3 posts from October 2006

So yeah, I have some funny experiences up my sleeve and I feel compelled to talk about them.
But just for starters I will officially open this blog.
Snip.
done

Okay, but anyway, so I haven't been up to much. Work dried up a few weeks ago and new work came along but there was the possibility of it requiring me to live in Manjimup which is a fucked up hellonearth shitehole, so obviously wasn't jumping at the opportunity. Alas, this has led me back to my old mostly stationary ways, and here I am back on the bullshit circuit. I get tired real quick though, like before I was having a shower and thinking all these amazing ideas I should really get down and then I get out and I sort of forget what they were and the enthu... see? gone!

funny thing number 1.
the other night I got drunk with the 'boys' and ended up spewing up in andrews garden, passing out in a big puddle of beer and then going to sleep in his bed, and waking up to find him sleeping on the mattress that was actually meant for me. Ha! oh goodness. there is more to the story, but somehow I think I got the main bit out of the way.

funny thing number 2.
uh, well, nothing that special. actually, no what am I DOING here>??? argh? posting? noooooooooooooo...

well, try again soon huh?

Do you believe in ghosts?  Have you ever seen a ghost? 
Submitted by Nancy.

Well, it was the summer (or spring) of 1992?and us little kids being a gang and all had this habit of roaming around the streets unattended, which probably was a healthy thing sorta, and we ended up coming across this weed infested house on the hill. A nice hill actually, you could see out across the valley into town and etc.So we had a bit of a peak in there, checked it out, and all of us decided to play hide n seek in it, because no-one else was going to bother us in this run-down old house. And uh, I ran around the side garden, which was waist height with wild oats and heaps of debris scattered around, like bits and pieces of someone elses life. Tacky stuff really... but anyway, I ended up in those sort of outhouse bit, like an open bathroom? The door must have fallen off it's hinges or something. And I thought "lil ripper, I can hide in there, no-one's got a chance!" and i went in and crouched on the floor of this decrepid shower cubicle, covered in mold and guck. I looked down for a second, and the weirdest thing, there was this barbie doll visor thingie ( you know, the ones you wear in the sun? or playing poker?) It was bright pink. thing is, it looked like new, and all of a sudden I got this massive electric rush up my spine, and I felt like I didn't really belong in there. Something sort of grabbed me, I lost conciousness, and I sort of can't remember what happened after that. I won though, my friends came and found me all dazed out, and they all agreed it was spooky spooky and we better keep maraudering down the hill before someone gets et.

true story, happened to me.

maybe my little ticker was so excited at the combination of trespassing and hide-and-seek, I fainted instead of letting a little bit of wee out. who knows?

I want a better question next time vox, you fucking sellout!

So every now and then, you get that itch.

You want to write and condemn the world around you, litter it with fantastical phrase. Lock it in an airtight container and sell it on for some pretty penny. Or just walk away muttering like a disgruntled old man/woman. Either way you want to externalise it, throw it outside and mark the passage of its passing as if it ever had relevance.

You know when you have one of those eureka moments? When you stop and wish you could go-go gadget out a notebook and pen from some recess in your bellybutton, if not just to scrawl a single sentence upon it, and chances are by the next day it will make no sense anyway. I might go something like this:

ten tanks of fish, be by the kettle, oh, cats! cats! NO CATS!

...

yeah, just like that.

So surely we promise that if we could only capture these divine moments in prose, we could surely create an atomic reaction in the suburbia around us, truly tear the cobblestones from the earth and rain hail upon the lesser gifted few surrounding us. Yeah, but seriously, like we ever had a biro ready for that kind of epiphany. I bet being a genius would be a perpetual pain in the backbits, all that incoherent jam sludging away through your own skull and somehow being able to pick the seeds out and decipher it into that hideously expensive french conserve you can fin... wait, enough of this buggerboo,

nice to finally get here.