a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam

I just hit a miracular moment in my life.

One day, I was that person.  The next, I'm this person.  The change was almost instant, but hard to pinpoint.  But it's pretty simple to communicate - I was A.  I am B.

These vaguenesses are what Livejournal performs best.  I think that's a lot of the reason I didn't post a lot up to now.  My life was full of specificity, but empty of reason and general optimism.  Now I have all this newness to gush out using one hand - smelling like the cigarette in my other - tasting like the banana candy I stole from a beautiful friend.

Major details and minor details, it's like the contrast has been turned up high on my memories and eyes, throwing everything into starkness, into accuracy, into the wonder of sunny-eyed perception.

I'm not where I want to be.  I don't even see the road leading to wherever that may be.  But I know which way is North; as sure of it as that Pole is magnetic.  I feel good.  Goddamn, I'm young.  Shit ain't started, so I best start some shit.  Stir up a storm and ride that wind to Oz.  My life just crashed to black, wiped from nostalgic b&w to TECHNICOLOR and I ain't even stopped to smell the red, red, RED roses yet.

I've been through a fair amount from then (that time on that chair, yelling those words) to now.  A long way from that (in the alley being blue, and you were so red).  As a flower blossoms.  The seasons turn.  All things have their time.  Now is mine.

I watch that person and it makes me smile.  I see my friend's things break apart and I see it - really see for the first time since the sun set over my head - that I'm not the only person in my head, that I can let people in there.  That all these words, all these memories and ideas, all of me - I can let people inside them.  That the world doesn't make me, I make it.  I make it every day from when my eyes open to when my room goes dark.  And I shape it in my dreams.

Awesome.

tired of the same facebook quotes.  preserving the old ones for prosperity's sake.

"If you're weird enough, every store is a sex store."

"Science flies you to the moon. Religion flies you into buildings."

"Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils."

"I wonder what's the ratio of white people to black people that can recite the Fresh Prince theme?" - Austin

"...I didn't fart. If you were Daredevil, you'd have known that." - Scott

"A culture's teachings, and most important, the nature of its people, achieve definition in conflict. They find themselves... or find themselves lacking."

"Black rage! BLACK RAGE!" - Jason

"So he's trying to fuckin' act all tough and shit, but - OMIGOSH PUPPIES IN A BABY CARRIAGE!" - Scott

"You HAVE to play in Terry's wedding band! Just imagine: Steph is on one side of the barn, Chris on the other. They come slowly together on the dance floor. Steph says something she thinks is witty. They step into each other's arms for their first dance of the night: YOU could ruin that dance!" - Malcolm

"Why do I have to give my mom money just because she got pregnant some random night? Sometimes I wonder if I was the load my mom should've swallowed." - Scott

"Most kids are retarded. We were merely stupid." - Jason

"Advice is what we ask for when we already know the answer but wish we didn't."

"Love is not something you can put chains on and throw in a lake. That's called Houdini. Love is liking someone a lot."

"Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk everything, you risk even more."

"Definition: 'Love' is making a shot to the knees of a target 120 kilometers away using an Aratech sniper rifle with a tri-light scope. Statement: This definition, I am told, is subject to interpretation. Obviously, love is a matter of odds. Not many meatbags could make such a shot, and fewer would derive love from it. Yet for me, love is knowing your target, putting them in your targeting reticle, and together, achieving a singular purpose, against statistically long odds."

"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd."

Writer's block?  More like writer's laze.  Trying to find something interesting and compelling used to be so easy.  Was it because my skills have fallen to rust or is it simply because I was easier to amuse?

Probably both.  So used to giving in to temptation it's not even the proper word anymore.  Will I ever amount to anything but a daydreamer?  It seems half my waking moments are brainstorming, daydreaming, composing scenes and plots and characters and worlds but when it comes to taking pen to paper my hand freezes, my brain goes numb and I've got less than nothing.

Even writing this is hard, I have to say banal and inane and repetitive shit just to keep the flow going.  I am the (what's the opposite word of perfect?  Not imperfect, that's just less than perfect, a word that means worst possible.  Is it worst?) worst combination of perfectionist and incompetent, obsessive yet lazy.  I need everything to be just right, just the way I want it to be yet I have neither the skill nor the motivation to actually actuate what I see so clearly in my head.

Sometimes I think luck is not just chance but a finite resource, something you can accumulate and/or use up on useless shit.  All my life I've had stuff just fall into my lap.  School, jobs, extracurricular activities - they just fell into my lap and I never had to work for anything.  I grew up thinking no matter what, things would always work out.  And despite how stupid that sounds or the times where I actually second-guessed that idiotic mantra - things always worked out.  Great, in fact.  Periodically through my life, reality would reinforce the notion that the world revolved for me and working for what you want was for suckers.  Well, fuck you reality.

What's happened after a lifetime of lucky breaks is me.  Unmotivated, effortphobic, self-deceived into thinking EVERYTHING'S GONNA BE ALRIGHT.

I want more than "alright," I want great, awesome; not just dreaming but the stuff of dreams.  But who am I appealing to?  The fate of my life and what it would be, what it could be, and what it will be isn't up to my lucky breaks, or the people who do or don't encourage/support me, it's in the hands of one person.  He sees everything I do and hears every thought I think and does nothing.  I'm not talking about God.  I'm talking about me.  How can I get out of this slump if I won't even help myself?

Fuck this.

Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

Amelia says:

Hahha

"   1. orifice means:

   2. approval

   3. nuisance

   4. opening

   5. writing materials"

Amelia says:

orifice... hahah

Amelia says:

vagina

Koreanthony says:

i get it!

Koreanthony says:

good one

Koreanthony says:

END SARCASM

Amelia says:

it's not a joke.

Koreanthony says:

I'M ON A JOKE

Koreanthony says:

I'M ON A JOKE

Koreanthony says:

TAKE A GOOD HARD LOOK CAUSE I'M SAILIN ON A JOKE

(sailin' on a joooooke )

Amelia says:

Pass me the rofl

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

- 1 Corinthians 13:1-7

So why is it I want to go somewhere far away where none of you will ever see me again?

Be thankful I don't have the means.  Because if it was was easy, I'd be gone.

Amelia says:

I think I'm firmly against jet packs

Amelia says:

and you know, the nazis will steal them

Swanthony says:

which nazis?  the ones that listen to shitty music and are basically homeless?

Amelia says:

no, the Timothy Dalton nazis

Swanthony says:

but the Rocketeer killed them all

Amelia says:

But Timothy Dalton is cunning

Swanthony says:

didn’t he die…?

Amelia says:

that’s what he wants you to think

Swanthony says:

or maybe that's what he wants you to think - that that's what he wants you to think

Swanthony says:

so your paranoia would stop the western world from developing jet packs

Swanthony says:

you're an unkmowing nazi sympathizer

Swanthony says:

jew hater

Swanthony says:

discount oven shopper

Swanthony says:

mustache trimmer

Amelia says:

if only they'd fit in my easybake!

Swanthony says:

they do, just not all at once

Amelia says:

that’s hardly cost effective

Swanthony says:

but so delicious

Amelia says:

too kosher for me

Swanthony says:

hahaha

I went to a psychiatrist today to help me get over my inability to help myself.  He basically did nothing while I told him how to solve my problems.  But finding the solution was never hard for me - it was implementing and following through with my plans that always sucker-punched me in the throat when I was weak.  But I guess talking about some of that stuff helped me solidify it in my head.

I dunno, I expected someone with three medical degrees to be able to do more than sit there, nod, and agree with me.  If I wanted that, I'd go talk to a friend.  Do your job and earn your government paycheque, asshole.

I still can't believe I actually went.  The first time I saw him six months ago, it was just typical drug seeking behaviour.  I wanted dextroamphetamine, I'll admit it.  The guy was obviously too lazy or unauthorized to prescribe substances so I didn't follow up.  I don't know why I ended up calling him instead of, I dunno, calling up a community counselor or something.  They probably would've been more helpful.

I quit smoking (more or less).  Down from half a pack a day to two a day.  That's like, a 90% improvement.  I've stopped eating junk and I'm making healthier diet choices.  I'm learning (and re-learning) how to cook, I'm making an effort to get back into shape but even though I'm actually doing these things - more consistently than any attempt I've made thus far in my life - I still feel unhappy.

I just need to get out of this rut, you know?  This place, this job, this rung on the social ladder.  Being in one place too long drives me fuckin insane, and come May I'll have lived here for three years and worked my job for almost two.  When I was a kid I changed provinces more often than that.  Fuck.

I can do it.  I just have to stop being emo about it.

A companion piece to my New Year's post. Celebrating all the heartbreaking triumphs of 2008, hoping 2009 will finally be my year. What's that? A questionnaire? You betcha. At least it's not poetry.

2.Did you keep your new years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don't even remember the resolution I made last year, isn't that sad? In fact, I don't even know if I made one. I resolve to remember this resolution next year (low standards, right).

3.Did anyone close to you give birth?
No, although I did find out my close friend of middle school (Julio Martinez Rodriguez) has a daughter now. That was weird as hell.

4.Did anyone close to you die?
No. But around this time last year was the last time I saw my dad, I think.

5.What countries did you visit?
I went to Nova Scotia with Tamar, obviously that doesn't count. I started studying for my G1 license, and depositing a little bit of money into my savings. My ultimate goal is that four or five years from now, my health problems will clear up and I'll have enough money to buy a car and just drive through the States.

6.What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?
All the things people usually want but never have. Contentment, happiness, security, love, success...

7.What date from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
October 18th.

8.What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Paying off two thousand dollars of debt, and celebrating my second Living On My Own anniversary.

9.What was your biggest failure?
Racking up fifteen hundred dollars in debt. So... yeah.

10.Did you suffer illness or injury?
I am getting so fucking sick and tired of my stupid eczema. Since I've been a child my skin has always been a problem, but I have never suffered the way I have this year. I went out of my way to try and resolve this issue this year and got nowhere. Naturopathy had little to no effect, keeping my environment clean didn't seem to help at all. I'm too weak willed to maintain a healthy diet, but I'm probably going to have to try that next.

I did a whole bunch of research because I was tired of leaving my health to professionals who obviously were not helping, and found out the medication I've been using for the past four years isn't meant to be used for more than a few months. Because it destroys the skin.

Fucking thanks, medical professionals.

11.What was the best thing you bought?
I don't know. My shelves? Now I have a lot of space in my room? I don't know. I find myself increasingly apathetic about material things. And yet, my life revolves around them. I feel like Edward Norton in the beginning of Fight Club. Sometimes I wish I would go crazy and give myself a chemical burn.

1.What did you do in 2008 that you’d never done before?
I slept with an ex.

12.Whose behavior merited celebration?
What kind of question is this? No one did me a particularly good turn. I guess Janet (Vicki's mom) deserves a shout out for hiring an unexperienced teenager like me off was was essentially the streets (I was on welfare at the time). I probably would not be living on my own still if she hadn't. In fact, I have absolutely no idea where I'd be if she hadn't hired me.

13.Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
It didn't appall or depress me at the time.

14.Where did most of your money go?
Food. Rent. Things.

15.What events did you get really, really, really excited about?
My life is mundane and uninspired. I am stagnating, rotting in a single bedroom apartment and I feel like I am suffocating. Dear God let this be a stage of change, allow me to change and emerge from this something better. I don't want to be here forever.

16.What song will always remind you of 2008?
Forever Young (Hamel Album Remix) - Alphaville
I just spent an hour looking for a link to this song, and I can't find it. It's really pissing me off. I started this LJ post because I was insomniac, depressed, and venting but now I am jsut angry.  Fuuuuuck.  I'll make a post with this song later.  Maybe.

17.Compared to this time last year, are you:
i.happier or sadder? God, these things are so fucking corny.  Happier or sadder?  Sad is such a dead word in the English language.  It's so commonplace it means almost nothing.  Yes I am sadder.  I am a sad fucking guy.
ii.thinner or fatter? I was bulging from pizza and shitty fried foods last year so yes, I am skinnier.  I'm making more of an effort to work out, so I guess I am healthier, but I also did not smoke last year.  Although I quit.  On Thursday.  I lasted four days!  Kind of!  A new record!
iii.richer or poorer? Money is a thought virus and I am infected.  I'm exactly the goddamn same.

18.What do you wish you’d done more of?
Filmmaking.  Is this a goal or is it a dream?  Is it even a dream?  I've done so little in the way of achieving it it seems more like a fantasy than anything.  I wish I could go out and connect more with the world, with our culture, with more people. 

19.What do you wish you’d done less of?
Browse the internet.  60% of my time is spent doing this.  Fuck that.  THAT should my my resolution.  Stay off the fucking computer and go otu and actually do something.

21.Who did you spend the most time on the phone with?
I hate talking on the phone for an extended period of time.  There are two people with whom I have had conversations that lasted more than an hour.  Jason was one - it was almost exactly an hour.  I bought a calling card for the other. 

That's a big difference, isn't it?

22.Did you fall in love in 2008?
What a stupid question.

23. How many one-night stands?
Two.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery or rediscovery?
Beth Hart.



I may be biased because I found it five hours ago and it was exactly what I was looking for. 

31.What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 20.  I went out with the Metahumans, they drifted off and ended up with Bona Fide.  Mal was there.  He stayed 'til the end.  I drank more than my body could handle.  Second largest amount of alcohol I had ever consumed.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

34. What kept you sane?
I would have to be sane to answer this question.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
I was surprised how much Obama's victory in the US PResidential election mattered to me.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008:
True love is subjective.

( 41.Quote a song that sums up your year: )

I am:  awake, discontented, morose, lonely, alive.

I am a working class high school drop out.  I am self-sufficient.  I am financially independent.  I am a consumer.  I am a consumer whore.  I buy things, things I want and things I don't need and things that briefly satisfy my need for things.  

I want what I can't have, and what I have I don't want.  I know the right words but I write in the wrong font. 

Life is too short for this shit.  I want to see Lenin's body in Moscow.  I want to make beautiful music, and moving pictures.  I want to live in Los Angeles.  I want to drive to San Francisco in a van with beds in the back.  I want to listen to one road trip CD for forever.

I want to write a book and make someone cry, and be glad that they did.  I want to burn all my comics and all my things and leave everything in the dust and the ashes.  I want to fly.  I want to love.  I want to cry.

I want to meet my nieces and be the coolest uncle ever.  I want to see my sisters and be the coolest brother ever.  I want to see my dad and forgive him.  I want my adolescence to end so I can finally start living.  I want my adolescence back so I can forget the future.

I wish I was healthy and wealthy and wanted.  I wish I had the force of will to reach out and make my dreams something less transient.  I wish I hadn't started smoking.  I wish I could play the guitar.

I live my life in my head.  No one lives there but me, but the mailbox has someone else's name.

Once, I kissed a girl and she kissed me back. 

Chuck Norris had Parkinson's, but he shook it off.

I wish Romeo had waited for a few minutes.  I wish Rick had had enough exit visas for the three of them.  I wish Yorick had pushed 355 out of the way. 

I wish I knew what the other side of the sky looked like.  And I wish, I wish, I want, I want, me this, me that, all the way to an insignificant galaxy in an unremarkable solar system on a lonely planet.

One bad apple spoils the bunch.

I am_

Sometimes I wish I wasn't_

John Anthony Connor says:

you should just say what i tell you to say

John Anthony Connor says:

i'd program you full of avril lavigne lyrics if you were an ameliabot

John Anthony Connor says:

no music

John Anthony Connor says:

just lyrics.

Amelia says:

you're gross

John Anthony Connor says:

so much for my happy ending.

Hmmm, maybe I shouldn't have said I would make a post with every MSN thingy. Then again, it is getting me to write in this thing more often. Hopefully I won't end up writing about the same goddamn things over and over again and get bored with myself.

So, interesting (subjective) things that have happened to me (past 48 hours):

• I destroyed a polymorphic murder virus that really put the fear of artificial intelligence into the core of my being. It was epic, maybe I'll post about it later.

• I paid off my pre-order for (Mirror's Edge).  The pre-order bonus was the worst thing ever, a shoddily made messenger bag that looks like a purse, because the strap is like super short.  I would've preferred a poster.  How bad is your product when a piece of paper is preferable?

• I drank a beer left outside for a month.  I'm not dead yet.  Malcolm's mom gave it to me.  That's one point, Mal's mother did not have sex with me.

• I am eating a chicken wing... the last one from a box I bought yesterday.  What the hell possessed me to leave ONE chicken wing in the box?

• I am completely naked right now.

• The girl who took my order when I called Pizza Pizza sounded super hot.

Amelia says:

(I had to crack my back)

Robocussin says:

i had to get back my crack

Wassup homos, 'tis 1:45 in da mornin' and I be writing in my livejournal.  I promise to put a real post with every MSN convo I post now.  The definition of "real post" and also whether this will increase post count or lower even the MSN posts, is still up for debate.  Lots of things are new, so let's get a cracking and approach the subjects that can be discussed publicly.

1) I changed me hair.  I bleached two inches in the middle to orange with the intent of dying it blue... but I've decided to keep it orange.  It's a bit fobby, but it's different, has had positive reactions, and there's a certain sentimental value to it.  I also tie the long semi-mullet I've got going on into a mini ponytail.  I've had no comments on it thus far, which means it's probably pretty lame.  Whatever, I feel like a samurai.




2)  I have a tattoo.  I've been wanting one for four years.  As a personal choice though, I needed reason beyond what was aesthetically pleasing.  Realistically, the probability of me falling out of love with the image forever tattooed onto my body is high.  Which is why I decided a while back that a tattoo has to more than a pretty picture, it needs to be symbolic of something, or a reminder of an important event.

On October 18th, that something happened.  I'm not going to go into detail here because it's extremely personal, but let's just say I found God.  I saw His purifying light and He filled me with love, and I was saved by the grace of GOTCHA!  PSYCH!  Seriously though, it was a moment of truth for me, and I felt it deserved a marker.  Mad props to Malcolm for holding my hand through the pain, and the blowjob afterwards.  I love you too, man.




3)  I had a great Halloween.  I went up to Guelph with Max, Austin and the homies (and homos) and had a blast at Aislinn's party.  I didn't bring any alcohol, or any weed, to show that I can have a good time without being inebriated.  I spent the entire night before at Malcolm's working on my costume.  I had a pretty awesome idea that turned out even awesomer.

( People will never forget my costume. )



I'm sure there's more, but I spent like an hour making that stupid picture in MS Paint.  Which reminds me, I need to go through all those CDs Austin gave me.  I'll need the Photoshop skills for my side project, Blu Rozas (a paranormal investigation photography comic).

Which reminds me,

4) My movie script is done.  Which is pretty awesome.  It's an adaptation of Neil Gaiman's short story Murder Mysteries, only adapted for a more neo-noir feel.  All the dialogue and inner narrative is pretty much verbatim in the sense that it's very literal - while the imagery itself is metaphorical.  I could go into it, but I've spent the whole day talking about it and I'm sore of the subject.  But I did manage to procure a pilot who can take me up in a Cessna 172 and fly me around over Toronto for some great establishing shots of the snow covered city.  Oh, and I have two investors. 

Wish me luck.

on a random note, if i had kids i would name them Sage Faye Swan or Aiden Francis Swan.

Swanthony says:

i also got an eagle chained to a rock on my ass

Swanthony says:

just kidding…  i might get a u-turn there though

Amelia says:

nothing on your ass

Swanthony says:

whhy, do you intend on seeing it again someday

Amelia says:

maybe. I don't know.

Swanthony says:

trust me

Swanthony says:

when you see my ass, it won't be my tattoo you'll worry about

Amelia says:

ew!

Swanthony says:

that means i need to poop

Amelia says:

I KNOW

Swanthony says:

is that a lie

Amelia says:

nope

Swanthony says:

is THAT a lie

Swanthony says:

…yeah, let's say that's caboose on my train of thought

Amelia says:

it’s not a lie

Swanthony says:

that’s what i said

Amelia says:

what you said made no sense

Swanthony says:

i laughed out loud at that

Amelia says:

I laughed out loud at THAT

Amelia says:

goodnight. Stop keeping me on msn

Swanthony says:

i can't make you do anything you don't want to do

Swanthony says:

later, gator

Amelia says:

see ya soon, ya big baboon

Swanthony says:

in a while, pedophile

Amelia says:

okie dokie artichokie

Swanthony says:

you're a beaut, you prostitute

Amelia says:

gotta go, lesbo.

Swanthony says:

your goodbyes are ineffectual, you homosexual

Amelia says:

hahha

Amelia says:

 I mean

Amelia says:

you are orange you... DAMNIT!

Investigations Into Moon Induced Lunacy says:

how much work did you lose

Swanthony says:

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

Investigations Into Moon Induced Lunacy says:

ya... well look on the bright side. At least you still got ur fucking legs

Swanthony says:

i don't

Swanthony says:

my legs are trapped beneath my tv

Swanthony says:

send help

Investigations Into Moon Induced Lunacy says:

LOL

Investigations Into Moon Induced Lunacy says:

NO

Investigations Into Moon Induced Lunacy says:

UR FUCKED NOW

Investigations Into Moon Induced Lunacy says:

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Swanthony says:

yo that's not funny

Swanthony says:

what if you found out tomorrow that i died after 12 hours of bleeding under a collapsed TV

Investigations Into Moon Induced Lunacy says:

"AND THEY WILL LOOK UP FROM UNDER THEIR TVs THAT ARE CRUSHING THEIR LEGS, AND THEY WILL SAY 'SAVE ME'"

Investigations Into Moon Induced Lunacy says:

"AND I WILL SAY, 'NO, LOL'"

We are infinitismally small players on a vast cosmic stage.  We are a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.  We are grains of sand on the beach of the universe, and nothing we do matters.  So all that matters is what we do. 

Dreams can become corporeal, the future is malleable; all the space and time and miles and years are inconsequential.  The siren movements of the galaxy are incomprehensible, but the cycle of debt and wealth, of death and life and day and night is breakable.  Our world contrasts on more levels than black and white.  Hearts and minds can see the horizons beyond our sight.  And because our time moves slowly, and even those subtle changes slight, then this I can assume:

Swanthony says:

wassup me nigga

CannibalChris - "Worst case scenario is... someone dies of a bullet wound." says:

ntm mang

Swanthony says:

what are you, mexican

CannibalChris - "Worst case scenario is... someone dies of a bullet wound." says:

Im a mexican jew lizard

Swanthony says:

sweet, discounts at wal-mart

CannibalChris - "Worst case scenario is... someone dies of a bullet wound." says:

only the best for me and my giant family of illegals

Swanthony says:

well, lizards usually lay a bunch of eggs, so...

Swanthony says:

they're worse than catholics

Swanthony says:

no offense

Swanthony says:

you jew

CannibalChris - "Worst case scenario is... someone dies of a bullet wound." says:

...offense?

Swanthony says:

...ovens?

Swanthony says:

see wut i did thar

CannibalChris - "Worst case scenario is... someone dies of a bullet wound." says:

yes

CannibalChris - "Worst case scenario is... someone dies of a bullet wound." says:

yes I did

Swanthony says:

you're a keeper

CannibalChris - "Worst case scenario is... someone dies of a bullet wound." says:

Ill avoid that pun

CannibalChris - "Worst case scenario is... someone dies of a bullet wound." says:

as it would be wasted on you

Swanthony says:

i don't speak mexican anyway

CannibalChris - "Worst case scenario is... someone dies of a bullet wound." says:

It was a goalkeeper pun...not a beaner pun

CannibalChris - "Worst case scenario is... someone dies of a bullet wound." says:

as Im a goalkeeper, not axually a mexican

Swanthony says:

YOU LIED TO ME

Swanthony says:

the jew is a lie

CannibalChris - "Worst case scenario is... someone dies of a bullet wound." says:

Weighted Companion Jew?

CannibalChris - "Worst case scenario is... someone dies of a bullet wound." says:

toss it in the incinerator?

Swanthony says:

hahahahhahahaha

"It is my goal to play a game until I discover its thesis. I'm dishing up a sentence like that because he is gone, and thus unable to leer at me over his monitor for talkin' fancy. Let me explain what I mean, because it's not as smart as it sounds.

Essentially, I want to know a game's intention. That intention is surprisingly close to the surface in games most people consider to be of high quality, and so I don't need to play them very long to discern it. I will still finish games that I have come to understand, but a large part of my enjoyment is bound up in this interpretive process.

I'd played enough of Alone in the Dark last week to know their ambition was incredible, but that the execution of their vision was bottled up by imperfect technology. This happens a lot, and we must weep for each one as proponents of the form, but once an arc is established in a piece of retail entertainment software it's usually not difficult to calculate its trajectory. Right? But I can't be sure.

That is what makes my cohort angry: it's not really that I have a high-minded justification for play, because I have a high minded justification for everything. No, it's that I get trapped by bad games so long that I start to believe they're actually good. He thinks I have some videogame variant on Stockholm Syndrome."

Swanthony says:

heheh, Kegger Draak

Swanthony says:

Fraternity the RPG

Keser Draak says:

the game where you want to fail your Fort save

Swanthony says:

hahahahaha

    This is a small short story I set in my developing Rising Stars universe, set during the years of turmoil following Storm's End (when the godlike monarchs of the Milky River depart from the capital city of Sol).

    (800) 391-7765 keeps calling my cellphone, and even when I pick it up, no one ever answers.  It calls sporadically, either during work or when I'm at home relaxing, and after the first five times I stopped picking up.  I don't even know what area code 800 is, and I'd be pissed if I was charged with long distance.

    My cellphone just rang with that number a few minutes ago and against my better judgment I picked it up.  Not saying anything, I held it to my ear, listening for some sign of life.

    No greeting.  No breathing.  Not even the hiss of phone static.

    "Hello?"

    And then, inexplicably -

    "...Dad?"


    So, does this mean I miss my father, or does it mean I'm paranoid?  I wouldn't know.  The line was silent as the grave.

    So after like two hours of sitting down in a Timothy's struggling to write out the next scene in Moment to Moment (my movie production for this summer) I've written like half a paragraph and I'm pissed at myself.  So I figure, if I can't write, I'll procrastinate by writing in my LiveJournal - maybe that'll get me in the mood for finishing my script (which at this point is two weeks behind schedule).

    I figure I should stop caring about tiny little things but I've always been a control freak and a bit of a "perfectionist." I use the term loosely because nothing I've written has ever been remotely close to resembling perfect.  Mostly because I get tired of being so nitpicky and give up the project (or finish it half-assedly and haphazardly) and move on to something I find more interesting.

    Take Moment to Moment for example.  I started conceptualizing it around the time I was working on the characters for Swansong.  I got into such an excited frenzy about Moment to Moment that I abandoned Swansong and took up MtM as my summer production.  I finished the plot outline in something like a week and surprisingly, I was happy with it.  Now that I'm transcribing character beats and trying to translate my shitty notes into a readable screenplay I keep getting stuck on dumb things like "how do I get the car horn to honk" for an hour before I realize I can just WRITE SOME OTHER WAY TO GET THE CHARACTER'S ATTENTION.

    I'm getting increasingly frustrated with my inability to focus and finish what I start.  Unlike my other movie ideas, MtM is not an idea I've been laboriously turning over in my head for years - which is why I went with it, so I wouldn't be bogged down by scenes and concepts I'd prepared in my head while I was writing it.  But the farther I go along, more compelling projects and ideas pop out at me and I keep getting a nagging desire to abandon it and work on something else.

    ARGH.

    At this point, it's become a kind of personal trial for me.  I want to prove to myself I can work on something and finish it, and have a product I won't be embarrassed to show people after a few months (cough Life in death cough).  I WANT MY PIPE DREAM TO BECOME REALITY.  I WANT TO BECOME A FILM MAKER.

    Another staggering problem I have is the aforementioned control freak inside me.  Once I have an idea, I want to have complete control over every aspect of how it is produced.  Which is why the idea of Mariachi style film-making is so appealing to me - I believe I have the knowledge start and capability to learn (and eventually competently perform) all the miscellaneous tasks that comes with producing a film.

    The problem is that I have a horrible work ethic when not in an environment (or a group of people) motivating me and pushing me to get things finished.  Which is why the only films I've been able to churn out are crappy high school shorts that do no credit to me.  Do you see the horrendous situation I'm in?  I refuse to let people touch my "baby," but when I work on everything alone I lose all sense of priority and procrastinate an absurd amount.

    I have spent blocks of time in front of my computer, writing a sentence at a time before I do something like fact-check with Wikipedia and Google some bit of information.  Four hours later, I realize I was supposed to be working on my script, not listening to nostalgic 90's pop music videos on YouTube (I actually do this quite ridiculously often).



    The the half-hour separating that paragraph and this one, I watched a bunch of Outkast videos.  See what I mean?  Fuck this shit.
   

Anthony the Swan is on a couch somewhere. says:

There are complete episodes of x-men the animated series on youtube

Investigations Into Moon Induced Lunacy says:

OMG LINK PLZ

Investigations Into Moon Induced Lunacy says:

I only ever saw one full episode of XMENZ on yootoob... WHERE DA REST AT

Anthony the Swan is on a couch somewhere. says:

you just need the right search terms

Anthony the Swan is on a couch somewhere. says:

X-men Episode 1 part 1

Anthony the Swan is on a couch somewhere. says:

then episode 1 part 2

Anthony the Swan is on a couch somewhere. says:

then episode 2 part 1

Anthony the Swan is on a couch somewhere. says:

blah blah blah

Investigations Into Moon Induced Lunacy says:

NO I NEED MOAR EXAMPLES

Anthony the Swan is on a couch somewhere. says:

then search for goatse

Anthony the Swan is on a couch somewhere. says:

then search for tubgirl

Anthony the Swan is on a couch somewhere. says:

then search for "funnel leeches ass japanese bathtub"

Investigations Into Moon Induced Lunacy says:

*slow clap*

Anthony the Swan is on a couch somewhere. says:

robert rodriguez made el mariachi with $7000

Anthony the Swan is on a couch somewhere. says:

he made half the money through volunteering for medical tests and experiments

Anthony the Swan is on a couch somewhere. says:

el mariachi became a blockbuster that spun off several sequel, including once upon a time in mexico

Investigations Into Moon Induced Lunacy says:

I wonder if the experiments gave him POWERS

Keser Draak - "We are on Eastern Pain Time, and it is Dan O'clock!"" says:

someone blew up 4chan

Keser Draak - "We are on Eastern Pain Time, and it is Dan O'clock!"" says:

did you know?

Anthony the Swan says:

no

Keser Draak - "We are on Eastern Pain Time, and it is Dan O'clock!"" says:

it's down

Anthony the Swan says:

i just took a huge bong hit

Anthony the Swan says:

so i am not be comprehensible

BEST OPENING EVER AND I'VE NEVER WATCHED THE SERIES




BEST WASTE OF TIME EVER




NIGGA LOEVZ HIS ANIMU~~~~



"Shit, it's a one way street... Took a wrong turn!"

WATCH THE ROAD NIGGA

Linked by fallenkitten - What the hell is this?!

A British teacher in Sudan is arrested for allowing her students to name a teddy bear "Muhammed."  There are riots calling out for her execution.  She avoided the sentence of forty lashes.  I don't really have anything to say, I think it speaks for itself.

Summer Days

Morality and the Punishment Thereof

    What is there to say?  Work has been great.  The moeny is pouring in and as I've said to Max, it's nice to be slowly rising out of debt as opposed to slowly sinking into it.  And work has been really easy this week, mostly because no one wants to get divorced or get caught up in a court battle around Christmas time, so work has again become a palce where I can do my reading.  I haven't finished this many books since I was working at the Docks.

    Yesterday after work, I recieved a special mission from headquarters.  Our target, Mo Dereh, was getting sued but kept refusing "service" - which is when I, a process server, deliver court documents and get them signed to prove he had been aware of the impending action.  So my partner and I were sent a dossier.  The contents consisted of a sealed document, to be served to the target, four high resolution pictures and a profile containing his habits, distinguising physical features, and several leads on his location. 

    The profile indicated he was an avid football fan, so we figured Sunday and Monday nights were no go, as he'd be home watching the game.  So on Friday night Scott and I staked out the bar he frequents, Hornero's.  We were given orders not to reveal our identity as process servers until Mo Dereh's own indentity had been confirmed.  So we sat, ordering drinks on our employer's tab, scanning the bar for a six foot black man with a scar above his right eye who walked with a distinct reliance on his right leg.

    Unfortunately, the op was a bust, and the target never showed up.  But we'll get him.

    Max:  "Dude!  You're fucking Saraquael!"

    (ps. i am half joking.  i don't actually think i'm a secret agent.  but everything actually happened... which was awesome.)

   I've got a new job now.  I'm a process server for some law firms downtown.  So I scurry around in the cold, between several closely spaced and very, very tall buildings and bring important court documents to their appropriate place.  It's actually really nice.  I do a lot of walking downtown (which hearkens back to my days as a humble flyer-boy walking from house to house, stuffing chinese food coupons into mailboxes).  And it pays ungodly well, which means I will soon be out of debt!  My calculations tell me that I can pay off my entire debt in about four months.  So, six months.

    I get off about five-ish everyday, which means it cuts it close to my Western Sun schedule.  They've been keeping us later and later, but they're not TEACHING us anything at all.  I mean, they've kept me so doped up on hydroxyzine, I haven't even been able to use my powers since waking up in the hospital wing.  All they're teaching us right is completely irrelevant nonsense.  It's like Grade 7 Health - They're trying to teach us about our bodies and how they've changed, but they’re too scared about the sensitive information and how the sensitive boys and girls will react, so every other answer out of the guy's mouth when we ask questions is "that's classified."  One of the girls from my group simply asked what the hell "spontaneous fraternal mitosis" was, since it was the topic of the reading he'd handed out.  AND HE FUCKING SAID IT WAS CLASSIFIED.

    Ugh, it's just hard trying to learn when anything that's worth teaching is locked up in some government filing cabinet.  My group members (or "team," which is what the higher-ups call them) all share the same sentiment as I do, but we're all....  Well, we're all too scared to do anything about it.  This isn't highs chool, is what I said.  There's no higher authority to appeal to.  This is the top.  Richard told us he was going to stop taking the hydroxyzine pills and now he's missed the last four classes. 

    It was really fucking scary when that happened.  I mean, Rich was just this skinny, pale little guy, barely taller than me.  He was kind of creepy sometimes, but he was okay.  He was like, twenty-two or something; but he had this dumb zip-up binder, the kind I had in middle school, and this meticulously organized pencil case.  He would spend like two minutes opening it and taking out the compartment and very carefully take out the pen he needed, after which he would very carefully put it back in and spend another two minutes closing it.  I’m telling you this because even though he was so fucking anal about his pens and protractors, he would still lend me a pen when I asked him to.  But I digress… wildly.

     I personally don’t believe he’s dead, or kidnapped, or whatever.  I mean, I did believe that at one point, but I’ve had a bit to think about it and I'm pretty sure he's just skipping. Of the seven of us Rich hated the class work the most.  But Crystal's going on about how they've had him killed, or his powers over-manifested because he stopped taking the pills.  But it's only been two weeks, and Crystal...  Well, she's nice, and she's fucking hot, but I'm going to wait at least two more weeks before I decide to worry about Richard and the other four agree with me.

    Anyway, here's hoping.

    So work has been okay.  It's weird having to adjust to any form of scheduled day when I've been kind of chilling for a while, but the bills are piling and no one has a shovel to dig me out this mess except me.  So work has been okay.  It was busy as hell again today.  What the fuck is it with people calling in so much on Fridays?  You'd think they'd be out, enjoying their FRIDAY NIGHT, PEOPLE.  Instead of hassling some poor boy who just wants to play his video games and read his comic books.  Oh, for the simple life.

    Have I mentioned on this blog that I'm nineteen now?  I'm sure most everybody knows, but for prosperity's sake I'll announce it to the internet.

    Nothing much has changed really.  Being underage didn't stop me from being served in bars, despite never having an ID.  There was one time I gave my REAL ID, that said I was eighteen.  That bought me a few pitchers of beer.  Oh, Green Room, I love you.  But that's a lifetime ago.  I don't really drink much anymore.  And money's better spent on bills.  Or more electronics.  Who needs peace of mind when you can pick up that new battle-rig?  RAM beats financial security. 

    In other news, training goes well.  I hate the train rides to Western Sun (my military training base).  They're so long and really fucking boring.  The first few were okay, because I had never gone into that part of the subway before, but after that initial bit it's nothing but blackness until we rise out of some hole in the ground two hours later.  I'm not even allowed to know where it's located, apparently, but god damn the commute is a chore.

    I'm about the youngest kid in the class, mostly because I'm the only one who was exposed to the chemical agent accidentally.  The rest of them are fit, disciplined...  I feel kind of fat.  But the X-men need their Beast, X-force needs it's Caliban, and the Fantastic Four has Ben Grimm, after all.  Class is pretty boring.  Right now it's just some regulations and rules and blah blah blah discretionary  use of powers crap.   Twice a week I put up with fours of sitting in an empty train car so I can be  brainwashed into a super soldier and get shot up full of chemicals to keep my powers from over-manifestation.

    Anyway, screw Western Sun.  It's just school all over again, except this time if I skip they'll probably kill me in my sleep.  Between working a crappy tech support job, Western Sun, and my friends I've not a wasted moment, but sometimes there's just enough willpower in me left to get a few video games in before I start sawing logs.  Now that I have my new computer, I can finally play last generations games at their full potential, and while it's pretty sick to play Half-Life 2 at 1920x1080, I think I've been spoiled by my Xbox 360 in that regard.  But I never did play Deus Ex for it's graphical capability, so why should I do that with Half-Life 2?  There's plenty plot to digest.

    So of course as soon as I vow to start using my LJ, I abandon it again.  It's just hard to muster up as much motivation to write now that no one really reads it anymore.  I remember way back when all I could think about was what I'd write about in my LiveJournal.  How lame.

    So what's happened in the past year since I've made a real, honest to God entry?  Well, I've moved out, and am now living on my own.  I bought a 42" LCD HDTV before I bought my bed.  I bought a bed.  I had parties, then got tired of cleaning shit up and stopped having parties.

    I started playing guitar, and am still not very good at it.  I don't mind - all I ever wanted was to be able to strum a tune or two.  I started up a band (if you can call it that), wrote a song, then promptly stopped seeing my bandmate, and have not talked to her since.  We called ourselves the Bitter Love Songs, and we laughed at ourselves a lot.  I started up another band, played at my school's concert festival, then broke up.  We were called the Immigration Service, and were really high on stage.


    I've started smoking marijuana, regularly.  It surprised me by being such a great experience that I've given up alcohol, mostly, in deference to the chronic.  I bought my first pipe.  I borrowed my friend's bong for a few months.  Someone wants to buy me a hookah.  I'm down with that.  I got Austin to smoke pot for his first time.  I got Alex Chiu to smoke pot for his first time.  I got Jason high his first time.  I'm going to end up getting Mr. de Vries's daughter high for her first time. 

    It's an experience I think everyone should have at least once.

    Malcolm gets to laugh at me every day because he's one of the few who knew me when I was quite adamantly anti-drug.

    At this moment during this post, I'm torn between discussing important things like my life and dumb things like how I just got a new Xbox 360.  I beat Halo 3 a while ago, and it was so epic I shit myself (not really).  The best game of the series - and the ending kind of alluded that Master Chief was the Marathon protagonist.

    I just beat Bioshock, too, and the game was so beautiful I actually did cry.  At the big reveal, I seriously broke down.  I've been doing a lot of that lately, but it's a good thing.  I'm just allowing myself to enjoy these kind of things more thoroughly.  Fanwankery has it's uses.  Anyway, definitely one of my favourite games.  I wish the Deus Ex franchise would get a similiar "spiritual successor."

    Also, Xbox Live is badass - I downloaded a Viva Pinata demo and it kept me amused for hours.  The game was spectacularly fun and sickeningly sweet.  I loved it.  But the demo was enough for me, Sim games bore me after a while.

    This post suddenly became very boring.

    I forgot the reason I came on this journal today!  I accidentally fell out my window this morning.  It's not as clumsy as it sounds, a huge truck of some sort of Biochemical agent exploded right outside my house.  I was opening the window and the shockwave blew out my windows and I fell through.  I don't remember much, but I woke up in a hospital bed hooked up to some breathing apparatus.

    My lungs were burning.  It was like someone had lit a box of matches and poured them down my throat.  I pulled the tube out of my mouth, choking and wiping away the streams of saliva away from the corners of my cracked lips.  I tried to spit, but I only coughed dryly.  In fact, to my horror, my throat and mouth was rapidly drying up - cracking - burning!  I tried to scream and ended up bathing the room in fire.

    They somehow tranquilized me and they hooked me back up to the machine.  Turns out I was the only survivor in a four block radius.  The gas from the truck had killed everyone else, but some random genetic sequence I had counter-acted with it and gave me these incredible powers.  They say they're going to teach me to control them.

    I'm going to be a super hero.

Malcolm: Sleep says:

I took a really epic shit the other day

Anthony the Swan says:

SPECIAL

Anthony the Swan says:

BEAM

Anthony the Swan says:

CANNON

Anthony the Swan says:

people always mistake aaron and jason for crushing just because they're selfless, kind, beautiful people

Amelia says:

are YOU crushing?

Anthony the Swan says:

yes

Anthony the Swan says:

i am going to get married to jason and aaron

Amelia says:

I thought so

Anthony the Swan says:

did you know if jason wears make-up and a wig he looks like Scarlett Johansan

Anthony the Swan says:

bow chicka wow wow

Amelia says:

hahahahah

    What I always liked about LiveJournal is that it always kind of forced me to organize my thoughts properly.  Since "Facebook Killed The LiveJournal Star."  When I had LiveJournal (or rather, when I used it) it was always easy to articulate exactly wanted to say in real-time conversation.  Now I find, with my writing abandoned, my existing written work deleted and my LiveJournal devoid of any recent activity that it's hard for me express myself properly in any medium of communication.  It's frustrating. 

    I'm sure it isn't entirely due to breaking my LJ habit, but I feel it'll help me get back on track with - having coherent, linear thoughts and also not sounding like a retard in casual conversation.  Which is why I am on a Crusade to bring LiveJournal back to the prosperity it was since before the great Facebook takeover.

    I will update as close to daily as humanly possible.

   

Hagrid stares up at Bludfen, who is three times his height and holding a rock the size of small cow, and thinks two things: first, that she’s the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen, maybe more beautiful even than Olympe, maybe, or than Norbert, all grown up; and second, that, for the first time since he was a boy, something large and fierce actually frightens him more than a little.

She tosses the boulder just over his head, forcing him to duck; the rock hits some twenty yards behind him, raising a dust cloud and leaving a trench three feet deep. Maybe tracking them for days across the South, separating this pair out… Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.

“She likes you, Hagger,” chuckles Grawp in giantish. Beside Bludfen, a giant a bit taller than Grawp sniggers; it sounds like the Hogwarts Express chuffing to a stop.

“Er, well, that’s nice,” Hagrid mumbles. It’s odd being the smallest one in a group—smallest by more than half. “Er, hey there, Bludfen.”

The huge giant woman laughs, both knees bent, her huge breasts bouncing with the laughter. Crows scatter from a dead willow, screeching their disapproval. “Dance, little Hagger!” howls Bludwen.

“D-dance?” Hagrid gasps, and his half-brother laughs again, slapping his knees.

And there, at the edge of Salisbury Plain, Hagrid begins to hop from one foot to another. Grawp, Bludfen and the other male snort and holler, joining him in a dance that makes the fields around them ripple, and causes a farmer five miles away to blink up at the sky, wondering why he hears thunder on so clear a day.

So, guys.  Evanna Lynch, who is playing Luna Lovegood in the next Harry Potter movie, is extremely hot.

So she's fourteen, and looks twelve.

I was twelve once.

FACT: You embody the German principle of Konstantzusammenschaft, which is best described in English (without using the obscure English word "sammenschaft") as "eternal togethermanship". The Loverboy Random Gentle Love Master (RGLM) Well-liked. Well-established. You are The Loverboy. Loverboys thrive in committed, steady relationships--as opposed to, say, Playboys, who want sex without too much attachment. You've had many relationships and nearly all of them have been successful. You're a nice guy, you know the ropes, and even if you can be a little hasty with decisions, most girls think of you as a total catch. Your hastiness comes off as spontaneity most of the time anyhow, making you especially popular in your circle of friends, too. Your exact male opposite: The Billy Goat Deliberate Brutal Sex Dreamer You know not to make the typical Loverboy mistake of choosing someone who appreciates your good humor and popularity, but who offers nothing in return. You belong with someone outgoing, independent, and creative. Otherwise, you'll get bored. And then instead of surprising her with flowers or a practical joke, you'll surprise her by leaving. ALWAYS AVOID: The Nymph (DBSD) CONSIDER: The Window Shopper (RGLD), The Peach (RGLM) Link: The Online Dating Persona Test @ OkCupid - free online dating. My profile name: : 123123123eeee

There’s something about parks at night.

 

Street lamps bathe the grass in absence of sunlight, and the grass is warm and the night is warmer and there’s that stillness you can’t find anywhere else in the city at any other time except in a park – at night.

 

Marion lived for these moments – stumbling home shoeless, not quite drunk enough to do it quietly, and not sober enough to care.  She ran looking up at the sky, watching the stars pass by before realizing someone was sitting on her bench, under her street lamp.

 

Funny enough, it was Ramon.  Just like him to sit in the dark and brood, nursing a lukewarm cup of 7/11 coffee and shifting and shuffling like a person that wanted attention but couldn’t bear to ask for it.

 

“You’re far away tonight,” she said softly, coming up behind him, her drunken steps now just a pitter patter against the soft grass.  He barely turned around, and completely unsurprised he gave just a glance to acknowledge her.  “Always am,” he mused.

 

God, she was pretty.  The blush in her cheeks gave away the booze in her, but her eyes were watery and full of light and just the way she smiled, just the way she tilted her head and just the way she looked at him, amused, almost made him break his stoney, brooding gaze and smile.  Almost.

 

He turned away from her and tossed his cup away, then watched the brown slag darken the earth around it as it drank up his undrinkable coffee.  She sat down beside him and took his bleeding hand from his lap.  “You’re hurt,” she said.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed, as if he was pointing out the sky had stars.

 

She started rummaging through her purse.  “I can fix it,” she said, and she pulled out gum, and chapstick, and tissues, and whatever else it is girls keep in their purses – He just looked down at his gashed hand.

 

“S’not even a scratch,” he said, watching the blood still trickling down. 

 

Marion grabbed his hand, and he looked up.  “Don’t look at it,” she whispered, finally with a band aid and a tissue in hand.  “Look at me,” and she paused to catch his gaze, then went back to his hand. She dabbed at it, and he focused for a second on her eyelashes, then closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her.  When he could tell she was finished, she was already staring at him, her head tilted, amused.  “You’ve got to be careful, Ramon,” she chided sweetly.  “You’re always getting hurt… And I can’t always protect you.”

 

She was drunk – he had noticed, but he hadn’t noticed how much.  But the bandage was put quite awkwardly and not at all accurately, and it seemed now that he was a little intoxicated too – maybe by the sight of her, or how close she was, or the lateness of the hour.  Maybe all three.  He raised his other hand - the one she wasn’t holding – and touched the edges of her hair.  “Thought I was supposed to protect you,” he countered softly.

 

Marion just smiled wider.  “You would think that,” she mused.  Then she studied his face.  Her smile faded just a bit and then she leaned forward and kissed just the corner of his mouth.

 

Ramon just blinked, before moving his hand from her hair to the spot she had kissed.  “Why’d you do that…?” he asked, the faintest trace of a dumb smile on his face.

 

She just kissed him again.

 

There’s something about parks at night.

    Friday night was the most fun I've had in a while.  It was a pretty crappy day emotionally-wise for me, and I hadn't been down like that in years.  Maybe that's an exaggeration, but there are days when you get beat down and just can't get up again, and thankfully I pulled myself up before the day was through.

    I had spent the day writing depressing emo poetry-prose for NaNoWriMo, and watched some Batman Beyond.  I can say that is is very, very hard to write two thousand words a day, but I'm making progress despite discarding several bits of work.  Batman Beyond, despite my craptaclar mood, aroused every bit of nostalgia I have in me and then some.  It really is an amazing show - the first segment is a lot like Dark Knight Returns, without the JESUS CHRIST FRANK MILLER WHAT?! bits.

    Anyway, Amelia calls me at five and invites me to see Babel with Charlie and Bryn.  I really felt like declining, but I'm always complaining about my lack of social life and I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't go out on a Friday night the first chance I've had since July.  So I dressed up, prettied up and had an amazing time.

    (fuck, I just left this post here and diddled with facebook for forty minutes)

    Anyway, Charlie needed to go shopping for some pants.  Well, Clothes, but he just bought some damn pants.  Golf pants.  Because he plays golf, and also once he won some kind of tour, which is mind-blowing.  We went through like, two stores before we were done.  It goes to show the merits of shopping at Value Village rather than Winners or H&M, which is where we went, and that is I don't spend 200 dollars for three pairs of pants, and two shirts.

    He returned the fifty dollar shirt though, when we went back to search for the glasses he lost, so that's okay.

    We had dinner at the Green Mango, and this was definitely the highlight of the night.  I can't remember having more fun.  We couldn't help being what we were, and that's a group of teenagers, on a Friday night, downtown - having fun.  There's something about personal horror stories, speaking in third person and being with people you adore that makes life great.

    Plus, the food was great.  I don't think I've ever had a better roasted duck.  Calimari was a bit overcooked though.

    I had a great night.

    I have been to the bottom of the Earth and there is an armchair and a book and the book is not worth reading.  I've flown across seas with sandals found on a windy beach that no longer exists and I have been worshipped by island dwelling aboriginals that existeds for only seconds in time.

    I have died and ressurected as a fifty foot cephalopodic god, with a thousand green tentacles propelling me through the treacherous waters of the abysmal deep, with a maggot lined jaw and a beard of worms, and I have taken ships in my rotted hands and I have given gifts of terror and madness.

    I have lined the ocean floors with lights from my eyes and bathed the underworld in green, mine eyes are twin suns that revolves circle planets, and my right eye is called Iruxos and my left eye is not named.  My right eye gives crops and warmth, sunny days and sweaty outdoor sports, my right eye gives cloudless skies and the invention of sunglasses, and my left eye gives death.

    My eyes are filled with vitreous humour and works by allowing light to enter it and project onto a light-sensitive panel of cells known as the retina at the rear of the eye, where the light is detected and converted into electrical signals, which are then transmitted to the brain via the optic nerve.

    I have been brought from the darkness of my mother's womb into the strength of my father's arms, I have been birth-strangled and still-born and I have defied medical odds and I have heard my heart beat after I have died and I have listened to the stars sing at night when the Sun is sleeping.

    I have heard the languages of the Apocalypse, and now I shall embrace the silence.

    So, disregarding work, it's still been pretty hectic.  I've been trying to really downplay the amount of time I spend doing nothing and it's really lent me a sense of accomplishment.  I've finished somewhere near eight books in the last month, and they were all definitely worth reading.  I just finished the fourth Sword of Truth novel, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.  I mean, I enjoyed it, but it's a pretty shallow and contrived piece of work.  Obviously it has it's moments, but it doesn't really deserve to be fawned over the way it is.  I mean, if you're looking for philosophy that isn't common, obvious, or shoved in your face, don't look here.  And the gratuitous descriptions of the raping and the snuff-killing and the raping and the goddamn raping - I mean, yeah, I GOT it Mr. Goodkind, soldiers rape.  YOU DO NOT NEED SO MUCH RAPING.

    Dune Messiah is a breath of fresh air and I'm enjoying this book almost as much as the first.  Unrivaled ingenuity and creativity that hasn't been matched in sci-fi as far as I'm concerned.  Just the subtle originality of it.  How do you kill a prescient/semi-omniscient godking surrounded by every sort of security possible?  Psychic poison?  Whoa.  We're not talking like, Professor Xavier and that inky black stuff in the X-Men movie, we're talking about sending someone to cloud the Emperor's thinking with philosophy and teachings.  Psychic poison.  Remarkable.

    What else has been happenin'?  Last week I saw Wicked on the stage.  I can't believe I waited this long - it was really breath-taking.  There were definitely improvements to be had (I didn't like their casting much; Elphaba was too short and chubby, same with Glinda), especially with their stage management.  Jesus people, stop standing in one place and do something for chrissakes!  Move around, be affected, stay in character.  Just because someone else is talking doesn't mean people aren't looking at you. 

    But besides my trivial (trust me, trivial) complaints, it was amazing and I really have to go to the theatre more often.  I've been meaning to start up the habit of going to PWYC shows for two years now, but it's just never picked up.  I should really get on that.

    And ooooh baby, picked up the Fables: 1001 Nights of Snowfall today downtown.  It's been months since my last Fables fix and I can't wait to read it.  I'm so goddamn excited.  I'm really sad most of you actually haven't read it yet - Gen has really got to get that comic back to me.  It's been something like one and a half years now.  But anyway, as soon as that gets back into my hands, you all have to read it.  Checking off my mental list:  Basically everyone who I've lent Y: The Last Man to.  And Chris is already reading it because he is a cool dude.

    I picked up Ultimate Fantastic Four Vol. 5 and 6 today too, and they were okay.  Greg Land is a fucking tracer if I ever saw one.  His art is so annoying, and Mark Millar isn't doing so great on this title.  Except for the whole President Thor storyline, which was fuckin' awesome (except for the bit with Alicia Masters at the end, which was a cop-out) it's been pretty meh.

    And before I forget, GO HERE!  It's a kind of meme making it's rounds through author circles.  Neil Gaiman linked to it on his blog, and they're all so awesome.  Basically, you write a story six words long.  Some of them are really great.  And I think that's the first time Robert Jordan has written less than what was asked.  A few of my favourites:

    He read his obituary with confusion.
- Steven Meretzky

    Longed for him. Got him. Shit.
- Margaret Atwood

    Gown removed carelessly. Head, less so.
- Joss Whedon (Joss kicks ass)

    K.I.A. Baghdad, Aged 18 - Closed Casket
- Richard K. Morgan

    And of course, my own.  And I expect all of you to do at least one!  In fact, I'm going to snipe the few of you I know can do this.  So, Aislinn, Max, Robin, Jason and Amelia.  Also, the rest of you.  All of you!  And here's mine.


    Owed a gun.  Paid in bullets.

    "...Then, what deafness may we not all possess? What senses do we lack that we cannot see and cannot hear another world around us?"

    A bunch has been up, but haven't really felt the urge to post lately. Which isn't much of an excuse, really, but it's not like y'all are clamoring to hear about my rather unimportant life, so I guess it doesn't really matter though. I can't remember the last time I made an entry, but I can't imagine this one differing much. What was my last one about? Work. What will this one be predominantly about? Work.

    I can't say I don't love my job, because I do, it's a great job. I enjoy it very much - good music, good tips - pretty people all around, I get to wear eyeliner (more on that later) without Amelia calling me an emo faggot - it's awesome, but gosh darn it, it's so inconvenient. I mean, working from 7pm-5am isn't the kind of work schedule you can.... schedule things around. At least with a day job I'd be getting off at 6pm/7pm, and still be able to attend parties. Oh well, though, right? My job is better than yours. Probably.

    Basically, I've pretty much stopped bussing altogether. Kind of like a promotion, I guess. I haven't really gotten a pay raise per se, but... well. I've been doing a lot of bartending lately. Not real bartending mind you, just the non-alcoholic bar. With the advent of winter there've been less club nights and more all-ages events. There've been a lot of raves and such going on, and I usually work the bar on those nights. If you remember when I was jumping up and down about my $76 in tips... Well. Nowadays I'm coming home with $150+ a night in tips. I peaked at around $205. It's amazing. Factoring in my tips, I'm now making something like 15-28 dollars an hour. It's killer. I've got near three and a half grand in the bank and I'm really proud for not spending it and wasting it all like I did with my Centreville money.
    And when I'm not at the bar, I'm usually behind coatcheck. and since it's so goddamn cold now... Well, even with a three-way split, I take home a substantial amount.

    But yeah, I'm getting really tired of, and tired from working all night after a full day of school. If it wasn't for the free Red Bull I don't know what I'd do. Oh wait, get really pissed off and punch someone in the face. Cue next story. I was bussing, because no one had showed up that night, and our new employees didn't know how to do anything. They were a couple of lazy, arrogant douchebags who wouldn't take orders and did everything wrong and making everything harder for my supervisor and I. They were really pissing me off. Anyway, it was near the end of the night and we were collecting the alcohol from people (some Ontario bylaw about no alcohol after 2:30am) and and dick won't give me his beer or whatever he was drinking, so I got security and they took it from him. Next time he sees me he decides it's a great idea to try and get "revenge" even though there are like eight security guys watching him, so he jumps on my back and I shake him off and pop him one (not a very good one) before security drags him off and throws him out of the club.

    Whatever right? I go on doing my job. I'm in the room where we sort our recycling into blue bins and garbage bins, and my conversation with the new employee goes essentially like this:

    (Me) "Hey dude, you're not putting them into the right bins. You have to put the cans in the one on the right, but only if they're beer cans. We'll have to resort them if you throw too many pop cans in there."

    (dumping garbage into the blue bin) "Fuck off."

    "Hey man, seriously, don't do that. It's fucking gross to have to resort all those fucking beer cans and bottles and shit, stop being an asshole."

    "Nobody tells me what to do, asshole."

    At this point I just kind of snap. I can't convey the WAY he said these trivial things, there's just sort of chemical/harmonal mix in his vocal cords that just generate pure Anthony-Kryptonite and made me go insane.  I had been grinding my teeth all night with this guy, and my supervisor had told me this guy had ordered a pizza on the job and went to the other side of the estate to eat it while I was actually working my ass off (it was a really busy night, and everyone had quit or didn't show up). It starts with me throwing my drink at him and yelling about how I'm his manager, him getting in my face and me punching his. Really hard.

    I hold no illusions about me being the wrong party here, but you really have to meet this guy and just listen to him talk. You know those people who just have the most punchable faces in the world? And their every tone is spiteful and every word followed by a sneer? God he was a douchebag. So I punched him in the nose. It felt good.

    'Course, then he pushed me and I gashed myself on, ironically enough, the first aid kit jutting out of the wall. I'm talking mega-bleeding-looks-like-a-miniature-vagina wound here. At this point we stop, he goes and cleans up his stupid fucking mess (I threatened to get him fired) and I go get help to patch myself up to stop the bleeding, and neither of us report the incident like we're supposed to because, y'know, we want to keep our jobs.

    The guy who helped me disinfect, bandage and wrap the wound told me I'd need stitches. I went to the doctor the one Monday (this was Saturday night) and they said I had waited too long, but they did something similar. And that was my violent outburst of the year, folks.

    Just kidding Amelia, you know I'd never stop beating you.

    Interesting night to say the least.  For the past few weeks I've been working a lot of weddings - why you'd have your wedding at a nightclub, let alone the Docks, is a mystery, but it's a popular spot.  I'm not complaining, because it's a cushy job.  The wedding has caterers, which in turn has their own bussers - so I do shit all.  That is, shit all less than I did before.  Which is considerable.  AND I get fed delicious, amazing food for free, and I get paid for it.  Mmmm.  Tips are shit though.  Because drinks are prepaid for, there aren't any bartender tips.  And I haven't been able to pick up my weekly tips for three weeks now, which means I've got at least two hundred bucks waiting for me in the Human Resources Office.  Anyway, more specifically, tonight's wedding.

    There is a bit of bussing at the beginning of the wedding - a few glasses and such.  I was serving tough - handing out long island ice teas from my tray.  It was pretty cool, in my snazzy blackshirt with a bowtie that they gave me.  Anyway, this cute redhead waves me over for a drink and says, "You're very cute - I like your bowtie."  And that's cool, right?  Then why is my first instinct to feel guilty?  Why is it that I should feel ashamed after being complimented?  Isn't that the exact opposite of what a compliment is supposed to do?  Obviously I am committed fully to a monogamous relationship, but that doesn't mean if an attractive woman tells me I'm "cute," true or not I think I should be able to feel good about myself without any unreasonable guilt over a non-existent unfaithfulness to my girlfriend.

    It really bothers me, and I really wonder why this situation seems to be desirable to people.  I don't get this complete defensiveness people get when their partner glances at another person, or vice versa.  When you fly into an insane jealous rage at the drop of a hat then the relationship is no longer about love, it's about property and owning someone completely, which irks me to great excess.
    But whatever, right?  lol dicks and all that.

    The food was amazing this week.  It was indian food, and I absolutely gorged myself.  I'll have to have a good work out tomorrow, I honestly had wayyyyy too much.  But oh, the curry and the pita and the beef rolls and the little pepperoni sausages and the chicken ohmygod it was so good.  After feasting, we all just sat downstairs on some couches, resting for about an hour.  God, it was nice.  Then some other event that was going on in another part of the club started, a birthday party, and I had to man coat check.  It was a small thing, fifty people maybe?  Most of them were sixteen, seventeen.  From Leaside, I think.  They had a live band and they weren't bad.  Their rendition of "Hey Ya" cracked me up though.

    Anyway, it ended somewhere near 1:00 a.m., and I went back upstairs, and started doing coatcheck up there.  Which is to say, I went to sit in a different place to read.  Shortly after, this guy - youngish - comes up to me, with the very same redhead from before in tow.  He leans in close and whispers, "Hey is there a place...  somewhere private around here....  where me and my girl can... you know...  [gling gling]?"  (I missed what he said, but it sounded like "gling gling.")  They both look, uh, pretty randy.  So I tell them about a roomy closet that used to be a washroom downstairs, through the red door.  A while later, they come back and tip me twenty bucks.

    What nice people.

    My boss gives me a drive to Gerrard and Carlaw, and as I'm walking up to Pape some redneck with a beard asks me if I want to buy a portable DVD player.  "How much?"

    "Forty bucks?"

    "I only got twenty...."

    "....Okay."

    He seems pretty anxious to get rid of it, which means it was either stolen, or broken.  So I steer us into the coffee shop and I try it out and see if it works.  And it does, lo and behold.  I give 'im twenty bucks for his stolen portable DVD player, complete with all wires, a leather carry-case and several DVDs.

    What a night.