This Or Die

One, two, three, four,
Hold your breath and let's pray for more,
Count to five, fall to the floor,
One, two, three, four -

Five, six, seven, eight,
Let it out, no more time to wait,
Scream it out, scream out all that hate,
Five, six, seven, eight!

It comes on so strong and it isn't the same,
Hold it here, feel it pulse, let us play this old game,
IF YOU FEEL HOW I FEEL LET US FALL TO THE FLOOR.
I won't hold my breath, but I'll hold out for more!

Feel this or die!
Feel this or die!
Feel this or die!
Feel this or die-die-die-die-die -

Alive!

One, two, three, four,
Hold your breath and let's pray for more,
Count to five, fall to the floor,
One, two, three, four -

Five, six, seven, eight,
You've held it all, no more time to wait,
Don't you feel, don't you feel just great?
Five, six, seven, eight!

Damn it all, but this can't be right,
Heart in mouth and you'll try and fight,
IF YOU NEED WHAT I NEED THEN LET'S LEAVE HERE TONIGHT,
Kiss me and miss me and maybe I might!

Need this? You'll die!
Need this? You'll die!
Need this? You'll die!
Need this? You'll -

You'll -

One, two, three, four.

Work work.

We're a broken people living under loaded gun.

I've had to take my first tentative steps into the world of working for your keep recently.
Suffice to say that the beginning of what I know will be a long road has left me slightly bitter, as you can probably tell from the last few things I've written on this blog.
I suppose I'm writing about it to justify it to myself, and to set in type what exactly about the whole business makes me feel this way.
I suppose the biggest problem I have with the whole retarded rigmarole is...well, I need to paraphrase Zero Punctuation here in order to get my point across.

"We are all special people and must let our specialness shine through. And then go back to serving coffee to shouty people who look like they make a living smuggling hams."

There are amazingly talented people on this planet who should have nothing standing between them and what it is that makes them amazingly talented. Granted, sometimes these people manage to seamlessly merge their talent with their work - some saxophone prodigy who does nothing but play, most musicians, established writers. But I fucking guarantee you that those people would have spent a portion of their lives doing shit work for shit pay. There's the fuck of it - people waste their lives away doing shit they hate and worrying about money. I am sick of money. I do not wish to think about it anymore. And of course I'm monumentally arrogant and the thought of doing something because I have to is an abominable one. Perhaps I'm weak. I know for a fact I'll get used to it - I have two long shifts this weekend, I'm halfway through and the second one doesn't bother me in the slightest. I just resent the fact that I'm acclimatising, so to speak.
And I can't type anymore because I'm being distracted. Fuck.

Two Minute Hate

Title blatantly stolen from 1984. I'm going to try something a little different this time. I'm going to indulge that little voice in my brain that says 'YOU SUCK' and write out everything it has to say. This will make me feel better. Or something.

I am incapable of leading a raid. It is impossible to command respect from your raiders. The fact that you have come to regard raiding as a tiresome chore is a symptom that you are unsuited to the task. When the raid fails, you have failed. You put it together, and every setback, every screw-up, every idiot move and idiot accident and broken gear in your machine is your fault and your fault alone. You are to blame and they all know it, and when they fuck things up you need to pick up the pieces with a fucking smile. This frustration is frustration at YOUR failure.

You are selfish. Sure, in some fantasy world you're entitled to ask for more. You justify this by saying you put more in, and you did more work, and you ran things and now it is time for you to get something. Well, you're a cunt. You're not the only one who works hard on things, and you seem to think you deserve more? They trust you to make the choices and every so often you make a conceited one. This makes you a terrible person.

You will never survive in Melbourne. You can't even run your own body in this cocoon environment you live in! How on earth do you expect to fend for yourself? You'll be eaten alive, and you know it. There comes a time when everyone must stand alone and fend for themselves and you are far too weak to pull that off. There's no point. You're just going to disappoint and vindicate everyone.

This study is all too much for you. What the hell do you know about self-discipline? Absolutely nothing, that's what. Now you have to actually knuckle down and get some fucking work done and your brain shuts down! University is going to kick the shit out of you. You haven't a hope in hell with your commitment. Resign yourself to a shit job for shit people, because you are shit.

Who exactly do you think you are, staring at them like you do? They aren't going to look back. Well, actually, that's a lie. He looked back today, didn't he? Probably confused as to why you were fucking staring at him like a piece of meat. You repress this shit for a reason - because you are fucked up. Your feelings aren't natural and society hates you for them, so keep them under fucking wraps and for god's sakes stop fucking staring at them, you idiot. You'll get your head kicked in and then you'll have even less chance of attracting the only thing you can - degenerates like yourself with personalities like sandpaper.

Nobody in Canberra gives a shit about you and when you leave, nobody will care.

God doesn't exist and this is the only shot you have at things.

Someone somewhere is being cruel to a kitten.

You are very cold.

I feel better already.

Something You're Not & Ode to an Egg

MUST GET THESE THINGS OUT OF MY HEAD BEFORE I TALK COHERENTLY.

Something You're Not

I'm going to hold you at arm's length in my embrace,
Bet you think you love me - such a pity, such a waste.
You can't hope to know me, so just show me what you got.
I don't know if you are thinking I am something I am not.

I'll get you hot, I'm something I'm not.
I'm what you want, I am something you're not.

I won't lie, I won't lie, no would I lie to you?
Trust in me...
You won't remember my name.
Dance with me, dance with me, why won't you dance with me?
Lie to you...
I'm convinced it's better this way.

Honey, please, you're such a tease, and you can't keep me under.
Take my hand, you'll understand - but you'll be sure to wonder.
What is it about me that rubs you the strangest way?
My hands around your waist, my lips against your cheek, I'll stay.

I'll get you hot, I'm something I'm not.
I'm what you want, I am something you're not.

I won't lie, I won't lie, no would I lie to you?
Trust in me...
You won't remember my name.
Dance with me, dance with me, why won't you dance with me?
Lie to you...
I'm convinced it's better this way.

I won't tell you that I love you, so don't say that you love me.
No, I won't tell you that I love you, please don't tell me that you love me.
Just stay focused on my body.

I won't lie, I won't lie, no would I lie to you?
Trust in me...
You won't remember my name.
Dance with me, dance with me, why won't you dance with me?
Lie to you...
I'm convinced it's better this way.

Ode to an Egg
You were made of smelted metal,
You flew up in the sky.
You'll shelter someone else now.
I tried to say goodbye.



RIGHT. Now that THEY'RE out of my system.
I suppose I should cover what's been happening over the past little while.
I am working a lot. By a lot, I mean about 12 hours a week. Whoop dee do, but that's a lot for me. Money is a novel thing to have.
I put my ipod through the wash. That was sad.
My parents have moved out of the house into the new house. I am still in the old house. There is nothing in the old house but a desk and a bed. I am starting to feel like it resents my presence and I want out, but I can't leave for two weeks until the net is connected in the new place. Going to be a long two weeks.
I have 28 days until I move to Melbourne.
I have a Boost bar sitting on my desk and I'm considering eating it.
I am reminded quite brutally that I will never be able to care about anyone as much as I care about my woman and the sheer bittersweet feeling that that invokes in me is almost physically painful.
I saw Josh Thomas last night. That was very funny.
I need a cigarette quite chronically.
I am deathly afraid of burning the house down.
I don't know how to make mashed potatoes. I am lacking a pot to mash them in.
That'll do for now.

Fuck Nihilists

Apparently I have 13 followers! That is quite a few. Even if one of them is the devil, that's pleasing. Also, apparently one of my brother's friends is an avid reader of this. Hello, Madam! How are you finding it thus far? It isn't always amazing, I know - but one does one's best.

I am going to spout a hell of a lot of gibberish into this blog post. Don't take it seriously.

I was in the shower recently humming to myself and thinking about nihilists and how much they annoy me. That's an oversimplification, but by and large the philosophy is one that has always infuriated me - and that is because it hinges on a willful decision to be a pessimist and one that isn't based on fact or logic. They decide to be uncaring about the world and then try and back this up with 'logic'. It bites them in the ass, and here is why:

If nothing is everything, than anything is something.

Do you like that? I came up with it myself. I thought it was clever, anyway. I even Googled it and it didn't come up with any hits, so I may be the first to write something like that.
Anyway, moving on from my insufferable smugness, I'll explain. If we accept the nihilistic argument - that ultimately all things are pointless and that there is no action that anyone can take that has a purpose - you are faced with an interesting choice. If everything is pointless, you can do what most nihilists do, which is slip into a veritable coma of apathy and bemoan your fate, bitching about how nothing serves any goal and we all die eventually...
OR YOU CAN TRY MY WAY.
If all things are pointless, there is no way to attach significance to anything. Now, if you're a pessimist, you'll take this to mean "that means that nothing is significant". But if you're an optimist you can turn this around and say 'if logically I cannot attach significance to anything, EVERYTHING IS EQUALLY SIGNIFICANT'. Everything, no matter how small, becomes something important. In a very real sense, once you acknowledge that nothing has a point, everything has a point.
Or not. Fuck, perhaps I haven't thought this through right yet.
Still, it killed ten minutes to write. Good enough for me!