Less than 10 days from now I have to move with Mum and Max to a place called Mallanganee, about 7 hours and over 600km from my current home. The employment prospects there are dismal, but I can't afford to live in Newcastle without a job. There's no ADSL+2 (up to 24mbps, which I'm told is what most people outside of Australia simply call normal internet speed), only ADLS1 (up to 8mbps, mostly only 1.5mbps available, which I'm told most people outside of Australia see as dial-up speeds). The town's only got about 100 houses. The nearest cinema is in a neighbouring town about a forty minute drive away, and I'd be surprised if they get anything further outside the mainstream than the occasional Cohen Bros film.

I'm packing everything now, throwing out all the things I no longer need, including bundles of clothes and a few hundred comics. My friends knew of the move over a month ago. None have offered any help in finding housing or employment. They haven't contacted me in two weeks, despite knowing that I'm definitely moving before the New Year. The only people so far to show any concern are my two Work for the Dole supervisors, who've both stated I'm their best worker and have offered to be personal and work references for my job applications. Funny how they can see my potential, but every employer deems me completely unsuitable.

I'm pretty sick at the moment. For the past four days I've been taking almost half a bottle of Senegar and Ammonia mixture, antibiotics and paracetamol for my flu symptoms, which still only have minor effect. I'm being slowly weaned off one antidepressant to go onto a stronger type. I'm also taking Xenical, a drug which blocks fat absorption, which has resulted in some very disturbing side-effects. I went to a pathology centre for tests and had a naso-pharyngeal aspirate. That caused a sneezinfg fit. I also had a throat swab (q-tip, aka cotton swab, shoved down the back of my throat), which triggered my sensitive gag reflex. One of the many reasons I could never be in gay porn.

( More whining, plus semi-intelligent rambling after the cut )

I wonder sometimes if we would not be better off without the concept of "forever." I am not so naive as to think that it would eliminate our fear of death, but perhaps it would lessen it. How can we accept that ultimate finality when we are raised from birth to disbelieve in it?

I am reminded of the novel Brave New World, in which society is rid of religious faith and accepts that when they die they will not go on, but rot in the ground, becoming food for the creatures that burrow i the ground and the plants that rest upon it. Is it truly so much more horrific than the overwhelming fear of losing all we are when our bodies simply cease to function?

This fictional society also daily and habitually takes a drug called soma, which gives them constant euphoria ands prevents them from the feeling of pain and loss. Is this truly so terrible, to trade our passions for a life free of sorrow?

There is a drug called propranolol, mainly used in the treatment of hypertension, which shows promise in preventing the formation of certain emotional links to traumatic events. In one television program a mother and father sought to prevent their daughter from taking it on the grounds that her rape would shape her in positive ways, perhaps even inspire her to creativity the way tragedy inspired Poe and Van Gogh before her.

Their lawyer argued that all our experience shapes us and we should not be cut off from that experience, for good or bad. Though a fictional example this is a very real dilemma: could we, should we truly expect others to live in pain on the premise that their suffering may drive them to create works of art, of literature, of social and other advancement?

Can we place the value of art and progress above a person's desire to live a life free of such a burden? Is it right to deny ourselves and others the power to trade passion and pain for a life of contentment?

Why do we have no problem turning this:



into this:



but we balk at the prospect of turning this:



into this:




This was originally going to be an essay on the way kneejerk reactions often prevent us from truly examining the ethics of any given situation, especially where bioengineering is concerned. I accidentally deleted it. Half an hour of writing delving into human history and ethics, and what's left? Animals in people clothes. I'm not having the best of luck lately...

I've been trying to compile a list of all the little tips and hints I've been given over the years into a short, easy to read document for me to refer to whenever I get stuck. Printed, it should be no more than 10 pages.

This is what I've got so far. Let me know if you can think of anything to change or add.

( Would you like to know more? )

Why are you still picking on Goths and Emos when there's so many of these pieces of shit floating around?

I wub my Spidey-Man. Sunlight makes him happy.

Three doors down from my home blue and white tape surrounds a single driveway. Bits of plywood and pieces of old furniture lean against a wall. There is no chalk outline, no traces of the blood that was spilled. Three days ago, a man was beaten into a coma on that small patch of concrete.

According to a local, the man had slapped his "missus" during an argument. I don't know whether she was literally his missus or if she was simply his partner. Usually, at least in this neighbourhood, when a man hits his woman she returns fire by screaming obscenities of astounding volume and nature, or she will cower and cry, or hit back with a slap or three of her own. This woman handled it in a different manner. She fled the house, leaving her man to care for their child.

Sometime later the man put his baby in a pram and started to walk from his home down the road. A nearby car emptied of it's occupants: a gang of four men, recruited by "the missus" for revenge. The beat him to the ground and, according to my source, stomped on his torso and head with such violence and repetition that his brains began to leak onto the pavement. He now lay in a hospital bed, the police monitoring his condition so that they may decide whether to charge his attackers with murder or merely attempted murder. If he lives, this man will be at best a slobbering vegetable.

Knowing our justice system, should a conviction be secured the perpetrators will serve no more than five years. Less should their victim survive.

Bowling for Soup: The Bitch Song


Cake: Daria


The Vandals: My Girlfriend's Dead


Special Bonus Song!

Cake: Friend Is A Four Letter Word

Poison: Something To Believe In

Proof of their Hard Rock-itude: Talk Dirty To Me

Alice Cooper: I Never Cry

Proof of his Hard Rock-itude: Dead Babies

KISS: Beth

Proof of their Hard Rock-itude: God of Thunder (Live)

How long has it been since I made a Tunesday post? Well today I'm back with something short and sweet: The Geek Love Edition. These are just a few of my favourite romantic songs that also happen to be a little on the nerdy side.

Four-Color Love Story by The Metasciences


I Want Love (Studio Mix) by Akira Yamaoka


I'm Under Your Spell performed by Amber Benson

Today was (and for some of you, those who live on the other side of the globe or have access to 1.21 Gigawatts, is still) Good Friday. You know what that means, don't you? It means today we honour our Lord and Saviour, who died for our sins.

I speak, of course, of the One True Son of God. I speak... of Raptor Jesus.


His creed is simple:

• Love Raptor Jesus or die.
• Raptor Jesus is the saviour of all mankind, and will deliver thee to carnivorous enlightnement.
• Believe in the Lord Raptor Jesus, and thou shalt be saved!
• Raptor Jesus will rise again!
• Raptor Jesus went extinct for your sins!
• Raptor Jesus loves you!
• The divine trinity of Raptor Jesus shelters us from the coming Catnarok!
• Thus shall the Vegan know eternal torment

Today we show our devotion to Him by rejected all foodstuffs not borne from the suffering of weaker animals. We spit on corn, we laugh at broccoli. We tear fresh steak with our mighty jaws, and drink the blood of lambs and puppies.



Please, join me in a prayer:

Oh Jurassic Father,
please watch after the meat lockers of the world,
for their bountiful harvest of beef and pig
will nourish the carnivorous requirements of thou hungry belly.
Please shelter thy family from the righteous bullshit
of vegans, vegetarians,and other non-meat-consuming people of the world.
And if you see it necessary to eat my first born just for the lulz,
please do so with my blessing.

Amen.

Heed the teachings of Raptor Jesus, for he is swift in tooth and claw:

And lo, did a drunken man beset Raptor Jesus and his followers. He came up to them, crying such things as "Y HALO THAR!" and "BUTTSECKS?!" The Disciples were scared, for never before had they encountered one so intent on buttsecks. But Raptor Jesus merely smiled, and bade His Disciples watch, that they might know what to do in the future. All of a sudden, Raptor Jesus did leap into a tree, disappearing from sight. The drunkard looked around in a confused manner. Raptor Jesus did burst forth, flipping out of the tree, his foot connecting with the drunkard's neck. A sickening 'SNAP' emanated, and then all was silent. Raptor Jesus looked to His followers, pointed at the body next to him and proclaimed, "Ninja'd"

I hope for the sake of your eternal souls you have let Raptor Jesus into your hearts.

Let it be known that I have a serious dislike for Chuck Norris. Here's one of the reasons why:



Yep, Chuck Norris is a creationist. He honestly, truly believes that the world was created in literally seven days, no more than 6000 years ago. He believes in the literal interpretation of a book with two contradictory accounts of The Creation in a single chapter, a book which (if taken literally) advocates violence, slavery, rape and general misogyny.

I know you all want a hero. Someone to look up to. Someone strong and brave, with a sense of morality based on respect and dignity. That's why a challenge you to abandon Chuck Norris and remember one of the truly great men that shaped our hearts and minds back in the 1980s: Mr T.

Now you may think: Well, looks like the little atheist is all butthurt and is endorsing a non-Christian role model. Sorry, not so. Mr T is a Christian. He is proud of his faith. He has appeared on several Christian television shows to speak on his belief in God. However Mr T is respectful of those who hold different views. He won't force his faith on you. He isn't lobbying to have his faith taught as scientific fact, and he isn't using his celebrity to promote a presidential candidate to further his own religio-political agenda.

Unlike Chuck, who wants you to abandon reason and ignore scientific evidence of evolution and the origins of the universe, Mr T simply wants you to:

Quit your jibber Jabber,
Be somebody,
Do it NOW,
Don't be a quitter and
Treat your mother right.

I pity the fool who likes Chuck Norris more than Mr T.

Right off the bat I want to make this perfectly clear: I am not professing to be some kind of Casanova. I'm not giving you tips based off my successes. I'm imparting wisdom based on my many mistakes.

1: Confidence
You'll see a lot of women with guys who are utter douche-bags. They're rude, arrogant fuck-wits who make it obvious they think the sun shines out their arseholes. What do they have that you haven't got? Confidence, that's what. They honestly believe their shit is worth everybody else's time, and so should you. That isn't to say you should act like a cock. Just believe that you're not wasting anybody's time by being yourself. You know that feeling of security and acceptance you get when you're with your friends? Just pretend you're having that feeling when talking to women you desire, and let your true self come out. Unless your true self is a douche-bag or a fecophile, in which case it's best to let some things stay hidden.

2. Style
A Cardcaptor Sakura t-shirt may be great when you're hanging out with your lolikon otaku buddies, but not when you're looking to pick up. Similarly, unless you look like Patrick Dempsey or Matthew Fox it's best to shave that fucking chin. They look all sexy-rough when they let the stubble grow. You look like a lazy fuck who couldn't be bothered with the basics of hygiene. You need to be well bathed, clean shaven and for noodle's sake wear some decent deodorant or aftershave. If you're going out you'll need to be dancing (or making a reasonable attempt - see below) and you'll be getting real sweaty. Make an effort to wear clothes that fit your own sense of style but don't look like they've been grabbed off the dollar rack at the local op-shop - unless you're trolling for hippie chicks, in which case bathe in bong water and rub some tobacco oil in your greasy dreads, you stinking peacenik. Otherwise, make sure you're clean and tidy. Don't be afraid to put a little gel in your hair. You don't need to have one of those pathetic fauxhawks or even a haircut that cost more than $10. Just make it look like you've made a decent effort to look good.

3. Groove
I'll let you in on a little secret (one I often forget myself) - no-one can really dance. You may be impressed with the supposedly smooth moves someone's pulling on the dance floor and think "Wow, I could never do that." Hey, maybe you're right, but you don't need to. The trick is simple: find the beat in the music, and move to it. Don't try to act like you're in a Jennifer Lopez filmclip. Just move your shoulders, move your arms, move your feet a little and do it to the beat, not the tune. That's really all there is. So long as you don't punch her in the face, most women will enjoy dancing with you. Oh, and if she makes the effort to do those sexy moves when she knows you're looking, don't be afraid to touch her. Don't reach out and honk her hooters or slip a digit in her love tunnel of course, but feel free to put your hands on her hips and sway in time with her. If she moves in closer, go right ahead and grab that arse. It's ripe for the pickin', son. When you're dancing, always remember Lesson 1: Confidence. As the old saying goes, "Work like you don't need money, love like you've never been hurt, and dance like no one's watching."

4. Standards
Some guys will keep going for the hottest, most glamorous woman in the room then complain that they got turned down. Worse yet, they often ignore perfectly fine women who actually are attracted to them in order to strive for the unattainable. Get over yourself, guys. If you're honest with yourself you'll admit that yes, sometimes you are attracted to someone who doesn't fit the magazine-cover definition of beauty. Roll with it. You're not out there looking for someone to be photographed with for the cover of the next Us Weekly. You're looking for someone to enjoy your time with, who will hopefully enjoy spending time with you. Sometimes you might find yourself talking with a woman who you weren't initially attracted to, then somewhere in the course of the conversation you start thinking "Wow, this chick is really cool. And what's this? Am I working up a bit of a mongrel down there?" Don't be scared, mate. It happens to all of us, and it's a beautiful thing. Whether you're in it for the sex or for something more serious, it's always more enjoyable when it's with someone you actually like. Shocking, I know.

5. Friends
If you're going out on the town go with friends. Think of yourself as a fighter jet and them as your base crew. You go out, try to drop a love bomb on a viable target. Whoops, your aim was off and you miss by a mile. Without a support crew you're stuck in enemy territory. With them, you can just fly back to base and enjoy a brew with the ground crew. It's always handy to have some female friends in the group, if you can manage it. Firstly this shows you're not some boys-club geek or freak just out for a bit of pussy (even if you are). Second, it gives you a chance to dance with someone of the opposite sex, letting the other ladies know that you're not a total sad-case. Just beware: you may sometimes find yourself, in the heat of the night and the buzz of the booze, attracted to one of your female friends. There are only two options for this. If you think she isn't attracted to you, just see Lesson 6 (below). Otherwise, go for it son. People spout a lot of bullshit about "Oh, I'm afraid if she rejects me it'll ruin our friendship." Suck it up, you punce. If she's really your friend, she'll stay your friend. If not, she's not really worth your time, now is she? Don't give up an opportunity out of fear. Oh, and one more tip: Don't express your attraction in the form of The Confession. "Ooh, I've loved you for years and I was just afraid to tell you!" Don't. Fucking. Do it. It makes you look like a coward and a sneak. If you have to say it, say it simple: "Y'know what, I really like you." Then bam, go in for the kill. If it works, it's fucking awesome. If not, ah well. Just apologise and laugh it off. agree to pretend it never happened and move on.

6. Rejection
Pay attention to whether she seems interested. Remember, confidence, not arrogance. If she's not interested, accept rejection with politeness and good humour. Don't pull the shit so many other guys do and say "Errrh, you must be a dyke! Fucken lezzaaaaaaaah!" She doesn't want you, deal with it and move on. Rejection is just a part of the process. It can be very discouraging, but don't take it personally. Different people have different tastes. Laws of averages dictate you're bound to be attracted to more people who don't share your attraction than do. Some people like jelly beans, some people don't. If you're following these tips and you get rejected just say to yourself "She must not like jellybeans."


There you have it. Six simple tips to success. As I said before, this list is based not on my wins but on my many losses. Don't be afraid to look back on your own failures and learn from them. After all, those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.

Tunesday: The 80s Love Ballad Edition

Like most of you lovely listeners out there, I grew up in the 80s. It was the time that gave us The Breakfast Club, Flashdance, the endless stream of schlock horror sequels and the first real electronic gaming boom. I loved the 80s, so it's only fitting tonight's Tunesday post be dedicated to Love Songs of the Eighties.

Got To Believe In Magic by David Pomeranz


Hello by Lionel Richie


Take My Breath Away by Berlin


(I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight by Cutting Crew


I Want Your Love by Transvision Vamp


And an extra one because Susanna Hoffs was my big childhood crush:

In Your Room by The Bangles

It's been a while since I wrote any short fiction. Like most ideas, this came to me while I was meant to be concentrating on more serious matters. This is also my first written submission to my DeviantArt account.

The boy trudges through the misty bog. His legs are weary, but his eyes burn with a furious determination. The back of his head is matted with blood, not all of it his. The marks of a dozen battles are etched indefinably into his expression. He will be twelve this summer.

The bog soon gave way to the foothills of Mnir. He'd spent much of his youth with his lowlander cousins The valleys in spring would be rich with the scent of jasmine in bloom. Now they were heavy with smoke.The Khal Du-Nur had swept through the valleys like a storm of blood and steel, leaving nothing behind but ash, charred bodies and those all too familiar blue-feathered arrows.

The boy's aunt used to tell him stories of this place. Tales of ages long past, when the armies of Heaven marched over the earth. "Here," she would say as the autumn winds played in her hair, "here is where Great Hala-Mnir, the Dragon of God, fell from heaven at God's behest to form the mountains and the valleys.

"See here, at the base of Mount Hodr, the claw marks of the Great Dragon etched deep into the ground. It is said when the blood of the Mnir is spilled on this ground, Hala-Mnir himself shall return to purify the lands of wickedness." Such a silly story, the boy thought. So pointless a hope in such a bloody world.

His head turned toward the distant, growing rumble. Shadows formed in the low-hanging smoke. There was a sudden chill in the boy's chest, followed by a searing heat. He looked downward and say, hanging gently from the centre of his breast, a plume of blue feathers.

The ground rushed up to meet him. The rumbling turned into the passing hooves of a score of battle steeds. The boy rolled to his side. Blood flowed down the arrow shaft into the earth. He looked up toward the heavens, and heard the beating of mighty wings.

Triple posted on MySpace blog, bulletin and LiveJournal, in commemoration of my first ever therapy session.

The Avalanches - Frontier Psychiatrist


Gnarls Barkley - Crazy


Alice Cooper - The Quiet Room


Queen - Stone Cold Crazy


Something For Kate - Monsters