Vertigo
The smallest achievements are bringing me the most overwhelming sensations and the momentum it has created is addictive, continually fuelling new fire in the blood running through my veins.
And it is at this moment I begin to wonder - this may be what flying feels like.
You
You cast a look my way
And extend your hand
I reach out to meet You
Meet you halfway
You begin to tell me the siginificance
Of each tattoo on your body
As we light
Each others cigarettes
We are passive participants, I say
And You laugh at my remark
I tell You
That You are beautiful
But all I am
In your eyes
Your beautiful eyes
Is funny
You jumped out of your seat
When Outkast played
And All you could say was
HEY YA!
And all you could do
Was shake it
You shook it like a polaroid picture
And your moves were cooler than cool
They were Ice Cold!
You changed the order
Of with chips and salad
To whips a lad
And we attack the blackboard menu
Until it read
Like toilet graffiti
We stand back to laugh
Laugh at our ingenuity
And You smile at me
At us
At our moment
You cast a look my way
And extend your hand
I reach out to meet You
Meet you halfway
You begin to tell me the siginificance
Of each tattoo on your body
As we light
Each others cigarettes
We are passive participants, I say
And You laugh at my remark
I tell You
That You are beautiful
But all I am
In your eyes
Your beautiful eyes
Is funny
You jumped out of your seat
When Outkast played
And All you could say was
HEY YA!
And all you could do
Was shake it
You shook it like a polaroid picture
And your moves were cooler than cool
They were Ice Cold!
You changed the order
Of with chips and salad
To whips a lad
And we attack the blackboard menu
Until it read
Like toilet graffiti
We stand back to laugh
Laugh at our ingenuity
And You smile at me
At us
At our moment
Spellbound
Lately I’ve been finding myself more and more entertained by non-mainstream movies. I’m not exactly about to start joining extreme left-wing parties, hypocritical critic circles, or intellectual snobs, but I will continue to enjoy such movies and keep them on my agenda – especially after what I saw last night.
D and I watched Spellbound, a documentary following eight children and their goal to become the American National Spelling Bee Champion.
I’d like to note every thought the movie evoked from me but I’d rather not write a lengthy passage that turns itself into a bad movie review.
So, I’ll keep it short and sweet.
1. I was very impressed by the African-American girl with the chain smoking-mother. Looking at her surroundings and peers, it’s a miracle that she would have the drive and determination to do what she does.
2. I felt quite disturbed by the 12-year-old vegetarian and coffee addict.
3. I felt sorry for the Indian boy who was made to rehearse 8,000 words a day by his father. Although it is evident his father wants the best for him, tutoring in four languages can’t leave much time to do what most 12-year-old boys do. And paying one thousand people in India to pray for him to win is going beyond a joke.
4. The kid with a short attention span is fucking annoying. Think of the most annoying kid you’ve ever met. Then double that. Now you’re getting close.
I’d also like to note that I did not know how to spell half the words these kids went through. But that’s not really saying much, is it?
Ok - the words they had to spell are fucking hard.
Good Night.
Lately I’ve been finding myself more and more entertained by non-mainstream movies. I’m not exactly about to start joining extreme left-wing parties, hypocritical critic circles, or intellectual snobs, but I will continue to enjoy such movies and keep them on my agenda – especially after what I saw last night.
D and I watched Spellbound, a documentary following eight children and their goal to become the American National Spelling Bee Champion.
I’d like to note every thought the movie evoked from me but I’d rather not write a lengthy passage that turns itself into a bad movie review.
So, I’ll keep it short and sweet.
1. I was very impressed by the African-American girl with the chain smoking-mother. Looking at her surroundings and peers, it’s a miracle that she would have the drive and determination to do what she does.
2. I felt quite disturbed by the 12-year-old vegetarian and coffee addict.
3. I felt sorry for the Indian boy who was made to rehearse 8,000 words a day by his father. Although it is evident his father wants the best for him, tutoring in four languages can’t leave much time to do what most 12-year-old boys do. And paying one thousand people in India to pray for him to win is going beyond a joke.
4. The kid with a short attention span is fucking annoying. Think of the most annoying kid you’ve ever met. Then double that. Now you’re getting close.
I’d also like to note that I did not know how to spell half the words these kids went through. But that’s not really saying much, is it?
Ok - the words they had to spell are fucking hard.
Good Night.
Contrast
I was lost in a black and white daydream when I recognised a real face in the crowd.
There she was, all smiles and cheer with a bright blue backpack, jeans and a tank top, brushing my shoulder in the post-lunch march back to work before recollection set in. Her face, as always, was beaming, talking of grand holiday plans with friends and an overseas trip with her long-term boyfriend. She has just finished her last semester of uni, secured a job in a good company and has the day to herself to windowshop.
There I was, feigning a smile and cheer with a beige bag, dark suit and a tie, brushing past others in the post-lunch march back to work before recollection set in. My expression, as always, was somewhat lost, talking of vague holiday plans with friends and a cancelled overseas trip with my family. I mentioned that I was no longer at uni, have been jumping between interviews without success and have the day to worry about a backlog of work and a dental appointment.
After I'd set the tone, few words were spoken outside of sociable manners - vague statements and empty promises - and we soon parted. I walked towards the station with my head hung low, attempting to divert my attention from an aching tooth to the contrasting tiles that paved the path before me.
I was lost in a black and white daydream when I recognised a real face in the crowd.
There she was, all smiles and cheer with a bright blue backpack, jeans and a tank top, brushing my shoulder in the post-lunch march back to work before recollection set in. Her face, as always, was beaming, talking of grand holiday plans with friends and an overseas trip with her long-term boyfriend. She has just finished her last semester of uni, secured a job in a good company and has the day to herself to windowshop.
There I was, feigning a smile and cheer with a beige bag, dark suit and a tie, brushing past others in the post-lunch march back to work before recollection set in. My expression, as always, was somewhat lost, talking of vague holiday plans with friends and a cancelled overseas trip with my family. I mentioned that I was no longer at uni, have been jumping between interviews without success and have the day to worry about a backlog of work and a dental appointment.
After I'd set the tone, few words were spoken outside of sociable manners - vague statements and empty promises - and we soon parted. I walked towards the station with my head hung low, attempting to divert my attention from an aching tooth to the contrasting tiles that paved the path before me.
I am Man, Hear Me Roar
Whoa.
Mate, Saturday was un-fucking-believable. First, drove down to M's place and had a bit of a read and write with this fuckwit trying to take my parking spot. I sorted him out good. Got there and knocked back some stubbies and kicked his ass in chess.
Had some maccas on the way to Dominator's place and got stuck into some more booze in the backyard. Played some cards and the loser had to do some arm curls. Mate, should have seen me - I was fucking killing it.
Knocked back a couple more schooners then we went down to the local to watch a kickboxing competition. Me mate A had his first fight and he cleaned the guy. You should have seen him though - he was cut to the shithouse. Then there was this guy, going for the Australian championship, and KO'd the other bloke in less than 2 mins in the first round. It was fantastic.
Went back to D's place to knock back some more New's before I got home. God knows how I got home.
I awoke the next day to find a slight hangover lingering and the taste of alcohol plaguing my tongue. I looked around the room to find my clothes scattered on the floor, reeking of second-hand smoke and general pub odour.
God, I feel like a mess.
It's time to wake up and clean.
Whoa.
Mate, Saturday was un-fucking-believable. First, drove down to M's place and had a bit of a read and write with this fuckwit trying to take my parking spot. I sorted him out good. Got there and knocked back some stubbies and kicked his ass in chess.
Had some maccas on the way to Dominator's place and got stuck into some more booze in the backyard. Played some cards and the loser had to do some arm curls. Mate, should have seen me - I was fucking killing it.
Knocked back a couple more schooners then we went down to the local to watch a kickboxing competition. Me mate A had his first fight and he cleaned the guy. You should have seen him though - he was cut to the shithouse. Then there was this guy, going for the Australian championship, and KO'd the other bloke in less than 2 mins in the first round. It was fantastic.
Went back to D's place to knock back some more New's before I got home. God knows how I got home.
I awoke the next day to find a slight hangover lingering and the taste of alcohol plaguing my tongue. I looked around the room to find my clothes scattered on the floor, reeking of second-hand smoke and general pub odour.
God, I feel like a mess.
It's time to wake up and clean.
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