September 10th 1995
YAY!!! Today was my birthday and I got this book (locket diary) from my mum. It’s really good because I can write my most private stuff in here and nobody can read it.
I LOVE Qxz5564
I writ it in a secret code.
Tomorrow Iv’e got school at E.P.S I’m a year 7 now and that’s good because nobody can tease me.
In our class we have a homosexual person. Yes!!! A homosexual person called Lance Russell Blum (he’s a dork). Today I thought of the day when I stabbed Tony with a pen.
Tony Frodsham’s the class showoff and he pushed me off my chair because I moved his calculator away with my foot. It was on Friday, Arbor Day.
Thursday, September 14th 1995
Today the two classes tough guy (Luke St and Tony) have tried a gang make to rival and overtake the Quidgibles. They call it the T.L.E. What it stands for I don’t know and today after school I felt sad because I didn’t want war but now I say “FUCK EM.” I’m a Quidgie and I’ll dob on them as long as they leave the Quidgies.
I’m going even to do what Jason Belcher does, telling on anyone that annoys him. We’ve been scared of them too long enough.
After school (Gimbus) Lee Beard had his Gameboy at his class and Tony took it as a joke. Lee says to Luke “Luke, Help me. Tony took my Gameboy. Could you get it back for me,” because Lee knew Luke would tell him to give it back but he said “Sorry Lee, You’re not in the T.L.E.” Then Lee came up to me and asked if we can join
20/08/1999 Friday
Ho hum. Today I saw Danielle after 4 months. She looks gothicy and talks like an abo. I walked home with them and I acted silent.
Today I finally feel straight. I have been constantly fucked for two weeks almost. Quite an experience. I feel jittery and unstable because I haven’t taken D’s for so long. Gosh it’s not that long but it feels like it.
I sit here today listening to Busta Rhymes and spasming every now and again. Seeing Danielle and reading my past entries amkes me realise how time changes us. During the time since I saw Danielle last she was homeless, hungry, dirty and supposedly pregnant.
I have been making numerous sayings throughout the last two weeks. These are too numerous to list. Most of them are Eleanor’s file. She told me she cast a spell on her step-dad with her sister and it worked. The voodoo doll sent her step-dad to hospital. Groovy fucken shit referring to the spell and Busta Rhymes.
The meaning of life is to find our own meanings to our own life.
Monday 23-08-1999
I hate everyone. I hate everything. I am torn between two choices. Stay in Art or change to History.
Tuesday 24-8-1999
I must achieve this before I die.
1. Make the world wish I was never born
2. Visit the grave of Mervyn Peake
3. Die before 40
4. Never care. I am one of the six billion. Can I really make a difference?
5. Kill someone
6. Never, ever settle down and lead a normal life
Remember, I am the strangest and most mysterious person I have ever met.
All is in vain. Death looms omnipotent and inevitable.
“We can only die once,” said our teacher. Andreas replied “but we only live once too.” Could not have put it better myself.
What I fear the most: to get married and have children. That will NEVER happen. (or will it 18/10/1999)
An afterthought: Time 5:47pm
I don’t know if I should either scream in rage or cry because of my uselessness.
FUCK EVERYTHING. LIFE IS AS HARD AS I MAKE IT BUT I DON’T GIVE A FUCK!!!
I need this knowledge. I need this difficulty.
I have realised that all problems stem from reality and my desperate attempts to escape reality.
Saturday 28-8-1999
I sit here 2 hours and 15 minutes before wondering what the rave will be like!?
16/9/1999 Thursday
Since Millenium I have had suspicions of Paul making persy when getting us. The phone call he made today is proof.
1. He wants me to ring Jeremy and tell him they are $55 and he needs dosh by Friday (tomorrow).
2. He told me that he is “spewing” over the price and he can only afford one.
3. I asked him is that because he doesn’t earn enough $$$. He said that he gust did 12 hours today.
Therefore, I come to two differnet assumptions.
Assumption 1 = Paul is not earning enough money, so by ripping us off he will be able to afford more for himself.
Assumption 2 = He just wants more money because he spends all his work money on it.
I don’t think I like him any more. He is separate from reality. Fuck him. I’m gonna get mine through Nadine + Sev now.
6/10/1999 Tuesday
I am so muddled. Ascii ‘99 is the cause of this.
Before Ascii ‘99 I considered myself whole. I was complete. Rebecca made me realise I was only half, she the other half.
I feel jittery, angry, depressed and alone. All these together make me realise that I have not been in love until her.
She was beautiful. In mind and body. I hate that I didnt’ realise she was saying and doing. I assume that when she realised I didn’t know, she forgot about me.
Ascii ‘99 is my best rave. I went knowing only Paul, Seb and Jeremy pretty well. Through this rave I got to know Spanky, Darcy and Ryan, Jade, Donnelle, Monique? Griff, Blake, Kyle and a whole bunch of other people whose names I can’t remember.
I love Rebecca.
Sunday 11/10/1999
Or do I? I don’t think I do. I love nothing because nothing loves me.
My emotions jerk spasmodically. I have given up trying to interpret this. I have a lot of problems. So does everyone. I’m not special. No one is special. I am one in 6 billion. I am nothing.
Idealism vs Realism. Idealism is what we want. There would be no idealism is there reality was what we wanted. We all live idealistically because it is easier.
Ghosts.
A tall and faded spectre, floats mournfully across the shell of what was once a great library. This ghost is melancholia.
A female ghost flies throught the air guachely with her crimson dress flapping silently behind her. She stalks her dwelling, small by the scribbles on the wall.
This ghost is alone.
A slim ghost with hunched shoulders creeps through the empty hallways to preserve his silence. Blood-red eyes glare intensely at everything. He was meant to be king, or a dictator.
This ghost is evil.
All these ghosts and many others haunts the derelect ruins of what was once an enormous grey castle.
Without nobody left to remember these people, in heart and mind, they inhabit the only home they have known.
The only thing that did not change.
18/11/1999 Monday (ZIM ZAM ZOOM)
I know that David is upset with me because I didn’t go to his on Friday. He acts so immature. It just makes me wonder about how he’ll cope with reality. Not very well. He’ll be going down a sinkhole of depression.
I remember that he told me he only like me out of all his friends.
I just have to see him one more time and thats for my tape (DJ Sy).
I’m happy I know that this year doesn’t matter anymore.
All the subjects I’ve chosen are TEE and next yera I’m doing no TEE subjects apart from art.
I feel pretty happy now. But i feel sad for Kendle. Her best friend Domaney doesn’t like her anymore. Domaney was her only real friends.
Things will get better. Now I’m listening to Pitse and it’s wicked. Heavenly breakbeat / drum + bass. Then it turns into a piano excerpt... “Higher... higher.”
The drum + bass kicks in. Pitse rocks. I like him better than Sy.
It comforts me when I think of the plight of other people. It only comforts me if I hate that person. I can not imagine how shit David would be feeling. No friends. No fun. He would be doing very little fun things. In a way he deserves it.
Some of his musings are arrogant and self-centred. He could never accept the reality of the sitaution. He asks for too much. He is insolent and rude.
Anyway I am probably thinking too much of him. It is funny yet pathetic as well.
I love my raves.
Dreams 99 in 3 weeks.
19/11/1999 Tuesday
Another boring day. I always look forward to coming home and listening to techno.
Seb wants 3 pills for this weekend. I told him I’ll ask Nadine for him. He’s saving 2 and giving one away for a mini-disc.
What I need to do for NYE.
Dreams ‘99 spend $120-$150 or less. I enough money keep a pill for NYE. Instead of doing what Paul is trying to do (save up money) I’d rather keep the really good shit and save it.
I fucking hope there will be an underage event for NYE!
Science Fiction is 18+. I’m gonna e-mail Hypnosis and get a contact for Delirium. I want an underage RAVE!!
8/11/1999
6/11/1999 is the best night of my life. Any word in the English langurage is unsuitable to describle it. 1 can just say it was purely excellent.
Well, there were a few bad things that happened. I lost his pills (but they were found again :) ), William and Danielle thing. The bag going missing, Wiba’s fault. Nathan getting busted, the undercover cop, the guy in the suit (scary!!) And Paul.
I don’t know the full story about what Paul did to make everyone hate him apart from ripping them off. I don’t know is the situation was remedied or not but I know that not very many people like him anymore.
Jeremy’s got tha facts but I havent’ seen him since Saturday. Oh well...
Anyway Rob’s after party was kinda depressing. A lot of people were just staring at each other and keeping quiet. It wasn’t very good. But thanfkully it got better, lots of people began to talk and get happy again. I was the only person dancing.
Paul curled up into a ball and fell asleep. What a party pooper HAHA.
In refernce to my past entry about loving Rebecca, I don’t think that’s true. I love everyone!!!!
OK back to Paul, He didn’t seem to have a good time at the rave. I think he was drunk as well when he came. He then got all depressed and yakked. Haha. I remember seeing him inside falling asleep by himself. As Spany said “That’s karma for you!!”
I feel so sore from hugging and dancing so much. I was so excellent, everyone was excellent. I can barely recall everyone I met that night which makes me feel bad when I forget their name. Slowly I’m beginning to put names to people.
I’m not getting depressed anymore. Whenever I start to feel sad I think of the many great times I had at the raves. I’ve been Peace Love Unity Respect.
Hutcho went off!!! -
So did whoever was MC’ing. My only regret was not dancing for his last set. FUCK THA POLICE.
17/11/1999
My breakfast yesterday.
1x Coffee
1x Dunhill 8mg cigarette.
1x Small inhalation of Green Mitsubishi. Total bewilderment for the duration of the day.
Today, uneventful... Dad came to celebrate my sister’s birthday, whinged to me about his loneliness, how we are his children only in name etc...
I quote “even a fool is considered wise when he keepeth the peace.” I knew he was SO wrong but I didn’t say anything about it. My main source of anger was that he was the cause of his loneliness, not us.
Fuck him. I’m too elated for some reason to care.
Maybe that is because I spent the majority of today reading “Diary of a Drug Friend,” which proved to be an interesting and insightful novel. It gives the reader a very real picture of cocaine and heroin addiction.
Anyway, now I am bored and tired and my heart, sorta, whatever, hurts. Oh and I haven’t had a cigarette today. Woweee....
?/11/1999 – Saturday
I wish I need not worry about money. If I had an infinite supply of money I would buy a mansion and open a hardore club in Ibiza. (wtf?)
And I would live like no tomorrow.
29/11/1999
Two days in Ralkine. A hubbub upon arrival, a wild ruckus on departure. Prince Ray arrived on the shores of the port city in the chill hours preluding dawn.
His personal aide woke him when the Royal Ship “Embrosar” was on hours sailing away from the coast. He awake disgruntled and reluctant to leave the warmth of his cabin and join the captain on the deck. In anticipation of the autumn cold, he dressed very warm.
Immediately upon climbing onto the deck, the blood froze in him, it was so cold.
17/12/1999 NYE
Well Paul came over today. He had some interesting informatoin. Where should I start? The first thing we talked about was Willy, Katrina, Drugs, Jeremy and Spanky.
He said that Rob and Liz walked in on Rachel and her friend (Nari? I can only guess) naked with Willy. He got them both really pissed an Rachel’s friend didnt’ even wanna do anything but she was too pissed to refuse.
He’s fucked up.
Rachel wants to get pregnant with Willy so he’ll have to be hers. She probably knows he fucks around.
She’s fucked up.
Blue Clubs. There’s a reason behind Jeremy and Spany not being able to get Blue Clubs. Steve & Paul & Chad have said that Spanky will die and selling them Blue Clubs wouldn’t help.
Paul told me he’s (Spanky) already got 20 pills and two grams of whizz for NYE. Plus whatever he makes off these Tweety Birds / WB’s.
What happened when at ASCII, I thought the raver crew were all wholesome, friendly people. Undearneath it all lies deep problems. The only reason Jeremy takes so much is to stay on the same level as Spanky. Spanky is basically the leader of that crew. Now it’s really Jeremy & Spanky together sharing the limelight.
Paul and Co. Consider Spanky as fucked up. Psycho. He wont stop. I don’t really think that badly off him. He’s really friendly.
Maybe it’s about the rave spirit or the music. Maybe it’s just the drugs.
I watn a nice wholesome crew, full of people I can trust. My real friends.
Jade, Donnelle, Kylie, Rebecca, Seb, Dave and Matt are ok but i don’t know them that well. Everyone else is a bit iffy now.
Paul informed me of Liz being whacko. Rob is ok. I kinda geuess they were going out but not noticing Liz being whacko worries. It makes me paranoid about all other ravers I know.
All people are fucked up it’s just that some hide it better than others.
I read Katrina’s letter Paul got. She sounds severely fucked up. Such a pity because was so nice. Well, where to start her tragedy. She’s engaged to a 23 yr old that screams and throws stuff at her when drunk.
Her borhter was on life support after almost dying from Hepatitis (? somethings). He is now a heavy smack addict. She almost OD’d after taking 32 pills (anti-depressants I assume), because she is so depressed.
There is one ray of hope for her. Her (family included) are going to move to Melbourne.
I can’t help but feel depressed after Paul’s visit. I feel really shitty. There is no good news anymore. Everywhere, everything is going wrong. Everyone is crazy.
10th January 2000
Adrian rang me, to my surprise. Him ringing me says a lot. He needs money. I laugh in his face. Ha ha... Saying of the month: I only get older + there are no absollutes.
Ok NYE Recap. Luv the music more, the scene not really.
Gee... while writing this the TV was on and I wasn’t paying any attention until I heard the XTC. Why?
I wanna go listen to some drum n bass.
Tuesady 18th January 2000
Got very angry. Murder-angry. Seb rang. Said that Rob is fully obsessed with Jade and he doesn’t like him. The conversation continued being the same ole’ tired. The “raver crew” this and the “raver crew” that. He makes it sound as if he has to put up with them and live with it.
He does have choice.
Oh and I didn’t angry, murder-angry about that. Kevin Rolfe or Smelly Josh thew a rock which was meant to hit Robert but just missed me. I prefer not to think about it, lest I get murder-angry.
Sunday 13th February 2000
I’m tired. Heresy was good and it went really quick. I spent almost all my time talking to people and I mets of new people.
Almost all of the people I used to go raving with are pretty crazy. Ben’s nuts, so’s Rachel, Willy, Rob, Liz etc.
Spanky was scaring me at Heresy. He had a g of crank and looked horrid. He didn’t even look like he did it for a good time because Spanky somehow managed to have this look of confusion, hopelessness and such an unhumanly intense concentration. The concentration part was the scariest. You couldnt’ get through to hom.
The question I ask myself is why? Why the hell does he do this stupid shit? Crank sounds so dangersous that I wouldn’t let anyone who will listen to me, go near it.
I find out he gave me the smiley sticka’s at XS2000. It was smiley Matt. I talked to him for a while and other people I met briefly before or never. I
I talked to Chris and Claire heaps and Mik and mick as well.
The music was really good at some points but then it got worse and worse and hurt everyone’s brain. Jungle and D’n’B is good but boring in large amoutns. I sleep now, too tired.
28th March TUESDAY
Yo! Bum Rusk the show!
Got nothign else to say really apart from Jesus sux and I plan on getting REALLY fucked up for Random Logik. I have this well should I put it as an ‘adolescent’ urge to go extremely overboard and rebel. Now that I think about it
It’ll be heaps of FUN!!!
As usual, money is my barrier, but i’ve earnt around $90 alraedy and I’m work tomorrow from 3:30 to whatever, the later the better. I’ll just have heaps of coffee coz I ran out of d5 <= :-(/
When I think about it, I shouldn’t get that tired if it’s a long shift becauase I got lots of exercise last week when working.
OK time for financial plan.
Money already = $90.
Expenses already = $30 (Ticket) $10 (half T), $5 (smokes).
Money left = $45
Wednesday Shift – 3hrs + $2
Money left = $65
ERR I’LL HAVE AT LEAST $60 for Three Weeks @ 2 hours a shift but it can get higher from there and Paul owes me $40 so i’ll have $100 + for wizz, e’s + dexies. If Seb can get me e’s for $28-$35, I’LL BE LAUGHING. I’ll end up buying him dexies off Graham and giving him the one Donnelle and she’ll give me.
10-5-2000
Vegetarian for 2 days. Byron is an enigma.
16-05-2001 Wednesday 6:45pm
I should be doing my assignment on Tutankhamen’s Tomb but I honesty have a sort of bizarre mental block. The assignment is due tomorrow. I have to do a 2000 word essay (250 words so far) and a tutorial for the class.
Unfortunately I think I will stay at home tomorrow and work on my assignment so it is ready for Tuesday next week when I go back to TAFE.
I am going to read this diary now.
I read the diary. How pathetic I am.
Well, what’s changed? Not much. I dont’ take the same drugs anymore mainly drink and smoke, despise Happy Hardcore. Raves, the People. Don’t talk to Seb or Jeremy much. Listen to Drum and Bass, Black Metal, Portishead, Some Trance, Orchestral. Doing an art course, getting A’s and B’s but am behind in a few classes. Have a different circle of friends, trying to quit smoking, clean my room, find a job and get completely up to date with my art course. Want to get srious about writing a book.
I think its time to actually pull myself out of whatever windset I was in before and actually start doing stuff.
Time to change.
07-06-2001
Hectic. Jurien Bay? Will it happen? Probably not and I think that because it is now Thursday Night and Tomorrow is Friday and Friday is the night it is on.
I want to go on but on the other hand I would also like to stay because I am tired of so many things, including myself. I waste most of money on crap and am sick of it.
Wednesday June 2001
I have to do study, have to.
Convalescent Escapade
Virulent Serenade
Obsequious Calvavade
Sleeping Forever.
Persistent headaches haunt my daily tasks. I slip deeper into morose apathy. Eh, oh well.
I want a cigarette. How pathetic. I am so devoid of any creative moolah (? for want of a better word). I can only state the most basic physical urge I have.
Ideality. Nothing is as easy or perfect as it seems. Humanity is obsessed with excelling and perfection. I am not. Imperfection is much more prevalent in reality. Perfection is an unattainabl3e, ideal state.
Reality is hars. We endure. Perfection doesn’t.
She woke abruptly to a thud that resonated in her hazy dream. She groggily listened in complete darkness and silence for a repeat of that same thud, like a meaty footfall.
It never came and she sighed to herself knowing that she was safe in her home from all that was outside.
Slept came back and it was quiet again.
Unbeknowst to her, the thud was a footfall, not as meaty as imagined by her in that exaggerated state of first waking.
But a footfall nonetheless, made my a nondescript slim figure dressed entirely in black as it landed on the floor.
It entered from a kitchen window, skilfully omitting as little sound as possible except for a misjudgement of height from the kitchentop to the floor. For some reason the distance between floor and kitchentop was about middle chest hight on a normal person. Maybe the house was custom desinged for an unusually tall occupant.
It stood still, the shock of impact and sound slowly diminishing into silence. No sound. No disruption to its plan.
Light filtered through the refitted window onto the person. It took off the black balaclava it had on and flanced through the window to see if any signs of entry were visible.
None, a smile crept upon a face that was distinctly cruel. Harsh lines etched into a guant facade, shadow surrounding like inky pools around two glittering cold blue eyes. Stubble giving a nightmarish texture to the skin.
The body was precision and restraint, the face wild and storming, a queer juxtaposition that made on the whole an image of quiet insanity.
The face faded away into the darkness and the body slithered like an eel through deep blackness. Homing towards a target that would be ravaged by him, the smile returned with that thought.
She stirs lightly, silk sheets whispering of reassurance. Bad dreams. Her face crumples as if about to break into tears then the wrinkles dissipate and peace returns. A fair stir, all is well.
Breathing steadies into a slow nasal whine of miniscule volume.
The air shimmers, black upon pitch black. Movement? Or is it a trick of the eyes.
Heaviness fills the air, the stady rhythmically breating splutters in response but her sleep is unpertubed.
Expectancy. Ears streaming for a noise, any noise. Pupils dilate as gloved hands reach forward to that long, smooth pearly white neck. Teeth are bared liek that of a predatory mammal, the pounce.
A deft scream, cut short by lack of air, a savage grunt, scrambling, sheets being torn.
She digs her nails despesrately into the arms that deny her air.
Tough, sinewy through the latex bodysuit he is wearing. She grips and tightens it. Hard nails pierce the plastic and scratch against bones, not much flesh to grip. Agony.
She musters all the strength she can and pulls downwards had, very hard, more tearing, a nail as sharp as a knife snaps, making a serrated edge. Blood slicks her hands, his blood. He yelps in pain, weakens the stranglehold.
Air, she gulps it down, gasps and almost retches from the pain.
Vision blurs and tears well in her eyes as she yells weakly and digs red lacqurered, blood drippings nails into his face. A bowling blow grip.
Foils, ruined. He is now manic as he ralizes his victim fighting back with unexpected force and an unlikely weapon. He thought she slashed him with a knife. Those nails were sharp.
Boiling fury. Time to react with unbridled vehemence but she reacts first plunging two fingers and a thumb into his face, simulating a bowling bowl grip. Two eyes and a mouth. Now he yells weakly as the nails pierces the soft flesh under his eyes, press into the roof of his mouth. Tastes like blood.
Subconsciously he gags at the obtrusion in his mouth, recalls what it is then bites down, teeth sinking into the thumb.
God this is messy, they both thought simultaneously, almost ridiculous she added as an afterthought as she grabbed her bedside lamp, broke it on the wall behind her, spilling fragments everywhere and stabbed him in the chest.
Unfortunately for her want-to-be assailant he messed with the wrong woman. She knew how t fight back and wouldn’t winmper and give up like the others would after a pitiful attempt at resistance.
He doubled over, blood dripping from his face and crashed loudly into her toilette, causing miscellaneous perfumes to plummet and break around him.
She hit the lightswitch output and scrambled through her drawers for her gun.
He sat, dazed by the lights and smells, heady wafts of musk and the crips tones of llight perfumes causing his head to spin.
Bits of porcelain stuck out of his abdomen, easily penetrating his black body suit.
Deftly, he tried to cautiously remove the pieces unaware that a 9mm Glock, very mundane and ordinary by pistol standards, was being pointed at him.
Tuesday 26th June 2001
Time ebbs and flows by.
With each passing day I age
With every second lost in the ebbs and flows is a second closer to my death.
When will it be?
David is starting to annoy me. His constant immaturaity and stupidity wears away at my patience. Time spent with him is time spent restraining myself from hitting him. This isn’t the case all the time, just most of the time. And being around him when i’m drinking and he’s doing whatever is unbearable. I can’t be bothered looking after him like a child so he doesn’t spill or break anything.
A drop of water creates reverbations that can be felt to the farthest edge.
It can.
I yearn for eternal sleep,
and blood, yes, lots of blood,
flowing crimson river going
down my throat and quenching
the fire in my soul.
The year is 2001 and I get this constant feeling of deja vu. It’s 2001 and we are running out of new ideas.
It’s all just a little bit of history repeating. Nothing is new anymore. Been there, done that.
A marking flag shows in every land it’s previous discovery.
There is nothing left to discover.
Vaneesa is weird. I told her I was sorry that I didn’t go to her party and explained why I couldn’t get there and she said that was fine and then tells me to fuck off, errr, schizophrenic.
Wednesday 27th June 2001
I have now started my holidays and am not doing anything.
The thing I was to do is get a job, write a book, and see if its possible to publish it and if it isn’t, why?
Draw and paint and save money. Not waste time, or should I say not to overly waste time. I don’t want to do what I did last holidays which was nothing because I think became accustomed to nothing.
I also think that it’s time for me to start to write routinely and idealling adapt it into my daily schedule. The more I write, the easier it will become and the better it will be. Eventually I hope to achieve a natural normal desire to write wherever; whenever so no idea is lost and no idea is compromised to a later date.
Time, a fascination. Everything is temporal. Where it begin/end? Does it exist? Down the sinkhole, forever lost. Living only within my memory. Past, present, future.
Constantly changing, moving forward or whatever direction time travels.
The slightest suggestion races like wildfire through the heart and then to the head. The smoke from the fire burns they eyes and sticks to the skin, a dirty sheen.
A double-edged knife, such is love. So painful the line between pleasure and torture blurs and widens. Stange, unexpected things happen because of it.
It burns. Passion. Fire.
It blinds. The pain, oh the sweet, sweet pain. Hurt me. I don’t know if I like it, but it makes me feel so
ALIVE...
Hear me, all you lonely souls. There is a person somewhere in the cesspool of filth that is earth, just like you.
Probably also wondering if anything is beautiful in this forsaken place but when you meet,
it’s Springtime.
And then you back to the past when you were alone and dismal and laugh. The world is no longer desolate. Life runs vibrant throughout it now.
As it should.
A concoction of disastrous toxicity. Lost, or stolen from the deep ancient vaults of Korkade. And what is worse is that no one else is aware of this as of yet.
Thursday, 28th June 2001
The time is now. Ideally, the time should have been earlier, but who could have foreseen what was needed in the future?
Nevertheless, every second wasted now was another life lost, another home destroyed in the future. The time to act was as soon as possible.
The hall was dark. Huge, fluted marble colums rose in a hyperstile formation into the unforeseen arches above. Blackness encroached from the ceiling and between the columns towards the central dais where two torches emitted a ruddy glow and spot intermittently, a staccato burst in otherwise silence.
Upon the dais was an ornate black iron altar, slightly cusped inwards. And upon the altar was a young woman, clothes in a pale cream shift almost the same tone as her skin in the torchlight. Her hair flaxen and in disarray, her face sharply juxtaposing the state of her hair, all smooth lines. She is seemingly asleep.
Sunday 1st July 2001
Wooh. A weekend of heavy intoxication and hooliganism is good for the soul. I feel decidedly more clear now.
Saw Shrek and smoked and drank. Had a fun weekend.
Now the weekdays are approaching and I wonder what will occupy most of my days. I think it is time to make a serious attempt at writing. It doesn’t really matter what as long as it’s something. I might continue working on my autobiography and start a fiction piece on life like it is for someone in a life like me.
It wouldn’t be too difficult to do since I live a life and I know what happens in it so writing about it would be easy.
Or a story of a grandioise person with illusions of more grandeur.
Or about those things I have already started writing in here. A dark romance, e.g. she dies, sadly every after,
The creation of a being that is capable of defending the realm against the invaders and how this being lives it’s life and becomes aware of it’s purpose of creation.
Or the other one, the longest one as of now, about a rapist who gets murdered (?) or whatever, by his female victim. I don’t know where to take it from where it is now. She fought back her assailant and now at this point holds his life at gunpoint.
Should she shoot him? Or should she ring the police? I think I will follow the unexpected twist path and make her do somethign fairly irrational, maybe like ringing the police and then subduing her would-be assailant with frightening barbarity so he can’t move while she takes a shower and puts on her make-up and other facial crap for the policeman.
She has to look good, even in the most stressful situations.
And then maybe the assailant claims that he was walking by in the neighbourhood when she drove up next to him and stabbed and kidnapped him and tried to make it look the other way around and maybe the police believe him because they are inexperienced nightfill patrol officers who are recognized by the 24hr deli where they go buy coffee and donuts during night.
The cops are tired because the 24-hour deli was closed and they want to go get some coffee before doing anything else.
Maybe the cops, take them both into custody while they go get some coffee and donuts.
Monday 2nd July, 2001
I feel straight; so very straight. Stopped taking stuff to sleep better so now I sleep notably worse.
Wrote a fair bit today, but no more than I would usually write which is a disappointment but I read a lot of stuff (other fiction writing) on the internet. Reading and writing are gonna be my main thing these holidays.
What else did I do? Nothing much else. Have decided to write words down that I have heard but don’t know the specific meanign to. This should extend my vocabulary beyond what it is now which is a mixture of slang, simple vocabulary and a smattering of those long words that are more precise and descriptive.
Or I could just read a few dictionaries and learn the words that awy but then i think I would not know what kind of context to use them in and, forget all the ones that seem irrelevant at the time.
Time, time, time. Being whittled away. Careful when you cut because you might cut too close and make the join too weak and it will snap when any pressure is applie.d
It must be sharp, and pointed.
The pont represents the purpose but it also can hurt the wielder.
Too thin, cut too close while whittling away at the stick and it will break, rendering the point useless, and then you can either become disheartened because of this, or you can give it another shot.
Go for a walk, amble along the edges of the path while keeping your eyes peeled for a suitable candidate to replace the broken stick. A fairly straight, dead branch, preferably of some hard wood-like Jarrah or oak would suffice.
Walk back to your previous whittling area, a shady glade within the woods and get comfortable, mentally and physical because a long arduous and repetitive taks awaits thee.
And then continue until you get the final, desired outcome.
Tuesday, 3rd July 2001
Yet another uneventful day. Breath of Fire II, net surfing and magic, and last and most least a little smidgeon of writing.
A paragrah, I think which is not very much at all.
It’s 8:30pm and I’m watching The Cutting Edge and there is a documentary on about the plight of abortion providers.
An ethical issue. I love them because in essence no one is correct. Every individual has the right to all their own views. The abortion one in particular is very stupid. Abortion conflicts with Christian / Catholic beliefs so they protest against it. There are people who aren’t Christian / Catholic and therefore don’t believe in some of the ideals so they can have abortions if they want.
I think it’s all a load of crap. Let people have abortions if they wish. It may be alive but it isn’t conscious. Just don’t bother the common mass with all this anti-abortionist furore.
Watched an interesting foreign movie last night on SBS. I think that for these holidays I will watch one every night.
Oops. It turns out re-enrolment was yesterday, but I hope it was meant to be for that whole week. I am sure you can enrol later when the course beings anway.
I have to ring TAFE tomorrow for the details. And I have to get another application form and buy another $250 and buy stuff for my classes. More expenses, money gone.
Grrr frustation is starting to set in. Can not find the TAFE phone number, weren’t they supposed to send me something?
This means that now I have to go get an application form and pay money and re-enrol when It’s too late. Grr, the door is creaking and the curtains are flapping everwhere making annoying noise.
I am angry now. Have a deep breath, more creaking doors. Now I’m not angry. It’s all good. La la la la.
This documentary is good even tough I havent’ watched or payed attentioon to most of it.
Wednesday 4th July, 2001
Wow, I just realised today is Independance Day or Guy Fawkes or whatever the hell that American tradition is.
Spoke with Amanda today on ICQ. It was interesting and she ended up disconnecting on me and I guess that is because she didn’t like being wrong. Oh well.
Watched another interesting movie last night on SBS about a bastard child of a rich family name who because a model for Armani and ended up killing his father. He meets a chick gets her pregnant, goes mental and ends up giving himself in to the police for murdering his father because he is being haunted by the memory of it.
And then abruptly it ended, very unsatisfactorily with his pregnant girlfriend getting his letter that he wrote in jail.
I really want to see Akira now. It’s a fantastic movie and hopefully it will set my imagination alight again.
I also really want to see the Final Fintasy movie, I have a feeling it will be better than Akira or any movie I have ever seen (maybe not Eraser-Head). I want to buy it on video whien it comes out, and Akira too.
I can’t breathe properly at the moment because it makes my front right tooth hurt a lot. It is fucking irritating. I get tingletooth from breakting. I think that maybe I have an exposed nerve or something.
I don’t know what to do this weekend. Indubitably, Paul will ring me and want to get smashed or something. I don’t want to for the sole fact it’s disrespectful of David and I also don’t have any money leftover either. I want to start buying stuff like cd’s and video’s and paints and books instead of wasting it on perishables.
At least it’s not as bad as when I was a raver.
I think that I will write a book or write articles or something before I get a crappy job. I am infinitely more interested in doing something I like even though I wont have money to do other stuff. It suits me fine as it may one day lead me to money.
I love writing and am pretty committed to doing it. I am progressively writing more and more in here and elsewhere every day but I’m also not wanting to rush myself in my writing. It’s a balance between quality and quantity. I can write heaps now but most of it would be drivel or close to it.
it’s 9:50pm and my brother will be coming in soon to tell me to turn my TV down/ off. I think I will move into the living room to watch the 10:00pm SBS movie as then I can enjoy a smoke in the toilet wihtout having to go backwards and forwards and wake everyone up.
My elbow is making a really disgusting sound when I move it.
It sounds like the tendons are snapping. Cool.
I’m perfectly aware that this is borderline if not full blown drivel but I feel that I have been neglecting the purpose of this diary as a record of theday and using it more as a creative thought log. Oh well, both is better I guess. I’m gonna stop writing soon because my arm and hand hurts.
Read my ICQ msg archive. It’s very interesting. I want to print out the dialogue and keep it because I don’t want to lose it. Particularly the ones with Vanessa and Teresa. They are funny and worth keeping / memorable.
Time to got watch SBS Movie.
Sunday 8th July 2001
I still yearn for oblivion but oblivion from what I do not know. All I know is that it must be absolute. Absolute silence, blindness, sleep, joy, exaltation, whatever, it doesn’t matter as long as it is absolute.
Ephemeral shades of Autumn sky
As it turn auburn in twilight glory.
A chill wind blows decreasing in temperature as the sun’s days fade away over the flat ocean.
Twilight falls, stars appear. The sky is ablaze. No claouds marrs the perfect, uniform dark azure of the heavens.
The earth is quiet apart from the sound of leaves rustling in tune to the wind. It is time for sleep, a time of peace and rest.
Sleep and rest are the last things on her mind as she stares at the horizon where the sun inhabited only a few moments ago.
Her body needs to recuperate in frotn of the warm, crackling hearth of home but she feels like isolating herself with the weather of her soul.
She is col, lost melancholy. Her body shivers, desperate to retain any semblance of warmth in this fast becoming frost night, but she does not notice, and would not care for that matter, the woolen shawl flaps loose like a flag on a thin, decimated female frame.
Tears sting her eyes. It’s only from the cold wind.
She goes home.
So much work goes into a drawing. I have only just started to realise that as I am drawing/ making art again. It’s all good.
Monday 9th July 2001
I rang my TAFE place thingo today and it turns out that I will have to re-enrol when the course begins which is another two weeks away. Another two weeks before I go back but I wont be fresh meat to the grinder anymore.
Since I’ve been there and done that before I will probably fade into the backgorund which suitable for me. I do not like excessive attentions. I get irksome from it, like a wet pig does.
I sense no sense in today’s entry in my diary. Non-Sense nonsense no-sense. Pretense for prevalence of carnivorous omnipotence.
The Triangle vial, increase the vibe that we all strive to achieve before we leave and suffer the malaise.
Ok, that’s enough.
Another two week.s Don’t what to think of that. The first two weeks flew by so I’m expecting these 2 weeks to do also. Time fllies when you keep routine. Then the day before will seem like the day after and discerning the time will become difficult as each day appears the same. Routine kills time. Maybe whoever invented socialism / capitalism realised this also.
I doubt that society would be able to funciton without routine. Without it, things would be spurious, chaotic, loose.
I wonder if Lauren or Kelly will ring me about Kelli’s 20th if it’s still happening. I think they wont simply because of not speaking to me for a while would make them uncomfortable, I am a stranger, all over again.
But then again Vanessa invited me to her party, I think I could flip a coin on whether they’ll try to contact me.
Kate’s (if it’s still on) is coming up soon as well. August 4th . I hope it’s still gonna happen.
“Many humans spend their lives in a world with technology we didn’t make and don’t understand.
Interesting excerpt there from the documentary about Apes I’m watching.
Tuesday 10th July 2001
Got a message today frm Kate. She is going to send me an invitation to her party which means it’s still on. Good. I haven’t been smashed with tha local kru for a while and Kate’s B’day will be the perfect occasion.
Woke up at 11:00am today after having weird dreams and watching the 10:00pm SBS movie. The Monday’s movie was called Pouple Fiction, French I think, and it was about a cop and his defacto going to an uninspiring town and end up uncovering a sinister plot.
A Hollywoodish storyline but executed in that European style which I find so much more fresh and involving. None of the character’s were cliched.
Australian is supposedly the second most desirable country in the world although I wonder why that is so.
Mum borrowed a Polish Newspaper from my dad which was communist-orientated. My Dad had it sent to him by his mum, the old bitch. They are both fucked.
My mum thinks the newspaper is a load of shit, so do I from what I could read from it.
Been yawning a lot lately and doing quite a bit of drawing.
Drawing is good.
What else? Not much.
“How am I supposed to do that,” he asked, perilously close to losing his tempter.
The old man remained impassive in response. That was it. He couldnt’ handle this shit.
“I’m not gonna do the job.”
“I will double my previous offer,” the old man croaked.
“I don’t care! What you’re asking is impossible, undoable. You know what I mean,” he said.
The man frowned and stoopd up, hands balancing his old frame into something that was meant to look threatening, or imposing. The effect was negligable on the assassin. He sat, impassive. His turn now.
“You?” he raised a knobbly, wrinkled finger at the seated man, “will do what I have asked. It must be done. You can not deny it now. You must kill the person, I told you to kill.”
“How” he replied quietly.
“What? Speak up, I am old my hearing is failing.”
“How the hell am I supposed to kill him if you do not know who this person is, what this person is, where this person is...”
“THAT’S Enough!!,” yelled the old man, cutting the assassin’s tirade short.
“I told you, use the Iko Compass.”
“That’s not the point,” argued the assassin. “This trinket will point me in the direction of the person I must kill, but what if that person is on the move, or half a world away, or a hundred other things. I tell you, I do not do jobs with so many complications involved.”
The old man clenched his fists and glared at the seated assassin, who was idly playing with the compass.
“What if this trinket breaks?”
“It wont break, idiot. It is over two thousand years old and warded against physical damage.”
The assassin picked up the small compass, the size of Hamadar’s Hundred Crown coin and looked at it, clearly contemplating something.
“Double, you say?,” he asked.
Tuesday 10th July, 2001 9:50pm
For it was but a dream, an idealistic situation that in reality was unmaintanable, beyond the grasp of mortal men and women.
But Alas, what is it? It is peace, it is love, it is respect. All the ideals.
Watch as these things slowly fade away from society. It may be hard because there was so little of them to begin with.
The world is a boiling cesspool of malevolence and personal desire fuelled by the disease known as capitalism. Greed, yourself before others, the principle’s of economic success.
I ask how much longer before the day of reckoning? The time of revolution and who will start it? Will it be a divine being that desires to give humanity a second chance or will the culmination come as a consequence of our actions? When will it happen and who will be the spearhead of the revolution.
I tried to order my room but it proved too much. I sat there thinking, what should go where but didn’t actually organise anyhting. I desperately need a filing cabinet to store all my writing and art in.
I start new story almost every night and they last from 1 page to 4 pages. Will I ever continue working on one? Maybe I will.
I think that I should explore the possibilities of each story as it is so far like I did with that intruder/assailant one. Sort of like brainstorming and storyboarding the way the story can go. It really helps my creative thought processes.
The Ali G show is on now.
It’s finished now. That was funny like it usually is.
I wonder when my mum will go to sleep so I can go have a smoke in the toilet before I go to sleep. This movie on SBS appears stupid. It’s in English, I don’t like English. Time to go nutty like tha chocolate covered cashews. Rewind. Rotund. I am writing shit. Opalescent catheter.
Iridescent diaphragm
Hyperdermic illusion
Medical confusion in all it’s profusion.
Eat my irate heart. Bite into the fleshy walls and tear open the vestibules. Blood pumps out in torrents.
There are so many things about me that will forever remain unspoken and undocumented because I have the inhuman ability to keep things about myself to myself.
Let me put it this way. If I wasn’t capable of this kind of quietness, then I would have slit my wrists a long time ago because I would not have been able to keep silent.
It’s all good. Ha Ha.
This movie might be good but i don’t want to watch it. Someone just got shot in it. Yawn, my toes are cold. You know you are older when you realise that being wrong ends up in your learning more than being right.
When you realise that you are not the universal prototype of opinion. We are all different, we all like/hate different things.
When you can accept that you are wrong.
When you being to accept others even if you don’t like them.
When you are happy.
The last one isn’t really true but I find that for me it is at least. I am quite satisfied with my life at the moment. The future does not concern me as much as the present so I rarely think a year or so ahead in my life. I would prefer to decide then instead of planning for it in advance and not enjoying your freedom of choice in the meantime.
When you realise you can decide for yourself, accept the responsibility, suffer the consequences and reap the rewads from choice of your own creation.
That sounds daunting but I reckon you grow into it.
I wonder no, when I will read this diary next, how old will I be? What will I think of my former self? I wonder about these things beacuse the last time I read this diary I was astounded by my stupidity. It could almost be shameful reading my really early raver day entries but nevertheless it is (or rahter was) a part of the complex being that I am, tht we all are.
Even though most of the things I did in those days are regrettable, it still shaped me. All experiences (good and bad) are learning experiences.
But are some things better left unexplored? Curiosity killed the cat, but at least the cat found out before it died.
I think now as I sit in front of the TV with my feet on the table about what it felt like to be distraught or depressed or suicidal or whatever. In all honesty I can not remember the last time I felt really depressed, like I used to.
I feel nostalgic, but not depressed like I used to. How fine is the line between the two?
Before I thought an autobiography about me would be interesting but now I don’t think that. Happy, satisfied people are boring people. Sad, Angry people are more interesting, that’s like what Tolstoy said.
My sister’s on holidays and she’s still up and being noisy, most probably pissing my brother off who has to sleep for work tomorrow. It’s 11:00pm now. Everyone that is someone (relevant to society) would be asleep now. It’s a weekday tomorrow that means work.
Who was it that observed that humans are the only species of animal that has to work? I find that a very valid point. The notion of going to university or whatever to learn how to be able to do somtehing for someone else to get money is stupid. I don’t want to be an office boy, join the rat race. Why? What do I get out of it? The money is not as important to me as doing something I want to do is.
Thankfully I now recognise what I want to do and that is to write and make art and probably do anything creative.
I think that the dilemna facing society is that of no self-satisfaction. I can take my borther as an example. He earns a lot of money but he is overstressed, narcoleptic and irate about generally everything.
It has all to do with his job but I think that eventually he will learn to life what he does, or slit his wrists.
Heh, that is a presumptuous on my behalf. I barely even know my brother so I can not say I just said without actually knowing as the truth.
No, Thankyou. I’ll passo on becoming a John Citizen with 2.3 children, a housewife who always smiles and cooks dinner and irons my business shirts and folds my ties and have a family pet, a dog called Rex. Succumbing to the orthodoxy of society is not for me.
I see society as a medium for the sterilization of independenec and the encouragement of a homogenous hard-working, money-spending group. We are not bees or whatever... a hive... a colony. We are all individuls, different from the person next door, unique and trying to contain us in a structure that is socialism is doomed to fail.
It already has. We now experience more crime, more poverty, more general unhappiness, more disease than ever before and I can say that is because of socialism and capitalism. Democracy doesn’t work. Neither does keeping people in groups of more than a million in one premise.
But if this doens’t work, what will? It’ll be a hit and miss affair to find some kind of way of keeping humanity happy and healthy.
We are constantly evolving so are our needs and wants and so should be our way of living with each other.
Imperialism was probably the best for humanity, the peak of our collective culture, or better yet prehistoric times when we were little more than the basic primate. Where our only conerns were food, shelter, reproduction.
I want to watch a movie that is on at 1:10am but don’t think I will be able to stay awake for such an extensive period of time. Wish I had a programmable VCR. Wish, wish, wish. It doesn’t make it happen unfortunately otherwise I would be without a care in the world and probably sitting in the lap of luxury instead of transcribing my ineligible thoughts via ineligible handwriting into this book.
What? The movies finished I’m not even that tired yet. What a rip-off. It’s 11:30pm now. I’ve been writing non-stop for half an hour now. Shit that time flew by. It feels like I was in a stasis or something where time didn’t move. Bizarre.
What now? Should I stay or should I go? I’m quite comfortable here and wouldn’t mind writing some more then watching the movie I wanted to see at 1:10am.
Can I stay conscious for antoher hour and a half??
And throughout the movie finishes at 2:45am? I don’t know.
I think I will or at least I will until the caffeine wears off.
I honestly have no desire to be a part of a culture that imposes subordinance, glorifies mental problems and extrudes individualism as a source of dissent.
Leave me be in my world of self-reliance. I don’t need anyone else to tell me what I want and need. Let me figure it out myself. Let me make my own conclusions.
It’s almost 12:00am and I don’t feel tired. My right keeps on going blurry and I blink to try to make it normal again.
A yawn betrays my physical exhaustion. I should be asleep now and my body recognises this. My hand hurts from writing so much too. I want to fill this book eventually and am currently proceeding in the right direction of achieving this goal. 16+ pages today. Good.
I can still do more though. Push myself and see how far I can go.
Not much further now. My writing isn’t as sporadic as it was a few minutes ago. The hum of the refrigerator drowns out thought, and the TV. The time approaches.
Words I want to know the meaning of;
Delectable, detestable, deplorable. Spurious. Virile. Catchetism, Anomaly, Baroque.
There are more. I should read The Gormenghast Trilogy again and I will have many more words I want the meaning to.
Obtuse, rotund, belial, antithesis, virulent, inditive.
The movie I am watching now sux but that’s because I am not paying any attention to it.
I wonder how a lot fo the people I know / used to know (where is the distinction between the two?) are going. Have they changed? What do they do? How are they?
My head is heavy, so are my eyelids. The nothingness, sweet nothingness of sleep beckons, encroaching upon my sem-conscious state slowly beckoing, extending that pearly white forearm and caressing my mind into a lull. An iridescent glow of mull thought creeps like an autumn fog across the desolate wasteland of midnight consciousness. Barren of life but that can be changed with a single into a lush, verdant tropical oasis, teeming with resilient lifeforms.
The inane thoughts dissipates, conjugate, infatutate, constipate. Lo behold the predatory gaze. You know what it means.
Somnabulist literature. A new literary form. I will invent.
(w) subjugate, correlation, apoplexy, vindiction.
A space above for more words I know but know not their definition. I will find out their defnition and try to learn them if I think that word is worth adding to my vocabulary.
Why couldn’t the movie I want to watch start earlier? I can’t be fucked staying up this late. It makes me IRATE.
Now the question is whether I shall go to my room and watch the TV there. I will fall asleep aearlier than intended if I do make the move.but it is one of those things you want to delay for as long as possible but will do with the slightest inclination form a third party or any excuse you are willing to give yourself.
It’s now 12:20am and I think that I can stay awake. The secret to do so is to keep on writing. It makes the time melt away and become meaningless. It also requires less concentration than reading or watching a movie than writing does, but that’s probably just me.
I wonder how everyone at TAFE is spending their holidays. I do not particularly want to contact them unless I have something we can do i.e. a party. It’s probably the same thing for them.
Woah this is getting strenuous. The desire to retire is more and more appealing as the seconds pass by. I am finding myself pausing more and more between paragraphs to stare at the TV or close my eyes or yawn but it is still bearable.
Scratch my head, head-ache, aspirin now. it’s 12:40am, another half-hour to go. That is an attainable period of time for me to elapse while retaining consciousness. I don’t know if I will be able to write coherent for that whole half-hour.
I must sound so clinical or pompous in my use of precision words. Its just for practice though. What can I do for half an hour? My hand is killing me. I need a break from writing.
I think I will start doing daily exercises soon. Just another constructive thing to build into my daily routine. I’d do jogging but I despise this area. Stomach crunches for now, maybe i’ll even start doing push-ups and sit ups and leg lifts and all that healthy yuppie bullshit. I feel unift thought, so I want to do something about that.
Once the movie starts I should be ok for all of it, that is as long as it is involving, otherwise I’m going to sleep.
Since when has Married with Children been on Channel Ten at 1:30am? Weird.
Time has not passed at all. It is still 12:40am. Tour de France it just starting. Goddamnit. Time is starting to drag like dead foetus entrails hanging from a wildebeest in the alps.
Honestly, where do I come up with this bullshit? So spontaneous. Amazing. Bleh. It sux. I’m tired. Big Fat bowel blockage far south of the river. Heeh.
I get so very exhausted from the smallest amount of physical exertion. Like when I ran to get out of the rain. I was dying after that.
12:55am. Great. Fifteen minutes to go. This movie better be worth it. I’m gonna watch the rest of the other until it starts. I’m too drained to write anymore. I bet my eyes are red and sore, they feel like it.
Wednesday 11th July 2001 9:30pm
I wrote a lot last night, an awful lot. I amaze myself but I wont read it yet.
The movie was crappy by the say and I don’t think i’ll stay up to watch the SBS movie tonight because it’s in English that means no subtitles so I’ll need to hear, then I can’t have too loud and it will be hard to etc.. etc..
Robert came around today and Paul rang me too. Two relatively old friends of mine contacting me in the same day. Is it coincidence? Or irony?
Or nothing at all. Probably nothing.
Thursday 12th July 2001 7:30pm
The most clean, pure joy I’ll ever get is probably through snorting a G of coke, he mused sardonically while flicking idly through a glossy magazine that was specifically designed to appeal to the demographic he was unconsciously a part of. The bright colours had no effect upon him and he carelessly threw the magazine on the empty sofa beside him. He felt restless and had no attention for reading.
He shuffles apathetically towards the dining room table retrieving a cigarette from the crumpled pack upon it. He lights up, leans on the kitchen bench top and exhales smoke downwards.
This place is filthy, I should clean it, he thinks to himself but recognises that no motivation exists to act upon his wants and promptly succumbs to the television and marijuana.
Three hours later and he is asleep. It’s dark now and the light from the television illuminates the room in fits and bursts. It is an epiletpic atmosphere.
Pot smoke hangs heavily in the air, there is no ventilation. The microwave clock emanates a quiet glow, very faint but accentuated by the smoke. It is very quiet, the TV is on Mute. It gets colder.
He wakes up at 10:00pm, rubs bloodshot eyes, smokes another few cones, laughs intoxicantly at the amount he puffed away today and goes to sleep.
And sleeps like a log.
The next day at work was exceedingly mundane. Unusually busy breakfast shift. He sweated it out in the kitchen, serving all sorts of crappy, rice-looking 4 star hotel food and even helping out in the kitchen when he had to.
Morning half-hour break and then he had to do bell-boy for the rest of the day because the usual guy went missing half way into his shift. It’s a boring shift, but you get good tips.
That’s enough of that story.
Today was ok, housework, internet and that’s about it. I’ve learnt that instead of writing anywhere else, it’s all in here which is fine unless I want to organize all of my writing. I have developed a writing routine but it’s all in here, instead of everywhere else. But it’s all good because I am writing everything in here. The literary fiction and the documentative factual. Yeah, yeah. Y’all know what I’m saying?
I think Sarah-Marie will win Big Brother because everyone in Australia has the same kind of personality but some of those Australians hide it better. I think we are a wild, feral, fun-loving and lunatic kind of nation.