lucky number beddin'

Remember in a previous blog I mentioned something about how the years are all the same to begin with (er, and to end with I guess)? If you don't, you're most likely not me. Or have a bad memory. If the former, that is fine, because it would be a little awkward right now if you were, in fact, me.

Even so, I did mention something about years. They start off with you being full of energy, hyped, because it's a new year and who knows what it holds? Endless possibilities, alright! But no, it's not like that. It takes the average person six months to figure that out and by then it is too late. They've already crossed the point of no return; no refund policy here. See, the problem is not that we're all doomed to go through repetitive cycles (well, actually, we are since we think we're not, because of some mysterious plan destiny has made for us). You know, Destiny is an attractive female according to myth and I suppose thinking she had a mysterious plan for us is acceptable in certain lonely hours. Oh, whoops, I digressed and continued from the parenthesis.

Back to the point: Cycles. We... years seem to repeat - not exactly of course - because we expect them not to because of some invisible force taking the reigns.

Last year faded out as most years do - uneventful, unhappy, impatient for the next. Down the hill from June/July into the mud pit. Only, just as the mud was licking my chin and tempting me down I looked around and noticed somebody else being seduced into its depths. Two things occurred to me at this point:

1. Mud is actually good for your skin and makes a decent sunscreen.
2. The pit isn't that deep and, you know, if I stood up I would easily be able to walk out and not get sunburned and have good skin and even help the other person out.

And so I did occuration two.

From there the year was exactly like lying on the ground at the bottom of a hill covered in mud with another person beside you. It was dirty, yet strangely edifying. Like the sun's rays baking the mud was infusing some kind of energy.

Energy to flex my incredible muscles, shattering the mud-skin, and run up the hill with the other muddy person on my shoulders. Halfway up they too would feel the energy and we would run further, back to the top where we look down at the pit and smile, because in those black seductive depths (actually it isn't that deep) was where it all began.

And somehow I ended up in another state with said muddy person and it was good. It was best. Three nights of real fantasy.

The next step is probably kidnapping.

- G ζ.

Ran in circles and ended up lost
In your own familiarity
When all you had to do was stop
Look around and see for yourself
That there was never a path
Save for your own steps
The journey right before you in any direction
You just never ended up starting it

welcome to fun

It's 5am and I felt like posting. Does that not fascinate you greatly? It does to me. It is greatly fascinating. It is... grascinating.

My urge to post is the direct result of sitting here and going into writer withdrawals. I just sneezed, by the way, in case you're interested in that kind of "reality" TV, er... read.

What I love is making up words. Usually this means adding several words together and it's not incredibly original, or "incoroginal." But that doesn't really work. It has complications since it's just a passer-by type of mix. I could have used any descriptor to precede original. That's ironic somehow.

Snaffle!

Anyway, moving on to the next chapter:

I learned several things today... or maybe just one. That is, art and music are distracting. Creativity is apparently in danger of being outlawed from schools for being distracting. You know, to the serious business subjects. Like maths. Very integral to most of life's challenges.

I can almost imagine a bunch of rebellious kids at the back of an oval with their illicit notepads and crayons scribbling on pages and being creative. Then along come a teacher - "What's going on here?!"

The kids hurry to hide the evidence. Caught multi-colour-handed! Caught with their imagination on! The audacity. The gruff teacher rats them out and they are given detention, perhaps even suspended for their mischievous ways.

And the drug problem is solved?

Ha ha ha.

Good show old boy.

I haven't posted twice in a row like this before. It feels almost sexual, like I've orgasmed multiple times.

I mean...

Goodmorrowing!

- PG ζ.

It's true, there are only three things that matter:
Your ability to love
Your ability to find logic
And your ability to imagine these three things are all that matter

2 kilos pls

It was inevitable.

"Something happened, I can't believe it."

"Isn't there a way out? We got into it... there has to be!"

"No, we're stuck. It's done and we're falling all the way."

The fall of mankind began at the most unfortunate time: When technology was flourishing and convenience was almost in everything. Every simple chore could be made easier and people became lazier. The stress was supposed to be reduced. Life was easier, it should have been a step towards some great peak of existence.

But the lazy and gluttonous nature of people took over. Man descended into a hell-pit of shortcuts, poor quality and even poorer excuses.

Language was the first casualty and it went unnoticed until it was too late. By the time anyone knew what was happening, the damage had already been done.

Automation was too ingrained. The fall was inevitable...

"lyk omg did u here?"

"na wot hppnd?"

"we fell lol woz on tha newz"

"dats no gud lol but o wel"

It was just a trend. When "phones" first introduced text chat the room for a single message was limited and letters had to be cut. It was difficult to read at best. This new breed of language began to infect everything typed. Soon, web-pages and chat rooms were full of these abominations. Even the phone messages, now unlimited by space, remain the same incoherent mutation of English.

The dreaded and all-perverted "asl" came to its pinnacle soon after. Hello was no longer a greeting, it was simply "asl" not even as a question, but rather a statement. It was if you were registering yourself to another person by assuring them you were of a certain sex, location and age. It was prone to falsehood. Forty year olds were sweet 16 and males were females. Locations were unlimited, from Abu Dhabi to next door.

Letters replaced whole words. Numbers replaced letters until in a tragic display of our demise, a horrid mutation of language was recognized by dictionaries as Word of the Year. The world ignored the fact it wasn't actually a word. "w00t" as proclaimed among online gamers since the dawn of "1337" speak also known as a waste of time typing and reading.

"w00t" that is composed of two numbers that have no sound associated with them. They are "zero" and not a viable replacement for "o." You can't say "w00t" like it was "woot."
Dublewezerozeroty.

May some omnipotent thing save us all.

- G ζ.

How do you change the world?
One thing at a time
One person at a time
And with patience incomprehensible to man

colour of fruit

Orange.
Red.
Green.
Yellow.
All the colours of the rainbow are what fruits grow.

That is what makes a basket of fruit so happy and bright. That is why fake, plastic fruit exists. Nature creates these displays of colours and happiness and we mimic them because we want to capture the beauty and make it last forever.

When you eat fruit you are tasting happiness. It's a perfect harmony of flavours unmarred by man's touch, a complete natural essence borne in the great big womb of evolution.

Such a treat should not be spoiled by the label of being healthy. Healthy is the business end of food - the vegetables, the bread. Fruit is a delicacy from every horizon. In old times it was the luxury food; the rich enjoyed it while the poor wished to enjoy it.

Grapes, plums. Abiu to Ylang Ylang.

They are the ingredients and the mains. Forgetting about fruit and discarding such wonders for cheap, quick alternatives is pure foolishness!

Now for bliss: The guilt of chocolate covering the harmony of fruit.

That's happiness. Happiness is the fruit that evolves and is always bright, even in the night. It is harmony of mind and matter. The peace between rational and irrational; emotion and logic. When all seems to make sense in a grand puzzle you can't stop finishing.

You smile because you are overdosing on warm fuzzies and you laugh not because something is especially funny, but because you are so sensitive to joy. You jubilate and have the odd urge to expend a lot of energy running around or jumping up and down.

And people say you're crazy.

- G ζ.

Happiness is as big as a burden as any ill-feeling
We just tend to forget its mass
Or what happens when it falls down and crushes
Every last pocket of joy into sadness
Misery is then the weight of glee
But fret not,
For while you feel joy
You are alive

the beast without

I've been walking the dog recently. "The dog" being Snaps - a name given to him from his puppy-days of snapping at feet. He's not a small dog and has already broken one collar in a mad fit to sniff trees and then urinate on them. Trees and poles actually. Okay, anything that stands up straight.

When he broke that collar he almost suicided into a car, which I believe explains his current tendency to want to chase them (or doesn't). He may just be scared and lashes out to hide his phobia of cars. But I digress: He broke his collar and ran around madly sniffing and urinating like some wild dog. If he was a wild dog, then I was his mother-dog who snuck up on him and called him out on bad behavior. Pro-tip: Scruff of the neck reminds them of being an infant and they become better behaved in an instant (it doesn't hurt or cause fear, it just brings them down a few notches).

So there I was with a large, on-edge dog with no collar. Fixing it would work since it was in pieces. Luckily I was sporting some facial hair that day and the brilliant idea of tying the leash itself around his neck did the trick. I don't imagine it was comfortable in any way, but that's the price you pay for breaking collars, buddy-o.

Now he wears a body harness that always make me laugh when I put it on. I don't really know what's funny; I guess it's a built-in amusement thing. Reminds me of those babies walking in a harness and a leash. I don't even know why that makes me want to laugh.
Walking is serious business.

I like to pretend I'm the Dog Whisperer when I take these walks around the 'hood (though I doubt he'd be super-impressed). Nevertheless it's good inspiration to have a calm, non-psychotic dog that doesn't madly sniff and urinate. Progress is a beautiful thing. If I had it written down it would be something like this:

Walk 1: Scary. Dog is crazy... what's so interesting about the grass? And what's with this street corner that makes him zig-zag? My god this leash hurts when he goes all over the place.

Walk 2: Okay, Dog Whisperer time. The grass has his attention, snap (ha!) him out of it. There we go. Now lead. Lead. This is better. Corner still causes mad sniffing. Other dogs send him off, have to work on that.

Walk 3: Collar broke. That was fun.

Walk 4: Harness is excellent. Grass is less fascinating. Street corner still strangely attractive. Trees and poles too. Other dogs still trigger reactions. Cars as well...

Walk 5: Grass mostly ignored. Stree corner still attractive. Trees and poles... oh god, loose dog. It's tiny! Okay, got him calm and submissive. Calm and submissive. Not bad, could be better. Could be worse.

Walk 6: Street corner less desirable, trees and poles not as interesting. Dogs in their yards still a bit of a trigger. Tendency to chase cars still there.

Walk 7: Dogs are the main focus. And cars.

Walk 8: Dogs and cars.

Walk 9: Hallelujah! Less tendencies to chase cars, sniffing almost completely non-existent. Other dogs only a small problem. New method found to snap (pwow!) him out of any potential red zone behavior.

I broke a pair of thongs getting him to jog with me. Turns out that road don't do nice things to cheap thongs. Lesson learned, I'll jog in the amazing technology of shoes... or joggers.

Oh yeah and I'd like to officially welcome Milo days back.

- G ζ.

Woof, woof!
Meow, meow!
And we all howl

backin' time

This time last year - or rather yesterday last year - I was nursing a very large glass of vodka and lemon. The size of the glass is still intimidating and I swear it was bottomless or somehow managed to fill itself up throughout the night. It was a good start to the year. Friends and family all over the place; better than New Year's Eve celebrations. The real year begins after January 7th folks - jot that in your calendars (well, PDA since it's 2008... or maybe your phone can do it now too).

When I think of a year I picture a circle made up of all the months. As they go by they are filled in with colour and images, while the new months are grey and bare like an old man. There are those times you can't forget, like 21st parties, engagement parties; those times you remember but aren't sure exactly when it happened and things that were said but you forget why or when.

Months are either slow or fast. Full or empty.

January I was 21 and the year was looking suspiciously good like every year does. Must be because you've just come off the end of another year and you're ready for the next, until it turns out similar by the end since you're tired and waiting for the next (high hopes for next year! That's when things will change, son!). But then, that makes the good-for-365-day years even sweeter.

February I don't remember much of. Maybe I met a girl or maybe it was March. All I know is April I wasn't single and that didn't change until September. In between I became a certified driving instructor and unemployed, just like the last two years.

I learned two important things in 07's 12 months:
You can't rely on waiting for things to happen
To be someone of action requires a lot of work and a lot of resolve
Hot chicks are still hot

Okay, three things.

Australia also has a new Prime Minister, troops are still in Iraq and people are still exponentially stupid. In fact, in thousands of years we have learned nothing. Religion is still absurdly illogical and has yet to embrace the modern era of free speech, particularly in media. Companies make money off satire, wit and sex. Deal with it religion - "evolve."

It's not just religion though; it's groups of people with odd common goals that become skewed for the sake of getting attention. I can imagine the People's Movement for Woman and Christians For Mothers (and Some Fathers, Maybe) Against Little Things turning everything into controversy.

Maybe in 3008 we'll have finally figured it all out. Ha ha!

So I'm a year older and a thousand years wiser.

Good luck in the New Year people and for those still reading me, thank you. You are awesome. I love comments by the way. It gets lonely here. Like I'm standing in front of an empty room talking to myself (or the janitor who doesn't seem to ever go home).

- G ζ.

you can change the way you think
but not the way you feel
though it's strange to think the way we feel
is influenced greatly by our thoughts
and in thousands of years
we have learned nothing

graveyard shift

Anyone who has read a large chunk of this site would notice most of the posts are in the 'am' of time. It's not a timezone thing, ladies and gentlefolks. I am actually posting these things at silly times. Silly to you maybe, but not to me. This is my nocturnal habit; my time, my secret to creativity.

It all begins at 1am when most people I know have moved on to sleep and I am left to my own devices as if I were alone in the neighborhood. The fan makes a silent, calm fwooshing sound, keeping me cool despite the humidity. I only hear it if I have no music playing, which is rare. Music and silence are what fuels the hidden sections of my brains - the areas that seem to be celebrating all-year round. The ideas and random thoughts remind me of fireworks that never cease.

Any writer knows what a good dose of solitude does for writing something. That's what happens beyond 1am. I get a good dose. Not an overdose to induce insanity and depression, but enough to get the fireworks into party mode. Like it was New Year's Eve.

But that's not everything. Being awake at these lonely hours is an interesting thing beyond what happens in my head. Walking around to do dull things such as getting a drink or visiting Mr. John Loo in his humble abode becomes different. You can be home by yourself during the day and it's not the same. There's too much light to create the same atmosphere and unless you live somewhere that embraces daytime naps as a community, there's usually stuff going on.

The darkness of the am times envelopes the house in a way that makes it seem as if you are shut out from the world, but not in an eery, depressing way. It's peace. Silence and undisturbed surroundings. You can't see beyond the windows and everything remains the same passive black. Not a depressive black. Not an oppressive black - passive. It's just there.

You're surrounded by this constant shade in your little zone of light that makes no sound, but there's the sounds the fan or the music - or both. The clock creeps towards later hours when the shade begins to give way to a joyous blue-grey as the sun shakes off its own sleep and greets your side of the world. You retire now and slip away to another darkness full of subconscious plays.

This is the graveyard shift: calm, peaceful, silent, dark and strangely warm. Nature's ebb is at its lowest but you're wide awake.


- G ζ.

so softly speak to me
whisper a thousand words
I will sleep
but your voice echoes in my dreams